Boston Underworld: The Collection

by A. Zavarelli

  “I understand you just fine,” I snap at him.

  He closes his eyes and rubs his nose in my hair, inhaling me. My stomach roils because he’s hard and his trousers are right there, and I know he has no intention of leaving here unsatisfied. This is a man who gets off on violence. A man in a position of power. A dangerous combination.

  “Just between you and me, Ten,” he lowers his voice. “You altered me in a way I can’t ever get back. Ever since that night, it’s all I can think about. Your face in the dirt, the sounds of all those cocks inside of you. I get off on fucking dirty, filthy whores. And it’s always your face I see when I defile them.”

  “Fuck off.”

  I spit in his face, and he smashes his palm into the bridge of my nose. The pain is instant, and the blood is a fountain down my face and over my lips.

  My body is still sluggish, flopping around like a limp doll when he lifts me up by the hair and slams me into the wall. His hands move over my dress, raising it up over my hips and grinding himself against me while he squeezes the flesh of my ass in his hand.

  “You stupid fucking cunt,” he growls. “You have no idea who you’re messing with. Do you honestly think anyone would ever believe a word you have to say against me? You, the worthless street whore, and me… the upstanding agent. I could fuck you bloody and they wouldn’t even blink twice at your sob story. So, it would do you well to remember that from this point forward. When I say jump, you ask how high. When I tell you to get on your knees and suck my cock, you’ll give me the best fucking blowjob I’ve ever had in my life.”

  He grips my hair at the nape of my neck and claws his fingers down my throat.

  “Are we understood?”

  I say nothing, so he slams my face into the wall. Everything is black and I’m on the verge of passing out and I have no choice because I can’t allow that to happen again.

  “Yes,” I tell him. “I understand.”

  He lets me go, and I crumple to the floor. His breathing is harsh, and his eyes are excited. Alive.

  His zipper comes down and my stomach roils.

  He grabs my hair again and tries to pull me up onto my knees. When my knees don’t cooperate, he kicks me in the calf to make sure that they do.

  And then he’s got his cock out, rubbing it in my face. It’s happening all over again, and I want to kill him but I’m too weak and when I try to hurt him he hits me again.

  There is no hesitation. He just keeps coming at me. And he gets off on my pain and now I know he is the monster that fucked up Kylie.

  I need to get away from him.

  But I’m dizzy and weak and I can barely form a coherent thought. When he squeezes my jaw and tries to shove himself in my mouth, acid lurches up my throat. And my body supplies its own defense mechanism. By vomiting all over him.

  There’s a sound of utter revulsion followed by a harsh shove.

  “God, you’re fucking disgusting.”

  And yet all the while, he’s stroking himself in his palm. Getting off on the filth of it all. The revulsion he feels when he looks down at me.

  It isn’t long before he tips his head back and lets out a groan, spurting his come all over my dress.

  “Filthy whore.” He zips himself back up and straightens out his clothing. “Don’t think for a second those tricks are going to work for you. Next time, I’ll fuck you face down in your own vomit.”

  He moves towards the door, only pausing to give me one last instruction.

  “You have a week to make your decision,” he says. “Death or marriage.”

  6

  SCARLETT

  HELL IS empty and all the devils are here- Shakespeare

  “Tonight’s initiation night,” Hanna whispers from the other end of the line.

  “How do you know?” I feign ignorance.

  “I got a note in my locker after school. It said I have to meet outside campus just after midnight.”

  “Cool,” I tell her. “I hope you get in.”

  “You’re going to get a note too,” she insists. “There’s no way with your family’s alumni that you wouldn’t.”

  I don’t tell her that I already got a note, and I have no desire to follow up on it.

  “I wouldn’t go anyway,” I say. “The whole thing is so archaic.”

  “Are you kidding?” Hanna hisses as if it’s the worst thing I could ever say. “Ten, you HAVE to go. It’s complete social suicide if you don’t. Besides, what would your mother say if she knew?”

  My eyes dart across the kitchen to the woman in question and I know exactly what my mother would say. She’d blow a gasket if she knew I didn’t go.

  Every woman in my family for the last three generations has been a member of Birds of a Feather. Being a Birdie is an Albright birthright, my mother says. An honor and a tradition that I need to take seriously.

  I wish I cared as much as her, but it seems so stupid. It’s not like these ‘secret’ societies are even secret anymore. Everyone knows who’s in them and who runs the school. And regardless if I’m a Birdie or not, my social status is not going to change at Marquardt Prep. I’m a nobody, and that’s exactly how I prefer it.

  “Look,” Hanna says, and she’s irritated and it makes me feel guilty that I’m not like her. That I’m not like any of them. “Just think about your college applications. You want Harvard, right? Well guess what, Ten, so do a million other people. If you want your application to have any chance of not being buried at the bottom of the pile, then you need these extracurriculars. And besides, Alexander is being initiated tonight too. You know that Praetorians can only date Birdies.”

  My chest hurts at the thought of Alexander dumping me. I didn’t always like him, especially when my mother was hell bent on pushing us together, but over the last year, I’ve really warmed up to him.

  When he’s not around his friends, he can actually be kind of sweet.

  “Hellooooo?” Hanna snaps. “Are you even listening to me?”

  “I’ll think about it,” I tell her.

  “Well if you don’t,” she growls, “then you can really kiss Alexander goodbye. He won’t ever forgive you for this.”

  She slams the phone shut and I’m left with a dial tone as my mother examines me. Her eyes are always moving over me as though she’s cataloging ways for me to improve. And then she’ll bring them up, one by one, at the nightly family dinners.

  “Everything okay at school?” she asks.

  “Everything’s fine,” I tell her.

  She’s quiet for a moment, glancing over her shoulder to make sure nobody else is around to hear her next question.

  “How are your symptoms?”

  “They aren’t symptoms, mother,” I sigh. “They are personality traits.”

  “Yes, well… regardless of what you’d like to call them, I need to know you’re still working on them. That you’re doing what you promised.”

  “I am,” I say. “I’m doing everything you want.”

  “Good,” she answers. “That’s good, Tenly.”

  The kitchen is quiet, and the conversation is effectively over when she leaves without another word.

  Later that night, I sneak out of the house and wait at the end of the block like I’ve been instructed to do.

  A car pulls up, and I barely get a glimpse of the faces inside when I’m yanked through the door.

  Someone covers my eyes with their hands, and I’m freaking out already until Alexander’s voice whispers into my ear.

  “Calm down, baby,” he says. “It’s just me.”

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. “I’m supposed to be getting initiated tonight.”

  “I came to escort my girl.” He takes my hand and I feel some of my nerves dissipating as he strokes the pulse beneath my skin.

  “Are you nervous?” he asks.

  “No,” I lie. “And why are they doing both initiations on the same night? Aren’t they supposed to be separate?”

  “Nah,” Alexander says, but
he doesn’t give further explanation.

  “Are the other girls meeting us somewhere?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “Of course. But you have to pass the first challenge first.”

  “What is it?”

  He brings something cool to my lips and liquid sloshes into my mouth.

  “Drink up.”

  I don’t want to do it. The whole thing is so lame. But I know I’ll be ridiculed forever as the girl who couldn’t even pass the first test if I don’t. And then my mother will be on my case about destroying generations of our family’s hard work and reputations.

  So, I drink the liquid.

  And it hits me hard.

  Not that I ever really drink, but it feels stronger than it should. Within moments, I’m dizzy and confused and my entire body is weighted down in the seat.

  Alexander says something, but I don’t understand the words. I slump against him, and then there is laughter all around me.

  I fall asleep.

  I don’t know how long we’re in the car for. Because when I wake up, we’re somewhere else. It’s cold, and it smells like pine.

  The moon is above me, and there’s dirt and rocks digging into my skin beneath me. Grunting and slapping.

  “Fucccccck yeah,” someone says.

  And it’s too close to my face. Something heavy falls on top of me, and when my eyes adjust, I realize it’s Duke.

  And then I realize that I’m naked, and he’s inside of me.

  My mouth opens, and a scream erupts.

  “What the fuck?”

  That’s Alexander’s voice.

  A hand clamps over my mouth, and he’s closer now, speaking into my ear.

  “Shut the fuck up, Ten,” he whispers. “You just need to get through this, and we’re both in.”

  All his friends are here. I see them and feel them and that’s betrayal slicing through me like a hot iron. I’m still screaming beneath his hand when Duke moves off of me and Alexander takes his place. He grunts and pushes himself inside of me, smothering my face with his hand.

  “Dude, you need to make her shut up,” someone says.

  There’s a hand in my hair, and my head is slammed back into the ground. Once, twice. Dizziness threatens again.

  “Put some more shit in a drink and give it to me,” Alexander tells them.

  A couple minutes later, my mouth is being squeezed open and more liquid is sloshing down my throat. I almost choke on it, but they keep forcing it down, anyway.

  Whatever it is, it renders me limp and useless again.

  “Finally,” one of them mutters. “Now flip her over so I can have some too. Don’t be a greedy pig.”

  There are so many hands on me. Bodies crushing me.

  I only get fleeting glimpses of the nightmare, interspersed with bouts of unconsciousness. I don’t know how long it is before I start to feel something in my limbs again. But the moment I do, I try to fight back.

  This time, someone clamps a hand over my mouth and my nose.

  I can’t breathe.

  And I can’t fight back.

  Not anymore.

  The last thing I hear when it all goes silent around me, is Alexander’s voice.

  “You gave her too much. What the fuck? What are we going to do now?”

  I’m being dragged through the dirt, tossed into a shallow hole. Leaves and rocks scraping over my skin and burying me alive.

  Hatred settles into my stomach and oozes through my veins, blackening everything inside of me. Until there is nothing left. Nothing left but evil.

  My carefully constructed kingdom of control is crumbling around me.

  The bathwater is cold now, my knees drawn up to my chest as I smear the dried blood on my hand across the wall.

  It mixes with the condensation and forms tiny rivers of red in the cracks of the tile, leaking back into the bathtub and poisoning everything around me.

  The betrayal, the pain, the complete loss of control.

  It’s happening all over again.

  The time for war has come, and there’s no backing down now.

  I’m trapped in this game. And the only way out is by leaving a trail of blood in my wake.

  I’m going to kill them all.

  I’m going to make them pay for their sins and I’m going to fucking win.

  If Alexander thinks he will ever touch me again, he can die thinking that as I plunge my knife into his heart.

  But it isn’t enough. It’s not enough to temper the fire inside of me. Alexander and his friends aren’t enough.

  There’s someone else I’ve been holding back on. And I don’t hold back for anyone. I was being nice, and I don’t do fucking nice. And it’s now two times that Rory Brodrick has crossed me.

  If he hadn’t interrupted me tonight, none of this would have happened.

  I wouldn’t have been off my game and I would have been paying attention and Alexander wouldn’t have caught me off guard.

  He just keeps fucking everything up. He thinks he can fix me, but I’m going to show him. There is no fixing me.

  There’s only the violence and the want and the hate.

  And now, I’m going to use him like a pawn. I’m going to take Rory’s fragile, vulnerable little heart… and I’m going to play with it like a fucking toy.

  Cross me, Mr. Brodrick? You better cross your heart and hope to die.

  7

  RORY

  FIGHT NIGHT.

  My favorite night of the week.

  Every Thursday, I’m in this warehouse. Having a bit of craic, fucking shit up.

  Irish men are natural born fighters. And I’m no exception to that rule. I love to lamp some poor bloke upside the head just as much as the next lad.

  It’s what we do.

  And all the lads get in on it too. Drinking and placing bets. Cheering me on from the sidelines. The place is standing room only. The stench of blood and sweat and beer permeating the air around us. There are women too. Lots of women.

  There always are.

  I usually end up taking one home with me at the end of the night. They know the score, and so do I.

  Casual. Always keep it casual. They want to bag a fighter, and I want to work off the last of my adrenaline.

  But the last few I’ve taken home with me have only ended up passing out on the couch since I’ve been too piss drunk to do much of anything.

  Conor’s got it in his head that there’s something wrong with me. Something bothering me.

  Tonight, I’m set to prove him wrong. My eyes scan the crowd before I even square off with the Italian I’m fighting in just a few short moments.

  I’m already counting my victory… because let’s face it… this bloke walked in here with Gucci loafers.

  Enough said.

  There’s a few blondes over in the corner tossing smiles my way. I smile back at them and flash them the dimples. Works like a charm.

  Every time.

  I ignore the brunettes in the crowd. Because there’s only one brunette I want. And I don’t like to compare.

  There is no comparison.

  But just as Johnny starts his spiel and I meet my opponent in the middle of the makeshift ring, one brunette does catch my eye.

  And I have to do a double take to be sure.

  Because her face is all beat to hell.

  Scarlett.

  In a black dress and flats. Scarlett never wears flats, but tonight she is because her leg is jacked up too. She’s leaning to the left and trying not to show it.

  My nostrils flare and I crack my neck and I’m ready to murder someone when the bell sounds and I give her one last glance. She’s looking right at me. Holding her head high. Acting like her face isn’t all fucked up, and she has every right to come here and provoke me like this.

  Because she knows.

  She knows I’m going to slay the motherfucker who did that to her. Even if I have to cuff her to my bloody bed and torture the name out of her myself.

  I can’t h
andle this shite.

  I can’t handle seeing her fucked up like this all the time. The things she does to herself. The way she puts herself at risk.

  Fucking Christ.

  I need somewhere to channel this rage.

  The Italian clatters me in the jaw when I’m not paying attention, and it feels like a hit from back in my schoolyard brawls.

  Doesn’t matter though.

  I come at him like a freight train. Loaf him three times in the head and he goes down. He’s not even fighting back when I get down on the floor and continue to pummel him in his face.

  It isn’t until Lachlan and Ronan are pulling me off him that I realize he’s knocked the fuck out. And it’s not enough. There’s still too much adrenaline flooding my veins. Fucking up my head.

  And all I can see is Scarlett’s face.

  So, when Crow doesn’t take his hands off me, I turn around and clock him too. And pretty soon, we’re both going at each other before some of the other lads join in.

  It takes four of them to pin me down and talk some sense into me.

  It’s Conor, surprisingly enough, that I listen to. He seems to understand what the others don’t.

  “She’s going to leave if you keep acting the maggot,” he tells me. “And then what?”

  He’s right. And I know he’s right. He helps me to my feet, and Crow wipes the blood from his lip, his eyes darting to Scarlett in the crowd and back to me.

  Crow is the boss of the syndicate now. My boss. And I just had a go at him that I had no right to have.

  But he understands better than anyone. The trouble with women. It wasn’t so long ago that his own woman almost got him killed.

  So instead of telling me to feck off and he’ll take a few fingers for that offense, which I rightfully deserve, he gives me a nod. To go to her.

  Conor tosses me a rag and I wipe the blood from my face before I push my way through the crowd. But the place where Scarlett stood only moments before is now empty. And after a few minutes of scanning the building, I realize she’s no longer in it at all.

  It’s always this way with her. These games of cat and fecking mouse. She loves it. Toying with people. Toying with me, specifically.

  But I’m in no mood for it tonight. Or anymore for that matter.