CROW (Boston Underworld Book 1) (17 page)

“I want her dead,” Ivan says.

The muscles in my body burn with a rage I’m not wholly accustomed to. I’ve half a notion to pummel Ivan into the bloody floor and add to the mess. I feel protective of Mack. Too much so. I need to cop on to myself and remember the big picture here.

“It’s not up to you.”

He glances at me and shrugs. “How much will it take?”

“Nothing. It’s non-negotiable.”

He doesn’t blink. Or move. His eyes are dull and he isn’t listening to a goddamn thing I’m saying. I doubt very much he’ll back down on this. If Viktor knew he was here, he’d have his nuts. But Ivan knows I won’t rat him out.

“Tell me why ye want her dead,” I insist. “She saw nothing. Knows nothing. So why?”

He shrugs. And there it is. It’s the principle for him. Mack is the reminder of the father who beat him in the ring. The one he could never measure up to. Watching her fight triggered his ego.

“Ye need to let it go, Ivan,” I warn him. “For the sake of the alliance. The girl is under my protection now, and nothing ye say will change that.”

His eyes pinch together and his arms set to twitching. He’d like to off me too, no doubt. If it were any other day, he might’ve even considered trying. I’d be glad to tell him the feeling’s mutual. Ending this prick for Mack would bring me nothing but warm fuzzies in my chest. But with the way things are right now I can’t.

He legs it towards the door, but pauses to look back at me.

“Consider it forgotten,” he says. “But you should keep a close eye on this girl. At least with me, her death would be swift. I can’t promise the same for the others.”

Chapter Seventeen

Mackenzie

H
aving Ronan around to babysit me all day meant that I couldn’t check out Lachlan’s house like I wanted to.

Doesn’t really matter though. I highly doubt he has anything here. The place is pretty sparsely decorated, with only the basics. The few things I did get a chance to look through- his bedroom and his medicine cabinet- held nothing of importance.

So instead I use every one of the nine hours that Lachlan is gone to annoy the hell out of Ronan. I can tell he wants to be here just about as much as I want him here. He’s a soldier, I think, but he’s by no means the lowest on the totem pole, I know that much. Lachlan wants him with me for a reason. He trusts him not to touch me, and also, probably, to protect me. However, it’s obvious by the permanent scowl on his face when he’s around me that he thinks his services could be put to much better use. He’d rather be out there on the front lines, protecting Lachlan I’m sure. It’s typical of the men in this sort of mafia organization to have a brotherly bond, but I suspect that Ronan and Lachlan’s runs deeper. That’s something I’d like to investigate further, but I doubt he’s going to give much up. He’s too smart for that.

I grill him with questions, most of which he doesn’t answer, and then I try to get him to run me to the store. The only way to liven this party up is with some booze. He mutters something about not going anywhere while the Armenians are on the loose and then goes back to reading.

On a whim, I ask him a silly question to try to get a rise out of him. But I’m surprised by his response.

“So what do you think of Sasha?”

His brows shoot up and he glances at me like I’ve just uncovered one of his dirty little secrets. Hm, what an interesting development this is. He adjusts his collar as though he’s suddenly getting hot, and the slightest tinge of pink creeps over his cheeks. Whooda thunk that the cranky Irishman has a thing for one of the dancers?

“She’s pretty, huh?” I push.

He shrugs. “I guess. As pretty as the rest of them.”

“She’s wicked flexible too,” I egg him on. “Have you seen her on stage? Holy shit, that girl’s gotta’ be a freak in the bedroom.”

“I wouldn’t know.” He slams the book in his hands shut and walks over to the window.

I know I’ve struck a nerve and I’m on thin ice probably, but I see an opportunity here. One that might help Sasha without betraying her trust.

“It’s just too bad,” I say, picking at my nail absently.

I wait a couple breaths for Ronan to take the bait, and surprisingly, he does.

“What is?”

“That Donovan is all up in her business all the time. He’s such a fricken’ creep.”

“Is he bothering her?” Ronan asks and then clears his throat like he shouldn’t have.

“I don’t know for sure,” I lie. “But it looks that way to me. He’s always following her around and trying to get her into dark corners if you know what I mean.”

Ronan visibly flinches from my observation as he stares out the window.

“Maybe I should call her,” I hedge. “See if she wants to come over. She might need some company…”

“No,” Ronan snaps.

“Alrighty then,” I smirk.

He turns around and shoots me a deadly scowl. “Ye open your gob about this to anyone and ye can forget anymore donut runs.”

“Ah, well played Ronan,” I chuckle. “Well played.”

***

Just after midnight, the front door slams open while I’m sitting on the sofa painting my nails. I’ve been bored out of my mind and Ronan’s broody company has done little to improve that. I glance up to find Lachlan standing in the kitchen. He looks at Ronan and then to me, some kind of dark and scary energy rolling off of him. It’s not an expression I’m familiar with on him.

I know that Lach’s a dangerous man. I’m aware of the sort of things he deals in. And yet, he’s always been a little bit mysterious… quiet… ominous, but in a calm way. I’ve seen a few different sides of him so far, but never anything like this. I don’t miss the fact that his jacket is gone and his shirt is covered in blood. Over it he’s wearing a shoulder holster that I’ve never seen him wear, and something tells me he put that to a lot of use tonight.

Before I even get a chance to say something, he stalks down the hall and into the bathroom. The pipes in the house creak when he turns on the shower, and I bite my lip as I shoot Ronan a questioning glance. Of course, he just ignores me, but the tension in his own body is obvious.

I tiptoe down the hall and lean against the bathroom door. I have the strangest urge to… I don’t know, comfort Lachlan. It’s a very foreign feeling for me, I’ll tell you that much. I don’t deal with this kind of shit. The only people’s feelings that ever mattered to me were Talia and Scarlett. That’s how my dad raised me, and even then, he probably wouldn’t have approved of our close bond. He always said friends are nice, but they’re also a weakness. How right he was.

So why do I feel bad that Lachlan’s had a rough night? Beats the hell out of me.

I press my ear to the door and hear nothing but the flow of water. Steam is billowing out from beneath the crack, and I can almost imagine Lachlan in there beneath the scalding hot spray. I want to know what he’s feeling right now. Does he have those pesky emotions that I hate so much? Beneath his mobster exterior, is there still a conscience? I want to go to him, and I hate that. What the hell would I do?

I reach down and stroke my fingers over my necklace, trying to remember the reason why I’m here. I feel like I’m betraying Talia for even considering any of these thoughts. I’m no closer to finding her than I was when I started all of this. And now I’m sitting here, actually questioning my feelings for Lachlan.

I groan and press my forehead to the door, only to be scared a moment later when I catch someone standing beside me.

“Jesus, Ronan,” I hiss. “Make a noise, will you?”

He shrugs. “Force a’ habit. You best leave him be for a while.”

I glance at the door and back to him. “Why?”

“He’s not in a good place right now, Mack. We lost one of our own tonight.”

“Who?” I ask.

“His name was Johnny. The lad was just a kid.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it. “What happened?”

“They got him when he was leaving the pub,” Ronan says. “He didn’t have a fighting chance.”

I try to force away the sympathy I feel, knowing I probably shouldn’t. But it’s still hard to think about. Looking at Ronan, and seeing how torn up Lachlan was, it’s obvious these guys do care about each other. Just like Tal and I did. I understand that bond. I get it, and that’s the worst part. It makes me relate to them on some level. It makes them a little bit more human to me, which I don’t want or need.

Ronan’s right. The best thing I can do… for Lachlan and myself… is to leave him alone. I give the door one last glance and nod before I walk back down the hall. He’s probably right. And it saves me from having to think about any of this.

***

By one am, Ronan is passed out in his chair and I’m biting my fingernails. Lach still hasn’t made an appearance. And I know what Ronan said, but I’ve never been very good at following orders.

I decide I’m just going to check on him to sate my curiosity. That’s all.

I wander down the hall and push open the cracked door to his bedroom. I find him in a chair in the corner, bottle of whiskey and a first aid kit on the table beside him. He’s leaning forward, head in hands, in nothing but a pair of jeans. For a moment, I just remain still to take in his profile.

He really is beautiful. The darkness surrounding him and the obvious emotion on his face only makes him more so. I never wanted to see him as a person, but looking at him like this now, it’s impossible not to.

I take a tentative step forward and the floor creaks. He glances up. His shoulder wound is bleeding again, and he has a new cut on his opposite arm. He doesn’t even seem to notice.

I walk towards him and grab the first aid kit and find a needle. I take a shot of whiskey for myself before sitting down on his lap to clean his wounds. There isn’t a word spoken between us. He lets me mend him, and I go about it carefully, making sure I do a good job. I don’t like seeing his pain. I don’t like seeing anyone’s pain. Most people don’t know that about me. I pretend shit doesn’t bother me, but it does. Right now, seeing him like this, it fucking bothers me.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him softly as I put a fresh bandage over his shoulder and move on to the other cut.

“Ye don’t need to do that,” he says.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

“Ye look grand in my clothes,” he rasps.

I force a smile but don’t reply. I raided his drawers today since Ronan refused to go get my shit. I’m wearing one of his tee shirts and a pair of sweat pants I had to roll down at the waist.

He reaches up and grabs my chin, and I reluctantly bring my gaze to his. I haven’t been making eye contact with him, and he notices. He notices how uncomfortable I am with his discomfort. He watches me for a long moment, his eyes flicking back and forth between mine. I want to know what he’s thinking. He doesn’t say. He brushes his fingers across my jaw and my eyes flutter shut. How can such a simple touch make me feel so much? My body responds to him, but even worse, so does my mind. I don’t even think he’s doing it on purpose. It’s just the cause and effect of being near him.

His body is tight and tense beneath me, and I want to take that away. For a few minutes, I try to block out everything else. All of the questions and the guilt and the games I’m playing. I set the kit aside and do what feels right.

I kneel down before him and drag my fingers up his thighs. I’ve never done this before, but Scarlett and I have talked about it. She even jokingly showed me once on a banana.

This is different. Lachlan is one hundred percent male. He’s been with a lot of women, I’m sure. Most of whom could probably do this way better. I don’t want to think about that. I’ve got a whole swarm of butterflies in my belly right now and I’m not sure what I’m doing anymore. But I know one thing, and it’s that I want to please him.

I inch my fingers toward his groin and cup him through his jeans. His eyes darken, and almost immediately, I feel him harden beneath me. Encouraged, I start to rub him through the material. He’s hung as all get out, I know that much.

A ravenous hunger takes over my body as I watch the way I affect him. How his eyes are heavy with lust and every breath he draws is more ragged than the last. He’s acutely aware of my every movement, and I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from his. They are savagely beautiful right now in the depths of their melancholy need.

I reach for his belt and unbuckle it before pulling down his zipper. The sight of his bulge beneath soft cotton briefs makes my own breath hitch. I try to remember everything Scarlett told me about this. She said it’s about the slow burn. The anticipation. I want to give that to Lach. I want to take all of his pain from him.

I lean forward and rub my cheek against the fabric, and he twitches beneath me. Intense heat burns beneath my skin as I nuzzle closer, dragging my nose along and inhaling him. He smells so fucking good, even this part of his body. It’s the same scent I’ve become accustomed to, but also a little musky too.

His hand comes down to tangle with the long strands of my hair, stroking it as I kiss my way along his cloth covered length. Already, he’s making these pained little noises in his throat and I know I’m doing something right. At the top of the fabric, a tiny wet spot has seeped through from his arousal. Letting my baser desires take control of the situation, I lick and then suck that fabric into my mouth.