Bad Boy Sinner (The Bad Boy Series Book 2)

by S. E. Lund

  With reluctance, my CO called me back and said he'd set the process in motion. I should have my honorable discharge on compassionate grounds in a week—before my leave was over. I'd have to return to Quantico to pick up my belongings and sign papers, but other than that, I could stay in Boston and start running the businesses.

  Not only did we have Saint Brothers Gym and Boxing Emporium, we also had several franchise locations of Saint Brothers Fitness across the eastern seaboard. I had to keep in touch with each franchisee and make sure they were reporting their business data and keeping up with expectations.

  The next few days were busy and, at the same time, somber, as we planned for Sean's funeral and memorial at the graveside. In the meantime, we learned more details surrounding my uncle's arrest and charges. I spoke with John about him, and we had a family dinner with my father, Conor, and John, plus Donny's two other sons, where we discussed Donny's case and what his lawyer had said about his chances of getting released.

  "He's not getting out," John said. "I spoke with his lawyer. They got him cold and no judge is going to let him out pending trial. The new hotshot DA has been salivating for the chance to get my dad on a RICO charge since he couldn't get him on anything local."

  The new hotshot DA…

  I had to smile grimly about that.

  Spencer Grant, Graham Parker's bastard of a stepfather, had finally brought my uncle down. He couldn't get Donny himself but he had been able to pull together enough of a case to tempt the Feds. There was nothing any of us could do except fill in where Donny used to be—running the business and keeping the mafia at bay. That meant doing exactly what I had always wanted to avoid. Getting my hands dirty with family business.

  Still, I had no other choice now that Donny was in federal custody and Sean was dead.

  The first thing on my agenda was getting revenge.

  Chapter 2: Celia

  One Year Earlier

  “You'll be happy to know I finally got that bastard Donny Saint," Spencer said to me when I went over to the house to see my mother.

  "What?" I said, frowning. "You arrested Hunter's Uncle Donny?"

  "Not me personally, but the Feds."

  I had no interest in speaking with Spencer. I’d thought he would be out of the house when I went over, but there he was in all his glory. He must have known I was coming over for a visit with my mom and wanted to gloat.

  "Didn't you listen to the news today?" he asked, following me through the house.

  "I've been busy."

  "Turn on the TV," he said when I got to the living room. "You'll hear. I'm so glad you cut that boy out of your life back then. His family's trouble, but maybe with Donny Saint in federal custody, they'll be less of a threat."

  "Threat to whom?" I asked, not really getting what he was talking about. "Who was he a threat to? He was a boxing promoter and runs a couple of nightclubs. "

  "He's a thug. His whole family is a bunch of thugs. I provided some nice juicy tidbits of evidence that will help put him away for, oh, maybe a decade or more."

  I switched on the television and turned to a local news channel. I'd been ensconced in my dorm studying for mid-term exams and hadn't been paying much attention to the news, so I had no idea what he was talking about.

  There were a couple of talking heads and a picture of the gym on screen, so I turned up the volume.

  "…report of a shooting at a local landmark, Saints Gym and Boxing Emporium, yesterday during an FBI operation to arrest Donald James Saint on a federal RICO warrant."

  "What?"

  My mouth fell open as I listened to the reporter describe the shooting of Sean, Hunter's older brother, after he had attacked one of the Special Agents there to arrest Donny. He'd been taken to Mass General but was not expected to survive, according to the family's lawyer, who spoke to the reporter outside the hospital.

  "The Saint family is well-known for its historic boxing club. They’ve trained dozens of boxing stars over the decades since the gym was founded by Colm Saint in the early part of the twentieth century…"

  "Oh my God…" I sat down hard on the coffee table across from the television and watched open-mouthed.

  "Pretty amazing," Spencer said, a smile on his face.

  "They shot Sean?"

  "Oh, yeah, the brother. He assaulted an FBI Special Agent and was shot three times. He died sometime this morning."

  "They killed Sean?" The fact filtered through my shock, making my pulse race. "Sean's dead?"

  "Yeah, he kicked it during the night."

  "Oh my God," I said, covering my mouth, tears filling my eyes.

  I had known Sean Saint for half my life—or at least, I had seen him around the gym when I was growing up. "He was just the janitor. Why did they shoot him?"

  "He assaulted a federal agent. The agent felt threatened and was in his rights to shoot him. The agent says he thought Sean was trying to take his weapon.” Spencer shrugged like he didn’t care one way or the other. Like Sean's death was an incidental part of the big event of arresting Donny Saint.

  Of course, Spencer would feel that way. All he cared about was getting back at Donny Saint. He had a grudge against Donny over some failed case from years ago. That was the source of all the enmity between our two families all this time.

  I hated Spencer.

  Hated him.

  "I don't know why you're so upset," Spencer said, his voice dismissive. "It's not like you're big friends with them anymore. At least I hope not, if you have any sense."

  "Oh, God, poor Hunter…" I said, shaking my head sadly, not caring what Spencer thought. My heart broke for Hunter. I couldn’t imagine how he must have felt. "He'll have to come to Boston for the funeral. Who knows where he is? The last I heard, he was deployed to Iraq."

  "No, no, Hunter was there at the time," Spencer said, like he relished the fact. "He’s on leave from the Marines for a couple of weeks."

  I covered my mouth in shock. "He was there?" I said, turning to Spencer, scarcely able to process it. "He saw Sean being shot?"

  Spencer shrugged. "So was Conor. The whole damn family saw it. I would have liked the FBI to take them all in, but they only had incriminating evidence on Donny's involvement with the Romanov family. He was a nice catch, though." Spencer stood there, his hands on his hips, like he had scored some huge victory. "The whole lot of them could be shot, for all I care. Sean worked for the Romanov family, breaking arms and legs. I showed you the evidence."

  "He's a human being," I protested, disgusted that Spencer was so callous. "He was a human being," I said, correcting myself. Sean was dead…

  "He’s one less thug to deal with," Spencer scoffed. "He was a low-life thug, Celia. He broke people's bones when they failed to pay their protection money or loan shark interest."

  "I can't believe he's dead," I said, my eyes filling with tears. I turned back to the television and watched stock footage of the gym, the old façade of the building with the original sign, reminiscent of another era. Early twentieth-century architecture. A newer sign had been placed beneath it featuring a muscle-bound boxer with his dukes up.

  "Deader than a doornail," Spencer said, his hands on his hips, watching the television coverage. He glanced at me and saw my tears. "What are you all teary about? Sean Saint worked for the Russian mafia. You know that. My God, has everything I've shown you and told you about that family been a total waste of time?"

  I didn’t say anything more. Instead I sat and stared at the television screen, wiping my eyes while I listened to the talking heads go on about organized crime in Boston and how the Saint family was at the center of an investigation into their ties to the Romanov family.

  I knew it all. Spencer had shown me information over the past couple of years on the Saints and their ties to the mob in Boston and New York. It made me thankful that Hunter had pulled himself out of the family business and joined the Marines. It made up for losing him as a friend, as a lover. Hunter was smart. He was good. He didn’t want
to be part of the family's business precisely because he knew he'd get pulled in.

  I hoped this didn't change things.

  I wanted to call Hunter up and say how sorry I was to hear about Sean's death. How horrible for him to see Sean shot, to have to make the decision to take him off life support.

  I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold.

  "You're going to have to face facts. If you want to follow my footsteps and be a prosecutor, you have to let your head guide you, not your heart," Spencer said, giving me a disapproving scowl.

  I didn't respond. As far as I was concerned, Spencer was out of my life. I only showed up now and then to see my mother. Spencer tried to talk to me when I was there, prodding me to see how I was doing, what my grades were (great, thankyouverymuch) and whether I was seeing anyone at the time (nothankyouverymuch). I usually planned my visits for a time when he'd be at work so I wouldn't have to bump into him. For some reason, he was off work that day so I couldn't avoid him, but I decided I'd only stick around to say hi to mom and then leave.

  "Aren't you staying for some tea?" she asked when I pulled on my sweater, planning to leave as quickly as possible. "We usually have a nice cup of tea when you come over."

  "Not today," I said and grabbed my bag from the sofa. "I have things to do. I just popped by to check on how you're doing."

  I bent down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She seemed upset but I had no interest in staying and putting up with Spencer's nastiness and gloating over Donny Saint’s arrest and Sean’s death. I needed to talk to Graham and see what he knew, if he even knew anything. He and Hunter had never been friends again after that weekend when Hunter and I got together.

  I slipped on my shoes and felt Spencer's disapproval from across the room. I opened the door but turned back to catch my mom's eye.

  "I'll come back another day," I said.

  She nodded. "Soon, " she said. "I miss you. You've been so busy lately and we barely see you here for a meal or visit."

  She knew I didn’t get along well with Spencer, but always held out hope that I'd come by and eat a meal with them. I never said much to her about him, but she must have known I planned to come by when he was out on purpose.

  I took a bus back to the dorm, my mind totally occupied with thoughts of Hunter and of Sean's death, a pang of regret in my heart that everything had gone so wrong with Hunter and our family. Between Hunter and Graham. Most of all, between Hunter and me.

  When we first got together, I had been ecstatic. Then, Spencer had intervened—once again—and ruined things. He forced both Graham and me to cut Hunter out of our lives.

  How Hunter must hate us all.

  I arrived back at my dorm room and threw my bag on the tiny two-seater sofa and myself on my bed. I lay there for an hour, numb, wild images passing through my mind of the FBI arriving at Saints Gym and arresting Donny Spencer, Sean trying to protect him and being shot, Hunter kneeling beside his body…

  It was horrifying.

  I clicked on the television and watched the news for a while, but then my cell dinged. I removed it from my bag and read the message from Amy.

  AMY: OMG Celia!!! Did you watch the news? Sean Saint is dead…

  I texted back, biting my cheek to stop my tears from starting once more.

  CELIA: Yeah, I was at my mom's when Spencer told me the news. He actually gloated. He's hated the Saints for years.

  AMY: Poor Hunter…

  CELIA: I know. I feel sick.

  There was a pause and I waited for her to reply.

  AMY: I'm between classes. Want to come and meet me and have coffee?

  CELIA: Don't really feel like it. I've got a mid-term to study for. Besides, what I really need is a drink.

  AMY: Tonight. We'll go to the pub and drown our sorrows.

  CELIA: Sounds like a plan.

  AMY: I'll drop by after I finish class this afternoon. We can have supper and then go to the pub.

  CELIA: See you then.

  I turned off my cell and lay back on my bed, switching channels on the television to watch the coverage of the shooting. On one channel, I caught a glimpse of Hunter as the family left the hospital. A small gaggle of reporters followed them to a black SUV, throwing out questions, none of which were answered.

  "Mr. Saint, do you have anything to say about the death of your son Sean?"

  "Mr. Saint, the FBI reports that Sean Saint attacked a federal agent. Do you have any comment?"

  Hunter looked haggard, his face even paler than normal, his brow furrowed. He was dressed in a black leather jacket, jeans, and a black t-shirt. He looked good but really upset—of course. I watched him open the door for his father, helping the older man in, adjusting the tank of portable oxygen, then close the door. Hunter said nothing, just got in the back seat on the other side of his father. The camera focused in on the car window, but it was darkened, and all you could see was a faint outline of Hunter's face, his square jaw, a few days’ worth of stubble on his chin.

  My heart squeezed to see him again and regret threatened to make me cry. He was good. He wasn’t like the rest of his family. Maybe I could believe he had helped Sean on a job one time, but I knew Hunter after the alleged attack took place. He did not want to be part of his family or the mob.

  He didn't.

  I finally turned off the television when I felt such despair that I crawled under my covers to hide from the world.

  A part of me reasoned that if I hadn’t obeyed Spencer back when Hunter and I had been together, if I had continued to see him, maybe something worse would have happened—although I couldn't imagine anything worse than Sean being killed in front of Hunter.

  Whatever might have happened, I would have lost my place in the dorm, and Spencer would have been on an even bigger witchhunt.

  I took out my cell and called Graham, but the call went to voice mail so I left a message.

  "Did you hear about Sean Saint? He was killed by the FBI when they arrested his uncle Donny. Give me a call."

  I ended the call and then snuggled down into my covers, closing my eyes, trying to shove thoughts of the whole mess from my mind. I couldn’t imagine studying at that moment. In fact, I couldn’t imagine doing anything other than crying.

  So I did.

  Later, Amy arrived and knocked on my door. The room was dark; I'd fallen asleep for an hour so I was groggy and a bit disoriented when I heard her. I crawled out from under the covers and walked to the door to let her in.

  "There you are," she said and hugged me immediately. She pulled me over to the sofa and plopped down beside me. As usual, she knew just what to do to pull me out of my funk. "So tell me," she said and I recounted what Spencer had told me and what I had seen on the news. We sat and commiserated about my failed romance with Hunter, and the tragedy that had befallen the Saint family with Donny's arrest and Sean's death.

  "Poor Hunter," Amy said. "He must be destroyed by it. Imagine watching Graham being shot right before your eyes."

  "I can't."

  "Will you send a condolence letter?"

  "I don’t know if I should. I'm sure Hunter would burn it. He must hate me and hate all of us, especially because it was Spencer who sicced the FBI on Donny…"

  "Still, you should show him that you care."

  I shrugged, not sure whether it would be appreciated.

  We went to the cafeteria for a quick dinner, but I wasn't hungry and just picked at my salad. Then we did what I really wanted: We went for a drink or four.

  The pub was just a few blocks away from campus and I wanted to drown my sorrows in margaritas. We did a shot of tequila to start, then sat at the bar and drank down three margaritas in a row. By the end of the night, I was hammered. I was glad we took a taxi home, because I couldn’t walk straight and felt like I might throw up.

  "I'll never find another guy like Hunter," I said in my inebriated state. "There's no one like him. Not one guy I've met since him has measured up. In any way," I said, r
aising my eyebrows suggestively at Amy as we tumbled out of the taxi and made our way into the dormitory building.

  "You were really in love with him," she said, nodding. "I could tell. He was all you talked about."

  "He was so nice. So smart…" I said, remembering how we used to talk about things like astronomy. Then I smiled. "He was sooo good in bed." I groaned out loud, remembering how well he knew his way around a woman's body.

  "He's definitely a hunk," she said, as she practically carried me into my room.

  "He's an Adonis," I replied, correcting her. "He looks so good, even with his hair so short. I've watched the report over and over."

  "You recorded the newscast?"

  I nodded. "I did." I went to my television and turned it on, then selected my recordings. The video of Hunter leading his father to the SUV after they left the hospital had been replayed on the news over and over and I’d found the wherewithal to record it before I finally flopped into my bed earlier that day.

  Amy and I stood in front of the television and watched Hunter lead his father to the SUV three times in a row.

  "He's gorgeous."

  "He is," I replied, my throat all choked up at seeing him again while in my drunken state. I replayed the tape again and again, watching as he helped his father into the vehicle. How he scowled at the press and got inside the back seat. How the cameras tried to catch sight of him through the darkened window.

  "Are you going to go to the funeral?"

  I lay down on my bed and replayed the video once more. "I could never," I said, my voice quavering with emotion. "I'd be afraid he'd run me out of the church."

  "He wouldn’t," she said and sat on the bed beside me. "He'd be grateful that you came to pay your respects."

  "I was so mean to him, pretending I found someone better."

  "He was a player, Celia. He could always find someone willing. You said so yourself."

  "I know, but the way I ended things was so cold…"