Begging for Bad Boys

by Willow Winters

Memories of a bygone time.

  It’s just the two of us, that’s it. My bachelorette party is me and one friend who I haven’t seen in six years, at the shittiest club in all of south Boston.

  Given the circumstances, I wouldn’t have it any other way. After all, a sham marriage deserves nothing more than Rose’s and enough cheap whiskey to make me forget why I’m here.

  Nora pushes aside the absolutely disgusting fringe curtain you have to push through to get into the main dance area, and we step right back into memory land.

  “God, this place hasn’t changed.”

  She laughs. “Would you want it to have?”

  “I actually can’t believe it hasn’t burned down.”

  “Oh, the bathroom caught fire three years ago, but we’re not that lucky.”

  I grin.

  “So what, whiskey? Or are we gonna pretend we’re classy bitches and drink cosmos all night?”

  I make a face and she grins. “I mean, whiskey is more antiseptic, which is probably a good thing with this place.”

  I laugh. “Or we could live dangerously.”

  “You’re crazy. Fine, two cosmos. I’m buying— no, stop it.” She bats away my hand as I reach for my purse, rolling her eyes. “It’s your bachelorette party.”

  “Nora.”

  “I don’t care if it’s fake, we can still have fun, alright?”

  “Deal.”

  I hear the fringe curtain rustle open behind us, and I glance back to see Liam scowling as he brushes the gross fabric aside to get in.

  I ignore him, turning to follow Nora to the bar.

  No, it’s not a surprise to see him here. After all, his whole deal is shadowing me — protecting me and all that crap.

  He drove us here, actually — something Nora wasted no time in commenting on when we picked her up at her place.

  “Oh, do you like the chauffeur I bought for the night?” she says in this haughty, fake English accent. “Darling,” she drawls. “Be a dear and get my door?”

  “Get your own damn door,” Liam growls

  “Good help is SO hard to find these days.”

  It’s been four days since the, well, the incident.

  Since I let go.

  Since I forgot myself and the history there and jumped right back into bed with Liam Roarke.

  Four days of the bare minimum conversation, I should add. Four days of knowing he’s around but not seeing him, except when he insists on driving me some place in silence.

  Nora passes me a horrible-looking neon pink cocktail, and we both eye the brittle looking lemon wedges perched on the edge of our glasses dubiously before we yank them off and toss them aside.

  “Cheers. To a long and healthy, and happy—”

  “Don’t even fucking say it.”

  She grins. “Slàinte, bitch. Welcome back to Southie.”

  “Slàinte.”

  I gulp the drink, forcing myself not to look at the brooding, dark-eyed man I know is sitting behind us.

  The man whose eyes I can feel on my back. Whose hands I can still feel from the other night.

  I’m dressed up tonight, and I hate that all I could think about while getting dolled up in my room was what he’d think when I went downstairs for him to drive me to Nora’s.

  He didn’t say a thing, but then, he didn’t have to. Because I saw that way he looked at me in the skin-tight black dress and the fuck-me boots. I saw the way his eyes burned right into me.

  And I loved it

  I hated that I did, but there it was. I never could not shiver under that sort of gaze from him.

  But I ignored it, just like I’m ignoring him here at this horrible club.

  The drink goes quick, and we’re getting a second as club music twelve years out-of-date comes on.

  “Oh my God!” Nora turns and beams at me as one song changes into the next.

  “Is that—”

  “Hell yes it is!”

  It’s TLC — as in, 90’s pop R&B sensation TLC.

  And of course, Nora and I know every damn word.

  And of course, there’s no use in singing nostalgic songs about waterfalls with your old friend out at a bar in low voices, now is there? Especially when you’re at your bachelorette party.

  Especially when that bachelorette party is for a wedding that’s fake in every conceivable way.

  The net result is that we’re yelling the song. We’re the only two on the dance floor, making a complete scene and spilling cosmos all over the place.

  And I couldn’t care less.

  “You ladies need a refill?”

  We glance up at the accented voice as the song ends, still laughing, to see the swarthy looking guy with a beer bottle in a meaty hand.

  Russian. That’s the accent. For a second, I think of Mick’s dubious warning about there being a target on my back. But I brush it off, rolling my eyes at myself.

  “No, thanks, we’re—”

  “Sure!” Nora winks at me before turning back to the guy. “Two cosmos, please.”

  “You got it, baby.”

  “What are you doing?” I hiss as the meathead Russian saunters to the bar.

  She rolls her eyes. “Uh, bachelorette party? I mean, it’s like a rite of passage to have cute guys get us drinks.”

  She sees the look on my face and laughs. “Well, in the absence of cute guys, we’ll have that guy do it.”

  I roll my eyes, laughing as I turn. And right then, I break my promise.

  Because right then is when I lock eyes with Liam.

  And I shiver.

  He’s sitting at the bar nursing a beer, his eyes lancing into me.

  Teasing over me.

  I quickly look away, but not before I feel that shiver.

  “Hey there.”

  The swarthy Russian is back, and he’s brought an equally slob-looking friend.

  “You look hot,” the friend mumbles out. Same accent.

  I frown. “Um, thanks.”

  “Fuckin hot, girl.”

  “Yeah, you said that.”

  The new guy grins as the first one passes us drinks. “So, you girls from around—”

  “Thanks for the drinks! Bye!”

  Nora grabs my elbow and pulls me quickly across the dance floor as we snort out laughs.

  “Another rite of passage is not having to talk to the guys who buy you drinks on your bachelorette party night,” she says with a big grin.

  Another pop hit from our high school years comes on, and suddenly, we’re getting right back to dancing and forgetting why I’m here.

  “C’mon, let’s go out for a smoke.”

  I frown, unsteady on my feet since we’re four drinks in at this point. “You smoke?”

  Nora makes a face. “Oh, no, but, I mean,” she leans in, grinning. “I’m drunk.”

  I laugh, a giggling, snorting sound.

  “As if you’re not?” She grins. “And anyways, on your whirlwind tour of places of ill-repute back here, I think we should stick to tradition.”

  She’s right.

  Part of coming to Rose’s back then — besides sneaking into a bar and drinking cheap liquor — was bumming cigarettes from strangers and pretending we were classy while we choked and sputtered on them.

  And who am I to step on tradition?

  “Okay, okay. Fine.”

  I follow her outside, and it only takes a minute to convince a drunk, grey-haired guy who looks even more unsteady on his feet than us to part with two cigarettes.

  “Here.”

  Nora lights them with a matchbook from the bar, and we step away from the front door to lean against the side wall.

  “Jesus these are terrible.” She makes a sour face, wrinkling her nose at the cigarette.

  “Hey, your idea.”

  Nora smiles and shakes her head at me. “You know, I know it sucks but…” She grins. “I think I’m gonna like having you back here.”

  “Yeah, well, silver linings.”

  We laugh, drag
ging on the smokes, coughing and sputtering just like we always did.

  “Well, hello there.”

  I glance up and immediately freeze at the voice.

  It’s the swarthy Russian guy from the bar and his friend who bought us the cosmos.

  Them and two other similarly brick-house looking guys.

  “Looks like the party is back here, da?”

  They laugh, stepping into the small alley we’re standing in next to Rose’s.

  “We’re going back inside, actually,” I say sharply.

  The guy grins, blocking my path,

  “You girls look good tonight.”

  “Great, thanks.”

  I push him aside, but his hand goes to my waist, making me jump back.

  “Watch it.”

  He laughs. “C’mon honey. As if you didn’t dress up tonight looking for some fun.”

  A chill creeps down my spine as the four of them step a little closer to Nora and I, and I’m suddenly very aware of the three brick walls boxing us in.

  “You don’t want to have fun with us?”

  Suddenly, I lash out, grabbing the beer bottle out of one of the leering guys’s hand by the bottleneck. I whirl, smashing the base of it against the wall behind me before jabbing it back at them, shard-side out.

  They laugh. One of them makes a cat sound.

  “Do you even know who I am? Who we are?” I hiss, my voice even, my pulse pounding, and my muscles coiling to slam the bottle into his neck if he makes one more step towards me.

  “Da, baby.”

  The first guy grins wickedly. “I know exactly who you are.”

  His hand raises. He starts to take a step closer.

  My hand tightens on the neck of the bottle.

  And right then everything erupts into total chaos.

  The guy in front of me bellows and goes bowling forward, toppling to his knees as Liam comes roaring into the fray. The scene explodes as he’s suddenly on all of them at once, slamming his fist into one of the Russians, kicking a second, and dodging a punch from a third.

  He moves left, right, ducking, punching, lashing out, roaring, breaking away when one guy grabs him.

  And I’m stunned.

  It’s like I’m watching a violent ballet. The way he moves like a dancer, one man taking on all four of them. And I’ve seen Liam Roarke in a fight before, of course, but nothing even close to this.

  Nothing where he looks this much like a wild beast.

  His face is livid, his teeth bared like an animal, and his eyes flashing fire as he slams one of the guys into the metal dumpster next to us. His foot jerks back to catch one of the guys in the knee, twisting it awkwardly with a cracking sound and making him scream. He snatches the beer from the fourth guy’s hand, smashing it over the guy’s forehead and dashing him to the ground.

  And then suddenly, it’s like someone pulls the plug on the whole thing.

  Suddenly, it’s over.

  Liam’s shoulders heave, his teeth flash, and his fists clench at his sides as the four Russians groan and twist on the ground around him.

  I swallow thickly.

  “Holy shit, Liam,” Nora mutters. “That was—”

  “We’re going.”

  He grabs my arm and pulls me away from the scene, Nora trailing after us.

  “What was—” I’m stunned, turning back to stare at the four guys he just took on single-handedly and dropped like sacks of rice.

  At the car, Nora gets in on her side as Liam pulls me around to the other.

  “How do you know how to do that?” I whisper, freezing at the side of the car and looking up into his eyes.

  They’re not raging now — they’re not lit up like a man possessed. Now, they just look his normal stormy fierceness.

  The normal stormy fierceness that lights something on fire inside of me.

  He reaches past me, brushing my hip as his fingers pull at the door handle. “Let’s go,” he growls into my ear. “I’m taking you home.”

  Chapter 21

  Aela

  “Sorry, dude.”

  We’re in the backseat of Liam’s car, stopped in front of Nora’s building.

  I roll my eyes, as if brushing off the events of the night, even if my heart’s still racing.

  “Hey, it was a bachelorette party for the memory books.”

  She makes a face. “Yeah, not the sort of memorable night out that I was going for.”

  “Honestly,” I say with a grin. “It was awesome.”

  She looks at me skeptically.

  “I’m serious! That was fun.”

  Liam snorts from the front seat, but I ignore him.

  “Hey, I wouldn’t come raging back into Southie any other way, I swear.”

  She finally grins, and leans in to hug me. “Call me tomorrow?” She looks up to the front seat. “Thanks, Liam. Really.”

  He mutters something, shaking his head.

  “Can you do me a favor and not tell Damian about what happened tonight?”

  “I’ll consider it.”

  She gives him a plaintive look.

  “Only because I don’t need him going through all of Boston knocking down doors and murdering Russians until he finds those guys,” he says.

  She smiles. “Thanks for the rescue.”

  “Anytime.”

  The car door shuts, and we watch and wait until she’s inside.

  “You coming up?”

  I glare at him in the review mirror. “No.”

  “Really,” he deadpans. “Still going to play the fucking chauffeur game?”

  “Just take me home.”

  “Yeah, sure fuckin’ thing, Ms. Daisy,” he mutters.

  We drive in silence, back through the dark streets of Boston until we pull up outside my dad’s house. I’m out of the car and at the front door before he even stops the engine.

  “Hang the fuck on.”

  “Oh, what?” I snap, whirling on him in the foyer as he slams the door shut behind him.

  “What? How about a goddamn thank you?”

  “For having to have you follow me around town?”

  “For saving you from Vlad and Boris was what I was aiming for, but shit, sure. A thank you for me having to follow your sullen, sorry ass around town to bars frequented by fucking Russians would be fucking great.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “You already did.”

  I slap him, and immediately gasp.

  “Shit, I didn’t mean—”

  I gasp again as he grabs my wrists, pulling me against him, that fire roaring back into his eyes. I feel my pulse beating like a drum as my breath catches in my throat.

  “The fuck is your problem?”

  “My problem is that I can take care of myself, you know!”

  He smiles thinly. “Oh, is that a fact?”

  “Yeah, Liam, it is!” I yell. “Because I’ve been doing it for six fucking years, after you shoved me away!”

  “That what you think that was? Me shoving you away?”

  “Oh please, enlighten me. What would you call telling me to stay away and not to call and not to come back here looking for you? Hmm? A fond fucking farewell?!”

  He tightens his jaw, his lips tight.

  “So fuck you, Liam,” I spit at him, the fury of the last six years coming out all at once through every fiber of my being. “I’m not the girl you think I am that needs saving or protecting. I was never that girl.”

  “The hell you weren’t,” he growls, his hands tightening on my arms.

  “No, you just wanted me to be!” I’m screaming into his face now, but I don’t care. “You wanted me to be the fucking damsel in distress so you could pretend you were a prince and not the thug you always were!”

  His eyes narrow. “I did, and I do what I have to do to survive. I do what the Saints need me to do,” he hisses. “I do what’s necessary.”

  “Was shoving me away necessary?”

  “Goddamn right it was!” he roars.

&
nbsp; I blink, startled, my retort catching on my lips. “What?”

  “Aela! Look what the hell was happening! Your sister? The Feds? My brother?” He squeezes his eyes shut, as if shutting the past back inside. “Getting you the fuck out of Southie was the only thing that mattered.”

  “Says who?”

  His mouth snaps shut, his head slowly shaking side to side.

  My eyes narrow. “Who?”

  “Me,” he growls. “I say it was the only thing that mattered.”

  “Yeah? Well, thanks for fucking nothing. Thanks for—”

  “And your dad.”

  I freeze, my mouth half open.

  “What?”

  “Your dad,” he growls. He looks away.

  “The hell does that mean?”

  Liam whirls back, his face tight. “He knew, Aela,” he says softly. “He knew, about us I mean.”

  I balk at him, my eyes going wide. “What?”

  “Of course he fucking knew. We were young and stupid and careless, and your dad was a smart fucking guy. And if you’re wondering why I’m not dead at the bottom of the Charles River?” Liam laughs a brittle, bitter laugh. “It’s because I made a promise.”

  “What fucking prom—”

  “I promised the man who gave me everything I had that I’d push away the one thing that mattered to me because it would keep her safe!”

  The room goes quiet, and all I can hear is the blood roaring in my ears.

  “You what?” I whisper.

  “I pushed you away,” he growls, pulling me tight, his eyes searching mine. “Because I had to. Because if you didn’t leave, you’d have gotten caught up in it all just like the rest of us, and you were so much better than that.”

  Liam’s hands tighten on my arms, but I realize I’m not fighting him anymore. My hands relax from their fists, my palms resting on his chest.

  “You had to go, Aela,” he says softly, his voice tight. “You had to go and I had to make you go or you never would have, because of me.”

  “That wasn’t your job.”

  “Yeah, actually,” he nods slowly, his mouth a thin line. “Yeah it was. It was the worst job I ever had, but it was.”

  We’re eye-to-eye, panting in the dark silence of the foyer in the aftermath of the yelling.

  “You pushed me away, because my dad told you to?”

  “Your dad is the reason I’m alive, Aela. Me and my brothers.”