Boston Underworld: The Collection

by A. Zavarelli

  “Ronan?” I squeak. “Put me down!”

  His grip only grows stronger. “I’ll fucking kill ye if you ever look at her like that again,” he snarls.

  His muscles are rippling with rage, pulling at the seams of his suit. He’s itching with the urge to kill.

  “What the bleeding hell is going on in here?” Lachlan’s voice filters through the low din.

  I try to crane my neck to see him, but I can’t. Ronan’s grip on me is so tight, I can’t even wiggle an inch.

  “He’s having a wank right there in the bloody pit,” Ronan shouts. “He was looking at her…”

  His words are coming out broken and in between bursts of harsh breaths.

  “My woman,” he says. “He tried to touch her… and…”

  “Alright, caveman,” Lachlan says. “We get it, she’s yours. Now fuck off out of here. I’ll sort out the lad.”

  Ronan hesitates for a moment longer, and even though I can’t see his face, I know his eyes are burning into whoever was staring at me. I worry that he’s taking mental notes on who he’s going to kill later. But then he turns around and carries me towards the back. And before we slip through the curtain and my humiliation is complete, I catch sight of Lachlan grinning. And then the bastard winks at me. He fucking winks.

  Because he set this up. Set me up.

  He knew Ronan would come in tonight, and he wanted him to see me. But I honestly could never have predicted the reaction I’m getting right now.

  He takes me down the hall and finds the door to the basement. My head jerks with every step, and I try unsuccessfully to wiggle free one more time. When he finally stops at the bottom of the stairs, he doesn’t even let me go. He just slides me down the front of his body and grips my ass with his palms before dropping me into a kneeling position before him.

  I should be yelling at him, probably. Or something. But he’s so angry. I’ve never seen him this way. He’s fumbling with his belt, yanking down his briefs so that his cock springs free. It bobs once in front of my face before he shoves it in the direction of my mouth, bumping it against my lips.

  Ronan and I have always had a fucked up way of going about things. The first time he fucked me, it was next to my dead boyfriend’s body. The first blowjob, in a basement he uses to kill people. He isn’t at all sweet. But if I wanted sugar, I’d eat a fucking cupcake.

  I reach up and grab his thighs to anchor me as I drag him into my mouth. There isn’t any uncertainty on his face tonight. There’s nothing but ownership and wrath fueling this episode. But every time I draw him into my mouth, he groans.

  His hands are in my hair, rough. He twists my head to suit his needs and uses me like a toy. If it were anyone else, I’d be pissed. But instead, I’m so fucking wet for him right now. I want him to use me. To take me. To be so out of control he can’t help himself. I love it when he’s like this. Harsh and dirty. I want him to use me up. I want him to toss me around and take me however he wants. The sex is so much hotter with Ronan because there are feelings involved. Emotions. I care about this man. And I want to serve him, right here in this dirty hallway.

  I moan around him, and it only serves to rile him further.

  “Is that good for ye?” he asks.

  I mumble an affirmative around him, and he shoves my face deeper, making me choke on his cock.

  “Is that the way ye like it?” His nostrils flare, and his fingers dig into my face. “Filthy like Donny used to do?”

  I blink up at him in horror and confusion and jerk away, wiping my mouth. “What did you just say?”

  “You heard me,” he snarls. “Is that what ye like? Ye want me to treat you like a filthy whore?”

  I shove him backwards as I stand up and he stumbles back a step. I don’t make it two feet before he’s yanking me back to him, trapping me between him and the wall. Ronan’s never been gentle with me, but right now he’s being downright caustic.

  “Don’t you ever fucking talk to me like that again!” I scream at him. “You fucking asshole…”

  “I can do whatever I like with ye, Sasha,” he announces. “Ye’re mine.”

  And with that declaration, he tries to kiss me. I bite him, and it makes him bleed, but he doesn’t stop. He grunts and devours me like he has every right to. And then he’s pulling away, glowering at me. Like I’m the one who needs a frigging lobotomy.

  “What the fuck is your problem?” I ask him. “You’re acting like a lunatic.”

  He crouches lower and moves in on me, so that his gaze is directly across from mine.

  “You let him touch you,” he growls. “Ye fucking let him touch you.”

  And that’s what all of this comes down to. Fucking Donovan. He put his slimy hands on me, and Ronan has the nerve to blame me for it. Pressure builds behind my eyes, and leaks out in the form of big, salty tears before I can get a grip.

  “I didn’t have a choice!” I yell in his face. “I’ve never had a fucking choice! You’re all a bunch of fucking assholes. You just take what you want, and you don’t even care…”

  He kisses me again.

  This time, it’s gentle. His hands are on my face, holding me like I’m the most precious thing in the world to him. Like I wasn’t just on my knees a moment ago blowing him in a dirty hallway while he called me a whore. And I know it’s because I’m crying now. He made me cry. I said I wouldn’t cry over a man again, but this one made me cry. And yet, when he soothes me from the hurt that he caused, I cling to him.

  When he pulls away, his brown eyes move over my face, sad and torn and so beautiful it hurts to look at them. All of my anger melts away when he looks at me like this. It’s foolish, but true.

  “How do you do that?” I ask.

  “Do what?”

  “How do you look at me like that and just make me forget everything, Ronan? You betrayed me. You’re mad because of what I did to protect you, but you didn’t protect me at all. You told Lachlan our secret. And I want to be angry at you. I’m so fucking angry at you.”

  His face softens and his hands pull me closer, like I might try to flee at any moment. Even though he’s the one that’s usually doing the running. But he sees my frustration. My pain. He threw me to the wolves, and he has to know I’m fed up. This constant back and forth with him is making me fucking insane. And yet he disarms me with a single touch. Talks me off the ledge with the faintest of whispers. This man is pure agony. My descent to hell. In fact, I’m certain he must be Lucifer himself, because the poison he feeds me is too sweet to resist.

  “I haven’t a clue what Crow told ye,” he says. “But it wasn’t like that, Sasha.”

  “Then how was it like?” I demand.

  “I don’t want ye to worry about these things,” he says softly. “It’s all in hand.”

  This.

  This is why I’m so deranged. This evasiveness. It took him two years after what happened to even talk to me, and now I’m lucky to drag one sentence out of him. He’s so guarded, even from me. And it makes me question everything about him, but when I look at him, I do believe him. He believes he’s protecting me by withholding information. By handling it. That’s how things work in the mob. The men deal with business, and the women look the other way.

  On some level, it’s nice to be able to disconnect like that. To trust and have faith that the syndicate will protect you. That’s how it works with the other girlfriends and wives. Unfortunately, it never worked that way for me. So it’s hard for me to look at Ronan right now and just tell him that none of it matters. Because it does. It involves me. And I know there had to be a reason for him to tell Lachlan after all this time. A damn good reason because it was a very risky move.

  “Just tell me one thing,” I croak. “Tell me that you’re safe and they aren’t going to punish you for it.”

  “Ye’re safe, Sasha,” he replies. “I’ve made sure of that.”

  “I wasn’t asking about myself,” I answer. “And it’s funny how you can say that, because I didn’
t exactly feel so safe when Lachlan was questioning me about it. Testing me when he knew the answer the whole time. What would have happened if I’d told him the truth?”

  Dark clouds roll through his eyes, and something shifts in his expression. It looks like betrayal. And I feel a little guilty for even mentioning it though I shouldn’t.

  “He did that?” Ronan asks.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I sigh. “I don’t want to cause problems between you two. That wasn’t my intention. I just needed to know that you were safe.”

  He’s quiet for a long pause, and it’s obvious he’s still thinking about it. But whatever’s actually going on in that head of his is still a complete mystery to me.

  “Ye’re done dancing,” he says finally, in a tone like I have no say in the matter.

  “I’m fully aware of that,” I snap. “Tonight was my last night.”

  He grips my hair into a makeshift pony tail and tugs on it. His mouth hovers over mine, the heat of his every exhale skating over my lips.

  “Nobody else gets to see you like that,” he declares. “Ye're claimed.”

  His words douse me in gasoline. His eyes light the match. And when he grinds himself against me, all that's left to do is burn for him.

  He crushes his lips against mine and kisses me so hard it borders on painful. His hands are tearing at the strings of my bikini, yanking them apart until I’m completely naked in his arms. His raging hard cock is still sandwiched between our bodies, at least until it isn’t. He picks me up and the next thing I know, I've got ten inches of Ronan shoved inside of me. I cry out against him, and he feeds off of it, sucking his own choice of poison from the hollow in my throat. The taste of my skin is what gets him off. Being inside of me. Owning me. He drinks from me and gives me another lethal injection of his brand of narcotic.

  “Why are you always doing this?” I pant against him. “Why do you always do this?”

  His only answer is to fuck me into the wall. Being the psychopath that I clearly am, I come so hard I nearly black out. I want him. But he’s so bad for me. The worst. And still, I clamp down around him, pulling him deeper inside.

  He’s putting me on display right now. Anyone could come down here and see us. I can only imagine what we look like. Him fully dressed, me naked and pressed against the wall. Lipstick smeared, mascara running down my face. Good and thoroughly used by him.

  I wonder if Ronan’s thinking about that too, when he groans and finishes inside of me.

  Without a condom. Again.

  Jesus. This fucking man.

  His forehead falls against mine, and we both just hold on to each other until our breathing calms. And then he releases me and I slide down his body until my toes touch the floor.

  His come is still leaking out of me when I bend over to pick up the scraps of my clothing. I attempt in vain to make myself decent while Ronan watches. He’s already zipped and apart from his bloody lip, there’s not a bit of evidence he just fucked me into next week.

  “I hope you enjoyed that,” I tell him. “Being that it was the last time.”

  He looks at me. And we both know it’s a lie. This thing between us isn’t over. I'll always be enslaved to this man. I'd serve him any day of the week and twice on Sundays. Because, fuck me, that’s why.

  He could just come out and say it if he really wanted to. Rub it in my face and tell me the ugly truth. Instead, he simply says, “Come on. I’m taking ye home.”

  24

  SASHA

  WHEN RONAN SAID he was taking me home, the most logical conclusion would be that he meant to my place. So when we pull up to an unfamiliar house in Beacon Hill I stare over at his shadowed profile and wait for an explanation.

  But Ronan being Ronan, he doesn’t bother giving me one. Instead, he steps out of the car and comes around to open my side and then escorts me up the stairs. He’s looking around the street, his eyes darting at every shadowed car and bush in the vicinity. And I’m used to him being uptight, but not like this. He’s on high alert, and it’s making me nervous.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask him.

  He glares at me. “Aye, something’s wrong. You were flashing your tits and ass for all the lads tonight. After I’d taken you. Made you my woman.”

  I’m still staring at him in disbelief when he drags me through the door. And then I’m being attacked by the last thing I ever expected to see in his house.

  A frigging Corgi.

  I bend down to greet her, and she licks my hand before wiggling her butt back and forth and whining at Ronan. He calls her into the kitchen and gives her some food, but it’s obvious she only wants his attention. Ronan doesn’t seem to understand this… the most basic of emotions, and it’s just so Ronan that I can’t help but smile.

  “She wants you to pet her,” I tell him. “Hold her.”

  “How can ye tell?” he asks.

  I want to tell him it’s obvious, but the more I’m around Ronan the more I learn he actually does need things like this explained.

  “That’s why she gets so excited,” I say. “When you come in the door. She does it every time, right?”

  “Aye,” he says. “I thought it meant she was hungry. That’s what Crow said.”

  I roll my eyes and set down my bag. “No, Ronan. It means that she missed you. While you are out and about in the world and doing your thing every day, a dog only has interactions with you to look forward to.”

  “But why would she look forward to that?” he asks.

  “Because she loves you.”

  He glances down at the little Corgi who is staring up at him with an expression I know far too well. It’s the same damned expression I get when I look at him, too. Ronan moves to the fridge, and the dog comes running to me. I pick her up in my arms and smile.

  “You and me, sister,” I murmur. “We’re just a couple of suckers, huh?”

  “Would you care for a drink?” Ronan asks very formally.

  “No,” I answer. “What’s her name?”

  He comes back into view. “Her name is dog. And how did ye know it was a girl?”

  I frown at him and shake my head. “You have to give her a real name. And it’s pretty easy, Ronan. She doesn’t have any balls.”

  He looks away uncomfortably and then sits down on the sofa. He’s back to being stiff and unnatural and I have no idea what I’m even doing here.

  I sit down in a spare seat and continue to play with the dog. “What about Daisy?” I ask him. “I think it suits her.”

  He watches the dog for a few moments and then shrugs. “That sounds… grand.”

  “You hear that, Daisy?” I coo. “You’ve been upgraded from dog. You have a real name now.”

  She whines and then gets overexcited, bounding off to go see her beloved master.

  “Why am I here, Ronan?” I ask finally.

  He won’t look at me. And the tension in his body is only growing with every passing minute. He stands up and makes a gesture with his hand.

  “Will ye come with me?” he asks. “I’d like to show ye something.”

  “Okay,” I agree cautiously. He’s acting really strange. Even more so than usual.

  He walks down the hall, and for the first time I notice that the layout of his house is very similar to Lachlan’s. But the furniture is much less prevalent, and I highly suspect that he pretty much never has company. This is a house designed for function only. Eat, sleep, and read from the looks of it. Everything is clean and tidy, but not overly so. There isn’t much in the house at all for personal belongings. No photos, no knitted blankets or other personal effects that one usually collects over a lifetime.

  When I stare at his back as he leads me down the dark and empty hall, it makes my heart ache for him. The only things this man has in his life are literally his brothers in the syndicate. And a dog that he didn’t even know should have a name. I want to ask him more about his background, and there’s a question on the tip of my tongue, but then he pauses in front of
a room.

  His room.

  It’s obvious from the scent alone that lingers there. It’s Ronan’s personal space. Where he sleeps at night. There’s a bed with stark gray blankets and a closet full of suits and shoes and little else. A couple of books on the nightstand and a lamp to read by. That’s it.

  I look up at him and wonder if this is some misguided attempt at flirting with me. Or getting me into his bed, which doesn’t seem likely. He’s very fond of taking me up against walls and then making a quick getaway. He doesn’t even like to remove his clothes.

  “What did you want to show me?” I step inside the room and take a look around.

  But Ronan doesn’t follow. Instead, he shuts the door behind me, and a lock clicks into place from the other side.

  “What the hell, Ronan?” I walk to the door and slap my hand against the wood. “What are you doing?”

  “Conor is bringing over the rest of your belongings from your apartment,” he says from the other side. As though this statement is totally reasonable and should explain everything.

  “Excuse me?”

  “And if ye need anything, you can call out for me.”

  “Ronan.” I rub my temples in frustration. “You aren’t making any sense. Tell me what’s going on.”

  There’s a long pause of silence, and I wait, hoping he hasn’t disappeared. But then his voice is soft and slightly nervous as he explains.

  “Someone broke into your apartment,” he says.

  “What? How… I mean how do you even know this?”

  “Because they sent me a photo, to my phone,” he replies quietly. “With a picture of your bed and your… um… your knickers and such.”

  A tremor moves through me, and suddenly I’m glad for the sanctuary of Ronan’s house.

  “Why would they do that?” I ask.

  I don’t understand. But the longer he remains silent, the more I start to piece it together.

  “They know you,” I speak into the wooden door. “Are they threatening me?”

  Another pause, and I can almost imagine him taking off his glasses and rubbing his tired eyes the way he does when he’s stressed.