Page 87 of His Forced Irish Mafia Bride

A second vehicle appeared from the side street and moved into position in front of me, cutting off the only exit. I braked hard.

The car stopped with a sharp pull that pushed me forward against the seatbelt. The space around me felt reduced in an instant. The road had been sealed at both ends. The doors of both vehicles opened without urgency.

No one ran. No one shouted. The movement stayed controlled and deliberate.

I shifted into reverse, but the car behind me blocked my path. A figure stepped up next to my door, positioned in a way that removed any remaining angle of movement. My hands stayed on the wheel as I searched for an opening that didn’t exist.

The passenger door opened beside me. Cold air entered the car.

“Maeve Callahan,” a voice said. A hand reached in from the driver’s side and grabbed my arm, guiding instead of forcing. The movement felt precise, designed to remove resistance rather than react to it. My phone slipped from my hand and fell under the seat. I was pulled out of the car in a controlled motion that avoided struggle while still removing all control from me.

The street around us remained quiet. One of the men spoke again. “Move.”

I was guided toward the second vehicle. There was no room left for hesitation or delay. I turned my head once toward the road behind me. It looked ordinary, the same as any other street, as if nothing important had just happened.

When the hand tightened around my arm, I reacted. My elbow came up and struck him in the face, creating space long enough for me to move. I tried to step out of their hold, forcing distance where there was none. The response came immediately.

One arm secured my waist and pulled me back with controlled force that stopped my movement without throwing me off-balance. . A voice spoke once more as they shoved me inside the car.

“Move.”

I stayed where I was. My hand went for the only thing I could reach, the inside handle, but someone caught my wrist before I could get to it. I drove my head forward, headbutting one of the men, and it was followed by a sharp sound of pain that gave me a small opening.

I used it right away. My foot came up and hit the door panel hard. The sound filled the car. Outside, nothing reacted. The street stayed the same and silent.

They were in control. Another hand pressed down on my shoulder and pushed me back into the seat. My movement became limited.

I tried to break free again. It didn’t work. The car door slammed shut.

“Enough,” one voice said.

I kept struggling. My arm was pulled behind me and held there until I couldn’t move properly anymore. After that, all I could do was try to breathe as the car pulled out of the narrow street and into the city.

***

They didn’t throw me into the second vehicle. They guided me in instead. That difference mattered more than it should have. One of them kept a steady hand at my elbow the entire time, holding me in place without force, just enough control to stop any sudden movements.

I tested it anyway by shifting my weight slightly. A correction came at once. A hand pressed my neck and stopped the movement, keeping me in place.

“Sit,” one of them said.

I stayed standing for a moment longer. My eyes moved over the second vehicle.

I stepped into the empty backseat, but I didn’t give up. Being inside gave me a clearer view of what was happening. The door closed behind me with a heavy sound that felt final in a way that went beyond a door shutting.

The car started moving almost immediately, without delay or hesitation, like the timing had already been planned. I stayed still for a moment. I wasn’t calm; I was measuring everything.

The man sitting next to me didn’t look at me directly. His gaze stayed forward, one hand resting near his lap where I could only partly see it. The driver kept his attention on the road.

I moved slightly in the seat, testing the space between me and the door. The man beside me looked at me immediately. I stopped moving.

My breathing stayed steady even while my heartbeat did not. I started watching everything instead. The car interior felt too clean for normal use. Everything was placed and secured with purpose.

My eyes moved toward the driver through the gap between the seats.

The man beside me spoke at last. “Don’t make this harder,” he said.

I kept my eyes forward. “Harder for who?”