Page 12 of Kidnapped By the Boss

Immediately, he reached to his left, but he wasn’t fast enough. I shot him in his foot, sending him dropping to the ground, and then I pistol whipped him over the head, knocking him out on the spot. I sneered down at him, then took the gun he’d attempted to reach for, set it in his hand pointed at his foot, re-holstered my gun, corrected my dress, and walked out of the back room.

I repeated what he showed me to open the door hidden in the back wall, and let myself in, then closed the door after myself. There was a long, spiral staircase leading downwards. At the bottom, there was another set of double doors guarded by a large bodyguard, but he didn’t think anything of me being there—clearly, he believed that anyone who reached the bottom of the stairs had gone through the appropriate channels to do so.

He smirked at me. “I gotta convince David to let me take his job once in a while.”

Clearly,Davidtook advantage of multiple women this way. It made me wish I’d done more than just shoot him in the foot.

The double doors were opened, and the second they were, I was blasted with the sounds of music and crowds enjoying themselves. The hallway and doors appeared to be entirely soundproof, which was likely why no one had heard me make short work of ol’ David upstairs. I stepped through the doors and was actually legitimately impressed by what lay beyond. It was a legitimate, 1920s style speakeasy, with velvet and gold carpets and dark wooden walls. Chandeliers hung on a row down the main room, which was made up of old school couches and chairs and two long bars lining the walls on either side. The bartenders were all wearing those period-specific uniforms with cuffs around the elbows and bowties, and a few of them even had impressive, curling mustaches.

It felt like I’d stepped right into the prohibition era.

A swing band was playing live music at a stage right in the middle of the room, and the crowd down here was notably different from that outside. Everyone here seemed to have that same, old-fashioned atmosphere about them. Initially, I did a scan for anyone who matched any of the descriptions we had for The Wreckers so far, and I struck gold at the bar on the right side of the room. There was a woman there, sitting in the center of a small group that had gathered around her, and was leading a lively looking discussion. She had a deep umber skin tone, tight black curls that framed her head in a stylized afro, and was dressed in a power suit like she’d just come from a day at the office.

According to our intel, this was Shaina, The Wreckers “Jack.” Under the King and Queen of The Wreckers, there appeared to be three people a rung lower in the hierarchy, the “Ace,” “Jack,” and “Joker.” Both the “Ace,” Henry, and the “Jack,” Shaina had been seen at multiple of our sites which had been attacked. The information that I had gotten from Chloe as well suggested that they were the two typically seen at The Wreckers’ other crimes on Long Island.

I walked over to that bar and sat a few barstools down from where she was. Even though I was disguised, I still made sure to look away from Shaina as I passed her and as I sat.

“What can I get ya, ma’am?” I said.

“Give me the house favorite,” I replied.

He nodded. “Yes ma’am.”

I was delivered a moonshine lemonade with fresh mint, and I opened up a tab. Shaina had about five people surrounding her, so it wasn’t her I was interested in, but the people she was talking to. They were all starry-eyed and hanging on her every word.

By my best guess, these were members of The Wreckers’ fan club.

Over the course of about forty minutes, I worked on my drink, flipped through my phone, turned people down who were coming to hit on me, and listened to Shaina tell a flurry of probably over-dramatized stories of her valiant acts as a mobster. It was honestly kind of angering to listen to. Anyone who was anactualmafioso, or even back when I was bratva, they wouldn’t sit around singing about who they were. Discretion was always key in organized crime.

These young, chaotic criminals were trying to wear stripes they hadn’t earned.

“Well, kids, I gotta go before the boss cuts my head off,” Shaina announced finally. She threw back the rest of her drink, pointed at someone and said, “Pay my tab, honey,” then she dismissed herself from the table.

The guy she’d singled out to pay for her drinks looked disappointed, I imagined because she’d racked up quite a bill. The rest of the group were excited not only to have been chosen, but to get to walk Shaina out, leaving the unlucky sap who had gotten chosen alone.

The bartender walked down to the guy and said, “Picking up the bill?”

Shaina’s pin cushion frowned. “Unfortunately. What’s the damage?”

“She did two-eighty tonight, man. I’m sorry.”

The guy’s eyes bugged out of his skull. “Two hundred and eighty dollars?!”

“Excuse me,” I called over, getting the attention of the bartender and the poor man. “Add it to my tab. I’ll pick it up.”

The bartender lifted an eye at me. “Are you sure, ma’am?”

I nodded. “I had a good night at the club this week.” Then I looked over at the would-be payer, “Besides, you’re pretty cute.”

“You got it,” the bartender replied. “Just let me know when you’re ready to close out.” He eyed the guy as if to say,“Don’t mess this one up,”and then walked off.

“Join me,” I told him, nodding him over.

The man’s face was awash with red as he came over and sat down on the barstool next to me. “I’m not so used to such forward women.”

Chuckling, I said, “I find that I get what I want easier if I’m up front about it.” I set my head in my hand and leaned forward to bat my eyes at him. “I’m Marilyn. What’s your name?”

“Theodore,” he said. “Most people call me Teddy.”