Unfinished Business: A Bastards of Boston Novel

by Carina Adams

  Jess was lying in a hospital bed, had tried to take her own life, because of me. I was who I was because of this woman and what she’d done. Yet, Jessie was in the hands of this psychopath. Full circle bullshit.

  Yeah, I could pinpoint the precise moment when I’d made the decision to become the man I was. The bitter, angry, and untrusting person I had become. I knew the exact event that had started me down the path I’d taken, the uneven and broken road that unfortunately dragged everyone I loved through shit.

  It was the moment this bitch ruined my life.

  I needed to leave the room before I closed my fingers around her throat and choked the life out of her, but my legs refused to move. I'd been miserable for so long because of her, forcing away every goddamn ounce of good that came into my life because I knew I didn't deserve to be happy. I’d held on to the hope that she, if she was alive, would be just as miserable.

  No. Here she was, joyfully humming to herself and laughing, as if she didn't have a care in the world. As if she didn’t cause me to carry the biggest burden a man had ever known.

  Fuck her.

  I watched as she cleaned each cut and bandaged my friend back up with gentle hands. Jess didn't stir once. When she was done, she gathered up the waste and smiled up at me.

  “All done. See, you handled it just fine. You're tougher than you think you are." Her smug amusement undid every ounce of self-restraint I'd been holding.

  "I have no doubt about what I can handle, Ali." My tone was full of malice. "I've had to be tough for a long time. Losing a daughter will do that."

  She had turned to put the wrappers in the trash can, but jerked back to me, her hands dropping their contents all over the bed.

  "Robby?" The disbelief in her whisper had me standing up so fast the chair skipped across the floor and into the wall. Satisfaction oozed through me as she recoiled in fear. She should be scared. She should be fucking terrified.

  My fists curled in anger as I stepped toward her. "It's Rob now. Robby died the day Hannah did. He ceased to exist the day you killed my little girl."

  "I knew this day would come." Her voice, a whisper more for her benefit than mine, was barely audible over the monitors.

  I took another step, only the thought of retribution on my mind. I was so focused on the woman in front of me and knowing that I was finally going to make things right, that I never heard the door open. I jerked back in surprise when a small figure stepped between Ali and me.

  “Rocker…” Cris placed one hand on my chest. “Look at me.”

  My princess. My angel in blue jeans. Always there when I needed her, whether I knew it or not.

  Ice-blue eyes, bright against the dimness of the room, scanned me in concern as fingers from one hand intertwined with mine. The other hand skipped up, cupping my cheek, tipping my face down toward hers.

  "Leave, Allison. And don’t come back into this room. Tell your boss you’re sick. Go, now.” Cris’s voice was calm yet assertive as she kept her gaze locked on mine. "I need you to stay here with me, Rob,” she whispered. "Right here, with me." I heard the door close, but I couldn't look away from those baby blues. "I've got you. And I’m not letting go."

  1

  Rocker

  Fifteen Years Ago

  The music was loud, the clubhouse barely lit as I shoved through the groups of half-dressed women who stood between me and the bar, grumbling to myself at the irritation of it all. I’d been on the road for almost twenty hours straight, riding through not only rain but some of the lowest spring temps New England had seen.

  I was cold, sore, and thoroughly pissed off. The last thing I wanted to deal with was a club party or the whores who were dumb enough to think my attitude could be changed by communal pussy that had been ridden more times than my bike.

  If I hadn’t needed to see Slasher, my president, I would’ve headed straight home. I’d be there now, in my bed. Alone. The way I liked it.

  I slid onto the first empty stool I saw and motioned to the woman behind the counter for a beer. Jenny met my eyes and gave me a smile as she brought the bottle over immediately.

  “Glad you’re back.” Her voice was low, intended just for me, but even with the music as loud as it was, I had no doubt the men around me heard her. Nosy old pricks.

  I ignored them and attempted to wipe the sneer from my face. Only a few years older than me, Jenny was a bigger part of this club than I’d ever be. She wasn’t a member’s daughter, a whore or a brother’s ol’ lady, but instead claimed the title of Club Sweetheart. Almost every man in this room was in love with her, but none of them had had her.

  I’d heard that she’d been a casualty of war, taken from a rival as a baby and raised in the club. Then again, I’d also heard that I didn’t fuck the whores because I liked to eat dick. For all I knew, she could’ve been a homeless kid who showed up one day and had worked off her room and board in the kitchen.

  One thing was clear. Jen was off limits. She’d been treated as well as Slasher’s biological kids, better than his own, if you asked them. And no one was allowed to touch her without facing Slasher’s wrath.

  I didn’t care how she’d gotten there, as long as she planned to stay. Jenny was the smiling face that welcomed us back after a long ride, an ear ready and willing to listen to our troubles. She wanted nothing more than conversation and friendship in return. The fact that I wore a Bean Nighe cut – the leather that proclaimed to the world I belonged to one of the most feared motorcycle clubs in the country - did nothing to impress her.

  The old man on my left leaned in, interrupting whatever Jenny had been about to say next. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

  I didn’t need to ask who he meant. I didn’t look at him as I answered. “How the fuck would I know? I just got back.”

  “Lose your fuckin’ attitude, Prospect,” he growled.

  I clenched my jaw and counted to ten. Slowly.

  “The two of you are usually so far up each other’s asses, ya can’t even piss without the other one shaking your dick for ya.”

  As he spoke, he blew his nasty, stale cigarette and whiskey breath into my face and I fought the urge to lean back.

  I tuned out his words and fisted my hands under the bar. Some of these assholes would stop at nothing to make sure I knew I was beneath them. Those were the ones who needed to have their teeth knocked down their throats, just to be reminded that they were no longer the big dogs on this porch.

  One day I wouldn’t have this prospect patch on my cut. That would be the day I’d show Shooter that his glory days had ended in the seventies. I’d enjoy making him bleed.

  I was a firm believer that respect had to be earned, not given. Shooter hadn’t done shit to earn my respect, or my loyalty, in the six months I’d been with his club. I wasn’t some Mommy’s boy who was going to cry that the patched members were being mean. I knew what I’d signed up for, just like I knew I’d be able to handle whatever was thrown at me.

  I was being tested. They needed me to prove that I had what it took to belong with the Bean Nighe. If I made it, if I got patched in, I’d be loyal to Shooter until the day I died. He was a brother; he’d earned it.

  I’d never respect the fat fucker though. There was a place for men like him, assholes who enjoyed forcing women to suck their dicks, ordering the prospects to watch while the whores cried and fought back. He fucking disgusted me.

  “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” Jenny deadpanned and tipped her chin toward someone behind me.

  I glanced over my shoulder, not surprised to find Matt striding out of the back with one of the whores. He buckled his belt as he walked, and she smoothed down her bottle-blonde hair as she beamed up at him. I shook my head, annoyed, and turned back to my drink.

  “At least she looks satisfied.” The bartender told me with a snort as she twisted the top off another beer and put it in front of the empty space to my right.

  Matt slid into the seat seconds later, professing his love for Jen be
fore he took a long drag off the bottle. “When did you get back?”

  “Twenty minutes ago.” My eyes drifted to the woman he’d been with moments before. Disgust filled my stomach. “You wrapped your junk, right? You keep fucking things like that and your dick is gonna turn green and fall off.”

  “You know I always wear a raincoat. Always." His seriousness faded away and he smirked. "Summer's a good time. You should try her. Ya know, if you ever decide to give up your vow of celibacy.” He shrugged. “Until then, I’ll keep testing ‘em out for you.”

  "Fucking everything that moves is all for my benefit, eh?"

  He nodded, lost in contemplation. "Yeah. Have to find out if they're worth your time. Give 'em the Murphy stamp of approval."

  I’d known Matt Murphy for almost seven years, since I was just a fifteen-year-old dumb ass, and he’d been my best friend practically just as long. We were as different as two people could be, and had almost nothing in common, but from the second we’d been thrown into the same house at the Longcreek Juvenile Detention Center, we’d been a team. Brothers from different mothers.

  Matt had been preppy and athletic, an honor student who’d been a track and field star at his high school before getting locked up. I’d been a grease monkey who’d barely passed ninth grade and had never met a drug I didn’t like. I’d taken one look at him and realized that I was going to be stuck with the type of prick who had made my life a living hell. Guys like him thought I was worth nothing more than the dog shit on the bottom of their overpriced sneakers.

  Not Matt. A year older than me, he’d taken me under his wing, the role model I’d never had. If someone messed with me, they’d messed with him. Even though he looked like a model, he was as tough as steel and had serious rage buried deep.

  He wasn’t some petty criminal like me who stole shit to feed his habit. Nah, Matt was hardcore. He’d skipped practice one afternoon and gone home early, hoping to get some homework done. Instead, he found his little sister spread-eagled on the couch and his mom’s dirtbag boyfriend between her legs. He’d lost it, grabbed his lacrosse stick, and took care of the problem himself.

  While most adults thought he was fucking nuts, a danger to himself and others, I saw him as someone who would do whatever it took, sacrifice all he had, to protect the ones he loved. I wanted the people I cared about to know that I’d move heaven and hell to keep them safe, that they could depend on me.

  Matty was my motherfucking hero.

  He didn’t see himself that way, though.

  Matt told me once that he would never regret what he’d done that day, but he hated what he’d done to his family. His trial had made headlines, his parents scrutinized by hundreds of strangers, his sister and her testimony criticized. Everyone forgot that she was an innocent kid, the real victim.

  Being locked away didn’t bother me, but Matt struggled. Not being able to call his sister and check on her, only seeing his family once a week, and not knowing what was happening outside the concrete walls and barbed wire fence drove him crazy some days. I helped him through it the best I could.

  Eventually, his family became the one I’d never had. His parents were the kind every kid wanted. They had their flaws, knew that they’d fucked up, but didn’t make excuses or cast blame. Even though they didn’t love each other anymore, they loved their kids and worked together to make things right.

  Each week one of his parents would visit with him while the other came to see me. Every time one sent him a package, or wrote him a letter, they’d sent something along for me. When I got out the first time, his dad had come over every week to see Uncle Liam and me, while his mom insisted on monthly check-ins. When I got sent back, they had testified on my behalf.

  There hadn’t been a day since I’d met him that Matt hadn’t had my back. Yeah, he was cocky as fuck, a whore who no doubt had contracted every venereal disease known to mankind, and he liked to annoy the piss out of me, but he was my best friend. He was the big brother I’d never had, the one who would protect me at all costs, and I loved him as much as I loved my actual brother and sisters. I was one lucky son of a bitch to have him.

  When he realized I was staring at him, his features twisted and he gave me a nasty look as he scrubbed at his face. “What? Do I have cum on my face? She’s a squirter, but I swear I cleaned that shit up.”

  I shook my head. “You’re one sick fuck. You know that, right?”

  He shrugged as if it was no surprise. “Naw, I just love pussy. Nothin’ wrong with that. I'm sure we can find someone here who will remind ya how fuckin' great it is." He turned in his chair, surveying the room. Glancing back to me and seeing my scowl, he laughed and shook his head before he lifted his beer in silent salute and changed the subject. "How’d the run go?”

  I tipped my head from side to side, cracking my neck. “It went.”

  His eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t question me further. He knew the score. If he was supposed to have information, someone would tell him. We sat in silence, listening to bits of conversations around us, until someone tapped me on the shoulder.

  “Kid, Prez wants you.” I nodded at Tiny, the club’s sergeant at arms, a man the size of Mount Washington, pushed away from the bar, and followed him around the makeshift dance floor and into the office. He pointed to a chair and then left the room, shutting the door and the sounds of the party out.

  I didn't wait long. Slasher came in through the back seconds later, pulling his long hair up off his shoulders and into an elastic. Even though he was old enough to be my dad and must have been pushing fifty, he didn’t look a day older than my twenty-one years.

  His hair was dark and thick, as if it were defying the aging process, and his deep green eyes were bright and never missed a thing. When those emerald orbs landed on me, I forced myself to once again ignore the fact that it was like looking at an older version of Tank. I needed to remember that my friendship and loyalty to his son had no bearing on my reaction to the man in front of me.

  Matt was my oldest friend, but Thomas O’Connell was a close second. An angry delinquent as a young teen, he’d done one stupid thing after another, hell bent on punishing his parents for whatever reason, and had eventually earned a spot in juvie right next to me. Matt and I were polar opposites, but Tank was a mixture of us both, fitting in perfectly.

  His first day inside, Tommy had taken one look at Matt and decided he didn’t like him. They’d beaten the shit out of each other until Matt had landed a blow that knocked Tom out cold. A few days later, as punishment, the warden threw Tommy, nicknamed Tank because he liked to fuck shit up and he just plowed his way through anything, into our house. It didn’t take long for us to realize that the other inmates hated the three of us equally—we were a team whether we wanted to be or not. And we still were.

  Slasher, unlike his son, had a crazed look in his eye. Add that to his size, and he was intimidating as hell. I’d sprouted almost a foot since I'd met him when I was sixteen, and was now almost as tall as he was, but he had a good sixty pounds of muscle on my 200. The man could beat me bloody without even trying.

  He walked straight to my chair and pulled me into an awkward hug. The asshole knew I hated to be touched, but that never stopped the old fucker from doing it. Backing up a step, he leaned his ass onto the edge of his desk, folded his arms across his chest, propped one foot over the other, and looked down at me.

  “So?”

  I reached into my jacket and pulled out a thick envelope. “It’s done.”

  Slasher took the package out of my hand, surveying me. “The body’s gone? Just like that?”

  I nodded once. “Just like that.”

  He arched an eyebrow in question and held up the envelope. “What’s this then?”

  I sat back, adjusting in the chair. “I told you I could get it done for fifty, so I got it done for fifty.” I watched the old man thumb through the bills that were left and shrugged when he looked at me again. “I threw in an extra ten, just to make sure it we
nt smoothly.”

  His face split in a wide grin, showing me bright, white teeth that looked out of place. He pursed his lips as he closed the envelope, dropping it on the desk behind him.

  “How’s my daughter?” I hesitated a second too long, and he chuckled. “I know my son.”

  I bit my tongue to keep myself from arguing. The old man may have been his sperm donor, but he didn’t know shit about Tank. When I stayed silent, he crossed his arms over his chest.

  “There is no way in hell he didn’t ask you to stop and check on her if you were going all that way. So, how is my baby girl?”

  “A pain in the ass, as always.”

  Slasher leaned his head back and roared with laughter. Either he knew exactly the kind of teenage girl she was, even though he rarely saw her, or he’d heard stories from the brothers he’d tasked with keeping an eye on her.

  I didn’t have anything against Jessie. She was a good kid, for the most part, and she’d gotten the short end of the stick from life. The daughter of a club president usually was treated like royalty. Jessie, though, had never known this life, had never been the princess she should have been.

  Instead, she’d been sent away before birth, kept hidden, a dirty secret. Her mom had been a club whore, Slasher’s favorite. When she’d gotten pregnant and refused to abort the baby, Prez couldn’t stand the idea of hurting either one of them. Since he knew his ol’ lady would never allow him to have another kid, Slasher sent Jessie’s mom away.

  Yeah, he’d paid for a small house in a quiet and safe town, and made sure they had everything they needed. But he’d rarely visited. And the club had covered it all up.

  Until a fourteen-year-old Tank found out and happily informed his mom of the betrayal.

  Since then, my friend and his sister had grown quite close. Hell, Tank had even lived with Jessie and her mom for a while before he’d gotten sentenced to Longcreek. I’d gotten to know both Jessie and her mom over the last few years and could honestly say that Jessie was, without a doubt, the second biggest pain in the ass I’d ever met.