Boston Underworld: The Collection

by A. Zavarelli

  I press my ear to the door and hear nothing but the flow of water. Steam is billowing out from beneath the crack, and I can almost imagine Lachlan in there beneath the scalding hot spray. I want to know what he’s feeling right now. Does he have those pesky emotions that I hate so much? Beneath his mobster exterior, is there still a conscience? I want to go to him, and I hate that. What the hell would I do?

  I reach down and stroke my fingers over my necklace, trying to remember the reason why I’m here. I feel like I’m betraying Talia for even considering any of these thoughts. I’m no closer to finding her than I was when I started all of this. And now I’m sitting here, actually questioning my feelings for Lachlan.

  I groan and press my forehead to the door, only to be scared a moment later when I catch someone standing beside me.

  “Jesus, Ronan,” I hiss. “Make a noise, will you?”

  He shrugs. “Force a’ habit. You best leave him be for a while.”

  I glance at the door and back to him. “Why?”

  “He’s not in a good place right now, Mack. We lost one of our own tonight.”

  “Who?” I ask.

  “His name was Johnny. The lad was just a kid.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it. “What happened?”

  “They got him when he was leaving the pub,” Ronan says. “He didn’t have a fighting chance.”

  I try to force away the sympathy I feel, knowing I probably shouldn’t. But it’s still hard to think about. Looking at Ronan, and seeing how torn up Lachlan was, it’s obvious these guys do care about each other. Just like Tal and I did. I understand that bond. I get it, and that’s the worst part. It makes me relate to them on some level. It makes them a little bit more human to me, which I don’t want or need.

  Ronan’s right. The best thing I can do… for Lachlan and myself… is to leave him alone. I give the door one last glance and nod before I walk back down the hall. He’s probably right. And it saves me from having to think about any of this.

  By one am, Ronan is passed out in his chair and I’m biting my fingernails. Lach still hasn’t made an appearance. And I know what Ronan said, but I’ve never been very good at following orders.

  I decide I’m just going to check on him to sate my curiosity. That’s all.

  I wander down the hall and push open the cracked door to his bedroom. I find him in a chair in the corner, bottle of whiskey and a first aid kit on the table beside him. He’s leaning forward, head in hands, in nothing but a pair of jeans. For a moment, I just remain still to take in his profile.

  He really is beautiful. The darkness surrounding him and the obvious emotion on his face only makes him more so. I never wanted to see him as a person, but looking at him like this now, it’s impossible not to.

  I take a tentative step forward and the floor creaks. He glances up. His shoulder wound is bleeding again, and he has a new cut on his opposite arm. He doesn’t even seem to notice.

  I walk towards him and grab the first aid kit and find a needle. I take a shot of whiskey for myself before sitting down on his lap to clean his wounds. There isn’t a word spoken between us. He lets me mend him, and I go about it carefully, making sure I do a good job. I don’t like seeing his pain. I don’t like seeing anyone’s pain. Most people don’t know that about me. I pretend shit doesn’t bother me, but it does. Right now, seeing him like this, it fucking bothers me.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him softly as I put a fresh bandage over his shoulder and move on to the other cut.

  “Ye don’t need to do that,” he says.

  “It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

  “Ye look grand in my clothes,” he rasps.

  I force a smile but don’t reply. I raided his drawers today since Ronan refused to go get my shit. I’m wearing one of his tee shirts and a pair of sweat pants I had to roll down at the waist.

  He reaches up and grabs my chin, and I reluctantly bring my gaze to his. I haven’t been making eye contact with him, and he notices. He notices how uncomfortable I am with his discomfort. He watches me for a long moment, his eyes flicking back and forth between mine. I want to know what he’s thinking. He doesn’t say. He brushes his fingers across my jaw and my eyes flutter shut. How can such a simple touch make me feel so much? My body responds to him, but even worse, so does my mind. I don’t even think he’s doing it on purpose. It’s just the cause and effect of being near him.

  His body is tight and tense beneath me, and I want to take that away. For a few minutes, I try to block out everything else. All of the questions and the guilt and the games I’m playing. I set the kit aside and do what feels right.

  I kneel down before him and drag my fingers up his thighs. I’ve never done this before, but Scarlett and I have talked about it. She even jokingly showed me once on a banana.

  This is different. Lachlan is one hundred percent male. He’s been with a lot of women, I’m sure. Most of whom could probably do this way better. I don’t want to think about that. I’ve got a whole swarm of butterflies in my belly right now and I’m not sure what I’m doing anymore. But I know one thing, and it’s that I want to please him.

  I inch my fingers toward his groin and cup him through his jeans. His eyes darken, and almost immediately, I feel him harden beneath me. Encouraged, I start to rub him through the material. He’s hung as all get out, I know that much.

  A ravenous hunger takes over my body as I watch the way I affect him. How his eyes are heavy with lust and every breath he draws is more ragged than the last. He’s acutely aware of my every movement, and I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from his. They are savagely beautiful right now in the depths of their melancholy need.

  I reach for his belt and unbuckle it before pulling down his zipper. The sight of his bulge beneath soft cotton briefs makes my own breath hitch. I try to remember everything Scarlett told me about this. She said it’s about the slow burn. The anticipation. I want to give that to Lach. I want to take all of his pain from him.

  I lean forward and rub my cheek against the fabric, and he twitches beneath me. Intense heat burns beneath my skin as I nuzzle closer, dragging my nose along and inhaling him. He smells so fucking good, even this part of his body. It’s the same scent I’ve become accustomed to, but also a little musky too.

  His hand comes down to tangle with the long strands of my hair, stroking it as I kiss my way along his cloth covered length. Already, he’s making these pained little noises in his throat and I know I’m doing something right. At the top of the fabric, a tiny wet spot has seeped through from his arousal. Letting my baser desires take control of the situation, I lick and then suck that fabric into my mouth.

  Lachlan groans, and his grip on my hair tightens. He grinds his hips up against my face and then yanks his briefs down. Jesus, he’s fricken huge. His cock is so swollen and plump it looks painful. I peek up at him from beneath my lashes.

  “Suck on it, sweetheart.”

  His voice is rough with emotion, betraying how much he really needs this. It does something to me. I want to give it to him just as badly. Unsure where to begin, my hand wraps around the base and strokes him up and down twice. The skin is like velvet, smooth and soft and hot beneath my palm. I bring the head to my lips and dart my tongue out to swirl it around the tip.

  He jerks beneath my touch and it encourages me. I continue to stroke him with the hand that’s wrapped around his shaft as I softly pull him into my mouth. This isn’t so bad. He tastes… good, actually. When I look up at him, Lachlan’s struggling to keep his eyes open, and he’s groaning almost every time I suck on him.

  I’m soaking wet from the sight of him like this. He’s fucking gorgeous, this man. Brutally and devastatingly handsome, and right now… he’s mine. He’s dark and mysterious and bad for me in every way, but it only seems to draw me in further. I want him. I want him so fucking much it scares me. But I can’t let myself go that far. Not yet.

  So I settle for moving one of my hands down between my legs. L
ach grunts out his approval but then pauses.

  “Lose the shirt as well,” he orders.

  I swallow around him and then pull back to whip the shirt over my head. Next come the sweatpants. At least I’ve got a nice lace bra on. I can already tell he likes it by the way his eyes are darkening.

  “Ah Christ,” he says. “I love looking at those fucking tits of yours. So goddamn beautiful, ye are Mack. Now put your mouth back on me.”

  I do. I suck him a little deeper this time, and he groans. My fingers are moving furiously inside the briefs I’m wearing, and his eyes are glued to them like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

  “Harder,” he encourages. “Ye aren’t going to hurt me.”

  I suck him harder, squeezing him with my fist. His hands are in my hair again, tangling through it as he loses his self-control. He’s completely guiding my movements now, pistoning his hips up into my mouth and taking what he wants from me. Something that would normally piss me off, but with Lachlan it’s hot. I’d never admit it to him, but I like letting him control me this way. I like this big, bad man bossing me around and telling me what to do and how to do it.

  He’s getting close now. I can feel it in the way his body is tightening, his breath is stuttering, and the sexy noises he makes are getting louder. His grip is so tight on my hair it’s almost painful, but he doesn’t even realize it. He’s completely lost to the sensations. Lost to me.

  “Show me those baby blues,” he grunts. “C’mon, Mack. Look up at me, sweetheart.”

  I look up at him and he jerks into my mouth with a roar. The flood of come is unexpected, and yet I’m prepared for it. I swallow it all, and at the same time find my own release as I moan around him. When it’s all over, he pulls away and strokes my hair.

  “Jaysus, Mack.”

  He doesn’t say anything else, and I just smile up at him. The tension is gone from his body, and I know it’s because of me. My heart is doing that weird thing in my chest again. He’s looking at me like he can’t believe I’m real. And I don’t know why it affects me so much, but it does.

  But, like me, Lachlan is hiding his own apprehension. The warmth of the moment doesn’t last long for either of us.

  “You should be asleep,” he says when his breathing has calmed.

  “That makes two of us,” I quip.

  “Men like me don’t have that luxury. Ye should know that.”

  I rest my chin on his thigh while I reach for his hand. An instinctive gesture, and once I have it, I’m not sure what to do with it. I start drawing little circles on his palm while I look up at him.

  “So what do men like you do?”

  “What kind of things did your father do?” he asks.

  My grip on him tightens reflexively. “I don’t want to talk about him. It wasn’t the same.”

  “Because he was good, and I’m not?” Lach supplies.

  I shake my head. “That wasn’t what I meant.” I don’t know what I meant.

  I know my father wasn’t perfect. But he’s gone now. And I only want to remember the good things.

  “He brought ye into the middle of it,” Lachlan says softly. “Ye never stood a chance, sweetheart. He should have protected ye.”

  Tears sting my eyes as I snatch my hand back. “You’re no different. No better. You guys get married and have kids too, right? Bring them into this life. How’s it any different?”

  “Aye, we do,” he says unapologetically. “But we also protect them, with our lives if need be. No child of mine would ever be left to fend for themselves. Nor my wife, either, for that matter.”

  I don’t know why he’s even bringing any of this up. His voice is tender, but his words are pissing me off.

  “It’s not the same thing,” I repeat. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand, Lachlan.”

  “I’m trying to.” He pulls my hand back into his and links our fingers together. “I’m trying to understand ye, Mack.”

  “Well, don’t,” I huff. “Unless you’re willing to divulge some things about yourself too.”

  “What would ye like to know?”

  There isn’t a bit of humor in his voice. He’s being open and honest with me, and I feel like it might be my only chance to ask him questions and get some real answers. I go for it with gusto.

  “What kind of things does your outfit deal in exactly?”

  He blinks at me and scrubs a hand over his face. “Ye know better than to ask something like that.”

  “I do.” I shrug. “But I also know that I’ll be a dead woman anyway if I ever talk, so what’s the harm in telling me this one small thing? I want to know what I’m getting myself into.”

  “Ye want the truth?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “Ye’re fucked, sweetheart. Ye’re never walking away from this. You’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life if you try.”

  I tighten my grip on his hand and search his eyes. His words aren’t threatening or filled with malice, just an honest truth. After what I saw last night, I knew there was no walking away. But I’m not certain that’s what he means.

  “From you or them?” I clarify.

  “We’re one and the same.”

  “I don’t buy that,” I tell him.

  He sighs, and his hand comes back to my face, his fingers brushing over my skin while he seems to come to some sort of conclusion in his own mind.

  “I can’t let ye go, Mack,” he says. “The reasons don’t matter, so it’s better ye just accept it now.”

  “So what will you do with me?”

  He considers me for a moment, and I could almost swear I get a glimpse of guilt hidden in the gray of his eyes.

  “I don’t know,” he says finally. “We’ll sort that out later.”

  He’s being very vague. Despite the intimate moment we just shared, it’s clear he still doesn’t trust me. I don’t blame him, but I’m going to need him to relax a little if I want to carry on with my mission. I have to wonder if he treats all women this way. Like at any moment they could turn around and stab him in the back. It must be exhausting.

  “So are you keeping me around because you want to, or because you have to?” I ask.

  “Make no bones about it.” He leans forward and captures my face in his hands. “I want to.”

  “Why?”

  “I couldn’t say.” He shrugs. “Ye’re trouble. A wild card, Mack. But maybe I like having ye here.”

  “Until you tire of me,” I add. “And then you’ll take someone on the side. Right? That’s how it works.”

  I don’t know why I’m asking these things. They aren’t even important. They don’t matter. Still, I want to know.

  “I can keep my cock in me pants,” he says. “And I often do until a pretty little ride like you comes along and takes it out for me.”

  I scowl up at him, and he reaches down and grabs me. A moment later, I’m deposited on his lap, his arms wrapped tight around my waist.

  “Mack.” He grabs the base of my neck with his fingers and rubs the skin, sending a shiver down my spine. “I’d have no need or want for anything else if you were lying in my bed every night.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” I grumble.

  “I like that ye’re possessive of me,” he says. “That turns me on, sweetheart. Because I already feel possessive as hell of you.”

  Silence falls between us, and then I hear him whisper, “but I shouldn’t.”

  I lean back against him and close my eyes. I know the feeling well.

  “I still need to know more about you,” I tell him.

  “Well, carry on then. I never told ye to stop.”

  “How did you come to be in this life?”

  “My father was born into it, and by birth I had rights to it as well. But my grand-da was the one to induct me.”

  “When do I get to meet him?” I ask.

  His hands tighten around me and his entire body goes rigid.

  “Ouch,” I hiss.

>   “He’s dead,” he clips out. “Don’t bring it up again.”

  “Sheesh, alright.”

  He relaxes, and I think the time for talking has abruptly come to an end. But Lachlan surprises me when he explains a few minutes later.

  “He died very recently,” he says. “And my father, when I was ten. Didn’t know much about him. He just knocked me mum up when he was back home for a visit. Sent money to keep her afloat, but this was where his life was at. My grand-da took care of me when I came here. And now Niall and the lads are my family. That’s all ye need to know about that.”

  “What about your mom?”

  “Dead too,” he says. “She went when I was sixteen.”

  I nuzzle into the crook of his neck, and for the first time in a long time I feel something familiar between someone else other than Talia and Scarlett. This is the thing that links us. He’s an orphan too. And, like me, he did what he had to in order to survive.

  I catch sight of the medal hanging against his chest, and my fingers move up to touch it.

  “Saint Anthony,” I murmur.

  He doesn’t reply. This medal holds some sort of significance to him. Just like the heart-shaped pendant hanging around my neck. I’m not a Catholic, but my father was, and I know enough to know exactly what this particular saint means.

  “Are you worried about your soul?” I ask him.

  “It depends on the day,” he answers vaguely. “Sometimes the minute. But how much time can a man in my line of work spend worrying about these things?”

  He’s teasing me, using humor to deflect my question. But beneath that veneer, I can see the truth. He does worry about these things. Worries about staying human. Good and evil. His darkness.

  Telling myself it’s under the pretense of softening him to my purpose, I continue to question him.

  “So what does a man like Lachlan Crow want?”

  He looks down at me and smiles. “Why don’t you tell me, sweetheart.”

  I continue to rub circles on his palm, deciding to be honest in my observation.

  “You want to please Niall. If I had to venture a guess, I’d say that you want to continue his legacy. Move up in the organization. Eventually, maybe even be King of all?”