Boston Underworld: The Collection

by A. Zavarelli

  When the door opens, and it’s Scarlett, Conor gives an audible sigh of relief.

  I never know what I’m going to get with her.

  After what happened earlier, I half expected she’d disappear on me again. But here she is, looking soft and sweet and… something else.

  I can’t figure out what it is.

  Resigned, maybe.

  Sad?

  I don’t know.

  She walks up and grabs me around the waist, pulling me against her.

  “Get lost, Conor,” she says.

  “Fuck off,” is his reply.

  “Conor.”

  His gaze snaps to me, and it seems the lad has finally grown some balls.

  “Get lost,” I tell him.

  He does.

  The gym smells of blood and sweat and her perfume, and I’ve got a hard on for it before she even starts tearing at my clothes.

  We don’t say a word to each other.

  It’s just raw, primal fucking on the floor like the animals we are. Scarlett rides me and then I flip her onto her hands and knees, taking her from behind while I pull on her hair and demand that she takes my cock all night long.

  Half of the things coming out of my mouth don’t make any bleeding sense, even to my own ears. But it doesn’t matter.

  All that matters is that she knows.

  She isn’t getting away from me. She can’t push me away. I won’t fucking let her.

  I come inside of her twice before we finally collapse. Naked and panting for breath, and still I can’t let her go. My arm is wrapped around her back, her face resting against my chest.

  “You really are a beast in the ring,” she says.

  “Did ye ever question that I wasn’t?”

  “No.” She smiles up at me. “You’ve got it all, Rory Brodrick. The looks, the charm, the body of a god and the dimples of one too.”

  It’s the only compliment she’s ever given me, and the man in me is beating his chest. But I still can’t stop myself from asking.

  “What changed? I thought ye were dead set on murdering me earlier.”

  “Nothing’s changed,” she says and her voice is too light and I don’t believe her. “Let’s call it a temporary truce. Sometimes, you just need a reminder of how good of a thing you’ve got before it’s gone.”

  Her words are a threat, but they sound like a joke. Again, with Scarlett, it’s hard to tell.

  “Give me their names,” I insist. “I’ll make it right, baby doll. I’ll bleed them dry and make them suffer for their sins, and when I’m done, you can fuck me into oblivion.”

  Her smile is sad this time, haunted.

  “You really would,” she says. “Wouldn’t you?”

  “I meant what I said. I’ll always go to war for you, Satan.”

  “I still hate you, you know,” she says.

  I lean down and kiss her, and my cock is ready all over again.

  “Then hate me like you mean it, bad girl.”

  “You can’t possibly want me again,” she murmurs.

  “Try telling him that.” I wrap her hand around my cock.

  She gives me what I want.

  She gives it to me all night long.

  When I wake up, Scarlett is gone from my bed.

  And in her place is a note.

  Hasta la vista, Baby.

  A glance at the clock confirms it’s late. After midnight. And there’s only one thing Scarlett could be doing.

  I chuck on some jeans and a tee shirt, not bothering with a shower, and start making the rounds to her usual haunts.

  I hit up three different bars before I find her.

  The devil in the red dress. All legs and sex. She’s the most beautiful woman in the room, and she isn’t alone.

  She’s trick rolling, again.

  That’s my first conclusion.

  My second is that I’m about to end it real quick.

  But another glimpse at the guy, and something isn’t adding up.

  He isn’t dressed like the rich pricks she usually goes after. And there are two empty glasses beside each of them on the bar. They’ve been here for a while, talking and… laughing.

  She’s laughing with him.

  His eyes flicker over to me, and he leans into her, whispering in her ear. Their body language is too familiar to be new. Something definitely isn’t right.

  I stalk towards her. He’s watching, but her back is turned to me. And then she leans in and…

  She kisses him.

  32

  SCARLETT

  I DON’T WANT JUST words. If that’s all you have for me, you’d better go- F. Scott Fitzgerald.

  Booker’s really going after it.

  His hand is on the back of my head, his lips moving over mine, and he’s kissing me like a man who’s thirsted for it for years.

  When I finally pull away, I’m breathless, and anxious, and I still can’t bear witness to the expression on Rory’s face.

  I don’t even know if he’s still there.

  I don’t know anything, except for this pain inside of me.

  “Think he bought it?” I force out.

  “Oh, he bought it,” Booker says. “Sorry, I got a little carried away. It’s been a while.”

  “Someday you’ll have to tell me who you were really thinking about.”

  I try to look happy, but it feels more like a grimace.

  Booker rubs the scars on his hand, and it occurs to me exactly who he was thinking about.

  Storm?

  That’s why he wants to track her down.

  I wonder if he knows her.

  I cling to this thought because it’s the distraction I need right now. While I commit my final act as this cold-hearted bitch.

  “Scarlett.”

  Rory’s voice is deep and menacing behind me.

  The commitment to this idea is fading in his presence. And I lock onto Booker’s eyes, searching for the resolve I need.

  Maybe it would be better if I just let Alexander kill me.

  Or if I went to prison.

  Anything is better than this.

  Rory doesn’t deserve this.

  But Booker knows exactly what I’m thinking. He squeezes my hand in encouragement. A reminder that I’m doing this to protect Rory too.

  That’s the thing I focus on while I muster up the energy for one final performance. One so good that even Rory Brodrick won’t know I’m faking it.

  He will be safe.

  The FBI won’t touch him. Alexander won’t touch him. And the syndicate won’t think he betrayed them because of me.

  I swivel around on the stool and focus just above his eyes. I’ve locked myself down. I’ve thrown away the key.

  I can do this.

  “What are you doing here?” I bite.

  “A word?”

  It sounds like a question, but it isn’t, because he’s dragging me from the stool by my arm. And Booker’s following, like we planned.

  “Get your hands off her,” Booker tells him.

  And I’ve got to give him credit, he’s a pretty good actor too.

  Still, Rory’s Rory… so he just glowers at him and tells him to piss off.

  “It’s okay,” I tell Booker, just like we planned. “I only need a minute. Get me another drink, will you?”

  He hesitates, then nods, and walks back to the bar. Leaving me alone with Rory, which is a dangerous place to be.

  One wrong glance, one little tremor, and he’ll know.

  I can’t let myself feel. I can’t let myself fail.

  I have to protect him.

  I have to do the thing that hurts the most, so he doesn’t pay the consequences of my sins.

  “What the fuck are ye doing?” he demands. “You were in my bloody bed an hour ago, Scarlett. My dick is still covered in your come. Or have you forgotten so quickly?”

  “I’m done,” I tell him.

  There’s a long pause of silence, and he grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. Really lo
ok at him.

  “This isn’t a goddamn joke,” he says. “Or a game. I meant what I said about fighting for you. But this is crossing the line. Do ye want me to murder the poor bloke? Because that’s what’ll happen here.”

  “That poor bloke is my new plaything,” I say. “And you and I are over.”

  His nostrils flare and the pulse in his throat is beating a dangerous staccato. He closes his eyes and paces before me, biceps tensing at his sides.

  And then he turns and slams his fist into the wall.

  “Fuuuuuuck,” he roars.

  It isn’t helping.

  He told me once, how he used to struggle with his rage.

  It’s back now.

  I did that.

  I’ve brought out his demons.

  And if it were possible to hate myself any more than I already do, I would.

  I need to drive it home, and I need him to leave. To go home and forget he ever knew me. To find a nice girl who can give him the nice things he wants and needs.

  And I will wither and die, but that will be okay. Because he will be safe.

  “You were fun for a while,” I say. “But that’s all it was. It was a game to me, like you said. And you were just a toy. That’s it. I’m done playing with you now.”

  His hand falls limp at his side, and it really hurts when you care about other people.

  It hurts so goddamn much.

  The threat of tears is so real, but Rory can’t see them anymore because he isn’t looking at me.

  Because he believes me.

  He believes the lies that spill from my lips more than any truth I’ve ever told him. Because deep down, he always knew I was a monster.

  He wanted to save me, but he had to know he couldn’t.

  Goodbyes are supposed to have closure. Finality.

  But Rory doesn’t give me that.

  He walks out on me instead. Away from me and my bullshit.

  Without even looking back.

  I go after him. Because fuck him for believing me.

  He shouldn’t have believed me.

  I tell Booker as much when he stops me.

  “Scarlett, I’m so sorry,” Booker says. “But this is what you wanted. You didn’t want him involved.”

  “This is all your fault,” I scream. “You could have helped me. You could have found another way.”

  “I am trying to help you, Scarlett.”

  I don’t believe him.

  I don’t believe anything anymore.

  Except the one unfailing truth that I know.

  I’ve made this bed, and now I have to lie in it.

  33

  SCARLETT

  I HAVE to remind myself to breathe - remind my heart to beat - Emily Brontë

  “This wasn’t part of the deal.”

  I’m at Booker’s throat the minute he walks in the door. He tells the other agent- the one watching over me- to take a hike.

  “If I’d told you, you wouldn’t have agreed,” he replies. “We need to keep you safe, Scarlett. And this is the only way.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “I know you’d like to believe that. But do you honestly think there is anything Alexander wouldn’t do to get to you?” he asks. “Now that he knows.”

  “How can he know? There aren’t even any charges yet.”

  He drops a file onto the table in front of me. A thick file.

  When I open it up, I am confronted with the level of Alexander’s sick obsession with me. There are photos… so many photos. And notes. Handwritten notes detailing my routines, searching for potential patterns, names of the men that I trick rolled, and worst of all- his own observations. His thoughts on why I do what I do. Meandering sentences with question marks scribbled beside them.

  He doesn’t just want me.

  He wants into my psyche.

  “These are copies,” I say.

  “Yes, I have the originals,” Booker answers.

  “And how did you get them?”

  He arches a brow and doesn’t answer this time. Because he won’t incriminate himself. And because if the bureau knew that he had this sort of evidence in his possession and he didn’t come forward with it, they’d have his ass.

  “How can you be sure these were the only copies?” I ask.

  “They weren’t,” he says. “I have the others as well.”

  I forget that he’s been watching Alexander. That this is some sort of weird fucked up circle where Alex is stalking me and Booker is stalking him.

  “So now Alexander knows and I’m the one who has to be a prisoner.”

  “You have a roof over your head,” Booker says. “Food, clothes, everything you could possibly need. It’s only until the trial is over.”

  “So when does it even fucking begin?”

  Booker sighs, and I am not a pleasant bitch to be around right now. It’s been this way since Rory left, and I blame him, because it’s easy and he’s in front of me.

  “There are a lot of different factors involved,” he explains. “It can take anywhere from months… to sometimes… longer.”

  “Longer than months. So you mean years then?” I laugh and it’s bitter. “I’m just supposed to sit here and twiddle my goddamn thumbs for, oh I don’t know… potentially years… and you can’t even guarantee that we have a solid case. I’ll be in hiding while they are free on bail. So they win, again, either way. They always fucking win.”

  Booker is silent, and I hate me right now too, and he should probably just leave already.

  “Has my name been leaked to the media yet?”

  “Not yet,” he says. “And as long as you stay in hiding, we can keep it that way.”

  I should be relieved. But I’m thinking about Rory, seeing those articles and piecing it together in that stupidly beautiful head of his. He would know then, what I did. And it would still be too late, but at least he would know.

  That last image of him haunts me. His retreating form in the dim bar. Walking out of my life. That shouldn’t be the last memory you have of someone.

  He’s probably replacing my memory with a pretty blonde right about now. Back to the same old routine of fucking and fighting. Crow probably sends him two girls now, at the end of his fights. And they shouldn’t get to have him.

  He was mine.

  He still is.

  I’m not ready to let him go yet. Not ever.

  “It isn’t fair.”

  Booker sits down beside me and tries to make me feel better, but it’s a waste of time.

  “I don’t blame you for hating me,” he says. “You should hate me.”

  “Everyone always has their own agenda,” I tell him. “Everyone always does what’s best for them. That’s the way life works.”

  He seems sad at my observation, but he doesn’t deny it either.

  “We’re going to meet with the prosecution later today,” he says. “To go over your statement.”

  “Can’t fucking wait.”

  The men are here.

  Men in suits. Attorneys and other people that need to be involved for whatever reason. I don’t care. I just want to get it over with.

  Booker is over there too.

  He’s arguing with them about something, and he doesn’t look happy.

  My gut twists when he looks at me. Something is wrong.

  “Tenly.”

  There is shuffling as the men move out the door, and this definitely isn’t right, because I was supposed to be making a statement.

  That’s what Booker said.

  And now he’s looking at me like he’s fucked, and I know I’m fucked too. Fucking fucker.

  He tries to get me to sit down, and I shake him off.

  “I’m a big girl,” I tell him. “I can handle it. Just tell me.”

  “The DA has decided not to move forward with the case.”

  It’s a bullet to the gut, but I never should have expected anything different. This is why I didn’t come forward in the first place. />
  “You told me…”

  “I know what I told you,” Booker answers. “Fuck.”

  He leans back into his own chair and collapses his head against the cushion. I want to blame him, but I know it isn’t his fault.

  “It’s because they think I’m a prostitute,” I say. “Isn’t it?”

  “That’s part of it,” he admits. “He didn’t believe you’d make a reliable witness on the stand.”

  “Of course,” I reason. “Because cock makes you blind.”

  He sighs.

  “And what else?” I ask. “What about Katie? Or Kylie? Or Mrs. Rogers? I mean, I get that Katie and Kylie were prostitutes too, so who gives a fuck, right? But Mrs. Rogers sure as hell wasn’t.”

  “There isn’t enough evidence,” Booker says, but even he doesn’t believe that bullshit.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  I bolt up out of my chair and head for the door. I am so done with this, and it was nice knowing him.

  “You have to be patient,” he tells me. “We’ll get them on other charges.”

  “Patient?” I snap. “You want me to be fucking patient? You know what I did to come here. To do this. You gave me your word and…”

  “They’ve got hits out on you,” he says. “I can’t protect you if you walk out that door.”

  “Who cares anymore?” I yell. “Because I sure the hell don’t.”

  “Tenly.”

  His voice is a plea, but it isn’t because he needs me to stay. It’s because he wants information on Storm.

  I would hate him for it if he didn’t look so pathetically beat down right now.

  “We’re going to get them on other charges,” he says, and this time he’s almost convincing.

  “You’re a fucking asshole,” I say. “If you want her so bad, just go out and find her.”

  “This isn’t just about that,” he tells me. “I know you don’t believe me, but I really am trying to help you, Scarlett. Just give me a few more days. That’s all I ask. You know as well as I do that if you walk out that door you’re dead.”

  I sulk back across the room and collapse into a chair. It isn’t because I’m scared.

  It’s because I’m just so goddamn tired.

  “What else have I got to do?” I mutter.