The Beast of Boston

by JL Mac

  “You are in danger, and I am helping to keep you safe,” Lan says slowly with wide eyes like she’s talking to a toddler.

  “So long story short, you’re stuck here until further notice,” I add with my arms folded over my bare chest, not giving a fuck that I’m still in my underwear.

  “Why would you care?” she asks incredulously, whirling to face me. “Sorry but I find it hard to believe you’d have a single problem with me turning up dead.”

  “I asked them to secure your safety,” Lan lies and I quirk an eyebrow at her wondering why the hell she would say that.

  “Lan, you don’t know him at all.”

  “Yeah well neither do you.”

  “That’s bullshit. I know far more than I care to.”

  “No, you don’t,” Lan replies under her breath picking at her nail polish as she takes another bite of apple.

  “I’m—I—I can’t handle this right now. I’m going back to bed,” Ena mutters, shaking her head tiredly with an expression of disbelief on her face.

  “I’ll be around later,” Lan says around a mouth full to Ena’s retreating back. Once she has disappeared from view Lan looks between Murph and I. “Well that went well,” she says on a contented sigh.

  “Oh, yeah. Really loving being in these four walls with her,” I gripe, examining the small stab wound on my chest. “Think I’d rather be working right now.”

  “Pants would be a good start,” Murphy says motioning toward my boxer briefs. Lan snickers and gives the first genuine smile I believe I have ever seen on her face. I marvel at the sight, and realize why Ena said she was so perfectly beautiful and innocent and full of light. Just seeing that brief smile makes me understand a little more of the terrible, amazing woman in my house. I’m also disappointed to realize Ena missed the moment. Murph dips his chin and they make their escape from this madhouse. I groan and eye the stairs wondering if she is asleep yet or waiting for me with a pair of scissors this time. I climb to the second level and find my bed is empty. I hurry through the room and catch sight of movement from the other side of the bed. I round the footboard and find Ena sitting on the floor, leaning back against the side of the bed, her bloodshot eyes fixed on the view of the harbor beyond the floor to ceiling windows.

  “What has happened since I left?” she asks wearied.

  “Not a lot.”

  “No major changes? No news worth sharing?” Her emerald eyes swivel my direction and in this moment I feel transparent.

  “Aside from the price on your head, no.”

  “Now who is the liar?” She clucks disapprovingly as she gets to her feet and heads for the door. “Oh, and Beast,” she turns my way holding up a finger. “Next time you decide to kidnap me, do us both a favor and don’t assume I want to be in your bed.”

  Ouch.

  Her words are weapons. My woman can really throw a solid punch.

  Still, she walks away with my fucked up heart and I’m left with a small smile because no matter how or why or for how long, Ena McCrae is back in my world. For now.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Ena

  “Carrick, please, don’t do this,” I rasp with my eyes gaping at the gun pointed right at my head. “Please, don’t,” I beg. My hands are trembling, twined together as in prayer. A cruel leering smile tilts his lips and I blink, waiting for the pain of the bullet, praying it will be fast and painless. I peel my eyes open to see daddy kneeling at Carrick’s feet, horror etched across his face. His blue eyes are pleading and his hands are clasped together.

  “No!” I crow, drowned out by the crisp echo of the gun firing. “No!” I scream, reaching for daddy’s prone body, crimson leaking from his head, his eyes unmoving and lifeless.

  “E!” Lan calls above my head, her hands shoving at my shoulders. I wake with a gasp, choking on sudden breath and spit. I’m sweating but my body is covered in goose bumps. I splutter and squeeze my eyes shut, hating that my nightmare refuses to go away already. Of course, being in the house belonging to the man who ordered his murder in no way helps matters.

  “Bad dream,” I explain, sitting up from Beast’s couch, a remote part of me wondering where my captor is at the moment.

  With Kate?

  “You look like shit.” Lan supplies me with her opinion without delay as she deposits two sub sandwiches on the coffee table. I bristle. My brain remains very foggy thanks to Carrick’s drugs and it has done zero to help my mood.

  “Your vote of confidence is overwhelming,” I sass, still internally pleading with my heart and head to calm the hell down. We unwrap our sandwiches and she digs in while I pick at my lunch.

  “Just saying.”

  “Yeah well, I don’t know if you realize it but recurring nightmares and being drugged and kidnapped doesn’t exactly leave much of a glow,” I quietly seethe and immediately regret it. Fuck. Lan chews slowly, eyeing me in a way that makes a person feel analyzed, studied. “Shit, Lan. I—”

  “It’s fine.” And of course she’d say that but my mind immediately drifts to what I would have felt if I had woken up in some foreign, dank place with strangers speaking a different language and my body being used as currency. Even though Beast had taken me back to Boston by force it was still him and I wasn’t for one minute truly concerned so much for my life as much as I was concerned for my heart and mental state.

  “Wanna swap recurring dreams?” she asks then takes another big bite of her sandwich.

  “I don’t think you want mine and I definitely don’t want yours,” I speculate knowing that she doesn’t know about the events leading up to dad’s murder and I certainly don’t know what she endured once the Russians got their hands on her.

  Lan snickers darkly and wraps the rest of her sandwich up, replacing it in the plastic bag it came in. I watch her as she checks her cellphone. “Yeah. I don’t think mine would help matters but tell me about yours. Might help to get it out,” she says almost disinterestedly.

  “Beast. Me. A gun. You get the gist.” I shove my own sandwich away and curl my legs beneath me.

  “He would never,” she clicks her tongue like I’m a petulant child fretting over a nonexistent boogeyman beneath my bed. My brows shoot up and my scoff sounds more abrasive than I had intended.

  “No. You know nothing about what he is or what he’s capable of.”

  “I know your nightmare is stupid because he wouldn’t kill you,” she rebuts.

  “You’re so naïve. Look around, Lan. This is no bullshit game. I’m caught up right in the middle of High Knoll and so are you. They’d kill both of us if it became necessary.” Shaking my head I readjust the messy bun atop my head.

  “No. I have eyes and ears and a brain. Beast would jump off the roof of this building before he’d shoot you. He’s… complicated,” she says carefully with her eyes focused askew. “… but he’s a good man.”

  “He killed dad,” I blurt. I’d expected her to wheeze at the news like I had. I had expected tears and reddened cheeks tracked with tears. I expected wrong. Lan looks up from her cellphone and her expression doesn’t budge. Her usual blank stare doesn’t falter for a moment. An impossibly long moment drags out between us with her eyes steely and focused on mine.

  “I’m not a mind reader. You got somethin’ to say maybe you should just say it, Lan.”

  “He didn’t kill dad.”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “Because if he had, I would have killed him myself already,” she supplies, gathering her cross-body purse and half eaten sandwich. “I should go.”

  “Wait a damn minute. What are you talkin’ about?” I demand with my arms folded over my chest. I follow her to the front door.

  “Do you love him, E? Even if he’s bad?”

  “I—I have a complicated bond with him after what I went through to get you home but I hate him. He is an irredeemable criminal.”

  “Bullshit. If you could be with him—if he were the one you wanted more than anything in the world wou
ld his day job matter? Would safety matter? Would his past matter? Would anything matter?”

  “Lan…” I shrug at a loss for worlds or answers she’s requesting because these are things my mind has turned over multiple times and I come up empty every single time.

  “Beast never wanted me like I ended up wanting him,” I admit quietly. “He enjoys toying with me. That’s all.”

  “No. You’re wrong,” she says with confidence.

  “Is there something you need to tell me Lan? Just come out with it.”

  “I’m not the one you should be interrogating,” she murmurs finally then opens the door. “See you tomorrow, E.”

  I turn in place, and acknowledge that the resolute tone in Lan’s voice has me spinning, questioning everything. How could she possibly know about Dad’s murder unless Murphy told her and if Murphy did tell her anything about it I hardly expect him to supply her with the truth.

  Though… Murphy has never been the misleading type. Weirdly cold, yes. Bluntly honest, yes. A liar? No. Rob was a liar. Kevin was a liar. Men like Murphy and Beast aren’t compelled to lie because that would imply they give two fucks about what anyone else thinks or does. When things don’t suit them, they handle it. I know that. So why, then, is Lan so sure Carrick didn’t have Dad executed?

  Screw Beast!

  Screw him for hijacking my entire life. Screw him for holding my heart hostage. Screw him for haunting my body and screw him for tampering with my mind. Entering his living space again, I lazily drag my finger over the glass shelf holding multiple bottle of booze. Swimming in my own turmoil, I snag the best bottle on the shelf and a whiskey tumbler then return to my abandoned sandwich.

  Hours later, Frieda bustles into the room, tidying as she goes without lifting her eyes my direction. I take another copious pull of the most expensive bottle of bourbon I could find in Beast’s private bar because fuck him and his secret baby and the woman who gave him one, and my traitorous body and heart for still caring for him despite all his thorns.

  “Hello Frieda! So good to see you again,” I chirp sarcastically and roll my eyes. “Oh, I’m well, and you?” I pretend she’s actually being considerate. She goes about her business cleaning and organizing, successfully ignoring me. I catch her kicking my flats aside like they’re vermin in her path. I swear to god if I were Carrick’s live in girlfriend or fiancée or wife I’d replace her with someone capable of displaying basic manners. She’s all bristly over my presence and I haven’t the faintest clue as to why.

  “Why don’t you like me, Frieda?” I ask, shouting over the vacuum she’s wielding like a weapon. “Friedaaaaa!” She huffs causing her generous bosom to protrude then retreat. She shuts off the vacuum and props her hand on her hip.

  “What?” she clips impatiently with her rosy cheeks turning a new shade of pissed off.

  “I have a feeling you haven’t taken a shine to my sparkling personality,” I tut then take another gulp of bourbon. “…And I gotta confess Frieda, I’m real wounded by it. Real, real torn up,” I tease, grinning like a maniac because let’s face it my rounds with Carrick Ferguson have taken their toll and Lan’s visit hadn’t helped either.

  “It’s not your personality I don’t care for it’s just you females—all of you that prance in and out and all around men you want, toying with them when someone worth their while waits in the wings.”

  “Oh, if there is anyone—anyone in the wings, please send her in, Frieda. For the love of god, distract the man. I don’t want him,” I guffaw drunkenly. She huffs and rolls her eyes again before drowning my laughter with the sound of the vacuum.

  Frieda cleans the living space in a hurry and I make sure to casually spill most of the bottle of bourbon on Beast’s stupid rug.

  “Oops,” I give a phony pout. If he’s determined to keep me around, I’ll be sure to wear out my welcome as much as possible. I try reading but my alcohol-addled brain won’t pay attention. It would seem that my body is in charge because my mind keeps drifting to the way my skin warms under Beast’s touch. I drift to sleep with thoughts of him racing through my mind.

  The sound of something crashing startles me awake on Beast’s couch for the second time today. I freeze deciding against jumping up in case he hasn’t spotted me.

  “Ena!” Beast bellows making my brain feel as though it has bounced against my skull. “Ena!”

  “What?” I groan, getting up from the couch, smoothing my rumpled tee shirt. Beast spots me from the foyer and marches my direction without hesitation. Part of me wants to run because he’s pure predator right now but most of me wants to be his captured prey. He could press his canines down into my tender flesh and I think I’d let him, weak as I am for him.

  “What the fuck happened today?”

  “Uh—I drank your booze, thanks for that by the way. And Lan came by with a late lunch. Oh! And I napped. That’s basically it.” I fold my arms over my chest and tilt my chin outward in challenge.

  “Orin called me to let me know that Frieda came to his place in tears. She said you bullied her and said you’d have her fired.” The accusation in his tone sets my teeth on edge but her claim that I had bullied—much less fired her has me balking.

  “You’ve. Got. To. Be. Kidding,” I clutch my belly, laughing hard. “She’s the devil incarnate, that bitch! She’s the one who treats me like shit. She always has. Since the very first time I met her. She’s always hated me,” I attest sincerely. “I may have been a smartass today, and maybe I made a few… messes, but I wasn’t cruel. She’s the one that said… nothing. Never mind,” I shake my head and turn to walk away, refusing to recap the things she’d said. Beast catches me by my elbow and spins me to face him.

  “Tell me,” he commands.

  “She said something about not liking me because she doesn’t like women prancing around men when someone better—or more deserving,” I scrunch my brows trying to recall her exact words, “… is waiting in the wings.” I shrug as though it doesn’t sting in the slightest when the truth is it burns—scorches me. “I suppose she’s talking about Kate or your baby momma—whoever,” I mutter pulling my arm from his grip.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. I’m going to shower, now.”

  “Oh, no you aren’t,” he bosses, stepping around to block my path. “What are you talking about?” His gray eyes regard me carefully and I whither inside at how insecure and pathetic I am. I should hate him. I should kill him and yet I am so confused and mixed up about everything.

  “Carrick I saw the paternity results. I know you have a kid. Kate have a secret kid or something? You aren’t the only one capable of gathering information the backhanded way.” The confession feels oddly liberating.

  “I’m not with Kate,” he says with sincerity I find difficult to disbelieve.

  “But those paternity test results are real? You had that test done?”

  “I did.”

  “Right.”

  “Have dinner with me.” It’s in no way a request but his eyes are pleading and I hate that I find it hard to say no.

  Why? He’s a demon!

  “I need to shower before I do anything,” I mutter turning away from him. I have washed away the stench of bourbon and towel dried my hair but refuse to apply makeup or make any great effort to look like the woman he used to see at Eden everyday. Dressed in simple skinny jeans, flats and a fitted tank top, I descend the stairs in his penthouse in search of him. My eyes immediately spot him through the wide-open glass door standing at the railing on his terrace in jeans hugging his waist dangerously low. No shirt. No shoes. I swallow hard, completely unprepared for this look. Murderous mob boss or not, he’s intoxicatingly gorgeous. His tattoos cover nearly every inch of his exposed back and my mouth goes dry looking at him sipping a tumbler of what I know must be whiskey. In this moment he looks terribly lonely there looking out over his kingdom from this empty castle. I almost feel bad for him. I almost feel bad for pouring six bottles of expensive, aged bourbo
n down his kitchen sink today. But if I feel bad for that, I must feel awful for taking scissors to every one of his silk ties. That, and the cufflinks I tossed all around his place.

  Fuck.

  I pad quietly to the terrace, and clear my throat gaining his attention. He turns to face me, his hair still damp from the shower he must have taken while I was also taking one. “Your hair is longer than it was before,” I note.

  He rakes his free hand through his longer brown hair. “Yeah. Something new I guess.”

  I nod and join him at the railing. “I would offer you a glass but somehow I am missing a few bottles,” he says dryly, returning his gaze to the glittering harbor.

  “I—uh—yeah…” I trail off refusing to apologize to the man who had said he was complicit in my father’s murder—the same man solely responsible for making me fall in love just to break my heart. Not to mention the kidnapping bit.

  “Frieda took half the day off so we are on our own for dinner. Do you want takeout?”

  “I can cook something,” I say glancing through the wall of glass toward the kitchen.

  “Up to you,” he murmurs.

  “I’ll go check out what you have in the kitchen.” Without saying anything else, Carrick follows me into his kitchen. He leans a hip against the kitchen island, his low-slung jeans hanging around the muscles creating a deep V at his waist, alluding to what’s in his pants. I root around, surveying ingredients and weighing options.

  “I can make my mom’s spaghetti. Well, it’s not her spaghetti at all. It’s basically a bad knockoff version because she’s queen of spaghetti but I can try,” I smile thinking of my mom as I set a pan on the range.

  “You’re so beautiful but when you smile like that, it’s cruel how exquisite you are,” he reveals quietly in such a sad way that it makes me hurt for him and wish very badly that I could believe him but our parting words in the parking lot of Gino’s are so vivid. Under the bright kitchen lights my eyes catch sight of the bluish purple bruise and puncture wound on his left pectoral muscle.