Unfinished Business: A Bastards of Boston Novel

by Carina Adams

  My mind was blank. Fuck. I ran my tongue over my teeth.

  “What is the worst thing you can imagine right now?” I scrubbed my face, the prickly hair on my beard reminding me that I needed a trim. “What is the absolute worst news you could get about her?”

  I wanted him to think of the worst, so when I told him what I had to, it wouldn’t seem as bad.

  “Self-harm.” Matt didn’t consider my words, didn’t need a second to think about it. “Whether she’s using again, or cutting again, or just teetering on the edge. I’m worried. I’m one step away from having her admitted to a psych ward or dragging her ass down here, so I can watch her.”

  “She’s not suicidal,” I snapped, pissed that he’d think that, and mad at myself for asking him to begin with. “And she’s fucking clean.”

  His eyes widened in slight surprise. I didn’t know if it was because of the way I’d reacted, or if was the knowledge that his baby sister wasn’t as bad off as he’d thought.

  “She got kicked out of school.” He sounded so sure, as if the news wouldn’t be a surprise.

  “No,” I scoffed, annoyed. Jesus. He expected the worst from her without even trying.

  I wondered if he even knew his sister at all. Everything that Mac had found showed Cris was a straight-A-student who received only the highest praise from both her professors and peers.

  Matt narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t you just tell me what in the fuck is going on, then.”

  I tossed the letter to the spot in front of him. He just stared at it as if it was going to bite him. If I didn’t know how horrible the information inside was, I would’ve laughed my ass of at his reaction.

  “She pregnant?”

  I was going to hit him. Fucking punch him before he even had a chance to open the letter. Christ. I’d never say that shit about Kate, not even to him.

  Finally, he lifted it and reluctantly lifted the fold. His eyes moved across the page, reading and then re-reading. He scowled and read it a third time. Then he folded it back up and dropped it onto the table.

  “We knew he was gonna’ get out.”

  My brain failed to form a response. His reaction, and the lack of all emotion, confused me. I had arguments prepared, reasons for him not to search out the prick. I was ready for his anger. Not indifference.

  “I’m out,” he continued with a careless shrug. “You’re out. We did our time. Sick fuck was bound to be released at some point. I hope he crawls into a hole and dies. That has nothin’ to do with Cris.”

  “She disagrees. And so does Mr. Mc-D.”

  His eyes narrowed into slits. “What?”

  “The princess was worried. I wanted to put her mind at ease. I called Mac and asked him to check into it, see if he could find out where Glass was.” I felt my muscles tense as I remembered the worry in the old man’s voice when he’d called me back. “Glass headed straight for Maine. Not his family in New York. But Maine.”

  “My mom,” Matt pointed out, a tinge of worry finally appearing. “We need to tell my mom.”

  “He registered in Portland, nowhere near your mom,” I pointed out. To me those words changed everything.

  Sex offenders, especially those who committed crimes against children, had to register their address when they got out of prison. For the rest of his life, we would always know where Glass was supposed to be. He could take off, yeah, and I half believed he would once he got to Cris. Until that point, he’d play by the rules so he didn’t get locked back up.

  “His life was here,” Matt argued. “Could be coincidence.”

  “You think anyone in his life is gonna want him around after what he did? No one he worked with wants him around.” I snapped my jaw. “You telling me he ends up in the city where Cris is? It’s not fucking coincidence.”

  “You’re sayin’ he knows where she is?” Matt’s hand clutched his bottle as realization finally dawned. “That fucker searched for her before he got out.”

  “That’s what we think.”

  “But why?” Matt shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe it. Or wouldn’t. “He has no reason to look for her.”

  “Who fucking knows what that sick prick is thinking. Maybe he’s out for payback. It doesn’t fucking matter. All that matters is that she’s safe.”

  Matt bared his teeth. “Revenge for her testimony? The fucker raped a little girl! He took away her innocence.” He pushed two fingers into his temple. “He fucked with her mind until she was so twisted she didn’t know what was right or wrong. He brutalized her! Her medical records, the doctors that testified… He was goin’ away even if Cris hadn’t said what she did on the stand.” He shook his head, barely keeping his temper in check. “He goes near her, and I’ll fucking finish the job I started.”

  As I watched my best friend rage, his hands shaking, I understood every one of his emotions. That was the reaction I’d expected from him. It’s what I’d felt when I’d found out. Hell, it was what I still felt.

  “I’m moving her down here.”

  The announcement stopped him cold.

  “That’s a goddamn good idea.” He nodded, glancing around the room. “We can have Tank stay at the clubhouse. Fuck, I can move into my room there for a bit if he won’t. That way she can have her own space. The guys will have to be careful about booze and women, but it’ll work.”

  I crossed my arms, wishing I could avoid saying the next words. “She’s not gonna live here. I got an apartment across town.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I don’t want her alone in the city. Too much trouble for her to find.”

  “She won’t be alone. I’ll be there.” He opened his mouth to argue, or to ask questions. “She’s moving in with me.”

  He stilled, his face turned murderous. “The fuck you just say?”

  As soon as I told him the rest, my best friend was going to try to kick my ass. I might even let him. Part of me looked forward to it.

  “There was trouble at the clubhouse.”

  “No shit, asshole,” he ground out. “It’s all anyone’s talkin’ about. How some whore strolled in and caused even more trouble between you and Shooter. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out that whore was actually my sweet little sister. She craves the drama.” He rolled his eyes. “Slash told me you took care of it and ordered me to stop askin’ questions. Thanks for that. But I’m her brother. I’ll make the calls now.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “She’s my responsibility, not yours,” he seethed.

  “Not anymore. I claimed her.”

  “She’s a not a goddamn whore that you can claim. She’s a sister,” he hissed. “Sisters are off limits. We agreed on that years ago. Careful,” he warned, eyes hard and hatred clear, “you’re about to cross a line you’ll never get back over.”

  “I didn’t have a choice,” I snapped.

  “Fuck you, you didn’t. I don’t know what you’re playin’ at, but it’s not gonna end well.”

  Fuck him. “The only other option was watch as Shooter raped her in front of me. That what you wanted?” He paled at my words. “It was the only thing I could do at the time.”

  “Fuck!” he roared before his bottle flew across the room and smashed against a wall. “I’m going to wring her pathetic little neck.”

  “No, you’re not. You touch her, you yell at her, you upset her in any way, and I will kick your scrawny ass.” I didn’t care how much I loved him, Cris was my priority. He could take care of himself. She couldn’t.

  “I don’t give two shits if you gave a bullshit claim on her. She’s my baby sister. My blood. I’ll do what I want.”

  “Try it,” I challenged between clenched teeth. “Try me. I’m not playin’. It’s not a bullshit claim.” Jesus. If he didn’t accept it, if he fought it, we’d all be fucked. “You screw with her at all, and you will bleed.” I’d beat him within an inch of his life and he knew it.

  “You don’t even like her.”

  “I don’t,” I admitted w
ith a shrug. “Doesn’t change a damn thing. She’s mine.”

  “She hates you.”

  I nodded. “She does. Some relationships have been built on worse.”

  “Are you fucking her? Is that what this is?” My fist clenched. I’d only stepped in that night for him, because his ass wasn’t there to protect her. That’s what we did.

  He kept going. “The whores at the clubhouse were too willing, so you’d never touch ‘em. That it? So you want the girl who despises you? Never pegged you for the kinky hate-fuck kind. God knows, that’s probably the only sex she tolerates now.”

  I flew, pulling him out of the chair and smashing him into the wall before he had a chance to try to scramble away. We were close to the same size, but the black blood that ran through my veins made me a helluva lot more dangerous.

  “Fuck. You.” Bracing my forearm across his neck, my other hand still fisted around his cut, I sneered at him. “Say something like that again, disrespect her like that again, and it will be the last thing you say.”

  I pulled away before I hit him and reached for the door. “She’s moving down this weekend. Get your head straight before you see her. She’s already been through enough. You make it worse for her, make her sad, or run your mouth, and you and I will be done.”

  I didn’t give him a chance to spew more shit. His reply wasn’t important. He’d either deal or he wouldn’t. Best friend or not, brother or not, Cris was my priority now. The sooner he accepted that, the better off we’d all be.

  Saturday morning came before I was ready. I got up at the ass-crack of dawn, threw my own bag into the bed of the truck, and drove the truck straight to Cris’s. I wanted to get her early, so we could get her settled into the new apartment at a decent hour. As soon as she was safe, I was gonna go get Slash and hunt down Hansen. I’d been waiting for this day for years.

  I pulled up to the curb and shut my door quietly. The city had been wide awake and in full swing, but here in suburbia, the only sounds I could hear were birds chirping. I glanced at the car that was parked on the other side of the road, the man behind the wheel keeping a watchful eye on the apartment. Not wanting to call attention to him, I didn’t even tip my head in greeting. He didn’t acknowledge me either.

  I took the steps two at a time, half expecting the girls to be asleep. Instead, Katie answered on my first knock. She grinned as she pulled the door open.

  “Good morning!” she greeted, her singsong tone entirely too cheerful.

  “Good, you’re early!” Cris, all dressed, held out a travel mug in my direction. “Coffee?” The brat gave me a small smile. “I was hoping we could get going before the traffic got bad. I hate sitting on the highway”

  I did a double take. There was a glitch in the matrix. Or I’d entered the goddamn Twilight Zone.

  Cris frowned at me. “What’s wrong? Did you change your mind?”

  “What?”

  She pointed at me. “It’s supposed to be moving day. You’re not dressed for it.”

  I glanced down at the jeans, boots, and black tee shirt I’d worn under my vest. “What’s wrong with what I have on?”

  She arched an eyebrow. “When you move, you wear comfortable clothes. Stuff you don’t mind getting dirty or ruined.” She held her arms away from her body to show me her sweats and oversized tee.

  “This is comfortable,” I argued.

  Cris merely rolled her eyes and pointed to three suitcases and a stack of boxes. “Wanna help me carry this stuff down?”

  “It’s all going?”

  “Yep.” She lifted the box from the top of the pile and took a few steps toward the door.

  I plucked it from her hands. “I can load the truck.”

  Hands flew to her hips. “I can help. It won’t hurt me.”

  “You don’t have anything else to pack?”

  “Nope. That’s everything.”

  “Go look around and make sure you didn’t forget anything.” I lifted my chin towards the living room. “We’re not coming back for eyeliner or some girly shit just because you didn’t double check.”

  A smile tugged at her lips as her eyebrow arched. “Already done, wise ass. I’m all ready.”

  “Fine.” I took a deep breath. “Go say good-bye while I load the truck.”

  “I can help,” she argued.

  “I got it!” I snapped back, heading out before she could say another word.

  I’d just lifted the box into the bed of the truck when Cris stepped up beside me, shoving another into my arms.

  “Here, you’re taller,” she mumbled.

  “You don’t listen for shit, you know that, right?”

  “I told you.” She shrugged. “You don’t tell me what to do. The faster you learn that, the better off we’ll both be.”

  Arguing with her would only cause a scene. Instead, I bit my tongue and let her help. Within minutes, the truck was loaded and we were ready to roll. The goodbye wasn’t tearful, and the girls parted with a quick hug and promises to call the other soon.

  Katie wrapped her arms around my shoulders and whispered, “Take care of her for me.”

  “I will,” I mumbled into her hair.

  “I mean it!” Katie pushed a kiss onto my cheek and then pulled Cris into one last hug.

  Twenty minutes after I’d arrived, Cris and I were on the road. An uncomfortable quiet settled around us. I was fine with silence, usually lost in my own thoughts. That’s why I liked being on the bike.

  It was too much in the cab of my truck though. “How’d it go with your professors?”

  “Good.” Cris motioned to the bag on the seat between us. “I have some work I need to complete and send up, but other than that, they were all very understanding.”

  “That’s good,” I agreed, searching for more to say. I had nothing.

  Silence.

  “Your face looks better,” Cris mused.

  I nodded. The bruises had faded, leaving only a small deep purple mark beneath one eye. “Yours, too,” I muttered pathetically.

  More silence.

  Miles passed. Finally, Cris cleared her throat. “Can I turn on the radio or something?”

  “That depends.” I slid my eyes from the highway in front of me and gave her a sideways glance. “Is your taste in music as bad as your brother’s?”

  “God, no.” She laughed. “Please tell me you don’t listen to Mighty Mouse.”

  I snorted. “Modest Mouse.”

  She waved a hand. “Whatever.”

  “Not a fan?”

  She groaned. “It’s horrible. It makes me feel like an old lady, complaining about how his music is just noise.”

  “Let me guess.” I thought about the music Meghan and Katie liked. “You’re a Britney girl? Maybe Shakira?”

  Out of the corner of my eye I watched her reach into her bag and pull out a CD. “Can I?”

  I shrugged. It would be better than the awkward silence. If whatever she picked was painful to listen to, I’d put on the radio.

  I knew the melody immediately, but I couldn’t place it. It was an old song; one I’d heard before. When a woman started singing, Cris belted out the words, “You don’t own me!” with her. I couldn’t keep the laugh in.

  The girl next to me didn’t just sing along to Lesley Gore’s ‘You Don’t Own Me’. Oh, no. Not Cris.

  She pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head and was swaying back and forth, shaking her shoulders and waving her arms, using her coffee cup as a microphone, putting on quite the show. She didn’t just make her point. She made it with a flare.

  It was funny. I even joined on the parts I knew, surprising both my passenger and myself. For a few minutes, I forgot that I didn’t like the brat. I pushed the fact that we were being forced to live together from my mind. In that moment, we were just two friends, laughing and having fun, acting our age.

  It was the happiest I’d been in months.

  18

  Cris

  Rob made great time and some
how managed to navigate around the majority of traffic. The ride wasn’t as bad as I’d expected it to be, and neither was the company. Only a few hours after we’d driven away from my quaint and quiet street, we rolled to a stop in front of an enormous but sketchy brick high-rise.

  I felt like a little kid pressing her face against the window. “Is this it?”

  “Apparently.” Rob’s face was almost filled with disbelief as he glanced at the handwritten address then back to the building, squinting as he attempted to read the bright white number on the side of the building. With a shake of his head, he drove a few more feet and pulled into the drive, following it to a lot out back.

  The parking area was huge, yet almost every spot was filled. Makes ranged from Mercedes to a Kia, older models to new minivans. I didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad one. It meant our new neighbors could be anything from doctors to drug dealers, crack whores to soccer moms.

  “Guess I’m leavin’ my bike at the club,” he muttered when he finally found a space in the very last row.

  “Can’t you leave it at your place?” I asked.

  “This is my place,” he replied, his irritation clear. “I don’t trust those assholes I used to live with.”

  I almost asked why he couldn’t trust his best friends, but decided that if he wanted me to know, he’d tell me. We didn’t have that kind of friendship yet. I wasn’t sure we’d ever get there. Then again, we’d sat in the same space for almost three hours without a fight. I wasn’t going to push my luck for more.

  “I wouldn’t trust the people here,” I told him as I eyed the large dents on the car next to me. “I think this one’s hit everything but the lottery.”

  He looked past me and laughed. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to the sound. It made me want to join him, yet it also sent an unfamiliar sensation washing over me and making my arms pop into goose pimples.

  “Yeah, this one, too.” He lifted a thumb over his shoulder. “Makes me think we parked in the safest spot possible.”

  “Uh, we’re between the most beat-up pieces of crap here. That explains why the space was available.”