Boston Underworld: The Collection

by A. Zavarelli

  The contemplation of who should be on top and doing the work ends when he pulls away. It’s cold without his body wrapped around mine and I shiver and Rory pulls off his hoodie and hands it to me.

  “It’s a wee bit chilly in here,” he apologizes. “The place doesn’t have central heating yet. Still being renovated.”

  “I can see that.”

  I’ve spent all morning in his bachelor pad, picking it apart. Slabs of drywall and carpentry equipment abound and the place is dusty and a far cry from completion. The floor has been torn up and half the walls are missing. But with the space and my mind filling in the gaps, I see it differently.

  I tried to imagine it the way Rory would see it. As a family home because there are three bedrooms. He’s really going to town on the kitchen where I suppose he imagines he’ll sit down to dinner with his wife. The children will play in the parlor and there will probably be a dog and cat too.

  He will settle down here. Create a life here.

  Given that I haven’t fucked him beyond repair by the time I’m through.

  There is no residual sweetness left in my mouth from Rory’s kiss. It’s bitter now, and I’m twitchy and I hate this woman already and of course I don’t know her. But maybe it will be better if I fuck him up so bad that he never meets her because then I will get what I want even if I don’t know why I want it.

  “Are you doing the work yourself?” I ask because I need to say something and not think about this.

  “Aye.” He nods. “Mostly. The lads help out now and then. But I like the work. Gives me hands something to do.”

  “You mean when you aren’t beating the shit of someone on Thursday nights?”

  He smiles at me and it’s all dimples but I don’t smile back because I was really thinking of what else he does with those hands.

  I turn away and walk to the exposed brick wall on the far side of the space.

  “Keeping this?”

  “Now that you’ve touched it,” he replies. “How could I ever bear to part with it?”

  I toss him a look over my shoulder and catch him staring at my ass. Which is a relief.

  I was beginning to wonder.

  He keeps pulling away just when things are gaining momentum, and it’s a problem I’m not familiar with.

  “Enjoying the view?”

  “Always,” he smirks. “I’d enjoy it even better in my shower in about two minutes from now.”

  “Sorry.” I yawn. “Took one this morning while I was waiting on you. Which won’t be happening again, by the way.”

  Rory’s still stuck on the idea of me in the shower with him, and he’s breaking out the big guns now. Whipping off his tee shirt and snapping the waistband of his pants.

  He forgets who I am.

  Amateur.

  “Last chance.”

  He winks and I grin.

  “Pass. I need to go home and get some clothes, anyway.”

  “I’ll give ye a lift,” he says. “Just need ten minutes or so.”

  “Sure.”

  I give him a mock salute and plant my ass on the sofa again, tapping my fingers over my thigh.

  “Scarlett.”

  Rory’s voice is serious. And he isn’t ever serious. So I turn around, and I don’t like what I find in his eyes.

  “Don’t go disappearing on me again.”

  My smile is weak, and my reassurance is too.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  11

  RORY

  SCARLETT IS quiet on the drive over to her apartment.

  And nervous too.

  I don’t ask her about it because that will only give her a reason to back out on our date tonight. Which was her idea.

  I had no bloody notion of going all the way to New York to play some cards, but if it buys me some time with her, I’ll take it.

  She doesn’t allow me to open the car door for her and leaves me to trudge after her up the stairs. An orange cat greets her at the top and she hesitates like she wants to pet him before she glances over her shoulder and decides against it.

  Scarlett could never know it, but I see so much of myself in her.

  And I see the way I could have become, had Niall not taken me under his wing and helped me sort out my shite.

  It’s quite obvious nobody has ever done the same for Scarlett. She doesn’t accept favors, or sympathy, or even a kind word. She hates the world and everyone in it. And inside, beneath that false sweetness and lies, she is filled with rage.

  She doesn’t want anybody to know it. To see that vulnerability in her. I’m well acquainted with that feeling myself. Which is why I used to beat the ever-loving fuck out of any bloke who thought he could mouth off to me.

  I thought it made me a man, but I’d only become my own worst enemy. I’d become my father. And I couldn’t keep a lid on my rage.

  But things are different now. And so am I.

  People never take me too seriously because I’m always joking. Scarlett thinks she’s got me all figured out too.

  That’s why when she does things like this- when she won’t stop to pet the cat who wants her attention for fear of what it will reveal about her- I don’t call her out on it. But I make a note of it. I make a note of everything she does.

  And someday, we’re going to unpack this baggage she carries around.

  Just not today.

  Scarlett shoves her keys into the door and goes to town on the locks. All six of them. And if there are six on her door, I can only imagine how many there are on her heart.

  When she’s managed to open the barricade to her apartment, she lets us inside.

  My eyes settle over the chaos while Scarlett discreetly checks each room for invisible threats.

  Again, I don’t call her out on it, because I’m using the opportunity to soak up her personal space.

  The apartment is small, with only the basics for furniture. No photos, no decorations, just plain white walls and a whole load of books.

  Books on every surface. The couch. The counter. The table. They are all bookmarked in different places, and I check a couple of them when she isn’t looking to see what it is she wanted to come back to.

  There are multiple copies of the same books.

  Hamlet and The Great Gatsby.

  The second one she’s mentioned to me before.

  I haven’t a clue about books, but Scarlett is obsessed. When she comes back into the room and catches me leafing through the pages, it’s even worse than I thought.

  She snatches it from my hands, distraught at the prospect of trying to find the exact stack it came from. Her eyes are darting around the room, frantic in a way I haven’t seen before, when I point to the pile beside her on the counter. She replaces it and then notices the book still lingering in my other hand.

  “Give it back,” she snipes. “You can’t just go around touching other people’s books.”

  “Obviously not,” I agree.

  A pink flush spreads across her chest, and Jesus Christ she’s blushing. I’m smiling and she’s beautiful, even when she’s angry like she is right now.

  “I won’t touch them again,” I assure her.

  She tries to justify her actions.

  “It’s just that if you move one, I won’t be able to find it later.”

  I don’t know how she finds them now, but I don’t tell her so. Her control issues run deeper than I ever imagined. This is a whole new side to her, inside this space. A vulnerable side of her.

  “Sit down on the couch while I get dressed,” she barks as she points to the other side of the room.

  I grab her instead and pull her into me, my hand tangling in the long locks at the back of her hair.

  “Scarlett, I like you. But I don’t take orders from anyone. So ye need to get that through your fucking head before you speak to me like that again.”

  “Then why don’t you just fuck off,” she suggests.

  She’s sullen and I’m hard and my fingers are tight in her hai
r, pulling her head back so my mouth is above hers.

  “I won’t let you ruin this before it even gets started.”

  “Fine,” she says. “Then let me go and I’ll get dressed. But I swear to god if you touch any more of my books…”

  I smack her on the ass and she glares at me, so I break out the dimples.

  “You want to get back at me, sweetheart? Then go slip into something so hot I’ll be suffering all night long even thinking about it.”

  She smiles back at me, and its pure evil.

  “Just remember you asked for it.”

  12

  SCARLETT

  TO THINE own self be true, and let whoever stands in the way of that, truly know my wrath.

  When Rory sees me, he’s stunned into silence.

  I do a little spin, really playing it up. The dress is a deep crimson with asymmetrical cuts on the neckline and thigh. The lines cut low into my cleavage and high on my leg.

  My mother would choke on her Chardonnay if she saw me in it.

  “I’m adorable, right?”

  “Adorable isn’t the word I’d use,” he answers gruffly.

  “You clean up pretty nice too, sport.”

  Now that I’ve taken notice.

  He’s wearing dark wash jeans and a white button up with a black vest over the top. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, allowing his ink to peek out.

  As far as visual pleasures go, this one isn’t bad. If I was a normal girl, I’d be all over it. The stereotypical bad boy with ink and the flirtatious personality as the cherry on top. But it’s those dimples that he brandishes like a weapon.

  Women love them. And there’s no doubt he’ll be turning heads tonight too.

  Which is why I have a strategy in place.

  “I want to fill you in on the plan for tonight,” I say.

  “What plan?” he asks, and it’s a tired question and he’s suspicious and I need to convince him this is fun.

  “I think we should act like strangers.”

  He stuffs his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels, considering my words.

  “You want to hustle with me, sweetheart?”

  “I’ll be doing the hustling,” I smirk. “But yeah, I want to Bonnie and Clyde that joint up.”

  “What’s your game?” he asks.

  He isn’t saying yes, but he isn’t saying no. He likes the adrenaline rush as much as I do. He thinks he’s the master, but he hasn’t seen me in action before. Not really.

  So, I lay it all out for him. Using the voice and personality of the bimbo I sucker punch my clients with.

  “Well you see, doll, I’m just a bored housewife. Married a real estate tycoon down in Texas and he spends all his time at the office.”

  I toss in a couple sniffles and pull a handkerchief from my clutch to really ham it up before I continue.

  “And I’m pretty sure he’s cheating on me with his secretary too. It’s our anniversary today, and he’s still at a meeting with her. So, I want to get drunk, have some fun, and spend loads of his cash. Only problem is, I don’t know how to play poker. I need one of you gentleman to teach me.”

  The smile on Rory’s face disappeared over the course of my speech. The wheels are turning in his mind, but it takes him a minute to reply.

  “Jesus, sweetheart,” he mutters. “They don’t ever see ye coming, do they?”

  I don’t like the judgment in his tone.

  “Oh boo fucking hoo,” I snap. “Do you actually feel sorry for those men? Then you’re the one who needs a reality check.”

  “Scarlett.”

  His voice is soft when he steps forward and reaches out to grab my arm. He knows I’m already one foot out the door after his last comment.

  I don’t take to judgment well.

  Anyone who wants to judge me can fuck right off. And I tell him as much.

  “I’m not judging you, sweetheart,” he says. “I’m just a little terrified of you right now.”

  And he should be.

  Because I’m pulling one over on him too. While I play this game and tell him that I’m right. While I tell him not to judge me.

  I’m lying to him and fucking him over too.

  And while I’m thinking about all of this, he’s only thinking about me.

  “I don’t know if I can handle seeing ye flirt with those other blokes,” he says, and it’s honest and...

  Fuck.

  Why does he always need to be so goddamned honest?

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” I assure him.

  “That’s exactly the problem.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck and paces my kitchen. “I never know when ye’re being real, Scarlett.”

  I suppose that’s true. I don’t know half the time myself.

  I’m a compulsive liar. It’s what I do for a living. It’s what I do to survive.

  It’s second nature. As easy as breathing. To lie even when I don’t need to.

  Sometimes, it just feels good. To be fooling everyone else.

  I’ve been lying to Rory since the day that I met him. He doesn’t know a real thing about me. And now that I think about it, I don’t know a single person that does.

  “It doesn’t matter who we’re playing with,” I say. “Because when you start winning big, I’ll just decide that la-de-fucking-da… that’s the guy I want to go home with.”

  Rory reaches down to grab my ass and pull me against him. He likes to do that, and he’s hard, already.

  His lips move to my ear, his voice low and husky.

  “Ye’re so sure I’m going to win big, aye?”

  “Course I am, silly.” I pull back just enough to let him see my face. “Because I’m going to be giving you the signals all night long.”

  Lies, lies, lies… they spill from my lips like lava.

  And he swallows them like sugar instead of the poison they really are.

  “There’s just one more thing,” I tell him.

  “What?”

  I dangle the blonde wig from my fingers and give him a weak smile.

  “You’ll be going home with this girl tonight. I know you prefer blondes after all.”

  13

  RORY

  THE FIRST ORDER of business in NYC is to check into the hotel. It’s just down the street from the club that Scarlett picked, and the hotel is also Scarlett’s choice. She’s familiar with Manhattan and I don’t know how.

  She’s edgier here. And she doesn’t have a Boston accent and now I’m wondering if this is where her hardness comes from. She could be a New Yorker.

  We check in and the bell man follows us up to the room, discarding our luggage and checking out Scarlett’s arse. She notices but doesn’t care and I notice and tell him to piss off.

  “You like it?” she asks when he’s gone.

  The room is fine. Grand even. But little hell raiser here doesn’t make small talk and I know something is definitely up with her.

  “Only the best for you, Satan.”

  She smiles and gets straight down to business. “I’ll walk in first and choose the table. You can grab a drink and join us.”

  She’s already bolting to the door, but I catch her around the waist and stop her.

  “Scarlett.”

  “Yes?”

  “If anything starts going sideways… and I mean even the vaguest notion that it’s going sideways, you come straight back here to this room and wait for me. Do ye understand?”

  “Sir, yes sir.” She salutes me again.

  “This isn’t a joke. I want to hustle with ye, sweetheart. But I need to know ye aren’t going to be reckless about it either.”

  “I’ll be a good girl,” she promises. “Scout’s honor.”

  Now my cock is saluting her and I don’t need her spouting off this sort of shite before we even get to the tables.

  Watching other blokes eye-fuck her all night is not going to be an easy thing to stomach. And I really think I might give in to my baser urges tonight and fuck
her so thoroughly she will never want to play these games again.

  We leave and I follow Scarlett down the street, a few feet behind. My eyes are on her arse and so are every other man’s and I want them to know that she’s mine. But Scarlett is like a bird and the slightest change in the weather will have her flying away.

  The man in me wants to show her she can still get her kicks without putting herself at real risk. At least not with me beside her.

  She told me she wants to get out of trick rolling. And I’m going to make it happen. From the moment I met her, it’s all I’ve ever wanted.

  I can be patient. And she will learn to trust me. She will come to understand that I’m not bullshitting her like every other lad. In the process, I’m liable to get pricked more than a few times by her shield of thorns.

  But what’s a little blood for the sake of someone you care about?

  Of course, it’s a grand notion to have, until we walk into the club. This place isn’t at all what I expected. It’s swanky and private. Heavy buy in fees and rich pricks strolling around in Armani suits. If I could read minds, I’d be murdering some motherfuckers right about now. How casually they leer at Scarlett as she passes by as if they have that right.

  The patience I claimed to have only moments ago is nowhere to be found now.

  The trade off, I remind myself.

  At the end of the night, Scarlett is going home with me. Not any of these other blokes. This is the only way with a wild one like Scarlett. If I’d suggested dinner and a movie, she’d have laughed in my face and walked right out the door.

  So, I grab a drink at the bar and scope out the room, careful to keep her in my sights. She finds the table she’s looking for in moments and it’s faster than I expected and Scarlett is a true pro.

  The table isn’t as bad as I thought. A few older businessmen. And one bloke around my age, maybe. Of course, that’s the one she’s got her sights set on when she takes a seat beside him.

  I join the table and take my place two seats down from her, focusing on my drink while Scarlett launches into her role.