SAINT (Boston Underworld Book 4)

by A. Zavarelli

  Or if I went to prison.

  Anything is better than this.

  Rory doesn’t deserve this.

  But Booker knows exactly what I’m thinking. He squeezes my hand in encouragement. A reminder that I’m doing this to protect Rory too.

  That’s the thing I focus on while I muster up the energy for one final performance. One so good that even Rory Brodrick won’t know I’m faking it.

  He will be safe.

  The FBI won’t touch him. Alexander won’t touch him. And the syndicate won’t think he betrayed them because of me.

  I swivel around on the stool and focus just above his eyes. I’ve locked myself down. I’ve thrown away the key.

  I can do this.

  “What are you doing here?” I bite.

  “A word?”

  It sounds like a question, but it isn’t, because he’s dragging me from the stool by my arm. And Booker’s following, like we planned.

  “Get your hands off her,” Booker tells him.

  And I’ve got to give him credit, he’s a pretty good actor too.

  Still, Rory’s Rory… so he just glowers at him and tells him to piss off.

  “It’s okay,” I tell Booker, just like we planned. “I only need a minute. Get me another drink, will you?”

  He hesitates, then nods, and walks back to the bar. Leaving me alone with Rory, which is a dangerous place to be.

  One wrong glance, one little tremor, and he’ll know.

  I can’t let myself feel. I can’t let myself fail.

  I have to protect him.

  I have to do the thing that hurts the most, so he doesn’t pay the consequences of my sins.

  “What the fuck are ye doing?” he demands. “You were in my bloody bed an hour ago, Scarlett. My dick is still covered in your come. Or have you forgotten so quickly?”

  “I’m done,” I tell him.

  There’s a long pause of silence, and he grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. Really look at him.

  “This isn’t a goddamn joke,” he says. “Or a game. I meant what I said about fighting for you. But this is crossing the line. Do ye want me to murder the poor bloke? Because that’s what’ll happen here.”

  “That poor bloke is my new plaything,” I say. “And you and I are over.”

  His nostrils flare and the pulse in his throat is beating a dangerous staccato. He closes his eyes and paces before me, biceps tensing at his sides.

  And then he turns and slams his fist into the wall.

  “Fuuuuuuck,” he roars.

  It isn’t helping.

  He told me once, how he used to struggle with his rage.

  It’s back now.

  I did that.

  I’ve brought out his demons.

  And if it were possible to hate myself any more than I already do, I would.

  I need to drive it home, and I need him to leave. To go home and forget he ever knew me. To find a nice girl who can give him the nice things he wants and needs.

  And I will wither and die, but that will be okay. Because he will be safe.

  “You were fun for a while,” I say. “But that’s all it was. It was a game to me, like you said. And you were just a toy. That’s it. I’m done playing with you now.”

  His hand falls limp at his side, and it really hurts when you care about other people.

  It hurts so goddamn much.

  The threat of tears is so real, but Rory can’t see them anymore because he isn’t looking at me.

  Because he believes me.

  He believes the lies that spill from my lips more than any truth I’ve ever told him. Because deep down, he always knew I was a monster.

  He wanted to save me, but he had to know he couldn’t.

  Goodbyes are supposed to have closure. Finality.

  But Rory doesn’t give me that.

  He walks out on me instead. Away from me and my bullshit.

  Without even looking back.

  I go after him. Because fuck him for believing me.

  He shouldn’t have believed me.

  I tell Booker as much when he stops me.

  “Scarlett, I’m so sorry,” Booker says. “But this is what you wanted. You didn’t want him involved.”

  “This is all your fault,” I scream. “You could have helped me. You could have found another way.”

  “I am trying to help you, Scarlett.”

  I don’t believe him.

  I don’t believe anything anymore.

  Except the one unfailing truth that I know.

  I’ve made this bed, and now I have to lie in it.

  Thirty-Three

  Scarlett

  I have to remind myself to breathe - remind my heart to beat - Emily Brontë

  “This wasn’t part of the deal.”

  I’m at Booker’s throat the minute he walks in the door. He tells the other agent- the one watching over me- to take a hike.

  “If I’d told you, you wouldn’t have agreed,” he replies. “We need to keep you safe, Scarlett. And this is the only way.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “I know you’d like to believe that. But do you honestly think there is anything Alexander wouldn’t do to get to you?” he asks. “Now that he knows.”

  “How can he know? There aren’t even any charges yet.”

  He drops a file onto the table in front of me. A thick file.

  When I open it up, I am confronted with the level of Alexander’s sick obsession with me. There are photos… so many photos. And notes. Handwritten notes detailing my routines, searching for potential patterns, names of the men that I trick rolled, and worst of all- his own observations. His thoughts on why I do what I do. Meandering sentences with question marks scribbled beside them.

  He doesn’t just want me.

  He wants into my psyche.

  “These are copies,” I say.

  “Yes, I have the originals,” Booker answers.

  “And how did you get them?”

  He arches a brow and doesn’t answer this time. Because he won’t incriminate himself. And because if the bureau knew that he had this sort of evidence in his possession and he didn’t come forward with it, they’d have his ass.

  “How can you be sure these were the only copies?” I ask.

  “They weren’t,” he says. “I have the others as well.”

  I forget that he’s been watching Alexander. That this is some sort of weird fucked up circle where Alex is stalking me and Booker is stalking him.

  “So now Alexander knows and I’m the one who has to be a prisoner.”

  “You have a roof over your head,” Booker says. “Food, clothes, everything you could possibly need. It’s only until the trial is over.”

  “So when does it even fucking begin?”

  Booker sighs, and I am not a pleasant bitch to be around right now. It’s been this way since Rory left, and I blame him, because it’s easy and he’s in front of me.

  “There are a lot of different factors involved,” he explains. “It can take anywhere from months… to sometimes… longer.”

  “Longer than months. So you mean years then?” I laugh and it’s bitter. “I’m just supposed to sit here and twiddle my goddamn thumbs for, oh I don’t know… potentially years… and you can’t even guarantee that we have a solid case. I’ll be in hiding while they are free on bail. So they win, again, either way. They always fucking win.”

  Booker is silent, and I hate me right now too, and he should probably just leave already.

  “Has my name been leaked to the media yet?”

  “Not yet,” he says. “And as long as you stay in hiding, we can keep it that way.”

  I should be relieved. But I’m thinking about Rory, seeing those articles and piecing it together in that stupidly beautiful head of his. He would know then, what I did. And it would still be too late, but at least he would know.

  That last image of him haunts me. His retreating form in the dim bar. Walking out of
my life. That shouldn’t be the last memory you have of someone.

  He’s probably replacing my memory with a pretty blonde right about now. Back to the same old routine of fucking and fighting. Crow probably sends him two girls now, at the end of his fights. And they shouldn’t get to have him.

  He was mine.

  He still is.

  I’m not ready to let him go yet. Not ever.

  “It isn’t fair.”

  Booker sits down beside me and tries to make me feel better, but it’s a waste of time.

  “I don’t blame you for hating me,” he says. “You should hate me.”

  “Everyone always has their own agenda,” I tell him. “Everyone always does what’s best for them. That’s the way life works.”

  He seems sad at my observation, but he doesn’t deny it either.

  “We’re going to meet with the prosecution later today,” he says. “To go over your statement.”

  “Can’t fucking wait.”

  The men are here.

  Men in suits. Attorneys and other people that need to be involved for whatever reason. I don’t care. I just want to get it over with.

  Booker is over there too.

  He’s arguing with them about something, and he doesn’t look happy.

  My gut twists when he looks at me. Something is wrong.

  “Tenly.”

  There is shuffling as the men move out the door, and this definitely isn’t right, because I was supposed to be making a statement.

  That’s what Booker said.

  And now he’s looking at me like he’s fucked, and I know I’m fucked too. Fucking fucker.

  He tries to get me to sit down, and I shake him off.

  “I’m a big girl,” I tell him. “I can handle it. Just tell me.”

  “The DA has decided not to move forward with the case.”

  It’s a bullet to the gut, but I never should have expected anything different. This is why I didn’t come forward in the first place.

  “You told me…”

  “I know what I told you,” Booker answers. “Fuck.”

  He leans back into his own chair and collapses his head against the cushion. I want to blame him, but I know it isn’t his fault.

  “It’s because they think I’m a prostitute,” I say. “Isn’t it?”

  “That’s part of it,” he admits. “He didn’t believe you’d make a reliable witness on the stand.”

  “Of course,” I reason. “Because cock makes you blind.”

  He sighs.

  “And what else?” I ask. “What about Katie? Or Kylie? Or Mrs. Rogers? I mean, I get that Katie and Kylie were prostitutes too, so who gives a fuck, right? But Mrs. Rogers sure as hell wasn’t.”

  “There isn’t enough evidence,” Booker says, but even he doesn’t believe that bullshit.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  I bolt up out of my chair and head for the door. I am so done with this, and it was nice knowing him.

  “You have to be patient,” he tells me. “We’ll get them on other charges.”

  “Patient?” I snap. “You want me to be fucking patient? You know what I did to come here. To do this. You gave me your word and…”

  “They’ve got hits out on you,” he says. “I can’t protect you if you walk out that door.”

  “Who cares anymore?” I yell. “Because I sure the hell don’t.”

  “Tenly.”

  His voice is a plea, but it isn’t because he needs me to stay. It’s because he wants information on Storm.

  I would hate him for it if he didn’t look so pathetically beat down right now.

  “We’re going to get them on other charges,” he says, and this time he’s almost convincing.

  “You’re a fucking asshole,” I say. “If you want her so bad, just go out and find her.”

  “This isn’t just about that,” he tells me. “I know you don’t believe me, but I really am trying to help you, Scarlett. Just give me a few more days. That’s all I ask. You know as well as I do that if you walk out that door you’re dead.”

  I sulk back across the room and collapse into a chair. It isn’t because I’m scared.

  It’s because I’m just so goddamn tired.

  “What else have I got to do?” I mutter.

  Thirty-Four

  Rory

  “Ye’re out tonight,” Crow tells me as I hammer the bag with my already bloody knuckles.

  I stop and turn to him, shaking my head.

  “Like fuck I am.”

  “Watch what ye say to me,” he growls. “You are a mate and a brother, but you’d do well to remember I’m also your boss.”

  “And ye have no good reason for keeping me out of the ring tonight. I’ve made you a boat load of cash over the last two weeks.”

  “Aye,” Crow agrees. “And you’ve also done your shoulder in and your leg is banjaxed as well. Have a look at yourself.”

  He gestures to the mirror, but I ignore it.

  “Just needs a bit of ice and I’ll be sorted.”

  “What ye need is some time off,” he says. “And that’s not a request, but an order.”

  I slam my fist into the bag, and Crow walks off.

  “Would you like to have a go at me instead?”

  I turn around and catch sight of what can only be considered the dumbest prick on the planet.

  “Do ye have a death wish?” I ask him. “Coming in here?”

  “No,” he answers. “But I do have another request. And it’s been a while since I’ve sparred with anyone.”

  “This isn’t an open gym,” I tell him. “Piss off.”

  “It’s about Scarlett.”

  I ignore him and go about fixing the wraps on my hands, even though all I really want to do is thrash his face until he stops talking altogether.

  The bloke takes his shirt off and makes himself at home, stepping up into the ring. My fucking ring in my fucking gym.

  “I’m only looking for a fair fight,” he says. “So full disclosure.”

  I glance up at him, and he rolls up his pant leg, revealing a prosthetic.

  Again, the bloke is obviously short of a few brain cells.

  “I know you’re a man of honor,” he tells me. “So how about it?”

  “You don’t know jack shit about me.”

  I’m in the ring with him now. I have no objections to loafing him in the head a few times before I send him on his way with his tail between his legs. He can run back to Scarlett and show her what a twat he is.

  “I’m Booker,” he tells me.

  “And I don’t give a fuck.”

  I head straight at him, throwing out a lead hook, which I expect to smash his head halfway around his shoulder.

  Instead, he dodges it, and socks me with an unexpected punch to the gut.

  And well what do ye know. The fucker knows how to fight.

  He shrugs, and then we go back to circling each other like sharks.

  I am a man of honor, and I don’t need shady tactics to win, so we keep it strictly to punches. After a few minutes, I have it sorted that he’s not so comfortable with the uppercuts.

  I smash him with a whole load of them from that point on.

  But he gives as good as he gets.

  Mostly with hooks, which has never been my weakness, but he’s fast. And well trained. He tells me that he was former military as if it wasn’t obvious already.

  Eventually, we call it a draw. And I still don’t like the fucker, but at least I can respect him now.

  He takes a seat on one of the benches and drinks the bottle of water I tossed him while I clean up with a towel.

  I know what comes next.

  He’s got something to say about Scarlett.

  But I don’t want to hear it.

  “You should go,” I tell him.

  He’s quiet for a while, and then, “I’m not her boyfriend.”

  I shovel all my gear into my bag.

  “I’m an FBI a
gent.”

  This time, he’s got my fucking attention, and he bloody knows it. Every muscle in my back has gone rigid, and betrayal slices through me all over again.

  “It isn’t what you think,” he says.

  “Then what the fuck is it?” I scowl. “Every bloody word out of her mouth is a lie.”

  “You know why,” he says. “She does it to protect herself.”

  “It’s not my concern anymore,” I tell him. “So get to whatever ye came here to say.”

  “I fucked up.”

  He’s staring at the floor now, and I don’t like the sound of that, even less than I liked him telling me he’s a bleeding fed.

  “I was trying to help her. I was trying to do the right thing. But I was also being selfish.”

  “Is she in trouble?” I ask, because it’s the only thing that matters at this point.

  “She was supposed to testify against Royce Carrington,” he says. “And the others too. But the case fell through.”

  “Who the fuck is Royce Carrington?”

  He shakes his head.

  “One of the five.”

  I pull up a chair and sit down across from him.

  “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  “Because she didn’t want to drag you into it. She knew she was going to be under scrutiny. I told her that if she cared about you, she would need to let you go.”

  I look up at him, and there are no secrets between us. He knows what I do. Who I am. And I have a hard time believing that a federal agent- who isn’t on our payroll- would do something like that.

  For most of these guys, it’s black and white. We’re the bad guys, and that’s it. For others, money talks. They know who the real criminals are, and often it’s their very own elected officials. Corruption is everywhere if you look close enough.

  But this bloke doesn’t fall into any of those categories. He’s obviously been to war, and I suppose maybe he knows that some things aren’t so straightforward.

  “There was never anything between us,” he admits. “It was all for show. She wanted you to believe.”

  “Well she fucking fooled me, alright.”

  Jesus Christ.

  My evil little hellraiser. I’m going to punish the ever-loving fuck out of her when I get my hands on her again.