Boston Underworld: The Collection

by A. Zavarelli

  No, it’s the butcher, laughing. And then it multiplies. Alexander and his friends. They are all laughing too. It’s five pairs of hands holding me down. Choking me. His laughter starts to multiply and I scream for it to stop. But it’s five pairs of hands and voices and faces and…

  Conor’s words.

  “You need to talk about it with someone. If you keep holding it inside, it’s just going to keep poisoning you. Making you sick. I know you think I’m stupid. But I know better than anyone.”

  “Stop talking,” I say and it’s the third time I’ve said it and most are lucky enough to get one warning.

  But Conor doesn’t heed my words. He doesn’t understand what he’s unleashing right now. It’s rising up inside of me like a volcano.

  “Don’t you want to get better?” he asks.

  And I don’t want to get better, I want to fucking murder him.

  I reach for the knife on my thigh, but it isn’t there. Because Rory took it from me last night. He took my power. The way that they all do.

  I lunge at Conor anyway, prepared to go at him with my bare hands.

  He puts me in a choke hold I never saw coming.

  “Mack’s been teaching me,” he says.

  “Let go of me!” I scream.

  My voice is raw and my breath is gone and when he hears it, he does fucking listen this time. And now he’s staring at me. Judging me. And even worse. Pitying me.

  “You need to leave.”

  “Okay.” He holds up his hands and tells me he’s sorry and he didn’t know.

  “I’ll leave,” he says.

  But he doesn’t.

  “There’s just one thing I need to say first.”

  I don’t encourage him, but I underestimated Conor. He’s young, and he’s not as tough as the other guys, but he is stubborn.

  “Rory saved me,” he tells me. “I owe him everything. I was a lot like you when he met me and I had a whole lot of nothing going on for me. But now I have everything. Because of him. So it has to be said, Scarlett. If you hurt him… I’ll rip out your cold, black heart with my own two hands.”

  Ah, and there it is.

  He does have a backbone. And I have some respect for him now. Who knew?

  “That sounds fair,” I agree.

  And I mean it.

  Because I think by the time I’m done with Rory, there won’t be any good left inside of me to save.

  17

  SCARLETT

  If you drink much from a bottle marked 'poison' it is certain to disagree with you sooner or later- Lewis Carroll

  TICK.

  Tock.

  Alexander runs down the clock.

  And it’s only a matter of days now, until we meet again.

  Agent douchebag probably has an alarm set on his phone for the witching hour.

  Reminder:

  Ruin Tenly’s life. Again.

  Four days have come and gone and only one of them is dead because I was too busy cavorting with Rory rather than doing what needed to be done.

  It isn’t like me to be so scattered.

  Perhaps it was over ambitious of me.

  Or perhaps, it’s something else.

  There’s a bottle of Jack beside me, and a pervasive insistence that this all Rory’s fault. I was so drunk on the idea of him killing Ethan that I was blind to it.

  I was supposed to kill Ethan.

  Not only did I not kill Ethan, but I ran straight into Rory’s arms and fell into his bed like some sort of grateful twat.

  Who does that? I mean really… who fucking does that?

  That line inside of me is going berserk and I’m drunk and I can’t tell left from right anymore.

  My living room is a junkyard of paperwork and news articles. Nothing is going to plan and as it turns out, it’s difficult to wage war when your army now only consists of one.

  Plan B wasn’t in the cards.

  There isn’t a plan B.

  But exceptions are made for a reason. I’d rather crawl through a bed of broken glass than admit to Rory I need his help.

  He doesn’t want to help me. He wants to save me.

  And I can’t be second guessing myself.

  They wronged me.

  If I don’t make it right, then it’ll be my body in a dumpster by week’s end. These are the facts.

  I can be the cat or the mouse.

  And I’m a fucking cat.

  I tell Whiskey so and I swear the little fucker rolls his eyes.

  “Three days, Whiskey,” I say. “Don’t underestimate me. A lot can happen in three days.”

  He walks to the door and even he doesn’t want to be in my army.

  So I call the one person that will.

  If I was capable of trusting anyone, Mack would be at the top of the list.

  She was only a kid when I saved her ass on the streets. It was a once off I told her. She didn’t listen. Her and her friend Talia followed me around like strays and asked to join my pack. There was no pack, I said, because I was a lone wolf. Mack said that we should be lone wolves together then, and I told her that’s just another way of forming a pack. She insisted it really wasn’t and eventually I got tired and Mack formed the fucking pack and that’s what happens when you help people.

  Mack is headstrong. She does whatever she wants to do. And I guess she thinks she owes me.

  She says that we’re friends, whatever that means.

  So I know I can count on my friend to help me now.

  When she answers, I lay it out for her loud and clear.

  “I need a PI.”

  “Okay,” she says.

  “It needs to stay between us,” I add.

  “Alright.”

  And that’s that.

  I guess maybe friends aren’t so bad. Mack respects my level of impatience. She doesn’t bother with unnecessary questions because she knows I’m testy and unsociable. She doesn’t ask me to change or talk about my feelings or sing Kumbaya. And that’s the kind of person I need in my corner.

  But it also makes for awkward conversation because I don’t think she ever really knows what to say to me.

  And since I communicate with people only out of sheer necessity, I don’t know what to say to her either.

  “Everything alright?” she asks.

  “Hunky dory.”

  “Cool,” she replies.

  The line is quiet for a minute, and then she says, “so Rory, huh?”

  “Can’t anyone keep their mouths shut anymore?”

  “Crow’s been going on and on about it,” Mack laughs. “Thinks you’ve cooked up some evil plan to fuck with Rory just for fun.”

  “Huh.”

  “I told him you wouldn’t do that,” Mack says, and her laughter is gone and now she’s all business.

  She likes me, but these crazy mafia bastards are her family now. And she doesn’t have a problem letting me or anyone else know it.

  “Rory’s been wicked pissy all day anyway,” Mack continues. “So I figured it fizzled out before it even began.”

  “There was nothing to fizzle out,” I tell her.

  “Right,” she says. “That’s what I told Lach. Exactly.”

  Silence again.

  Mack’s baby is making weird baby noises in the background and it still freaks me out. I never imagined her as a mother. But I guess she does a good job of it.

  “You need to come by and visit with Keeva,” she says. “Let me get a picture of you two. I promise she won’t bite.”

  “I’ll stop by sometime,” I lie.

  Babies freak me out.

  People like Mack… they can adapt. But me, no way. I wouldn’t have the first clue. I mean, you hold them and they cry. You feed them and they cry. You change their diaper and they cry.

  The only thing I like to see cry is a grown man after I bring him to his knees.

  “You going to the fights tonight?” Mack asks.

  “I thought Crow told you not to go to those anymore.”

&
nbsp; “Yeah right,” she huffs. “I put the kibosh on that nonsense real quick. Besides, Reaper and Saint are fighting tonight. I gotta be there to support my boys. Cheer em’ on from the sidelines.”

  “I didn’t know Rory was fighting,” I say, and my mouth is stupid.

  “Oh yeah,” Mack yawns through the speaker. “Mick hurt his shoulder, so Rory’s stepping in. I guess I didn’t think about that. Probably best you don’t come.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well you know…” Mack says casually. “I doubt you want to see him with another girl at the end of the night. Even if you said what you guys had was nothing. I’m just saying, if it was me…”

  I know Mack, and I know when she’s baiting me. My head might be onto her, but my mouth isn’t.

  “What other girl?” I blurt.

  “You know, the guys have this thing where they let a few groupies from the crowd go back to take care of their guy afterwards. It’s like, a Brazilian thing.”

  “Oh.” I rap my fingers against the table and stare down at the mountain of paperwork I need to sort through. “Well, it doesn’t matter to me. Like I said.”

  “Right,” Mack agrees. “Like you said.”

  “I have to go,” I tell her. “I’ve got shit to do.”

  “Kay.” There’s a smile in her voice and it annoys me. “I’ll text you the phone number for the PI when we hang up.”

  “Thanks,” I mutter.

  “If you do come, I’ll be in the back left corner.”

  “I’m not coming.”

  “Alright then,” she sings. “See ya.”

  18

  SCARLETT

  SHE WAS beautiful - but especially she was without mercy- F. Scott Fitzgerald

  Who Rory does or doesn’t spend his time with is no concern of mine.

  I’m only here as a spectator, same as everyone else.

  To watch him fight and to sober up and get out of my head for a minute so I can get back to work.

  That’s all.

  I push my way through the crowd and make it a point to avoid Mack. I wore a hat which is fucking ridiculous.

  The music is loud, and the crowd is too and then the announcer makes the introductions.

  The first guy is Russian, and patriotically enough, his music choice is too. We get his stats, which everyone oohs and ahs over in dramatic fashion. A guy next to me tells his buddy this guy is a fucking legend. His words.

  I’m not sweating it.

  Rory can handle his shit.

  They introduce him next- the Saint- and his intro is Remember the Name by Fort Minor. He walks into the room the same way he always does. There is no posturing from him and I’m glad because he doesn’t need it because he’s a goddamned legend too. And I hate that I see it now, but I do.

  I’m in the moment.

  I’m excited like the other buffoons next to me by the blood and the sweat and the vision of Rory the predator. He’s hot, and he’s built and he’s going to beat the shit out of this motherfucker and I’m going to watch.

  I nudge the girl next to me with my elbow.

  “He’s mine,” I tell her, and a lie has never tasted so sweet.

  She gives me a skeptical nod and then shrugs. “Good for you, honey.”

  The fight begins.

  It’s loud, but worth it, I decide.

  You never really know someone until you’ve seen them in their element.

  This is Rory’s.

  His body was made for fighting.

  He’s like a gladiator in there. All sweaty and primitive and raw. His instincts are good and he’s fast. I used to watch Mack fight and while I don’t know all the technicalities, I have two eyes.

  He wounds his opponent with a solid punch in the first two minutes, and then he toys with him. And maybe we really aren’t so different.

  When it’s over and he emerges the victor, I half expect him to drag a couple of virgins back to his cave for the night.

  But he doesn’t.

  Just like Mack said, his friends are handling that business for him. I watch them- purely out of curiosity- to see who will soothe all of Rory’s aches tonight.

  She’s blonde… seriously, what’s with the blondes… and there’s not one remarkable thing about her that I can see.

  The hoops in her ears are so big she’d fly away if they caught wind.

  And a jean mini skirt? What is this, the eighties?

  I stalk her down the hallway and Conor’s too busy flirting with some other blonde to notice.

  When she reaches for the doorknob of Rory’s room, I tap her on the shoulder.

  “What?” she snaps her gum and turns around.

  “Take a hike, kid,” I tell her.

  She smirks and crosses her arms. And we’re still in middle school, and this is the girl curling her lip in disgust like I’m the one who has no taste.

  “You take a fucking hike.” She snaps her gum again. “Kid.”

  Sigh.

  They make everything so goddamn difficult. People should know when they see me coming to get the fuck out of my way.

  She asks if my dress cost five dollars and I laugh because she’s too ignorant to know it’s Valentino and I’m done being nice.

  I grab her by the collar and slam her against the wall.

  “Get your hands off me,” she says.

  I’m ready to let her scamper off until she opens her pink frosted lips again.

  “They sent me back here. I’m supposed to take care of him.”

  She wants crazy, and she’s going to get it.

  “You couldn’t handle him. He likes it rough.”

  “I think I handled him just fine the last time I was here.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I say sweetly. “Did I say him? I meant me. You couldn’t handle me, sweetheart.”

  I yank the knife from my sheath and dig the flat edge against her throat.

  And finally… finally… the woman has some sense.

  “Alright, alright… Jesus, you fucking psycho. Let me go. You can have him.”

  I let her go, and she scoots away from me, tracking me over her shoulder as she trots off. There’s no fun in going after her, but I still need to make a point here.

  To her and any other woman who thinks they’re going to get a piece of Rory.

  He’s my toy, and I don’t fucking share.

  “Come near him again and I’ll cut out your heart.”

  She gives me crazy eyes and nearly trips over her own heels. But she’s gone now, and I’m happy.

  Frigging amateurs.

  He’s sitting in a chair, towel draped over his head as he leans forward, elbows resting on his thighs.

  If I had a poetic bone in my body, I might say it’s a compelling image of him.

  But I’m not poetic and I don’t care and my want for him is only primal.

  I move behind him and he is still and quiet and he knows someone is here, but he doesn’t ask who. The muscles of his back and shoulders are broad beneath my fingertips. He is sweaty and hard and all man.

  The truth is Rory doesn’t disgust me.

  Not even a little bit.

  I lean down to whisper in his ear.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Saint?”

  “You can dispense with the games, Scarlett.”

  “How’d you know it was me?” I pout.

  “For starters, that door isn’t soundproof.”

  Heat spreads across my cheeks, and my fingers dig into his back. He wasn’t supposed to hear any of that.

  “And what else?” I ask.

  “Ye’re the only woman in the world who smells this way.”

  It doesn’t sound like a compliment and his voice is odd.

  He’s trying to ice me out and fuck him.

  My fingers reach around his waist and down to his shorts. But he grabs my wrist and pulls it away.

  “I don’t know if I want to do this anymore,” he says.

  And this is not the game I wanted to pl
ay. My voice is hollow when I try to joke with him.

  “Writing me off already? Thought you’d at least make it to the final inning.”

  “It’s not a game to me, Scarlett,” he says. “But it is to you. And the thing is…”

  He pauses for a moment, and his shoulders flex when he pulls the towel from his face, allowing me to see him.

  “I could really care about you,” he says. “And I want to. But not if you can’t do the same.”

  I’m prepared to lie to him.

  But when I open my lips, the words don’t come out the way they usually do.

  Something is tugging on that line inside of me now. Pulling me away from Rory to a place where I can be myself again. Where nothing changes and everything stays the same.

  But I’m not about to let go of him without leaving claw marks first.

  That’s my excuse for climbing onto his lap and kissing him.

  I don’t go straight for the lips. I grab his face and pepper him all over the jaw and the throat and I taste his sweat with my tongue and he groans. When I do press my lips against his, he’s still trying to hold out on me.

  But I’m soft with him, the way he likes, and then I’m hard. His lips part and they are cold and they have never tasted so good.

  He gives in, just like I knew he would.

  It’s a victory and I want to celebrate but it feels wrong now. The way he’s kissing me and resenting me at the same time.

  I’m confused. And that fucking line is going up and down and all over the fucking place, and my moral compass is suddenly veering due north, apparently.

  “She had no right to call you hers,” I tell him as I suck on his throat and yank on his hair. “Who the fuck does she think she is?”

  “I never fucked her,” he murmurs against me.

  “Yeah right.”

  “This is the sort of bollocks I’m talking about,” he groans. “Ye don’t trust me.”

  “Who needs trust when we have chemistry like this?” I reason. “I actually want to fuck you. I want you to fuck me too. And hardly half of the things that come out of your mouth annoy me. It’s right, Rory. It just is.”

  “Ye really are the devil,” he says.

  “But doesn’t it feel good to sin with me?”

  I’ve got my hand in his shorts now, and I’m playing with him and he’s not fighting anymore because he knows I win. I always win. And he likes my hand on his cock, jacking him off beneath his shorts. His eyes shudder and then close.