REAPER (Boston Underworld Book 2)

by A. Zavarelli

  My fingers burn with the need to have those things.

  I crawl onto the bed and move around behind him. His back is rigid, and I have to withhold the sharp intake of breath when I understand why. Upon seeing the large tattoo carved into his flesh, my stomach churns with dread. For Ronan.

  The words are distorted, but I can still make them out. The codes of his militant cult. They are engraved onto his skin as a permanent reminder of the horrors they never want him to forget. The stretched lines make it apparent they were done many, many years ago. When he was only a child, and not even close to done growing yet.

  My eyes sting from unshed tears, but I don’t let them fall, and I don’t make a sound. I told Ronan he could trust me, and now I understand his fear. His fear that I couldn’t handle seeing these things without losing my shit.

  That thought alone propels me to touch his shoulders. They are warm and muscular beneath my palms, a testament to the many hours he spends boxing with Lachlan.

  This man is a fortress in his own right.

  Immovable. Unstoppable. Formidable.

  He is the very thing they created him to be. A killer. A machine. But he’s also a protector. A man who can be as human as any other. I’ve seen his true nature. And I’ve never felt safer than when I was in his arms. So these people- the ones who hurt him- they didn’t win. Ronan might not know it, but I do.

  “Is this okay?” My fingertips move over him in a gentle cadence, massaging him lightly. A full body shudder moves through him, and his voice is a rough whisper when he replies.

  “Aye.”

  “Have you ever had a massage before?” I ask.

  “No.”

  My eyes rove over the skin on his back, riddled with scars and a lifetime of more pain than any one person should ever have to bear. It looks like he was whipped, stabbed, burned, and shot at… among other terrors my mind probably couldn’t even conjure. These wounds tell the story his lips can’t. And even if I don’t know all of the details, I’m glimpsing a piece of Ronan that I doubt very many ever have. It isn’t something I take lightly.

  My fingers crawl up the nape of his neck and dissolve the tension from his muscles there and into his hairline. Ronan’s only response is a small grunt of approval, but it plays like the sweetest melody I’ve ever heard. I massage his scalp and press a gentle kiss to his shoulder.

  “I’m messing up your perfect hair,” I say.

  “I don’t care,” is his reply.

  When I move lower, I notice a deep scar on the side of his head. My stomach flips when I trace over the raised flesh behind his ear.

  “What’s this one from?” I whisper.

  “Another lad tried to cut it off,” he answers. “And then I killed him.”

  I nod even though he can’t see me, because I’m afraid if I speak my voice will betray me.

  So for a while, I just touch him. Coaxing the stress from his body and watching the magic of Ronan melting into me. He’s enjoying this. He trusts me. And I know without a shadow of a doubt now that I’ll never be able to let him go.

  I direct him to lay down on the bed. He does, and this time, I kneel beside him and work on his feet. Like every other part of him, they are well cared for and clean. But on the bottom of his soles, I uncover another score of long healed scars. More burns and slices. Deep and unforgiving. The amount of pain he must have endured to conceive such mutilations is unfathomable.

  “Do they still hurt?” I croak.

  “Sometimes,” is his murmured reply.

  His voice is sleepy. Content. The shock of what I’m witnessing no longer fazes him. He’s under the spell of my fingers, completely oblivious to anything else. I forge on, choking my emotion down as the horrors of Ronan’s childhood are laid bare. Scars on his knees. His thighs. His stomach, chest and shoulders. There isn’t a single part of him that’s been untouched by the violence he has known.

  I’m trying to hold it in. Tamp it down. Keep control of myself. But the more I see, the harder it becomes. So many times, I’ve questioned this man. Who he is and what reasons he had for his behavior. I couldn’t have known. My mind would never have taken me to such a dark place. But I get it now.

  I get it so much that silent tears of shame and anger bleed from my eyes, burning me like acid. A sob drags from my lungs before I can stop it, and Ronan blinks up at me in confusion. I swipe at the mess that is my face and shake my head.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to cry. It’s just, I hate them. I hate them for what they did to you. And I slapped you. I should never have slapped you…”

  Ronan reaches for my hand and tangles our fingers together. He stares at that connection, and he likes it. Things that I’ve always taken for granted, the small kindness of a human touch, must be so foreign to him.

  He’s never had them. Any of them.

  I’m going to make it up to him. I’m going to rock his world and make him feel everything. Everything good.

  I straddle his hips and lay my body down across his much larger one, gazing up at him.

  “Will you take off your glasses?”

  He does. His eyes are soft and intense, soaking up every detail that comprises the woman on top of him. He knows me already, but it’s time for me to learn him. So I touch his face, mapping out every arc and bow. The fire that forged him was monstrous and cruel, but I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life. When I tell him so, he frowns.

  “I’m a man,” is his reply.

  I slide my hand down between us and grip his cock.

  “I know.”

  I tug on his shaft twice to provoke him. My exploration is over, and the time for talking is done. Ronan is already a step ahead of me when he grabs me by the hips and flips me over. He settles between my legs so that he’s in the dominant position, exactly where he belongs. He presses my stomach into the bed and arches my hips as he slides up into me.

  I’m full, content, and greedy at the same time. Clinging to his arms and breathing him in. He connects with me in a way that nobody else ever has. My body was dormant, and he brought me to life again. We’re a symphony of madness. Dark thirsts and wild obsession. My love for him burns hotter than the sun. It’s sappy. It’s fucked up. And more than anything, it’s real.

  I wrap my legs around him and tug his face down to mine. Ronan wrecks me with a kiss. And then his lips are on my throat, indulging in the taste of my skin. He couldn’t know how close I am already when he reaches down between us and touches my clit.

  It sets me off like a bottle rocket, and he’s right behind me. He comes inside of me again. And in one aspect it’s a relief that I don’t have to worry about it anymore. Instead, I’m wondering what he’s going to do when he collapses beside me. Because this is usually the scene where he bolts. Only now, I’m in his house. His bed.

  He looks over at me with lazy eyes and pulls me against him, kissing me on the forehead. I relax into him and draw circles on his chest and my own eyes grow heavy too.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” I murmur against him as I fall to sleep. “Just stay with me.”

  And he does.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Sasha

  When I wake up again, at first I think that Ronan is gone. But then I look up to find him propped against the headboard, reading.

  At some point he must have gotten dressed, only he’s wearing a tee shirt and a pair of sweat pants. His hair is still mussed from where I massaged him, and he’s never looked sexier.

  He feels me watching him, and his eyes move to mine. They are unguarded and at peace, and it makes me relax too. I worried that after what we shared tonight, he might try to shut me out again. But so far, he seems perfectly content to have me here with him.

  Then he gives me one of those small smiles of his. And everything inside of me just melts. Ignoring the book in his hand, I crawl into his lap and kiss him like crazy.

  But before we can get too carried away, I pull away and grin back at h
im like an idiot.

  “I’ll be right back,” I tell him.

  He watches me as I walk over to his dresser and raid his drawers for a tee shirt before trotting out the bedroom door. I go to the kitchen and grab the pint of Ben and Jerry’s I made Conor buy along with two spoons and head back to the bedroom.

  When I sit down on the bed next to Ronan again and he’s looking at me like I’m crazy, so I feel the need to explain.

  “I didn’t get to finish my dinner.” I wiggle the container in his direction. “Ever had it?”

  He checks the label and shakes his head.

  “Oh God, you’ve got to try it,” I insist.

  I grab a heaping spoonful for him and try to hand it to him, but he hesitates.

  “Do you want to smell it first?” I ask. “I think you’ll like it. Brownies and cookie dough. The best of both worlds.”

  “But there’s sugar in it,” he says.

  “So?”

  “So, sugar is…” his words drift off, and he frowns again.

  I’m sensing another hang-up here that has something to do with his childhood.

  “Will you try it for me?” I ask.

  His eyes move from the ice cream to me, and then he nods. And I learn something new about Ronan. I think that if I phrase just about anything that way, he will probably say yes.

  I move the spoon to his mouth and he takes a bite. After a moment, his features morph from curious to something else.

  “Good?”

  “Aye.” He nods. “Very good.”

  He takes the spoon and dips it back into the container, gathering some more. And he looks very much like a child who’s just had their first taste of ice cream.

  I feel protective of him, in this moment. And I never want to let anything hurt him again. I know Ronan can handle himself. He can handle anything this life would ever throw at him because he’s already been through hell and back. But watching him experience things for the first time, such simple things, at his age… makes me realize he also needs someone to experience them with.

  And it occurs to me that I want that someone to be me. For now and for always.

  When he looks up at me with chocolate on his lips, I smile at him. He offers me a smile back. And goddamn, it's a beautiful thing.

  I am so incredibly fucked.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Sasha

  Over the course of the next week, Ronan and I fall into a sort of pattern. He gets up every morning and goes to work just like any other man with a normal job would.

  I don’t know exactly what else his job in the mafia entails, only that he does whatever Crow needs him to. Lately though he’s been taking on more responsibility. I’ve noticed a change in him, even just around Conor and Rory. He gives them instructions- mostly regarding watching over me- with an authority in his tone I’ve never heard before. Ronan’s always been the kind of guy that you didn’t fuck with, mostly because you could tell just by looking at him that you’d be wise not to. But now he’s carrying himself differently. Speaking more. And when he comes home at night, he’s exhausted.

  He hasn’t let me leave the house, and when I try to ask about Andrei he gets very tense. So I’ve let the subject stay dead for now. I’ve kept myself occupied by drawing and cooking a lot. Ronan seems to like what I make him, and he’s even stopped sniffing everything before he eats it.

  Those little signs of his trust in me mean so much more than he could ever know. It makes me think that maybe we could actually make this work between us. That he could be excited about this baby when I tell him.

  But he’s also still holding back a part of himself. I’ve noticed every night after I fall asleep he disappears, and when I wake in the morning, he’s already dressed. It’s happened every night this week, and I’m not really sure what he’s doing.

  So when we crawl into bed this evening, I have a plan. Ronan’s handsome face is marred by the dark circles under his eyes, but it still doesn’t stop him from mauling me. He’s getting more comfortable with that too.

  When we finish and he collapses on the bed beside me, I curl up in his arms and close my eyes. And then I wait. And wait some more. My breathing is steady and even when he finally slips out from beneath me and covers me over with the blankets.

  He grabs some clothes from the dresser before his footsteps move down the hall. I give it a couple of minutes before I go to investigate. And when I find him lying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, I frown.

  “Do you not want me in your bed?” I ask.

  My voice startles him, and he glances up at me in confusion. “I do,” he answers. “I want ye in my bed, always.”

  “Why are you out here? Is this where you’ve been all week?”

  He glances down and blows out a breath. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I thought it was better this way.”

  My hands tremble as I wrap them around myself. I don’t expect Ronan to know I’m upset, since he’s not very good at understanding emotions. But he gets up and walks to me, pulling me into his arms and kissing me on the forehead. It’s a gesture so sweet and unexpected, it dissolves the fear right out of my mind.

  “I don’t mean to upset you,” he says. “I worry that I might hurt ye. Like last time. I could not live with myself if I did that to you again, Sasha.”

  I reach up and stroke the dark circles beneath his eyes with my fingers. “You should have told me, Ronan. You’ve been losing sleep. We could have talked about it.”

  “Why?” he asks.

  “Because I know that you aren’t going to hurt me. That night, you were on medication. And I shouldn’t have been touching you when you were so out of it. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I hurt you,” he repeats.

  “It won’t happen again,” I assure him.

  He shakes his head, and I can see this is going to be another battle with him. But it’s one I’m willing to fight. I grab his hand and thread my fingers through his, leading him back down the hall to his bedroom.

  “Lay down, please.”

  He hesitates, so I climb onto the inside of the bed and pat the space across from me. Eventually he gives in, but it’s only to appease me. He plans to leave again once I fall asleep. Too bad for him, I’ve got plans of my own.

  I reach out and run my fingers through his hair, and he closes his eyes. I gently massage his scalp and then work my way to his neck and shoulders. The tension drains from his muscles, and within minutes, he is asleep.

  I nestle close enough to feel his warmth but am careful not to touch him anywhere else. And when I close my eyes, I feel safer just knowing he’s there.

  ***

  I wake up to the sound of heavy breathing.

  Ronan’s body is rigid against mine, a sure sign he’s in the throes of another night terror. He’s not making a sound, but by the way he’s jerking against me, it’s obvious he’s reliving one of his horrors.

  It’s nearly dawn, so I can just make out his features in the early morning light. His face is contorted in pain. And I want it to stop. I don’t want him to live through this agony anymore.

  My mistake from last time is still fresh in my mind and makes me consider my next move carefully. I crawl from the bed and stand at the end of it, so there’s enough distance between us if my waking him does trigger a reaction.

  “Ronan,” I call out.

  He doesn’t stir from his nightmare, so I call out to him again. And on the third time, his eyes snap open and he sits up in bed, drenched in sweat while his eyes dart around the room looking for threats. When they land on me, they fill with confusion and then disappointment.

  “Hey.” I walk over to his side and crawl onto his lap. “It’s okay.”

  He won’t look at me. His eyes are dark and closed off and far away. He’s angry with himself. I place my palms on his jaw and tilt his face up so he has to meet my gaze.

  “Come back to me,” I tell him as I smooth my fingers over his skin in a soothing gesture. “Always come back to
me. We can slay those demons together.”

  His arms wrap around my waist and he buries his face in my neck, breathing me in. When he speaks, his voice is filled with a conviction that doesn’t leave any room to wonder.

  “I’ll always look after ye, Sasha,” he says. “Protect you. You never have to worry about that. Nobody will ever hurt ye again.”

  “I know,” I whisper.

  And then I kiss him. Because I know he means it.

  There isn’t a thing on God’s green earth that Ronan Fitzpatrick wouldn’t do to protect me.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Ronan

  I’ve just turned on the shower when there’s a knock at the front door.

  Before I can even get my briefs back on, Sasha calls out as she walks down the hallway.

  “I’ve got it.”

  I call out to her and tell her not to answer, but I know it goes unheard through the wooden door. I’m right behind her and only half dressed when she opens the door to Crow. He blinks at her for a second, and relief washes over his face when he sees her standing there. Then his gaze moves to me, and immediately, I know this visit isn’t bearing good news of any sort.

  “Sasha.” Crow dips his head at her. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

  She doesn’t catch the strain in his eyes or shoulders, and I’m glad for it. But there’s still the potential for my lie coming unraveled, and I haven’t any idea what I’m supposed to do.

  “What do ye need?” I bark at Crow.

  Both him and Sasha look at me in surprise.

  “I need a word with ye in private,” Crow answers, his gaze roving over my unkempt state.

  He’s smirking now.

  “Looks like I caught you two playing house,” he adds.

  Sasha gives him a funny look and then glances in my direction.