REAPER (Boston Underworld Book 2)

by A. Zavarelli

  “Tell me which way you like,” I urge.

  He hesitates. So I keep talking.

  “Do you like me on my knees for you?”

  “Aye,” he answers in a husky voice. “Very much.”

  “Show me what else you like, Ronan.”

  He grabs the back of my head and surprises me when he thrusts up into my mouth roughly, the same way he did last night. Not only do I let him, but I get off on it. I reach down and cup his balls, and he makes another sound in his throat. God, I love the sound of Ronan coming undone for me.

  He face fucks me with erratic thrusts, the head of his cock gnashing against my teeth and the back of my throat. This brand of roughness suits his personality. The way he dominates me. He takes me when he wants, without asking. Because Ronan can’t help himself. He’s starving for this. Has been starving for it for years. I see that now.

  He pushes me all the way down on his cock and then explodes into my mouth. He isn’t polite and doesn’t ask if I want to swallow. He’s an animal. So unpolished and not at all suave. But he’s mine. My caveman.

  When he pulls away though, uncertainty creeps across his face. The wheels are turning in his head again. Wondering. Thinking. Worrying. I won’t let him get locked inside those thoughts. Those thoughts keep him away from me.

  So I smile up at him and tuck him into his pants before zipping him back up. And then I move up and sit beside him on the bed, brushing my leg against his.

  “So,” I say lightly. “What are we going to do today, kidnapper?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Ronan

  When I spot the church on the hillside in the distance, a weak sound tears from my chest. It must be a sign. A sign that I am to stop running and bear punishment for what I have done. Alex spoke of this place. He told me how much he liked coming to the church. How they would help people. He told me it didn’t matter what you had done, they would help you.

  I hope they will help me too.

  I’ve been running for days around this countryside. Weak with hunger and sick from drinking out of dirty puddles. I thought I could find someone to help me. That there was a life that still existed beyond the compound, like Alex talked about.

  But the only thing I’ve managed to find is this church.

  I stare up at the brick building and compare it to the church that Alex described. It does not look the same, but I can read the words and they clearly say it’s a church. Something inside of me tells me to keep going.

  But I’ve no choice.

  My body is too weak to fight anymore. I’m filled with feelings I don’t understand. I crawl up the steps and collapse near the door. I try to raise my fist to knock, or call out, but I cannot even manage that.

  My head lolls back against the cold stone beneath me, and blackness takes over.

  ***

  The priest is quiet as he sits across from me, examining me. He does not dress like the men at the compound. He does not look like a soldier. I’ve been here for weeks now. He’s given me a bed, and warm meals, and has not pushed me to talk. He’s been kind to me.

  When he first asked me questions, I couldn’t bring myself to answer him. My shame was too great. But I feel like I’m ready to speak now. And I think that maybe he can help me after all. I scratch at a worn line in the wooden table and open my lips for the first time since I left the compound. My voice sounds strange to my own ears when it leaves my throat.

  “I’ve done something bad,” I tell the priest. “And I know I must pay for it.”

  He is quiet for a long pause, and when I look up at him, he does not seem surprised by my confession. He’s watching me closely, the same way Farrell used to do sometimes. It makes me uncomfortable again, but I don’t let onto it.

  “Tell me what you have done,” he says.

  I tell him. I tell him everything. Every awful thought I’ve ever had. I speak of the compound and the soldiers and my training. How I’ve come to enjoy the pain that was meant to provide punishment. How I don’t understand my own thoughts at times, and my mind so often betrays me.

  I admit that I took Farrell’s life, even though he was my superior. We aren’t supposed to kill our superiors. But I enjoyed it. I liked the way his blood painted the floor when I was finished. I speak of my confusion. Because I am a killer, and that was all I was ever meant to be. So maybe I’m not wrong. But I feel I should be punished for what I did to Farrell, and the priest agrees.

  “Aye, lad. There is punishment for sins such as these. Severe punishment. There is only one way that you can save your soul now.”

  I blink up at him and listen carefully. I don’t know what a soul is, but it sounds serious. I want him to help me, and I believe he can. That’s what Alex told me. These places help people.

  “Anything,” I tell him. “Tell me what I must do. I am ready.”

  “It will be uncomfortable,” he says. “You will not like it. I will not enjoy doing it either. But I must. In order to save your soul.”

  “I am ready,” I tell him again. “I am ready for you to show me.”

  The priest has a grim expression on his face when he leads me to the back. It reminds me of the compound. Of Farrell. He was always looking at me. Watching me. It made me uneasy, the same way the priest is looking at me now.

  “Pull down your trousers, lad,” he says.

  I recall my punishments at the compound. How Coyne and Farrell would take my clothes and use the cattle prod before they sprayed me with cold water. I didn’t like being naked, but I got used to it. I think that maybe the priest is going to do the same.

  I remove my trousers and cup my groin.

  The priest frowns and then points at the bed. I sit down and look around the room. I don’t see what he’s going to hurt me with, and when he sits down beside me too, I’m even more confused. He pulls up his robes and then undoes his trousers too.

  I swallow and try to look away.

  “I told ye you might not enjoy it,” he says. “But that is how punishment works, aye?”

  That is how punishment works, but when he reaches for my arm, my stomach churns. He grabs my hand and pulls it away from my groin. And then he’s touching me. I curl into myself and scramble back against the wall.

  “I don’t like that.”

  He grabs my leg and tries to pull me back, and when he stands up he has an erection. Vomit rises up my throat and then rage. His hand rubs between my legs, and I can’t control the rage. I buck against him and throw my head into his.

  He cries out in pain, but I do not care. I reach for the lamp from the bedside and crash it over his head. He backs away from me, his head bleeding and his eyes wide. He sees now. He sees the monster I am.

  He flees towards the front of the church, but my training won’t let him go. Neither will my rage. Alex said this place would help me. I don’t understand. He was supposed to help me.

  I chase after him, down the aisles while I shout out the same words.

  “You were supposed to help me!”

  He tries to leave. But I cannot let him. We are never to let an enemy escape with his life. I throw the lamp at the back of his head. He falls to the ground, and the rage finally consumes me. I cannot control myself any longer. I grasp the lamp in my hands and bring it down over his head.

  And I hit him again. And again. And again. Until there is nothing but red.

  It feels good.

  “You were supposed to help me.”

  I repeat those words, until there is nothing left of his face, and my voice is nothing more than a whisper. And then I curl into myself and wish more than anything that I knew what to do.

  I don’t know how long I sit there for.

  I only know that when I look up again, there is a woman standing over me with a trembling hand clutched over her mouth. Beside her, a boy my age is looking down at the blood around me. His eyes are wide, and his cheeks heated with embarrassment when they land on me.

  I glance down at myself and work out that I�
�m still half naked, covered in blood. I have no explanation to give them. So I say the only thing I can.

  “He was supposed to help me.”

  ***

  Sasha is in the kitchen and I’m at the table.

  I have a newspaper in my hands, but my eyes are on her. Watching her move around as she cooks. I don’t know what it is, but it smells good. And she keeps feeding the dog -Daisy- little scraps.

  I haven’t worked out what to do with her. I can’t stay at the house all the time. But I can’t let her leave. She believed me. She believed my lie so easily that it feels wrong. But when I watch her moving around my home, and smell her scent around me, I cannot be sorry.

  She is so beautiful.

  She looks over her shoulder and catches me staring. I look away, but before I do, she smiles.

  “It’s ready,” she says.

  A moment later, she’s pushing a plate in front of me. I stare at it too long, and Sasha looks worried.

  “It’s an omelet,” she says. “You like eggs, don’t you?”

  “I’ve never had them this way,” I admit.

  “Really?” she smiles again. “Well then you won’t be disappointed that it’s only cheese and veggies. You don’t have much in your fridge.”

  She sits down and starts to eat, and I bring the plate to my nose and sniff. Her fork clatters onto her plate, and when I glance up, she’s watching me with a strange expression. I tear my eyes away and take a tentative bite.

  “I haven’t poisoned you, Ronan,” she laughs. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”

  I frown, and her face grows serious. “Did you really think I might have poisoned you?”

  I don’t like seeing her upset. And I made her that way. So I take a bite. And it’s good. I tell her so, and she relaxes again. I make a note to tell her the food is grand any time she cooks for me.

  “I’ll have Conor do some food shopping today,” I tell her. “You can make a list if you’d like.”

  “Okay,” she agrees.

  We eat in silence, and I finish before her. When I look up at her she seems happy. And I think maybe having her here with me will be okay. But that changes when she asks her next question and reminds me of the things I can never have.

  “Tell me about your childhood,” she says softly.

  “I lived with Crow,” I answer.

  She waits for more, but I don’t know what else to say.

  “No, before that.”

  I shift in my seat and focus my attention on Daisy, who’s sitting on my foot again. “Why?”

  “Because I want to know you, Ronan. Is that okay?”

  I don’t answer her. A flood of images come back to me, but I don’t know how to sort them into words. I don’t think I could even if I tried. I’ve tried with Crow. Sometimes I’ve been able to explain things. But even he doesn’t know everything.

  Sasha reaches across the table and grabs my hand. I stare at her fingers, observing how small they are against my own. How soft she is compared to my skin. Like silk.

  “It’s okay, Ronan,” she says. “You don’t need to tell me right now.”

  She takes our plates to the sink and then comes back a moment later.

  “Hey, you can get prescriptions, right?”

  “Aye,” I answer, relieved that I can actually do something she asks.

  She pulls out a piece of paper from her pocket and hands it to me. I don’t recognize the name of what she’s scribbled down, and I worry that something might be wrong with her.

  “Can you get me that?” she asks.

  I nod, but already I’m making other plans. I don’t want anything happening to Sasha. So I’ll get her a prescription, but I’ll bring her a doctor too.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Sasha

  When I finish with my shower, Ronan shows me to the room where Conor stored all of my belongings. It’s strange, having them in his house. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to my apartment.

  It’s a silly thought, but that dingy little box was the place where I grew up. The place where I had some of my best memories. I wonder if Ronan would take me back there one last time. Probably not. He says it isn’t safe, and I doubt he would understand the emotional connection I had to it.

  As I knot my towel around my chest, I bend over to take a peek in one of the boxes that holds my clothes. But when I do, I notice Ronan’s dress shoes behind me in the doorway. I crane my neck to look at him and catch him staring at my ass.

  I smile.

  Sometimes he seems so unsure of himself, but right now he’s as close to a man as any other. He catches me staring and his eyes move to the blue thong dangling between my fingers.

  “You should wear the black ones,” he says. “With the red bows.”

  I’m pretty sure my mouth is open, but there’s nothing coming out of it. I don’t know whether to be flattered or think he’s totally nuts for knowing what all of my underthings look like.

  “I’ll do that,” is the only thing I can think to say.

  “The doctor will be here in ten minutes,” he adds.

  His voice is back to being formal, and it makes me want to ask if he will ever feel comfortable around me. But before I get a chance, he disappears down the hallway.

  I dress in a pair of yoga pants and an off the shoulder sweatshirt and braid my hair. It isn’t until I look in the mirror that I realize that though Ronan may not be comfortable with me, I am with him. He’s seen me in pretty sorry shape a few times now. I don’t feel the need to dress up to impress him. But a part of me does wonder how his hands would feel roaming over the tight material of my leggings and up beneath the loose material of the sweatshirt.

  When I hear the front door shut, I walk down the hall and wonder if the doctor can prescribe me something for my obvious insanity. Because I seem to be forgetting that this situation is only temporary, and I don’t have the luxury of fantasizing about Ronan like that.

  In the parlor, I stop and cover my mouth to stifle a laugh when I catch Ronan carting the Corgi up the stairs beneath his arm while she tries to lick at his face.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  He sets her down at the top landing and smooths out his suit.

  “Her legs are too wee for the stairs,” he explains as he points at the offending limbs. “She can’t get down them to go outside.”

  I laugh and he stares at me in confusion.

  “She’s got you wrapped around her little paws,” I tell him.

  A knock sounds at the door, and Ronan is grateful for the interruption. On the other side is a female doctor which surprises and relieves me. I half expected the same guy that tended to Ronan after the fights to show up here.

  “Sasha, I presume?” the doctor walks up the steps and holds out her hand.

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Is there somewhere we can speak in private?” she asks.

  I look at Ronan, and he’s already edging towards the door. “Conor’s just outside,” he says. “I’ll be back after.”

  After what, he doesn’t say, but I presume it’s probably mafia business.

  The doctor takes a seat on the sofa and pulls out a notepad with the name of birth control I requested scribbled on it. She goes through a whole host of routine questions about my health and dates of last exams and I’m suddenly grateful Ronan did leave. I don’t think he could have handled this part.

  “Have you taken this medication before?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I tell her.

  “Okay and did you have any issues with it?”

  “Not that I can remember.”

  “Great, well unless you have any other questions for me, I’d be happy to write you a prescription.”

  “Perfect.” I smile and wait for her to write the prescription. But instead, she reaches inside of her bag and pulls out a cup.

  “We just need to do a routine pregnancy test first,” she says.

  “Oh.” I swallow down my nerves and take the cup w
ith trembling fingers. “Right.”

  I’d forgotten about this part. The last time I was on birth control was when I was with Blaine. I don’t know how many times Ronan has finished inside of me now, completely unprotected. But I won’t soon forget the panic on his face when I mentioned the possibility of getting pregnant.

  As I walk down the hall to the bathroom and go through the process, I tell myself it’s not even possible. I mean, it was only a few times. And he did use a condom once. But then I try to count the dates in my head, and I start having a mini panic attack.

  I haven’t been eating properly, and I’ve been a jittery stress head. I think I did miss my period last month, but now I’m not really sure. By the time I get back to the doctor, I’m a nervous wreck and she reads it on my face.

  “I’ll do it right here,” she says, going about the process.

  I don’t watch. I sit down on the couch and stare up at the ceiling. I was supposed to be leaving. If things had gone to plan, I’d already have been gone. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Because I had a plan. A light at the end of the tunnel. But before the doctor even says the words, I know it’s coming. And then she confirms it with her words, and everything swirls around me.

  I’m pregnant.

  With Ronan’s child. And if he finds out there’s a good chance he’ll either freak the fuck out or imprison me in this life forever. I don’t like either side of that coin toss.

  The doctor reaches out and gently squeezes my shoulder.

  “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine,” I reply with a jerky nod. “But this stays between us, right?”

  “Of course,” she says. “I’d be happy to schedule you an appointment in my office if…”

  “That’s okay.” I rush to stand up and almost fall over in the process. “I’ll make one later. I can do that, right?”

  “Of course,” she says. “But I wouldn’t put it off too long. You’ll need a blood test and…”

  “Okay,” I cut her off.