And just like that Declan recognized all the white hot rage that was rolling off of him. For such a young man, Jack couldn't be older than twenty by Declan's estimation, he harbored more hate in his body than any he'd ever met. Not because of the blood smears hands, the two pistols he kept strapped to him or how he could destroy three men in cold blood. But by how his voice quaked, the two bloodshot eyes that met painfully with his each time Declan had prodded for anything personal. He'd only just scratched the surface. There was more underneath that was just begging to tear its way out and terrible as it was Declan was on a newfound mission to know exactly what. 

He took a gander at the horse stationed past Jack, rolling the key in his palm before holding it up as if to feign some kind of innocence. Glancing between the key and Jack, he offered a grin despite the pain of a sore face. "It'll get you farther than the pony of yours, I bet. You need somewhere to be?" He asked. The key beckoning as though it were the one talking, held up in the sunlight and tempting. 

Declan then turned to his car. The drivers side door, while dented, opened with ease. He placed the wooden box on the floor of the back seat, pushing it below one of the seats until it was both concealed and secure. Turning back to Jack and flashing him a quirked brow, he nodded his head to the bodies that lay strewn in the dust around the car. His offer still stood; he owed Jack his life and if he was a true man at all he would hold to repaying him in some way. Fair was fair, and who was he to deny Jack a favor as simple as a ride? That was unless he was looking for more. With Jack's swelling anger though it seemed far from finished. 

"...Someone to meet?"