The Beast of Boston

by JL Mac

  No.

  “When I first came to Eden you used to ask me all the time who I was. I wanted to tell you so many times, Carrick. God… I was dying to confess—to tell you my name and not just because I was dying to sleep with you. I wanted to tell you because I felt connected to you in a weird way. Still, every time you asked, I refused. I could have just come out and told you my name but I think that too would have been a lie.” Getting up from the bed, I turn to face him. “So, Carrick, it’s my turn to ask. Who am I?” My question is whisper soft but its impact on him is plain to see. He schools his expression but not before I saw the shock in his eyes.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Please,” I mumble.

  “Ena,” he says, clenching his jaw shut.

  “You knew,” I state more than ask. Beast grips his jaw in his hand and scrubs his hand over his short beard. I hold my breath.

  “Yes.” He exhales.

  “How long have you known?”

  “A long time.” His confession isn’t shocking and yet I still can’t catch my breath.

  “The money. That’s why you sent the money to me,” I nod, mentally putting pieces of my own puzzle together.

  “Orin did that.”

  “Oh,” I sniff. “He knows, too,” I conclude aloud. Beast nods. “My parents knew. They didn’t say a word. Why didn’t you tell me?” A current of betrayal surfaces and I do nothing to tamp it down.

  “Same reason they didn’t.” His big shoulders shrug.

  “They never told me because they loved me.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Carrick,” I wheeze, emotion welling up.

  “Come here,” he orders softly.

  “Carrick,” I whimper in his arms.

  “Shush,” he croons soothingly in my ear. “It’s okay.”

  “I—knew—I—was—fucked up,” I cry, gasping between words.

  “You’re perfect,” he soothes, brushing his hands over my face.

  “If I’m so perfect why’d you send me away? Why go out of your way to hurt me? The things you said in the parking lot that day…” I whimper tearfully.

  “Mostly shit I felt I had to say to ensure your safety. You can’t live this way. Coming home to this life everyday would have meant coming home to danger. I’d never want that for you.”

  “It’s not your choice,” I argue.

  “Let’s be clear on something Ena,” he says holding my face an inch from his own. “Your safety is very much my business and that won’t change.”

  “You—you did this out of loyalty to Orin, didn’t you?” I cry and force my way out of his arms.

  “Ena—” he begins.

  “You should have told me!”

  “Why? So you’d want to stick around?”

  “Maybe I’ve already considered staying. Maybe that’s exactly what I wanted. Maybe me staying would have had nothing to do with my fucking DNA. Maybe me staying would have had everything to do with you.” I point my finger at him.

  “Don’t say that. I can’t let you stay,” he says with his head hanging.

  “You don’t get to make that choice on my behalf. Lan said you didn’t order my dad’s murder,” I say, the question beneath hanging in the air around us. “That true? You said that to keep me away? You’d hurt me like that to keep me away from you, from Orin McCrae?”

  “From this life, from danger, fuck yes! I’d say anything!”

  “Did you kill my father, yes or no?” I ask him calmly with my eyes squeezed shut.

  “I didn’t stop it. Teeny was determined to save his own ass and in doing so saved ours too and I saw an opportunity to own him. So I did nothing to stop it and I gave him a gun to do it with.”

  “That’s not—that’s the same as ordering his execution,” I force breath in and out. “I’ve had these nightmares, Carrick. Jesus fuck,” I gasp. “Kevin would have killed him no matter what. You know that!” I increase the distance between us and pace rubbing at the back of my neck. “And that paternity test—you let me think you had a kid,” I accuse angrily. “You destroyed me! Several times over!”

  “Hurting you enough so you would hate me was my only real option. I swore to keep you safe and that’s how I did it. Now I will keep you safe—in Seattle, with security. Lots and lots of fucking private security,” he says, looking out over the harbor a pensive expression on his face.

  “If that’s what you think you need to do then fine but do it here.”

  “I can’t.” He shakes his head, his brows pinched together.

  “I want to stay,” I say crossing my arms defiantly. “I have family here and I want to be close to them. All of them. I need to be here.”

  “Well then we’re at an impasse. I won’t change my mind on this. Your safety and ability to lead a normal life isn’t something I’m negotiating with anyone, especially not you. You don’t make things easy.”

  “So what? We lie to ourselves?”

  “If that’s all it takes, sign me up.”

  “No! You asshole!” I march to him and shove at his bulky frame, barely forcing him to sway. “Tell me you don’t love me! Tell me you don’t want me here!”

  “Ena,” he cautions with a dark look in his eyes.

  “What? You’d break my heart again to deny me something we both want over the chance that something could maybe happen to me?”

  “I broke my goddamn heart too!” he booms. “Every fucking second you haven’t been here with me, in my bed, in my arms, I have died inside. Over and over again so don’t act like you’re the only one who has gone through some shit. You knowing about the paternity test—this changes nothing. Staying is not an option so get used to it!”

  “I love you,” I cry, hot tears slipping down my face. “So much, and for me that’s enough reason to stick around no matter what happens or doesn’t happen. I wish you could see that,” I sniffle and leave him standing by the windows looking out over his kingdom. It’s one the man I love refuses to share with me. I slip my phone from my pocket and Google one very simple thing while I pocket Carrick’s car keys from the side table by the front door.

  Orin McCrae, Boston Mass., home address.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Ena

  Orin McCrae swings his door open with a gun in hand to which I put my hands up on instinct. He blanches, and immediately drops the gun down into the pocket of his bathrobe.

  “Sorry—I—it’s late and I didn’t call or anything, but I mean I don’t have your phone number or anything. Carrick is going to be pissed,” I blurt. “But we need to talk,” I say with more fervor than I actually feel. I slide the letter from my dad out of my back pocket and hold it up.

  “Come in,” he says gently. I follow him into a sitting area near the front door but neither of us takes a seat. I slowly pace the rug in front of a fireplace against the wall.

  “First, I have to tell you, I had a good dad,” my voice wobbles. “He was amazing and I’m lucky to have been his daughter but… ”

  “Yes?”

  “I know who you are and I know you know who I am,” I croak tearfully and I can’t bring myself to be ashamed of the ugly crying.

  “I do.” he swears under his breath, shaking his head.

  “My dad, he uh… he wrote me a letter. My mom gave it to me today.”

  “I see.”

  “I think Carrick would have taken it to his grave,” I say absently swiping the back of my hand against my cheeks.

  “I know he would have,” Orin confirms coming to stand beside me.

  “I never fit in with my family,” I confess quietly as I pick up a picture frame from the mantle. It holds a photo of Carrick and Orin smiling in front of a boxing ring.

  “I don’t want to be discarded. I won’t be shoved aside by Carrick. I love him. So much. And I would like to—get to know you if that’s all right with you.”

  Orin’s face grows grim and he nods slightly, turning away from me, seemingly in thought. “I only made him promise to ke
ep this secret because we both want you to be safe and happy.”

  “Jesus. The only place I feel safe and happy is with Carrick, here in Boston. Why doesn’t he get that?”

  “Does he know you want to be here?” He asks facing me again.

  “I told him but he said it was nonnegotiable,” I mock his voice making Orin laugh.

  “You’re beautiful,” he breathes and clears his throat.

  “I love him and I don’t want to walk away from that,” I cry, tears slipping down my face.

  The front door slams open with a clatter, and Orin draws his gun on Carrick who is standing in the doorway looking like a madman.

  “Son, that’s a good way to get shot,” he huffs and puts his gun back in the pocket of his robe.

  “You!” He growls pointing his finger at me. I arch a brow. “Have you forgotten that there is a price tag on your head at this very moment?” Carrick is raging mad.

  “Yep. Fifty grand you said,” I sniff, swiping at my nose.

  “Is this a joke to you?”

  “No. I don’t find any of this funny at all. The only thing I find remotely entertaining is how many times I have to get my heart broken before you’ll get it through your thick skull that I’ll always end up right back here.”

  “I told you—”

  “I heard what you said I just refuse to do what you think is best for me,” I say adamantly. Carrick groans and rubs the bridge of his nose.

  “How can you say no to that?” Orin says low, causing Carrick’s head to snap his direction. Orin simply nods tightly and I watch Carrick ‘The Beast of Boston’ Ferguson shifts from tormented monster to my personal beast with steely determination in his gray depths.

  “Car. Now.”

  I give Orin the most appreciative smile I can manage through my tears and do as Beast says. Orin follows us to the door and I see Beast has driven another car here. He plucks the keys to his Aston Martin I stole from my pocket and hands them to Orin.

  “I’m keeping the car,” Orin says playfully.

  “I’m keeping the girl,” Beast says deadly serious. Orin shakes his head smiling and goes back inside.

  Beast deposits me into his car and says nothing as we drive directly toward his penthouse. Things feel so tenuous and delicate right now I am afraid of saying something that would ruin it. The ride up in the elevator consists of more silent tension. By the time he gently shoves me into the penthouse, he’s seething. I should be scared but I’m not. Seething Beast is a familiar Beast.

  “Don’t ever—ever pull a stunt like that again or a swear so fuckin’—”

  I silence his threat with my lips moving against his. I kiss him with all that I am, conveying everything I feel for him. His kiss is demanding and heated, rough and needy. I break away, panting. He presses his lips to my hair. “This is a terrible idea,” he whispers.

  “I’ve done dumber things,” I breathe.

  “I love you,” he says, cupping my face in his rough hands. “I love you so fucking much,” he repeats.

  “Prove it,” I challenge. Beast glowers at me playfully and tosses me over his shoulder. His jaunt up the staircase has my ribs aching but I laugh anyway. Clothes fly in every direction and before I can think twice Carrick has his lips pressed against the inside of one ankle then the other.

  “Ankle fetish?”

  “Ena fetish,” he murmurs, sending vibrations through me.

  “Carrick,” I whisper wrapping my legs around him invitingly.

  He obliges me, settling his formidable form between my open thighs. He rains gentle kisses down over my cheeks and jaw. “Say I’m staying,” I plead breathily.

  “You go nowhere.” He nips at my bottom lip and then he’s at my entrance, poised and looking at me intently. “You’re mine forever,” he says on a groan as he eases into me completely—body, mind, heart, soul. My personal Beast possesses me, wholly.

  Like many families we made it point to have a designated movie night every week and Lan somehow managed to do the majority of the picking. She adored Disney’s Beauty and The Beast while the rest of us barely tolerated the repeated showing. I always was curious to know what it was about the animated romance that kept Lan rapt. As kids and teenagers, I’d asked her over and over what it was about the cursed beast and the enchanting leading lady that she found so fascinating. She never did give me a straight answer. She always shrugged with a cheesy grin in place.

  But…

  I’ve always wondered if she still would have loved the movie as much if the characters were… different. I wondered if she still would have skipped eagerly to that shelf in the living room to grab the movie if it had been more unconventional. Would Lan still have idolized the leading lady if she weren’t so coy? Would the story have held the same element of fascination if the charming bookworm didn’t reluctantly go to the cursed castle? What if she went willingly because she wanted to? What if she wanted to be his captive? What would Lan have thought if the unfriendly beast never changed or transformed into anything? What if he had remained a beast? What would she have thought of him if he had not been so endearing? What if he had remained ruthless and intimidating? Would Lan have approved of the romance between the two characters if it unfolded in a different way? Would she have thought their love any less magical? What does it say about me if Mom and Lan knew I kind of wished the beast remained a ruthless beast and the leading lady made no apologies for falling for the monster while she flipped the bird to the town’s people?

  I should care.

  I.

  Just.

  Don’t.

  THE END

  Acknowledgments

  This book was a real doozy for me. As a writer, I have a certain appreciation for the stories that come to life after a long, struggle. Those stories make me feel extra accomplished. Often, I feel producing a book takes dedication, pigheaded determination, unhealthy obsession and sometimes blood sacrifice. Other times it’s effortless. I love when it’s effortless. A story falls right out of the sky and demands attention. One day in March 2016, I was outside taking pictures and fresh cuts from a giant rose bush that I call Beast. The blooms are giant, the size of my balled fist, hence the name Beast. People, this rose bush is massive and unique. Each bloom varies slightly in color and seems to have a distinct scent. The roses are addictively aromatic. Since roses are one of my favorite flowers, it’s no surprise that I adore this rose bush. I’ve never seen anything like it and I have this nagging, feeling that one day Beast will croak for some awful reason and I’ll be heartbroken.

  Beast was particularly full of blooms that year. I called my daughter to stand in front of it for a picture to display the scale of this mammoth rose bush. She skipped over like six year olds do and was all too happy to cozy up to the beautiful mass. When I realized she was backing far too close to Beast, I gasped and yelled for her to freeze. She was right amongst the thorns. Beast doesn’t have just thorns, it has razor-edged shark teeth. I carefully plucked her from the branches she had backed up to. She asked what the problem was so I gave her the speech.

  “This is Beast. Beast is the size of a Volkswagen and has an impossible amount of buds and blooms; a thousand or more. Beast also has thorns. Big ones. But if you can sneak close enough to catch a whiff, and avoid the gnarly thorns, you'll be ruined for all the other roses for the rest of your life. The sweetest scent amongst the thorns.”

  That’s how this story was born and it poured from me. I’m so thankful for the little things in everyday life that inspire the stories I can’t help but write.

  I have to thank my beta team. These women are an inspiration to me. I adore each of them for their time and efforts. Ladies, keep reading and I’ll keep writing. I have to thank my husband. Cody, I’m sorry your wife is a lunatic. I love you. Myles, Sunnie, Wyatt and Wade, you four are my biggest achievements and greatest joy. Thank you for being patient with mom. I love you. Thank you to my agent, editor, graphic designer, formatter, friends and colleagues. You all are the
structure behind the messy surface. I couldn’t write books without your support, advice and unmatched expertise. You kill at what you do and make no apologies for being badass. I kind of love you all for that. And finally, thank you to my readers. I write for you. You must know that.

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