REAPER (Boston Underworld Book 2)

by A. Zavarelli

  I wanted her. And I hated that I couldn’t have her. Even when I saw Blaine hurting her, and I killed him, I knew I still couldn’t have her. I was too fucked up. She’d never want me. A murderer. A freak. A mobster. The only thing I knew how to do was kill.

  But I took her anyway. And I’ve never stopped thinking about it since. The first time I sank inside of her, I embarrassed myself. I was out of control with how badly I needed her.

  I didn’t like those feelings. So I kept away after that. But now, everything is changing. Sasha wants to leave. I don’t want her to go, but I have nothing to offer that would make her stay. I’m well aware she hates this life. I see it on her face every day. She wants to escape.

  I should let her.

  But I don’t want to.

  When I walk into her apartment tonight and see the boxes packed up, it hits me hard. She really is going.

  And now I know, I can’t let her.

  I walk down the hall to her bedroom and find it empty. She isn’t here. My heart beats funny like the first time I saw her. Only it isn’t good this time. There’s nothing good about this feeling.

  She’s leaving. And I can’t let her.

  With that thought in mind, I do the one thing I despise more than anything. I sit down on her bed and try to work out the perfect lie. And when I spot the drawer across the room that has her knickers in it, I know exactly what it is.

  I know how I’ll get her to stay.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Sasha

  When I arrive at the club the next night, I’m surprised to find the VIP room only has a few patrons. When Lachlan said they had an event, I was expecting a full house.

  I don’t give it too much more thought because I’m sure the place will be filling up before too long. At Slainte, the meetings can happen at all hours of the night. It hasn’t been unusual for some of the dancers to be booked at times like four am on special occasions.

  When I get to the dressing room, Jasmine is already wrinkling her nose in my direction. None of the other dancers have really liked me since Lachlan said I’m not to do lap dances anymore. I only ever did them for about a week before he put the kibosh on that without telling me why. Whatever his reasons, I was grateful. The other dancers however, didn’t take too kindly to my special treatment.

  It’s not that the patrons in here are disgusting. They aren’t just your run of the mill average Joes with a beer belly and a wife and four kids waiting at home. No, these guys are either mafia or mafia associates. And for the most part, a lot of them are pretty decent to look at. And besides Donovan, I’ve never really had any of the clients step too far out of line with me.

  Lachlan told me when I started that I could always come to him if I had a problem with a guy, and he’d take care of it. But I guess after Donny started harassing me, I took that option off the table completely. I had trouble discerning where the boundaries actually lay. And I just kept telling myself that I hated this place so much I would be glad to be gone.

  Looking at the familiar surroundings now though, I get a little emotional. This place is like some sort of big fucked up family. You have your competitive sisters and the guys that you go to when you need help, and then of course the creepy uncles. What family would be complete without the creepy uncles, anyhow?

  I don’t know.

  I don’t even know what I’m thinking. But when I rummage through my outfits, I decide I want to go out with a bang. I may not be the most popular dancer, or the prettiest, or even the one with the best moves. But I’ve worked the stage long enough to know what I do have, and how to work with it.

  I change into a black jewel studded wrap around bikini set with thigh high black leather boots. It’s more daring than my usual outfits. I tend to go with simpler themes. Items that are easy to maneuver in and easy to take off. But tonight deserves something special.

  So on that note, I spend extra time on my hair and makeup. I do a smoky eye and a red lip and curl my long hair until it’s smooth and sleek and falls softly down my back. All the while, I’m thinking about my song selection. I don’t know if Ronan’s going to be here tonight. But the songs I choose are a reflection of him. The only way I know how to say goodbye.

  Flyleaf’s Set Me on Fire and All Around Me followed by Starset’s My Demons.

  I hand them off to the emcee before my set. And then I have a 7UP to settle my nerves while I watch Jasmine perform. The room doesn’t look any fuller, even after another hour has passed, and I have to wonder what’s going on. Of course I can’t actually ask Lachlan, because even though him and Mack couldn’t take a honeymoon yet, I highly doubt he’s here the night after his wedding.

  Jasmine comes backstage, and the emcee makes my introduction with an entire spiel about this being my last performance. The music comes on, and I lose myself in the motions. My body and mind are tired, but right now, I’ve never felt stronger. I pull off all of my best moves and focus on the lyrics as each song flows into the next.

  The men are cheering me on, and I feel good. I feel light. Like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Tonight, in this moment, there is no shame or filthy thoughts running through my mind. I just feel… free.

  And then everything changes in the blink of an eye.

  I barely have time to grasp what the commotion is about before someone tackles me and hoists me over their shoulder. When I open my eyes and my head stops spinning, my face is dangling down towards a pair of strong, muscular legs wrapped in nice trousers. A pair of legs I know well.

  It isn’t until the music cuts off that I realize he’s yelling at one of the guys in the audience, all the while I’m tossed over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

  “Ronan?” I squeak. “Put me down!”

  His grip only grows stronger. “I’ll fucking kill ye if you ever look at her like that again,” he snarls.

  His muscles are rippling with rage, pulling at the seams of his suit. He’s itching with the urge to kill.

  “What the bleeding hell is going on in here?” Lachlan’s voice filters through the low din.

  I try to crane my neck to see him, but I can’t. Ronan’s grip on me is so tight, I can’t even wiggle an inch.

  “He’s having a wank right there in the bloody pit,” Ronan shouts. “He was looking at her…”

  His words are coming out broken and in between bursts of harsh breaths.

  “My woman,” he says. “He tried to touch her… and…”

  “Alright, caveman,” Lachlan says. “We get it, she’s yours. Now fuck off out of here. I’ll sort out the lad.”

  Ronan hesitates for a moment longer, and even though I can’t see his face, I know his eyes are burning into whoever was staring at me. I worry that he’s taking mental notes on who he’s going to kill later. But then he turns around and carries me towards the back. And before we slip through the curtain and my humiliation is complete, I catch sight of Lachlan grinning. And then the bastard winks at me. He fucking winks.

  Because he set this up. Set me up.

  He knew Ronan would come in tonight, and he wanted him to see me. But I honestly could never have predicted the reaction I’m getting right now.

  He takes me down the hall and finds the door to the basement. My head jerks with every step, and I try unsuccessfully to wiggle free one more time. When he finally stops at the bottom of the stairs, he doesn’t even let me go. He just slides me down the front of his body and grips my ass with his palms before dropping me into a kneeling position before him.

  I should be yelling at him, probably. Or something. But he’s so angry. I’ve never seen him this way. He’s fumbling with his belt, yanking down his briefs so that his cock springs free. It bobs once in front of my face before he shoves it in the direction of my mouth, bumping it against my lips.

  Ronan and I have always had a fucked up way of going about things. The first time he fucked me, it was next to my dead boyfriend’s body. The first blowjob, in a basement he uses to kill people.
He isn’t at all sweet. But if I wanted sugar, I’d eat a fucking cupcake.

  I reach up and grab his thighs to anchor me as I drag him into my mouth. There isn’t any uncertainty on his face tonight. There’s nothing but ownership and wrath fueling this episode. But every time I draw him into my mouth, he groans.

  His hands are in my hair, rough. He twists my head to suit his needs and uses me like a toy. If it were anyone else, I’d be pissed. But instead, I’m so fucking wet for him right now. I want him to use me. To take me. To be so out of control he can’t help himself. I love it when he’s like this. Harsh and dirty. I want him to use me up. I want him to toss me around and take me however he wants. The sex is so much hotter with Ronan because there are feelings involved. Emotions. I care about this man. And I want to serve him, right here in this dirty hallway.

  I moan around him, and it only serves to rile him further.

  “Is that good for ye?” he asks.

  I mumble an affirmative around him, and he shoves my face deeper, making me choke on his cock.

  “Is that the way ye like it?” His nostrils flare, and his fingers dig into my face. “Filthy like Donny used to do?”

  I blink up at him in horror and confusion and jerk away, wiping my mouth. “What did you just say?”

  “You heard me,” he snarls. “Is that what ye like? Ye want me to treat you like a filthy whore?”

  I shove him backwards as I stand up and he stumbles back a step. I don’t make it two feet before he’s yanking me back to him, trapping me between him and the wall. Ronan’s never been gentle with me, but right now he’s being downright caustic.

  “Don’t you ever fucking talk to me like that again!” I scream at him. “You fucking asshole…”

  “I can do whatever I like with ye, Sasha,” he announces. “Ye’re mine.”

  And with that declaration, he tries to kiss me. I bite him, and it makes him bleed, but he doesn’t stop. He grunts and devours me like he has every right to. And then he’s pulling away, glowering at me. Like I’m the one who needs a frigging lobotomy.

  “What the fuck is your problem?” I ask him. “You’re acting like a lunatic.”

  He crouches lower and moves in on me, so that his gaze is directly across from mine.

  “You let him touch you,” he growls. “Ye fucking let him touch you.”

  And that’s what all of this comes down to. Fucking Donovan. He put his slimy hands on me, and Ronan has the nerve to blame me for it. Pressure builds behind my eyes, and leaks out in the form of big, salty tears before I can get a grip.

  “I didn’t have a choice!” I yell in his face. “I’ve never had a fucking choice! You’re all a bunch of fucking assholes. You just take what you want, and you don’t even care…”

  He kisses me again.

  This time, it’s gentle. His hands are on my face, holding me like I’m the most precious thing in the world to him. Like I wasn’t just on my knees a moment ago blowing him in a dirty hallway while he called me a whore. And I know it’s because I’m crying now. He made me cry. I said I wouldn’t cry over a man again, but this one made me cry. And yet, when he soothes me from the hurt that he caused, I cling to him.

  When he pulls away, his brown eyes move over my face, sad and torn and so beautiful it hurts to look at them. All of my anger melts away when he looks at me like this. It’s foolish, but true.

  “How do you do that?” I ask.

  “Do what?”

  “How do you look at me like that and just make me forget everything, Ronan? You betrayed me. You’re mad because of what I did to protect you, but you didn’t protect me at all. You told Lachlan our secret. And I want to be angry at you. I’m so fucking angry at you.”

  His face softens and his hands pull me closer, like I might try to flee at any moment. Even though he’s the one that’s usually doing the running. But he sees my frustration. My pain. He threw me to the wolves, and he has to know I’m fed up. This constant back and forth with him is making me fucking insane. And yet he disarms me with a single touch. Talks me off the ledge with the faintest of whispers. This man is pure agony. My descent to hell. In fact, I’m certain he must be Lucifer himself, because the poison he feeds me is too sweet to resist.

  “I haven’t a clue what Crow told ye,” he says. “But it wasn’t like that, Sasha.”

  “Then how was it like?” I demand.

  “I don’t want ye to worry about these things,” he says softly. “It’s all in hand.”

  This.

  This is why I’m so deranged. This evasiveness. It took him two years after what happened to even talk to me, and now I’m lucky to drag one sentence out of him. He’s so guarded, even from me. And it makes me question everything about him, but when I look at him, I do believe him. He believes he’s protecting me by withholding information. By handling it. That’s how things work in the mob. The men deal with business, and the women look the other way.

  On some level, it’s nice to be able to disconnect like that. To trust and have faith that the syndicate will protect you. That’s how it works with the other girlfriends and wives. Unfortunately, it never worked that way for me. So it’s hard for me to look at Ronan right now and just tell him that none of it matters. Because it does. It involves me. And I know there had to be a reason for him to tell Lachlan after all this time. A damn good reason because it was a very risky move.

  “Just tell me one thing,” I croak. “Tell me that you’re safe and they aren’t going to punish you for it.”

  “Ye’re safe, Sasha,” he replies. “I’ve made sure of that.”

  “I wasn’t asking about myself,” I answer. “And it’s funny how you can say that, because I didn’t exactly feel so safe when Lachlan was questioning me about it. Testing me when he knew the answer the whole time. What would have happened if I’d told him the truth?”

  Dark clouds roll through his eyes, and something shifts in his expression. It looks like betrayal. And I feel a little guilty for even mentioning it though I shouldn’t.

  “He did that?” Ronan asks.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I sigh. “I don’t want to cause problems between you two. That wasn’t my intention. I just needed to know that you were safe.”

  He’s quiet for a long pause, and it’s obvious he’s still thinking about it. But whatever’s actually going on in that head of his is still a complete mystery to me.

  “Ye’re done dancing,” he says finally, in a tone like I have no say in the matter.

  “I’m fully aware of that,” I snap. “Tonight was my last night.”

  He grips my hair into a makeshift pony tail and tugs on it. His mouth hovers over mine, the heat of his every exhale skating over my lips.

  “Nobody else gets to see you like that,” he declares. “Ye're claimed.”

  His words douse me in gasoline. His eyes light the match. And when he grinds himself against me, all that's left to do is burn for him.

  He crushes his lips against mine and kisses me so hard it borders on painful. His hands are tearing at the strings of my bikini, yanking them apart until I’m completely naked in his arms. His raging hard cock is still sandwiched between our bodies, at least until it isn’t. He picks me up and the next thing I know, I've got ten inches of Ronan shoved inside of me. I cry out against him, and he feeds off of it, sucking his own choice of poison from the hollow in my throat. The taste of my skin is what gets him off. Being inside of me. Owning me. He drinks from me and gives me another lethal injection of his brand of narcotic.

  “Why are you always doing this?” I pant against him. “Why do you always do this?”

  His only answer is to fuck me into the wall. Being the psychopath that I clearly am, I come so hard I nearly black out. I want him. But he’s so bad for me. The worst. And still, I clamp down around him, pulling him deeper inside.

  He’s putting me on display right now. Anyone could come down here and see us. I can only imagine what we look like. Him fully dressed, me naked and presse
d against the wall. Lipstick smeared, mascara running down my face. Good and thoroughly used by him.

  I wonder if Ronan’s thinking about that too, when he groans and finishes inside of me.

  Without a condom. Again.

  Jesus. This fucking man.

  His forehead falls against mine, and we both just hold on to each other until our breathing calms. And then he releases me and I slide down his body until my toes touch the floor.

  His come is still leaking out of me when I bend over to pick up the scraps of my clothing. I attempt in vain to make myself decent while Ronan watches. He’s already zipped and apart from his bloody lip, there’s not a bit of evidence he just fucked me into next week.

  “I hope you enjoyed that,” I tell him. “Being that it was the last time.”

  He looks at me. And we both know it’s a lie. This thing between us isn’t over. I'll always be enslaved to this man. I'd serve him any day of the week and twice on Sundays. Because, fuck me, that’s why.

  He could just come out and say it if he really wanted to. Rub it in my face and tell me the ugly truth. Instead, he simply says, “Come on. I’m taking ye home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Sasha

  When Ronan said he was taking me home, the most logical conclusion would be that he meant to my place. So when we pull up to an unfamiliar house in Beacon Hill I stare over at his shadowed profile and wait for an explanation.

  But Ronan being Ronan, he doesn’t bother giving me one. Instead, he steps out of the car and comes around to open my side and then escorts me up the stairs. He’s looking around the street, his eyes darting at every shadowed car and bush in the vicinity. And I’m used to him being uptight, but not like this. He’s on high alert, and it’s making me nervous.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask him.

  He glares at me. “Aye, something’s wrong. You were flashing your tits and ass for all the lads tonight. After I’d taken you. Made you my woman.”