CROW (Boston Underworld Book 1)

by A. Zavarelli

  I close my eyes and think of Lachlan. Of the last few months I’ve spent with him. My heart feels like it’s breaking in two. I wonder if he’ll ever think of me when he’s married. If he’ll ever remember the way it felt between us. Even after everything, after all of the hurt and the betrayal I feel, I still want him. I wish I could have known if even a small part of him still wanted me.

  Everything is so loud. All three men are screaming. And then the gunfire erupts. I wait for the pain. For the crumpling to the floor and bleeding out. It’s taking longer than I expect. Everything is so much louder inside this container. It sounds like there are bombs going off. Like a ten car pileup on the freeway. Something slices through my arm, and I hiss in pain. But it doesn’t drop me.

  I’m bleeding, I can feel that much. But they’re either a very lousy shot, or something else is happening. It isn’t until I hear his voice that I understand.

  “Mack!”

  I open my eyes, and that’s when I see him. My angel on the threshold with an assault rifle in his hands. At Lachlan’s flank are at least ten other men. One of the Armenian soldiers is already lying dead on the ground. The other one is bleeding badly, holding his arm across his guts, but he’s got one of the girls in front of him for cover.

  Lach is screaming at me, but everything is happening so slowly. It’s too fucking loud. My head is throbbing and my ears are ringing. There’s blood all around me, and I can’t even tell who it belongs to anymore.

  Lachlan moves towards me. His eyes are wide and he’s yelling something. I can’t hear him, but my body draws towards him like a magnet. My salvation. I’m so close. I just want to feel his arms around me, smell his body pressed against mine. I know I’ll be safe there.

  But I don’t make it.

  It isn’t until someone wraps an arm around me from behind and presses a gun to my skull that I understand. The man in the suit.

  “Put down your weapons or she dies,” he orders.

  Lachlan freezes. His eyes rove over me- a bloody mangled mess- and I briefly wonder if this is it. He was going to have to get rid of me eventually before he married. Maybe I am about to die after all.

  Those thoughts don’t last long. Because Lach can’t hide the murderous rage that takes over. It sends another shot of adrenaline coursing through me, seeing that fire in his eyes. I want to tell him to kill them all. But the man behind me has such a painful grip on my hair that I know I’m not going anywhere this time. Lachlan considers his next move carefully while his men remain behind him, guns aimed and at the ready.

  “Here’s how this is going to go,” the man behind me says. “I’m going to walk to the edge of the shipyard. I will release the girl when I get to my car, and we go our separate ways, for now.”

  Lach’s eyes make it clear he isn’t going to let that happen. We both know I’ll be dead the moment we reach the edge of the shipyard. Still, the man behind me lurches us forward, believing he has the upper hand.

  We take a few steps, and Lachlan’s finger twitches on his gun. The guy in the suit doesn’t miss a beat.

  “Put it down!” he bellows again, digging the gun into my temple.

  Lachlan moves to lower his gun, and panic wells in my chest. This sick fuck behind me will kill him. I know he’ll kill him. He tries to hoist me forward again, but I don’t move. Instead, I slam my foot up and back into his knee. He shrieks in pain, and I follow it up with a stomp to his other foot. His grip loosens and the moment of distraction is all I need to pull away from him.

  Before he can do anything else, Lachlan lifts his gun and fires off a shot into the guy’s hand. The man is screaming in pain, and now fully disarmed when Lachlan follows it up with two bullets to the knees. Once he’s on the ground, Lachlan flings himself on top of him and punches him repeatedly in a fit of mania.

  Everyone else scrambles into action, untying the girls and pulling them to safety. Nobody goes near Lachlan, and even I do nothing to intercede. There isn’t a single part of me that feels an ounce of remorse for this prick, even when his blood is so thick he chokes on it.

  When his head finally falls limp against the floor, Lachlan takes him by the scruff of his hair and retrieves a knife from his pocket. He pushes it against his throat, and I close my eyes. I want it to happen, and I’m not sorry for that. I refuse to be sorry for that. But I still don’t want to see it.

  The moment it’s all over, Lach is crushing me against his chest.

  “Mack,” he breathes.

  I whimper and cling to him with everything I’ve got, which isn’t much. I’m so tired of being strong. So tired of trying to do everything myself. Is it wrong to let him comfort me? To be relieved in the false sense of security I find here. These arms will shelter me and keep me safe. Something I thought I would never want now means the world to me. Even if it is all one giant lie.

  “Thank you for coming,” I tell him. “For Cara.”

  He pulls away from me like he’s been burned and stares at me in disbelief. “Is that what ye think?”

  I look at the ground. I can’t answer him without crying, and I won’t allow myself to cry.

  Silence falls around us, and I lean up against the side of the container for support. Lachlan isn’t touching me. He’s not speaking. But I can feel the anger rolling off of him.

  “Get the girls out of here,” he tells his men.

  There’s some shuffling, and after a few more minutes, all of the captives are led from the container. And then they are ushering in a bunch of Armenian soldiers.

  “Line them up against the wall,” Lach orders.

  His men do as he tells them, and I watch as they force the Armenians to kneel and face the wall.

  Lachlan pulls out his Glock and forces my chin up so I have to look at him. The fury on his face hasn’t lessened at all, but there’s something else there now. Determination.

  “I want ye to watch, Mack,” he says. “Can ye do that for me, sweetheart?”

  Even though I know the logical conclusion of what he’s asking, my brain hasn’t fully caught up to it. So I nod. Because let’s face it, I’d do anything this man asked me to.

  He walks over and presses the gun against the first man’s head, and then he looks at me.

  “Did this one touch ye?” he asks.

  I can’t get my lips to cooperate. This is the one who took me from the hotel. The one who smashed his gun into the back of my head and tried to violate me.

  Lachlan repeats the question, this time with a roar.

  “Did this fucking pig touch ye, Mack? Did he touch what’s mine?”

  I barely nod, and Lachlan pulls the trigger. Maybe I should be screaming, or something. I don’t know. But I’m too numb. And all I can do is watch as Lach moves onto the next one, his chest heaving and his eyes filled with a rage like I’ve never seen before.

  “How about this one?” he asks. “Did this bloke think he could touch Lachlan Crow’s woman?”

  Again, I can’t answer. This is the other guy from the hotel. The one who slapped Cara. When my silence remains, Lach jams the gun against the guy’s temple and grabs him by the scruff of his hair.

  “Did ye touch my woman?” he asks.

  “Yes,” Cara answers from across the container.

  There are tears in her eyes as she looks at me. A silent nod to tell me it’s okay to want them dead. “They took us from the hotel,” she explains.

  Another gunshot, and his body falls to the floor. Lach moves to the next one.

  “Mack?” he asks. “Care to fill me in on this one?”

  “I don’t know,” I croak. “I don’t remember seeing him.”

  It’s the truth, but I know he must have been guarding the shipping container if he’s here. Lachlan just shrugs.

  “He participated.”

  And with that, he pulls the trigger. Two more bullets, and two more men are disposed of before he finds his way back to me. He pulls me back into his arms and stro
kes my cheek with the gentlest of touches.

  “You belong to me,” he tells me. “And if ye had some doubts about that, there should be none now. Anyone who tries to touch ye will die.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Mackenzie

  After untying my arms and giving me a quick check over, Lachlan drags me out of the shipping container.

  “What about the other girls?” I ask.

  “Ye needn’t worry about them, sweetheart,” Lachlan says. “Ronan and the lads will sort it out.”

  I stop and dig my heels into the concrete. “What do you mean?”

  “Jaysus Christ,” he says. “I’m not that big of a prick. They’re off to drop them at the hospital, alright? Ye have my word they’ll be safe.”

  I glance back and watch Ronan helping the girls into a van. I know Lachlan’s telling me the truth, but it still feels like I should be there with them. Like I should be helping them somehow. And that girl they killed. I can’t just leave her here…

  “Mack.” Lach grabs me by the arms and pins me with his gaze. “Do ye remember what I told ye about the cops?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “If they find out you were here, they’ll want to talk to ye. They’ll connect the dots back to Slainte, and…”

  “Okay,” I say meekly. He doesn’t need to tell me the rest. This is the last thing he needs right now- the cops breathing down his throat when there’s already suspicion on him.

  He takes my hand in his and pulls me along beside him without resistance this time. Cara and Dom are right behind us, but we don’t say a word as we walk to the cars. She gives me a weak smile before Dom tucks her safely inside a black beamer and then Lachlan does the same to me.

  The drive is quiet. I’m too exhausted. There are too many emotions to process right now, so I don’t process any of them. I just let myself stay numb and embrace the silence. Lachlan seems to understand this is what I need right now, so he holds my hand instead.

  But when we park in front of his house, he pulls the keys out of the ignition and turns to me.

  “I’m sorry,” he rasps.

  When I meet his gaze, I’m overwhelmed by the haunted sadness in those gray eyes. The fear and the concern… because of me.

  “I should’ve kept closer watch on ye,” he says. “I knew things were tense, but I just never thought… Christ, I’m sorry, Mack.”

  I don’t reply. There are tears burning the back of my eyes. The question I really want to ask is how long it took him to notice I was gone. It’s crazy, and stupid, but it’s there. Lachlan unbuckles me and pulls me across the seat so I’m sitting in his lap. He presses my head against his chest and kisses my hair over and over.

  “I thought you were gone,” he says. “I thought they took you, and the last thing ye’d think of me…”

  He becomes too choked up to speak, and despite my best efforts, the tears start to spill over. Him being emotional makes me emotional. I can’t help it. I know what he thought. That I’d just learned he was due to marry someone else, and it was the last thing I would remember before I was taken. I can’t discuss that with him now. I’m not in the right frame of mind to think clearly. So I tell him what he needs to hear instead.

  “It’s not your fault. They were waiting for us. Someone must have told them about Niall’s party.”

  He nods and runs a shaky hand through his hair. I’ve never seen him so worked up. So off balance. If I had any doubts about what he may have felt for me, or the lengths he was willing to go, it’s all over his face now. It only manages to crush me that much more.

  “I should’ve considered the possibility,” he says. “I should’ve…”

  “Lach.”

  He returns my gaze with pleading eyes and I give his hand a little squeeze. “That doesn’t matter now,” I tell him. “What matters is that you shut down their operation. Promise me. I need your word that you will.”

  His hands move up to cup my face as he leans closer so there isn’t a doubt about what he has to say next. “Ye have my word, butterfly. I will burn them to the ground.”

  I nod and reach up to touch his face. I believe him. He will do this for me.

  “Take me inside,” I plead. “I need to get cleaned up.”

  Two minutes later, he’s got me inside the house, carrying me down the hallway in his arms. Lach pushes open the bathroom door with his shoulder and sets me on the counter. He kneels down to take off my heels, and then slowly works his hands up my body, checking over my wounds.

  I don’t miss the fact that he hesitates around my thong, glad to find it intact, but the question still lingering in his eyes.

  “They didn’t,” I tell him. “I wouldn’t let them.”

  “Thank Christ for that, sweetheart.” He stands up and buries his face in my neck, inhaling me. His hands are rough on my body, possessive, and it hurts. But I don’t care. I need this right now. I need him. He kisses my face, gently, and everywhere but on the lips. Smoothing back my hair, he rubs his palms over my shoulders, warming me.

  “Where does it hurt?” he asks.

  “Everywhere,” I tell him.

  I already know what he’s thinking. His eyes are turbulent, filled with regret and a thousand other emotions. He needs to go deal with this nightmare, but I don’t want him to leave yet.

  “I want you to take it away.”

  He pauses and then nods, turning on the shower and helping me get the rest of the material off my body. He helps me inside the shower, and then makes quick work of his own clothing, stepping in behind me. For a long time, we just stand there under the hot spray, me leaning against his chest while he holds me in his arms. I’ve never felt this way before. Felt so emotional. So… helpless.

  “I’m sorry, Mack,” he says again.

  I turn in his arms and catch his face in my hands, pulling it down to mine. His eyes flare when our lips meet and I wrap my hands around his waist and tug him closer.

  “I need you.”

  My words ignite something inside of him. Something he must have been holding back. Because a moment later, he has me pressed up against the wall, my legs around his waist as he pushes inside of me.

  “They will never touch ye again,” he swears as he drives into me. “I’ll make certain of that.”

  It shouldn’t turn me on, but it does. His possessiveness, his need to protect and avenge me. Do I feel sorry for the scum that are trafficking women or the wrath that’s about to befall them? Hell fucking no I don’t. I know how the system works. There is no justice as swift and righteous as what Lachlan will dole out.

  I tangle my fingers in his hair and kiss him with the brutal need to express my gratitude. I knew he would come for me tonight. I knew it. I want to believe he would always come for me, but I know it isn’t true. It isn’t the time, but I can’t stop myself from asking anyway.

  “How long do I get to keep you for?”

  He stops thrusting and stares down at my face, my tears mixing with the water from the shower. His fingers brush over my cheek and down my throat, pausing over my heart.

  “Do ye think I’d ever let you go?” he asks.

  I look away. His eyes are lying to me. Telling me that what he says is true. But I know it isn’t. I won’t be his mistress. I won’t be his anything. This thing between us was doomed to fail from the start.

  “You’re going to marry one of them,” I choke out.

  “No,” he growls.

  But when I look up at his face, the indecision is there. The confusion. This is his duty to the syndicate, and I can’t change that. Even if I could, I’ve been lying to him all along too. I have to accept that I can’t keep him. The only thing I can do now is enjoy the time I do have with him.

  “Fuck me, Lach.”

  He does. He drives into me frantically, smashing my back against the wall with his need to claim me. I’m digging my nails into his shoulders, squeezing my legs around him as I try to hold on.


  “I’d do anything for you, Mack,” he grunts. “Fucking anything.”

  His words set off an explosion inside of me, and soon he’s growling out his release too. He stays inside of me for a long time, holding me and kissing my face.

  “Mine,” he says again.

  “Lach.” I reach up and stroke his face, marveling at how goddamn beautiful this crazy man is. “I’m yours.”

  My lip quavers because it’s true. And because I’m holding back the words that I really want to say. The words that will be the death of me.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Mackenzie

  When Ronan gets back to the house, he’s even more surly than usual. Conor is with him too, and he still has trouble looking at me since the little incident we had. Lachlan takes Ronan into the kitchen and they argue before he stalks over and throws himself into the chair.

  Lach and some of the other guys use his parlor as a makeshift armory. I watch them suit up in their gear, strapping on holsters of every kind and grabbing duffle bags of what I’m guessing is ammunition. When I turn to Rory and tell him to make sure Lach comes back to me in one piece, all of them stop to look between us.

  They all know I’m a fool. I don’t care.

  Lach pulls me closer and presses my head against his chest so I can breathe him in one last time. A kiss on the forehead lets me- and everyone else in the room- know that I’m his. Rory gives me his assurances of protection, and then they are out the door.

  I’m exhausted and emotional, so I grab a bottle of bourbon from Lach’s cupboard and curl up on the sofa. I take a swig straight from the bottle and Ronan glares at me.

  “Sorry.” I take another drink. “You’re missing out on all of the action, huh?”

  He grunts in response. Which only sets me to thinking, and that’s never a good thing.

  “How come you’re stuck doing these shitty jobs, anyhow? I’d think you’d be more than a babysitter by now.”

  A deadly coldness rolls through his eyes while Conor laughs his ass off at my observation. Seems I’ve hit a nerve.