SAINT (Boston Underworld Book 4)

by A. Zavarelli

  And then there’s a grunt not far behind me. That’s when I see it.

  Rory’s been hit. In the shoulder.

  He’s bleeding. Because of me.

  “Are you okay?” I yell.

  He clutches at his wound and glares. “Get your arse back over here, now.”

  He’s huddled behind the trunk, waiting. Bleeding. And I want to tell him all the things I never have.

  I’m pissed off and I’m fucking tired, and now Rory’s hurt because of me.

  “No. Fuck this,” I tell him as I stand up and start firing off rounds.

  “And fuck them. Fuck all these motherfuckers.”

  Crow and Reaper take cover too, and someone tells the guards to hold their fire.

  They try to hide behind posts and doors and tires and wooden pallets.

  I walk and I fire.

  And they go down.

  One by one, they go down.

  I hear them, rather than see them.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Their bodies fall in time to my heart.

  And then one of the guards disobeys his orders and shoots me in the fucking foot. It hurts like a motherfucking cocksucker.

  But I keep after it.

  Limping my way to Storm. Rory joins me at my side, followed by the rest of the men a minute later.

  “Jaysus,” Crow says, eyeing me like I’m insane.

  “Aye,” Rory agrees. “And ye thought your woman was fecking crazy. Just look at the little monster I’ve created.”

  “Indeed, you did, Frankenstein. Give yourself a pat on the back.”

  We huddle behind the car and Storm crawls out to join us. She’s got a bloody knife in her hand, and I don’t have to ask if she used it.

  “This is not what I signed up for,” she says.

  “Are you alright?”

  I check over her wound and she nods.

  “What’s one more battle scar?”

  “It’s a through and through,” Crow says after taking a look at her arm. “Just keep pressure on it.”

  There are still a few stray bullets firing from around the house, but Rory and the guys pick them off within another few minutes.

  And this time, they are all business.

  Crow tosses everyone an AK from the case.

  “I guess that’s one fucking way to do it,” Dom says. “Now that we know Storm’s safe.”

  “It’s the only way,” I tell them. “These cowards won’t come out on their own.”

  And so we form a chain. Five men and two women strong.

  “Know how to shoot one of these things?” Conor asks Storm.

  “No fucking clue,” she says as she takes the gun from him, anyway.

  On the count of three, we spray the house with bullets. We blow the place up like it’s the fourth of July. Glass and wood and debris fly across the yard and into the gravel.

  “I hope they don’t have any neighbors,” Crow yells over the racket.

  “They don’t,” I assure him. “It’s dead quiet here. Nobody can hear them scream.”

  He glances at me, but doesn’t ask.

  We dispense every last round before the place falls quiet again.

  “Wait here until we clear the place,” Rory tells me.

  I don’t listen of course and follow after them once they’re inside. The remaining guards are all dead, scattered about the lounge and kitchen.

  And the guys find Quinn and Duke bunkering down in a safe upstairs.

  Rory and Crow have them tied up and in the car before I can do any damage to them. And then they’re dousing the place in lighter fluid. Crow leaves a trail down the front porch and Rory hands me a pack of matches.

  “Light it up and burn it down, baby.”

  I light it up.

  And burn it down.

  Forty

  Rory

  Alexei provides us with sanctuary at his house.

  He has a surgeon on call and loads of medical equipment, not to mention his own dungeon of torture.

  Alexei is a private bloke, and he keeps his business separate from his family.

  His wife Talia and their baby son Franco remain on the main level of the home while we take up residence on the third.

  “The doctor will be here shortly,” he tells us. “Magda will help in the meantime.”

  His housekeeper nods, bearing an armload of first aid supplies, and I instruct her to help Storm first while Dom tends to Conor.

  My wound can wait, and I want to check over Scarlett.

  But Magda gasps from across the room, drawing our attention to her. She’s cut off the sleeve of Storm’s dress, revealing deep scars along the length of her arm. Her face is scarred too, and though she’s done a good job hiding it beneath her makeup, it will never go away entirely.

  Scarlett clears her throat and pokes me in the arm. Her eyes tell me what her lips don’t need to. Storm doesn’t like people staring, and I can’t blame the girl.

  But Conor, as always, takes longer than the rest to catch on to it. He’s still gawking. And Storm’s flaying him alive with her eyes.

  “Ask me what happened and I’ll stab you with the one good arm I’ve got left.”

  Dom and I laugh, and Conor looks away sheepishly.

  When it’s over, I turn to Scarlett and check her over with my eyes. She’s holding the towel over my wound, fretting over me in a way that is unlike her. And she seems healthy. Safe and slightly sane, albeit a little dirty with crazy wild hair.

  It’s all good until I notice the crimson leaking from her heel. And sure enough, when I pull it off, her foot is swollen and bloody.

  “Jesus Christ, baby doll, you should have told me.”

  “I’m fine,” she says.

  “Ye’re not fine.”

  She doesn’t let me fuss about it though.

  “It’s just a graze, it didn’t even go into my foot. Thank you, obsidian. You’re the one who’s really shot. Half of us are.”

  When she looks away, her eyes are watery. I grab her face and pull it back to me.

  “This isn’t on you. We all knew what we were doing. And we went because we wanted to.”

  “Not me,” Conor gripes. “I went because you told me I could have the weekend off.”

  “And now you fucking do,” I say.

  “Can we all just take a minute to appreciate how fecking crazy your missus is?” Dom chimes in.

  Scarlett smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. And this time, when I pull her against my unwounded side, she lets me.

  “When do I get to fuck those guys up?” Storm asks.

  I look at Scarlett, and she shrugs.

  “I promised her she could play with them for a while first.”

  “Aye, of course you did.”

  The surgeon’s arrival ends the conversation. Luckily, none of us are too bad off, so she uses local anesthetics to remove the bullets and tend to the wounds.

  Crow checks in on us and makes sure we’re all okay before he and the others bail and head back to Boston.

  It’s just Scarlett, Storm, and I. And thanks to Alexei’s generosity, we have rooms for the night.

  Scarlett makes sure Storm is settled in before she comes back to me.

  She looks dead tired and so much smaller than she usually does when she lingers in the door frame. I have no idea what’s going on in that head of hers.

  It’s all over now. She is free.

  The men downstairs will be dead come tomorrow morning, and she will walk out of here without any burdens left on her shoulders.

  But I don’t know if she understands that yet. I don’t know how long it will take. I don’t know anything, except that when she launches herself into my arms, I let her. She’s crawling all over me, tearing at my clothes, and kissing me like she’s trying to kill me. It’s violent and needy and insane.

  “God, you’re so fucking hot,” she murmurs into my neck. “I need you, Rory. I need you right now.”

  I’ve got a bum shoulder, and h
er foot is jacked up, but those things don’t matter. I grab her and toss her onto the bed, filthy bloody clothes and all, and I take over.

  I get her naked and fuck her like I’ve never fucked her before.

  Complete domination.

  I spank the shit out of her arse because I’m still pissed at her, and she lets me. Of course the little hellraiser likes it and begs me for more.

  Whatever residual adrenaline was left in my body is ejaculated into her when I come so hard I nearly black out.

  Scarlett does too, leaving scratch marks down my back to claim me.

  Neither one of us has energy for a shower. So I tuck her into my arms and kiss her head and am half asleep when she kisses my chest and murmurs against me.

  Her one undeniable truth.

  “Mine.”

  Forty-One

  Rory

  In the early light of morning, something is different about Scarlett.

  I don’t know exactly what. Just that her eyes are softer. Warm like honey, and unguarded.

  Strands of golden brown hair tickle my chest as she brushes her lips against me, and her fingers dig into my back.

  “Still hate me?” she asks.

  It’s a loaded question if I ever heard one. She wants to talk, and I do too, but not until it’s really over.

  Until her past is wiped clean.

  Storm saves me from answering when she bursts in without knocking and leans against the door frame.

  “Aw, well isn’t this just the cutest thing I ever did see.”

  She’s clearly back on the mend and feeling like herself again, as her eyes rake over my naked chest before she winks at Scarlett.

  “Did you need something?” Scarlett snaps.

  “I want to play with my toys now.”

  “Fine,” Scarlett groans and then looks at me. “Can she go play?”

  “You’ll have to find Alexei,” I tell her. “He’ll let you in. And supervise.”

  “I don’t need any supervision,” Storm scoffs.

  I don’t bother to argue with her because I already gave Alexei the rundown, and he knows the drill. He’ll make sure they’re still alive when Scarlett is ready for them.

  “No tattoos,” Scarlett tells her before she slips out the door.

  “Tattoos are for the living.” Storm winks and disappears down the hallway, humming a happy tune.

  “Do I even want to know where you found her?” I ask Scarlett.

  “Why?” she snipes. “You want another mental case to save since you failed with this one?”

  I kiss her because fuck she’s hot when she gets all worked up like this.

  “Are ye jealous?” I murmur against her lips. “My little green eyed monster.”

  “She keeps looking at you and I know you know it.”

  “So what would ye like me to do?” I laugh. “Cut out her eyes?”

  Scarlett doesn’t answer, and I can see her struggling with these new feelings. Jealousy is probably as foreign to her as the issue of trust.

  “Satan.” I grab her by the shoulders and haul her towards me. “Get your arse over here.”

  She lays her head against my chest and sighs. When my fingers tangle in her hair, her eyes flutter shut, and within a few moments, she’s back to sleep.

  We lay there like that until the afternoon when there’s really no more putting it off.

  I’m needed back in Boston, and there’s no reason to keep delaying the inevitable.

  “You ready?” I ask when she emerges from the bathroom dressed in some of Talia’s clothing.

  “As I’ll ever be,” she says.

  Her voice is wooden, and the shutters have come down on her face. She’s locked herself down tight, my little warrior. I still don’t know what’s going to happen when she sees them. If she’ll really go through with it.

  But the choice is Scarlett’s to make. And whatever she decides, I’ll be right there beside her.

  We walk hand in hand to the basement, and she doesn’t let go.

  Storm is waiting in the hallway, happy and carefree as she sucks on another lollipop.

  “My work here is done,” she says. “And the Russian guy organized a ride for me, so I’m going to skedaddle.”

  Scarlett reaches out and grabs her by the arm, and Storm flinches at the human contact.

  “Sorry.” Scarlett releases her. “I just wanted to say thank you. For everything.”

  “No problem.” Storm shrugs. “It was fun. We should do it again sometime.”

  Scarlett looks up at me and then shakes her head.

  “I’m out of the game now,” she says. “For good.”

  Storm smirks and then sighs. “I figured as much.”

  “But there’s one last thing.” Scarlett pulls a card from her pocket and fiddles with it. “I didn’t mention it before.”

  Storm crunches some of the sucker between her teeth, eyeing off the card. “What is it?”

  “There’s a fed. And he’s got it bad for you.”

  “Oh yeah, that guy.” Storm nods. “He’s been asking around.”

  “I didn’t give him anything,” Scarlett tells her. “I won’t. But he wanted you to have this. In case you ever need help, I guess.”

  Storm takes the card and gives it a curious glance before shoving it into her own pocket.

  “Thanks. He might be fun to play with.”

  “No,” Scarlett says. “Not him. He’s one of the good ones.”

  Storm looks at me, and I nod. She doesn’t believe it though.

  “Fine,” she sighs. “I’ll leave the poor little federal agent alone. You never let me have any fun.”

  “I guess that’s probably for the best,” Scarlett agrees. “But what do you want me to tell him?”

  Storm runs her tongue over her teeth in a playful gesture.

  “Just tell him to catch me… if he can.”

  Storm is long gone, but she definitely left her mark.

  The two blokes strapped to the table have been sliced and diced and burned and god only knows what else. Because their eyes are practically begging for death at this point.

  What Scarlett doesn’t know is that Alexei has his own way of dealing with men who assault women. And before Storm ever laid hands on them, Quinn and Duke enjoyed a long, passion filled night with Boris.

  Boris is over two hundred pounds of pure muscle, and he likes his men submissive and leather bound.

  Which explains the assless chaps lying on the floor, I suppose. Along with the empty bottle of lube.

  Scarlett doesn’t miss them, of course, but she doesn’t ask about them either.

  She’s staring at the first bloke. Quinn.

  And he’s looking at her too.

  He knows what awaits him.

  “I’m sorry,” he tells her. It’s a plea for mercy, but it won’t be found here.

  If I had it my way, I’d be the one to tell him that. While I bled him out, I’d look into his eyes and tell him that he never should have touched my Satan.

  And if I could kill him a thousand different ways, I would.

  But this is what Scarlett wanted.

  What she asked for.

  And even if I don’t agree with it, I have to respect her for it.

  She showed me yesterday, how fierce she really is. She was fearless, crazy, and hot as fuck with that AK-47 in her hands, blowing up the place.

  But today, she is placid.

  Soft, and… vulnerable.

  She’s beautiful either way, but I’ve never seen her like this.

  She’s clutching the knife in her hand too tightly, her knuckles are white, and she isn’t moving. I don’t even know if she’s breathing, she’s so still.

  We stand there like that for a long time, and I don’t say a word.

  This is a process she needs to work through on her own. A decision she needs to come to on her own.

  I don’t want any lingering resentment from her. And I don’t want to push her.

  But it turns
out, I don’t need to.

  The knife in her hand clatters to the floor and she turns into my arms at the same time I pull her towards me.

  “I can’t do it,” she whispers into my chest. “I don’t want to do it.”

  “It’s okay, baby doll,” I assure her. “I will.”

  She nods against me, but neither of us moves for a long time. And then gradually she pulls away, leaning up to pull my face to hers and kisses me.

  That kiss conveys the words she can’t tell me herself.

  Thank you.

  A part of me always knew it would come to this.

  I have no guilt for what’s about to go down in this room, and there will be no guilt after. I would kill a thousand men for Scarlett. I would torture them and bleed them dry if it brought her peace.

  “Go upstairs,” I instruct her. “Take a bath. And when I’m done, we’ll go home.”

  “Okay.”

  She turns, and I stop her.

  Unbuckling the watch that has weighed me down all of these years. The ever-present reminder that I wouldn’t become like him.

  I don’t need it anymore. Because I know that I will never be like him.

  I protect the people I love.

  And sometimes, that means getting a little bloody.

  “Take this too,” I tell her. “And get rid of it.”

  She doesn’t know. She can’t know, but somehow, she does. She reaches up to touch my face one more time.

  “You are a good man, Rory.”

  She gives both the blokes one last and final glance, and then nods, leaving me to it.

  Forty-Two

  Scarlett

  All my yesterdays mean nothing if my tomorrows aren’t with you.

  Peace is a foreign thing.

  A feeling I can’t recall ever knowing.

  But that’s the only word I can think of to describe the calm that’s washed over me since we’ve come back to Boston.

  Rory’s been busy, cleaning up the loose ends of the mess we’ve made. I’d like to believe that’s why he’s been gone so much, sneaking in late at night when he thinks I’m asleep.

  He’s giving me space, and I was grateful for it, at first.