The Beast of Boston

by JL Mac

  “Fuck,” I breathe, then attack the back door only vaguely registering the heat licking at my skin. I can hear Steve shouting into the radio at his shoulder as he works to free the driver. I try wrenching the door open but it won’t budge. Planting one booted foot against the side of the car I use every ounce of adrenaline and force at my disposal to break it free. The little boy isn’t moving. His face is covered in blood and his body is slumped to the side like a ragdoll. “I got you. I got you,” I say as I fight to free him from his seatbelt. I pull his small body from the flaming car and hurry with him to the sidewalk where bystanders are beginning to collect, each with either a look of horrified fascination or anguish at the scene unfolding in front of them.

  “Ena!” Steve yells.

  “I’m a nurse,” a middle-aged black woman says elbowing through onlookers to get to the boy. “I got him, go!” she yells, crouching over the inert body of a child that cannot be over six or seven. I force my attention back to Steve. I rush to him where he’s struggling with the driver’s crushed door. I can hear the fire department getting closer to the scene.

  “Fuckin’ door,” he grunts. “Help!” he demands, but I freeze staring at the junkie sitting in the front seat as limp as the little boy I presume is her son. She deserves to burn. Not the boy. Steve stares at me with wide disbelieving eyes but I can’t bring myself to help. “Help!” he screams at me and I am forced into action. I jump forward and grab the scorching hot edge of the door and tug with everything I have, helping him peel back the door like a tin can. The door groans and metal screeches as it breaks free. Steve dives in, scooping the junkie from the mess she made. I don’t even know if she’s still alive. A disappointed voice in the back of my mind that sounds a lot like my dad’s whispers, pointing out that I would have let her burn and I probably actually wanted to. The voice also points out that I can’t find a single trace of guilt for hesitating to drag her out of the car.

  Oh boy.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Beast

  I have to stop doing this to myself and to her. It’s so fucked up, but not connecting with her in some way or another makes me crazy. I can’t detox. I can’t cleanse my system of her. I’ve tried everything, including hooking up with someone else but for the first time in my life I couldn’t muster the desire to fuck. My dick stayed disinterested in pants and my brain lingered on red hair and vivid green eyes.

  “Goddamit!” I roar connecting my glove the heavy bag making the chains rattle and sway.

  “That’s definitely gonna fix it,” Murph deadpans from behind me. He’s carrying a folder in one hand and a smirk on his face.

  “Fuck you,” I growl and continue jabbing the bag this time in a rhythm, forcing me to focus.

  “You might be interested to know your woman got herself into a little trouble,” he says offering me the folder in his hand.

  The one or two times I don’t have her followed something happens, of course.

  I bite the laces of one of my gloves, untying it. I tug my hand free and snag the folder hating that bad news regarding Ena only makes me want to go kidnap her from her life and keep her as mine forever, the fallout be damned. I scan the internal report recounting a traffic accident in which Ena responded… or didn’t. She neglected to render aid in a timely fashion and in the manner consistent with that of a police officer fit for duty, potentially adding to harm that the citizen acquired during the incident, according to the report in my hand. I growl my frustration and slap the folder closed, tossing it onto my gym bag at my feet.

  “Lan told me Ena applied for a new job two weeks ago. She’s not very happy with where she’s at. She’s been thinkin’ about quitting the department. Understandably,” he says motioning his chin to the folder.

  “Yeah?” That little bit of news has my heart ticking up a step. At least if she’s no longer a cop I could see her more. Maybe. It would solve the one issue of a police officer being seen mingling with the mob. I could try to smooth things over with her. Maybe we could at the very least be casual. A voice inside laughs at my stupid idea of being casual. Casual could never be enough for me. Not with Ena. With her I have always wanted—needed her—world and her universe too.

  “Thing is, she says it’s in Seattle.” Murph eyes me cautiously as I digest what he just said.

  “Seattle,” I mutter feeling like the floor has given way under my feet. I nod slowly, taking a deep breath in through my nose. “Thanks for the information,” I mutter removing my other boxing glove as I toss the strap of my bag over my shoulder and head for the door wondering if kidnapping her really is a good plan after all.

  Chapter Forty

  Ena

  The knocker raps firmly against my apartment door, startling me from the milk crate I’m perched on, sipping my plastic cup of convenience store Moscato. I get to my feet and maneuver around boxes to the door. Peeping out with my hand on the chain, I freeze. Even with his back to me, I know him. My heart seizes like a piston set in concrete.

  Carrick.

  While half of me is jumping up and down joyfully on the inside, the other half has withered and withdrawn into the shadows fearful of the fresh, tender pink flesh of my recovering wound ready to split open and bleed for him. Again. He turns, giving me a view of his glorious profile. His sharp jaw, his high cheekbones and full lips. Lips that have roamed my body and rendered me weak and wordless. His head swivels and I’d swear he has x-ray vision because I feel as though he can see right through my door. I lick my lips and draw in a calming breath.

  You’re over him, remember? You’re done with this game.

  I slide the deadbolt home and push the chain free. I swing the door open just enough for me to prop my hip against it.

  “Carrick, what brings you around?”

  “Ena,” he says simply, his eyes scanning my face. “Can I come in?”

  “Uh,” I hum glancing over my shoulder to the mess that my apartment is. “It’s a mess in there.” I smile and shake my head. “What’s up?”

  Please get this over with. Please don’t say something that will have me crying myself to sleep tonight.

  “You have company?” he asks peering over my head. I wrinkle my brow.

  “No, Carrick. Definitely just me,” I say motioning to my cotton pajama shorts and white T-shirt that are paint spattered from the time we painted Lan’s room the worst shade of pink.

  “Hmm. So lets go in,” he says, pushing past me. Barging right into my apartment like he barged right into my heart.

  “Sure, Beast, come on in,” I mutter in a flat tone. I snag my red plastic cup from the top of my milk crate and plop back down. “You’ll have to stand,” I say dryly then take a big gulp of wine to fortify myself.

  “What’s all this?” he mumbles, looking around my apartment. “What’s this?” he asks me, thumbing toward a box beside him. His dark eyes lock on me and I silently thank God for wine. “And that?” he says scanning the bandage wrapped around my right hand. I take another big gulp and silently slump into the warm feeling of the buzz beginning to sweep through me.

  “That?” I ask dumbly.

  “Yeah, that?”

  “Those are boxes.”

  “Boxes?” he says, his smooth brow wrinkling into a frown.

  “Yes, Carrick. You know. Boxes. Typically made of cardboard. Usually sealed shut with tape. Sometimes labeled. Usually used to carry things, move stuff,” I trail off shrugging before getting up and refilling my cup in my deserted kitchen.

  “And this,” I say holding up my right hand. “…is a bandage. Good for covering wounds and stuff like that.”

  “You’re moving?”

  “Yes. New place. New job,” I sigh.

  “Where at?”

  “Seattle,” I say before sealing my lips over the rim of my cup and taking another sip of the crisp, sweet wine.

  “Seattle,” he repeats with a deep frown knitting his brows.

  I groan and rub my forehead. “Yeah. I don’t know if L
an is—uh—talking to Murphy about it—actually I don’t know dick about Lan right now but that’s another story for another day. Anyway, not sure if you heard but I—uh—I’m not the world’s greatest cop,” I admit.

  “I heard.”

  “My heart isn’t in it. It wasn’t in it from the beginning. I barely made it through the academy. I resigned and I know if my dad were here he’d tell me that if my heart isn’t in it I’m only endangering myself and others. He’d say that after he verbally kicked my ass, that is.” A humorless laugh bubbles up out of me. “So,” I pause to take another sip, eyeing Beast who has prowled one step closer. “So,” I say again clearing my throat. “I was fortunate enough to land a job in Seattle with a private security firm coordinating security detail for high profile clients. It’s pretty simple. Decent money.” I smile overly bright. It’s forced and foreign and Beast narrows his eyes on me, taking another step closer.

  “You in a desk job?”

  “I won’t always be at a desk,” I lie, my defenses shooting up.

  “You can’t go,” he says with finality.

  “Sure can, and I have to. I need to put my life back together, Carrick.”

  “Your sister needs you,” his warm hands lift my right hand gently examining the bandages covering the second degree burn I received at that unfortunate call.

  “My sister needs me? My sister hardly talks to me and rarely sees me. And quite frankly, I’ve given enough of myself in her name. I’ve always been her fucking keeper. I’m taking a break,” I mutter disgruntled. “Let her figure her shit out and in the meantime I’m going to figure my shit out too.”

  I withdraw my hand from his grasp and step away from him to add another piece of packing tape to a box that is already securely closed. “How’s Mercedes? I haven’t talked to her in a long time,” I admit sadly.

  “She’s good. Her mom isn’t doing so great. Maybe you should stick around until she dies. Mercedes might need a friend.”

  “You’re so fucking morbid,” I mutter, shaking my head.

  “How’s Murphy? The guys? Orin?”

  “They’re all good.”

  “And Kate? Can’t say for sure but I’m going to guess it’s a safe bet that she’d be pissed if she knew you were standing in my apartment shooting the shit like old pals.”

  “Your car won’t make it to Seattle.”

  “You’re right. That’s why I sold it,” I swallow the lump in my throat. “The place I’m renting there is three blocks from the office I’ll be working in and I’ll have access to a company car when I have to go in the field.”

  He nods and steps closer still. I can feel him move into my space. It’s a tangible sensation. Beast moves in and rational thinking moves out.

  He slips an arm around my waist, splaying his hand across my stomach. “You shouldn’t go,” he whispers.

  “Don’t, Carrick. Don’t make this harder on me than it needs to be.”

  “Sorry,” he mumbles then leans closer, burying his nose in my hair and inhales.

  “No you’re not,” I whisper. My body betrays me and I find myself leaning back against his chest. “You don’t get to pop up in my life when and how you want. You tossed me out like trash, remember?” Before he has the opportunity to say anything else, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He withdraws it, answering with a hushed “yeah?”

  He walks a few feet away from me turning in a half circle to face me and that’s when I see sincere fear in his beautiful gray eyes. “I’m on my way,” he says quickly then pockets his phone.

  “What?” I whisper.

  “Or. He’s been taken to the hospital. Murphy said Kathy, his housekeeper found him collapsed in his office,” he says looking shocked and in this moment, he seems so young. He looks like a little boy who isn’t sure of anything at all.

  “I’m coming with you,” I blurt without a second thought. “I’ll come along,” I say, nodding as I jog to my bedroom to swap my pajamas for skinny jeans and a sweatshirt. I twist my hair up into a messy bun and jam my feet down into a pair of knee high riding boots. I emerge from my room, tossing my bag over my shoulder. Carrick opens the door for me and we rush to his car. It’s exactly how I remember it and mingled with a pang of sadness, is a small thrill to be in the seat beside him again. It’s bittersweet and the perfectly most awful thing to do before I say goodbye and move clear across the country.

  Carrick maneuvers stiffly through traffic and keeps his mouth sealed shut. I watch one hand on the steering wheel clench and release the wheel just to repeat the movement over and over again. I put my hand lightly on his shoulder to reassure him. He breathes deeply through his nose but doesn’t offer a single word in response to my touch. I follow him through the doors of the hospital and he knows exactly where to go. We ride the elevator up to the third floor and I can feel the tension rolling off of him in waves. All eyes land on Beast the moment his feet hit the shining tile floor on the third level.

  “McCrae. Orin McCrae,” he says to the nurse behind the desk.

  “Are you family?”

  “Yes,” he answers simply.

  “Have a seat down the hall just to the right. I will have his nurse come talk to you,” the woman says studiously. We nod and do as she has instructed. The waiting room is small and cozy. Clean and quiet. No one else is in here and we sit in the chairs closest to the door. The news is playing on a muted television mounted to the wall and a drink machine is humming low. We sit for many long minutes in total silence. I hate what has happened between us and there aren’t enough insults in the English language for me to hurl at this man, but right now I am scared for him above all else.

  “He saved me when I was fifteen.” His confession is low but no less powerful. “I never had a mom. My dad was a drunk. Worked security for Orin. My dad beat me a lot but I grew pretty big. We fought one day and he died—I killed him during a fight—not entirely on purpose, but he died nonetheless. Orin took me in. He’s the only real father I have ever known,” he says with his hands clasped together between his knees. His head is hanging and his gaze is fixed on the tile between his feet.

  “He seems like he was a really good dad to you,” I say, hesitating for a moment before I allow my palm to rest gently against his back. I make small circles, hoping that my presence is soothing, but I could be totally wrong. I’m his plaything, a convenient hobby, a woman booted from his life. I am not his shoulder to cry on.

  “He was amazing and he wasn’t even mine,” he whispers.

  “He’s yours and you are his,” I say firmly. “Love bonds you. Not DNA,” I add decisively.

  A man in medical scrubs breezes into the room and his eyes quickly settle on us. “McCrae?”

  “Yes,” Carrick says getting to his feet.

  “Hi. I’m Jason. I’m Mr. McCrae’s nurse. The doctor isn’t available right now but I can update you on his condition.” We both nod. “Mr. McCrae came in by ambulance and has been admitted for what we believe was a collapse that occurred due to diabetes. Has he been diagnosed with diabetes already?”

  “No. He has never mentioned anything about that.” The nurse nods.

  “Well he appears to have had extremely high sugar level when he was brought in. We are working to get his sugar under control. He hit his head on something when he fell and we are waiting for radiology to go over his imaging to make sure everything is okay there but he’s awake, alert, and lucid. He’s going to be fine.”

  “Can I see him?” Carrick asks, already getting to his feet.

  “Absolutely,” Jason says jerking his head for us to follow him. “The doctor will be around soon,” he says over his shoulder as he leads us to a dimly lit room down the hall. “Here he is. Let me know if you have any questions.” We nod appreciatively and I tuck myself by the door in the hall giving a small smile to Carrick.

  “I’ll be right here,” I whisper. He looks at me for a long moment with something unnamable in his gaze. He stares at me for what seems like an eternity then seems
to make his mind up about something. He nods shortly then disappears into the room. I inhale deeply and beg my heart to relax a little. I can hear Carrick’s voice low and calm. It’s calming to listen to him like that. Not barking orders or spitting threats. My mouth goes dry and my heart stirs, reminding me that it’s still very broken by this man. I need something to drink. I step away from the wall while I fish down into my purse for change to use at the soda machine. Carrick clears his throat as he reemerges into the hall. “He—wants to say hi to you,” he says uncomfortably.

  “Me?” I ask arching my brows.

  “Yes.”

  “Uh—okay. Yeah,” I say with a nod. I shove my wallet back down into my bag and follow Carrick into Orin’s room. He’s relaxed and looks relatively normal with exception to the square bandage on his forehead. An IV is at work dripping fluids and medication I assume. His vitals are being monitored but he looks as healthy as any of us.

  “If all hospital stays came standard with a visit from a beautiful creature like you, I do believe we’d see an influx of ill people,” he says with a warm smile and his hand proffered my direction. I smile in kind and step forward, taking his hand in mine. “Sit,” he orders. I obey dutifully and rest my hip against the side of his bed. He gazes down at my hand in his and then peers up at me. His eyes linger on my face for a long moment then he eyes my hand in his again. “My son is lucky to have found you,” he says softly, clearly assuming that Carrick and I are an item. I smile on the outside but inside I weep and my heart crumbles to dust because oh how I wish he were right. What I would give to have fallen in love with a man who actually wanted to have me for always and not just for a time, or only now and again when it was convenient for him. No matter how vastly different our worlds are, what sides of the law we carry on, we had something and it felt pretty important. At least… to me it did. Tears threaten and I swallow the dry wad of emotion wedged down my throat.