Unfinished Business: A Bastards of Boston Novel

by Carina Adams

  Whenever Jess and I were in the same zip code, she followed me everywhere, never shutting up, always bothering me with the most trivial shit. One day a couple summers ago, while I was working on my bike in her garage, she’d plopped down next to me, asked me what I was doing, and before I could answer, informed me that she was going to marry me one day. I’d been so shocked, I’d dropped the wrench on my face and carried the fat lip for days.

  My friends thought it was hilarious and wouldn’t let her declaration go. The fact that some immature teenage girl had her sights set on me rattled me to the core. She was just a baby.

  “Still convinced she’s gonna save your soul, yeah?” His words were full of humor, but I glowered at my president.

  “Still jailbait.”

  My answer only made Slasher laugh harder. When he got a smidge of self-control, he cocked an eyebrow. “You know she’s been legal for months now.”

  “Never said it had anything to do with her age.”

  He nodded as if he understood. “Her mom drove me fuckin’ nuts. Finest piece of ass that ever walked through the front door. Fuckin’ crazier than a shithouse rat. Best years o’ my life.” His words were wistful, as if he was remembering the golden moments of days gone by. “There were days where I wanted to strangle the life outta her, and others where I woulda killed any other man who looked at her.”

  Knowing Jessie like I did, I’d say she was the clone of her mom. Beautiful and brilliant, yet stubborn and crazy. Even if I had been interested, which I wasn’t, she deserved more than some loser who rode a bike and was a prospect in her dad’s club. Add in the fact that her brother was my roommate, and one of my best friends, and she had a neon sign above her head telling me to stay the fuck away.

  “So, other than bein’ a pain in the ass, how is she?”

  “Worried you’re not gonna make it up for graduation. Trying to decide on a college. Talking about prom.” I shrugged.

  “So, everything's fine? Just normal high school shit?”

  I raised an eyebrow at his question. "How the fuck would I know?"

  Nothing in my life had ever been what others would consider normal. My goal at her age had never been college. No, it had been freedom. I’d counted down the days until I could track down my daughter, not the days until I moved away to college.

  Then my struggle had turned brutal, and I’d simply tried to make it through the day without breaking down over Hannah. My biggest goal became tracking down the fucker who’d killed my daughter. I longed for revenge. Wanted nothing more than to make him and Ali pay.

  Just the thought of Hannah made my stomach churn. I stood suddenly, making Slasher jerk back in surprise.

  I'd made it through the entire day without thinking about her. I didn't know if I should be relieved or feel guilty. All I knew for certain was that I needed to get out of this room, out of this building and onto the open road before the walls closed in and crushed me. I headed for the door, my boots echoing in the room.

  "Rob." I reached for the handle when Slasher's low voice stalled me, but I didn't turn around. "You can run from those demons, kid, but they're gonna catch up." He cleared his throat. "You did good today, made me proud. Go home."

  I didn't need his permission, but it was a relief to have it. I left the office and headed straight for the exit, ignoring everyone and everything. Except the feeling of loss that never really went away.

  2

  Cris

  It was a beautiful day. The weatherman claimed a rare warm front had blown in, but I only cared that it had brought a break from the dreary rain. I stared out the window at the vibrant blue sky and blinding sunlight, only half listening as my professor rattled on about the paper that was due the following week.

  I didn’t realize that she’d dismissed us early, or that half the class had scurried away, until my best friend knocked on the table in front of me.

  “Earth to Crissy,” she teased.

  I glanced around the room before I offered her an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

  Katie’s chin-length midnight-black hair swayed as she shook her head dismissively. “Want to grab lunch? Or should we just head for the library? I have that test tomorrow in French and could really use the extra study time.”

  My eyes drifted back to the window, the spring air beckoning me. “Actually…” I paused, lifting my messenger bag over my head. “I’m going to walk home.”

  Dark eyebrows shot up. “You’re skipping Econ?”

  The disbelief in her voice was almost laughable.

  I nodded, surprising myself. “Yeah, I think I am. Wanna come?”

  She hesitated, and temptation flashed in her eyes. If there was anyone more unlikely to miss a class than me, it was Kathryn Doyle. We were the students who crammed our schedules full of each required course and every elective we could take, not so we could graduate early, but because we loved to learn. We were about to finish up our sophomore year, yet we’d earned almost enough credits to receive our degrees. We were the geeks who enjoyed school.

  Finally, she shook her head. “No.” There was no regret in her voice, no pressure for me to change my mind and stay. “Want the car?”

  I didn’t bother to answer. Instead, I raised my hand in farewell as I turned one way in the hall and she turned the other. “I’ll see you later.”

  It wasn’t that I couldn’t drive, it was that I didn’t want to. I’d had my license since the day after I turned sixteen. However, the thought of getting behind the wheel made me queasy.

  With my license had come the gift every teenager wanted; wheels of their own. My brother had beamed as he’d slid the key to his car across the table in the visitation room to me. He’d laughed and shaken his head at my excited shrieks that caused more than once guard to glance at us wearily. The Escort hadn’t been new, but it was dependable and would be perfect until I could buy my own after college.

  It had only been a few months later when I’d driven wasted, most likely higher than a kite, even though the memories of that night were fuzzy. I’d been reckless, trying to drown my misery and pretend the loss hadn’t torn me in two, taken a corner too fast and wrapped the little Ford around a tree.

  I absentmindedly traced the still puffy scar on my elbow as I stepped out of the building.

  I could’ve died. Should have died. Lord knew I’d wanted to.

  That had been the last time I’d driven a two-ton death machine, unless I absolutely had to go somewhere and didn’t have anyone to chauffeur me. Just the idea of it made my palms get sweaty.

  Pushing the memories aside, desperately trying to forget the person I’d once been, I slowed my pace and soaked in my surroundings. The way the bright rays of sun warmed my pasty-white skin, the sounds of birds in the trees as they rejoiced in spring, the scent of lilacs from the trees–I enjoyed it all. I let my thoughts drift to the cute guy who sat in the corner of my econ class, the one who always seemed to be watching me whenever I glanced his way. I hoped he would make an attempt to talk to me before the semester ended.

  I smiled the rest of the way to my apartment.

  Our second-story walk-up was in one of the nicest and quietest parts of Portland, with a non-existent crime rate, probably in thanks to the private security firm that patrolled every few minutes. We were a stone’s throw from our college, yet our neighbors were all retired and old enough to be our grandparents. Flower beds lined our streets, instead of beer cans. It was heaven.

  Most college kids wanted to live in a dorm or a frat house, somewhere away from prying eyes where they could party their days away. I’d craved freedom, but not the same kind. I’d wanted to go where no one knew me, where my name didn’t draw raised eyebrows and suspicious looks. I’d needed to get away from my past but longed for something normal. Something other people took for granted.

  When I’d found out my grades weren’t good enough to get a scholarship, I’d been devastated. The thought of living at home with my mom and attending the local university made
me physically ill. When my parents refused to help me pay to live on campus at my first-choice state school, Matty found this rental. My brother, with his uncanny ability to read me, had figured it out before I had and had been one step ahead.

  He’d not only discovered my apartment, he’d also furnished it and paid my rent. He’d grinned when he explained that as long as I was enrolled in school and passing all my classes, I’d have a safe place to live. And then he’d somehow convinced the Doyles to let Katie share the apartment with me.

  I had the best brother known to humankind.

  I didn’t deserve him. But I loved him more than anything. I appreciated all that he had done for me, everything he continued to do, even though I couldn’t express that to him in words. Telling him would mean that we’d have to talk about the past, and those weren’t wounds I was willing to open.

  I didn’t think I’d ever be ready to discuss it.

  Instead, I tried to show him by being the best version of myself that I could be. I’d been clean and sober for almost two years. My grades were phenomenal. I was a good friend to Kate. More importantly, I was happy for the first time in a long time.

  I bounded up the steps, ready to get inside, throw open the windows and let in the fresh air. I unlocked the door and grabbed the mail, shuffling through it as I dropped my bag onto the kitchen table. A formal-looking envelope, addressed to me, caught my attention. There was no sender name, just a return-to address.

  I scowled, grabbed an apple and took a large bite as I ran the tip of my finger under the edge of the seal. I chewed thoughtfully as I scanned the letter. The words Victim Services jumped off the page and I froze, shock rocking through me, unable to believe my eyes. Holding my breath, I read on.

  Dear Ms. Murphy:

  This letter is to inform you that the defendant in the above case has been released from the Maine Correctional Center.

  The paper and what was left of my apple fell to the floor seconds before I crumbled beside them.

  He couldn’t be out. It hadn’t been ten years. I was supposed to have more time.

  Dread filled every inch of me, anxiety taking over. I needed more time. I wasn’t ready.

  Memories assaulted me, drenching me in shame. Snippets of a young girl, one who hadn’t known any better, and the man who’d hurt her hit me at warp speed. The things I’d done, the things I’d let him do to me… I pinched my eyes closed, hoping to force the visions away.

  Those moments, that man–they’d only been the beginning of my downfall. My mind whirled, jumping from one tragedy to the next, as if once I let one in, once I let myself remember one, they all had to come. Together they swirled, a jumbled disaster, until all I could see was her tiny broken body, and all I could feel was never-ending pain.

  I tried to focus on my breathing, recall the words my therapist had repeated to me many times. The grief was too great. The loss of not just the little girl I’d once been, but of the little girl I’d loved and failed to protect was too much.

  I vomited all over the floor.

  3

  Rocker

  The Bean Nighe Motorcycle Club was both loved and feared throughout greater Boston.

  The club did a lot of shady shit, but it also took care of those who protected it. People fell into one of three groups where the Bean Nighe were concerned: those who detested the club and wanted it, and all its members, to disappear; those who avoided us at all costs; or those who wanted to be part of it.

  Surprisingly, it was the last group I had no tolerance for.

  Mostly made up of women who had twisted views about men like me, about the brothers in my club. Maybe it was the thrill of knowing how pissed off their daddy would be to find out they were spreading their legs wide for an outlaw. Maybe it was the challenge of being the first woman to turn a hardened dickhead into a loving and doting husband. Whatever the reason, they flocked to us, and it was annoying as fuck.

  I dreaded the days I had to be around them.

  A few times a year, the club had a night where the doors were opened to the public and everyone was welcome, including members’ families. As a prospect, it was my responsibility to work security while the brothers and their old ladies enjoyed themselves. Which really meant that it was my job to keep the whores away from the wives and to put on a good show for the citizens who were brave enough to come see us.

  I’d been lucky. A few hours in and I hadn't had any problems. I took another quick walk around the outdoor table area, relieved that all was quiet.

  The ol’ ladies, the women who’d been claimed by a brother, were sitting in one section together, laughing and doing their best to ignore the whores. Some of the brothers were standing at the bar shooting the shit with hang-arounds, or each other, but the rest were cozied up with their women.

  The whores were in their own group, flirting with whatever outsider was brave enough to approach them. I'd caught the jealous looks some of them sent the old ladies when they thought no one was watching, but that was as far as it had gone. They knew their place, and right then, it wasn’t with the brothers.

  I glanced around, catching Matt's gaze. Blue eyes widened in a way that begged for help. I couldn't keep the chuckle in. As usual, he was flocked by women.

  This time, though, they weren't the young beauties he was used to. Unfazed by the fact most were old enough to be his grandmother, he’d clearly charmed the pants off them. Literally. I wasn't the least bit surprised when one of them slipped him a piece of paper and whispered the words, "Call me."

  I assumed she was hard of hearing, because the words hadn’t been quiet at all. Instead, they’d been loud enough for all of us to hear. I turned, not wanting him to see my amusement, and scanned the tables once more.

  A hand on my back startled me. Before I could look to see whose arm I was going to remove from its socket, a soft voice spoke in my ear.

  "What exactly is a Bean Nighe?"

  I knew she didn't have an ounce of Gaelic knowledge by the way she pronounced the words. I turned, reminding myself that I had to be nice, when Tank appeared. Thank God for Tank.

  "The Ben-nee-yeh," he pronounced in a perfect Scots accent, "is a wraith, an omen of death. A banshee."

  The girl looked between us and then giggled. "So, you're the heralds of death?"

  Tank leaned close to her, smirking. "I'll say this, if you see us coming for you and hear our battle wail, it’s rare that you'll survive the night."

  The girl chortled again, and I rolled my eyes.

  Before either could say another word, some poser, a wanna-be biker who no doubt rode a rice rocket because he didn't know how to handle a real machine, hollered over to her and snapped his fingers, pointing to his side. Real smooth dickface.

  I took a step forward, ready to put him in his place, when she winked at me and thanked us before rushing over to the douche. As I watched him grab her arm and haul her into the parking lot, I debated the ramifications of following and beating him within an inch of his life.

  "It's all a show. You know that, right?"

  I raised an eyebrow, not sure what my friend was mumbling about.

  Tank jutted his chin to the spot the couple had just been standing. "Her and her man. Guarantee he's as pussy whipped as they come and just putting on a show around us, 'cause he's shittin' his pants scared. Men like us eat bitches like him for breakfast." Before I could answer, my friend snorted and added, "At least the bitch I ate this morning tasted a helluva lot better, I'm sure. But, I bet he'd make just as much noise."

  I glanced to the heavens, begging for strength. I'd had to listen to that fucking racket half the night and then again that morning. Tank liked the screamers. I didn't need the visual, though.

  "Why are you here instead of being over there, with the families?"

  Tank gawked at me like I was an idiot. "Only half my family is here. I have nothing to say to that woman."

  "That woman is your mom," I reminded him. It was a conversation we'd had hundreds, if no
t thousands, of times.

  "No." He shook his head adamantly. "That woman fucked my dad, got pregnant, and made him marry her. That woman made my dad so miserable that he sent the woman he really loved away. That woman is the reason my sister feels ashamed. That woman is the cunt who is still calling all the fucking shots and ruins lives in the process. That woman may have given birth to me, but she sure as shit ain’t my mom."

  I sighed, knowing it wasn't worth the fight. "You have other family here," I pointed out, nodding towards the table where Tiny and his old lady sat looking at us. When she realized we'd seen her, Candy stood up and started our way, smiling.

  "Fuck!" Tank cursed under his breath. Tiny had been more of a dad to Tank than Slasher ever had, but Candy was a temperamental bitch who’d never supported Tank's relationship with his sister. "I'm out." He turned and walked away before I could stop him.

  "Something I said?" Candy asked as she weaved around the tables in front of me. I raised a shoulder in a shrug. She nodded, as if answering her own question, and then smiled. "It's been quiet here today."

  Thank God. I'd heard stories about past events. They’d gotten rowdy and violent in only a matter of hours. I didn’t have the energy to deal with that shit tonight.

  "I like quiet.”

  Candy nodded in agreement. "Me too. It's nice to see everyone getting along for a change."

  Her eyes lingered on the table of club pussy near us. If she was wondering which woman her husband had visited, I wasn’t going to enlighten her. The answer was all of them and a fuck-ton more. Tiny was the biggest slut out of all of them.

  I didn’t understand it. Candy was still smoking hot, even in her mid-forties. Her body was fit and trim and her red lips matched her hair perfectly. The two combined screamed, ‘Come fuck me hard.’ I'd heard from a reliable source that she was a wildcat in bed.

  More than that, she was likeable. Whenever I’d spent time with her, she’d been kind to me. She never demanded anything from her husband and seemed to love him despite all his faults.