Boston Underworld: The Collection

by A. Zavarelli

  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 strokes 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.”

  32

  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 e
yes 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.

  33

  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.

  “He’s not a babysitter,” Conor says. “Don’t you know why they call him the Reaper? He’s the only guy Crow trusts to take care of you. The only one who could kill someone fifty different ways before they get within ten feet of you.”

  I raise my brows and Ronan shoots Conor a withering glare. “Piss off, runt,” he says. “Haven’t ye something else to be doing?”

  Conor sits down beside me on the sofa. I offer him the bottle of bourbon, and he nods. But Ronan quickly puts the kibosh on that.

  “Would ye like me to kill you?” he snarls. “Ye’re here to protect her, not get drunk ya eejit.”

  Conor releases the bottle with a shrug. “Seems to me the girl doesn’t need protecting anyhow. She put me in a fucking choke hold for chrissakes.”

  I give him an apologetic smile which only irritates Ronan further. “She needed protecting tonight, though. Didn’t she?”

  Whether I want to admit it or not, his words hurt. Because I’ve always been too proud to think I’d ever need help from anyone else. Ronan seems to sense this, and for a brief moment I could almost believe he felt bad for saying it. That lasts a total of two seconds before he goes back to brooding.

  The rest of the night is quiet. I drink myself into a stupor on the sofa, and it’s nearly dawn when Lach comes in and carries me to bed. He’s exhausted and we’re both sore as hell, but it doesn’t stop us from pawing at each other. I reach up and find his face in the darkness, bringing his lips to mine. Lachlan kisses me back and rolls his body into a dominant position. He wraps my legs around him and pushes inside, never taking his lips or his hands off me.

  And that’s exactly where he stays until sunrise.

  This morning’s ritual between us is different. Lach is taking his time, exploring my body like he doesn’t have anywhere to be. Like it isn’t just the way we start our day, but something different. When he finishes but stays inside of me, I know something has changed for him too.

  I’m afraid to ask. But it’s there in his eyes. He cares about me too. That was never part of the plan. I didn’t want him to care about me. But now? It’s making my heart beat fast and I can’t decide whether I want to cry or kiss him.

  “Do you have to leave?” I ask him, my fingers grazing over his muscular back and squeezing his ass to pull him deeper inside of me.

  His face is serious as he watches me, his eyes a beautiful landscape of blue and gray. “I’d like to meet your grandmother. The one ye called the other day.”

  “What?” I squeak. “I mean, why?”

  He narrows his eyes. “Do I need a reason?”

  I can’t tell if it’s suspicion there or something else. “Well, it’s just a little unexpected.”

  “It’s inevitable,” he says. “Ye’re part of my life now. I want to know the people who are a part of yours.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I lie.

  Lach studies me carefully, his eyes roaming over my face and looking for tells. He knows I’m lying, I think. So I distract him by fucking his brains out for the next hour.

  I’m getting ready to go to the club when Lachlan comes into the bathroom and spins me around in his arms.


  “I’m taking ye to supper,” he says.

  I groan and he arches an eyebrow.

  “Seriously?” I ask. “The last dinner we had didn’t exactly go so well. Can’t we just swing through Dunkie’s? A donut would do me just fine, really. I’m easy to please.”

  “You and that coffee,” he grunts.

  I stare at him expectantly. My question was not a rhetorical one.

  “No, Mack.” He slaps me on the ass and makes me yelp. “Ye won’t be having a goddamn donut for dinner. Now get your arse into the car.”

  “Fine,” I grumble.

  The entirety of the car ride is spent giving Lachlan the silent treatment. This is what happens when he deprives me of sugar. He’s nervous about something again, evident by the tapping of his fingers against his leg, but I don’t bother asking. I know better than that by now.

  Expecting the Back Bay again or something equally fancy, my paranoia takes a strangle hold on me as we move towards some of my old stomping grounds in Southie. I turn my attention to Lach, who isn’t giving anything away. He doesn’t seem like he’s in on the big secret, but still, this whole situation doesn’t bode well for me.

  When he pulls up to a tavern… one that I know very well, I’m practically hyperventilating.

  “What are we doing here?” I ask.

  “C’mon.”

  He gets out and walks over to open my door, but I’m glued to my seat. Lachlan takes my hand and pulls me up anyway. Everything around us is shrouded in fog as he opens the door and we step inside.

  I don’t have to look across the room at the table in the corner. I already know she’s here.

  “Lach…” I protest weakly. “I don’t like this place. Can’t we just…”

  My words are cut off when Scarlett walks up to us and gives me a mischievous smile. God damn her. God fucking damn her. What the fuck? I told her not to get involved in this. I told her.

  “Hey babe,” she greets me with a wink before holding her hand out to Lachlan.

  I watch Lach carefully, trying to decipher every hidden emotion in his eyes. He doesn’t look hostile, but God knows that could change at any moment. I’ve lied to him, and somehow he’s managed to get a hold of Scarlett and bring her here. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.