by A. Zavarelli
His voice, not his words, draws me closer. He’s been blunt and indifferent to me from the moment we met, but right now he’s decidedly calm. I doubt there are many women who could refuse an order as far as Lachlan Crow is concerned in either case. I toss my stuff back onto the podium and walk down the stairs. Standing directly in front of him, I meet his gaze with a hint of challenge. His eyes narrow, and he points at the space between his legs.
“Closer.”
I take three small steps until I’m standing so close I can feel his body heat branding my barely covered flesh. He reaches up and grips me around the waist and tugs me into his lap like a frigging ragdoll. My annoyance is quickly snuffed out by the fact I can feel him throbbing for me beneath my ass. It stirs something within me. Something unfamiliar.
“I don’t want you up on that stage.” He brushes my hair back over my shoulders and gathers it in his fist. “I don’t fucking want ye here at all.”
My heartrate jacks at his words. Everything about this man scares me, even though I haven’t let onto it. I know this is how it works. The threats to keep me and the other girls in line. But it doesn’t just sound like an empty threat. Where a moment ago I thought I had him, now his hatred almost sounds real. Personal, even. When I speak, my voice is missing the usual snap to it.
“Why am I in your lap then?”
He draws my gaze to his with his fingers, and for a moment, neither one of us says a thing. Our eyes are locked, our breath stilted, and even I can feel Lachlan’s heart hammering against my back. He wants this. Badly. Even if he can’t admit it to himself.
I try to stand up, but he anchors me in place with hard fingers. If it were anybody else, he’d have an elbow to the face by now. But I need to keep my cool. Remain unaffected.
“I came here for a job,” I protest. “Not to be manhandled.”
He jerks my head to the side and his fingers drift to my throat again. “Are ye working with the cops?”
My face blanches at his accusation. “No.”
“So prove it,” he challenges.
I sigh. This is a test, of course. He wants to make me uncomfortable to see how I react.
“I’m not going to blow you just to get a job. I’m not that desperate.”
He arches a brow at me, all the while his fingers are burning into my skin. How can one man have so much heat radiating off him?
“Never said you were,” he replies.
“So then what do you want?” I demand.
“One kiss.”
A kiss? That one came out of left field.
“And that’s going to prove I’m not a cop… how exactly?”
“I have my methods.”
I can handle a kiss if that’s what it’s going to take. One kiss. It’s a slippery slope, I know, but I need this job. And there’s something about the curious look on his face that gives me a small thrill. He wants to see if I’ll go through with it. Like maybe he’s questioning something else about this weird chemistry between us.
“Okay,” I agree. “Whatever. One kiss. Have at it.”
His eyes darken as he leans into my space, but he doesn’t just go in for the kill. He takes his time, dragging it out. His lips brush over mine and then he captures my bottom lip between his teeth. A tug, and a slight bite of pain. I hiss and dig my fingers into his shoulders when I taste copper. He groans and licks it.
The sound of his pleasure and depravity jump starts my heart and explodes into my bloodstream. I’ve never felt anything like it before. Whatever it is, it’s ricocheting through my body, possessing me like a demon. My hands draw him closer, and the next thing I know, I’m kissing him back. Hard. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I don’t need to. My body knows what it craves.
My hands are in his hair, tugging, while his tongue forces its way into my mouth. I feel drunk, and it has nothing to do with the tequila. He’s just woken something that lived inside of me. Something I never knew existed. His hands are on me, tainting places that have never been touched before. Groping my tits, my waist, cupping my ass and grinding me down onto his erection. Oh God that feels good. Why does that feel so good? I completely underestimated the power of a chemical reaction. I can’t think straight anymore, and God help me, I actually want him right now.
What’s he doing to me?
He slaps the inside of my thigh, and I spread my legs wider for him, just like that. His large palm cups me through the thin material of my thong and rubs, creating a friction that I’m certain is going to set me on fire. Maddening need coils deep inside of me and bleeds up through my throat in the form of a low moan. It scares the hell out of me.
Jesus, what the fuck am I doing?
Is this all he has to do to sway my opinion of him? Touch me like this? I’m out of control. I don’t recognize these desires coursing through my body. The need to be wanted. To be needed. To allow myself to be vulnerable to another. That scares me worse than knowing who this man is or what he does. I want… God, I don’t know what I want.
Instinctively, I bring my hand to his arm and do something I never, ever do.
I tap out.
Recognizing the gesture, he rears back with a wild look in his eyes as he stares at me in confusion. Confusion because he clearly doesn’t understand what was happening between us either. He releases me and goes rigid as I stumble backwards drunkenly and try to adjust what little clothing I have on.
“So?” I squeak. “Have I proven myself yet?”
He jerks his eyes away and stands up, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. His voice is rough and husky when he speaks, and I have a hard time focusing on the actual words.
“An appetizer.”
“Huh?”
“You can be an appetizer,” he repeats. “Start the show. Two song sets, no nudity.”
I don’t know what to make of his odd conditions, but it’s actually better than anything I could have asked for. Still, I need to keep up the pretense that I’m in this for the money. So I cross my arms and give him a frustrated look.
“How am I supposed to survive off two songs a night?”
“The lads here tip well, Mack. This is not your run of the mill strip club, in case ye haven’t noticed.”
I run my fingers over my lips, drawing his attention back to them while I pretend to debate.
“What about the house fees? Will they be cut too since I’m only doing two songs a night?”
He nods. “No house fees. No lap dances. These are my conditions, take it or leave it.”
“I thought I told you I don’t play by the rules,” I argue.
“Ye’re mistaken,” he says. “Ye just walked into my world unbidden. So you will play by the rules, butterfly. You’ll be playing by all my rules.”
The small amount of self-control he lost only moments ago has returned full force.
“Whatever you say, Lach.”
He raises a brow and his lip twitches.
“I think you and I are going to get along just fine, sweetheart.”
6
LACHLAN
“QUIT BEING a fucking pussy and hit me.”
Ronan turns his focus on me and rolls his shoulders. He looks like he’s going to some sort of business meeting with his crisp white shirt rolled up at the sleeves like that. And those glasses. It’s not that he doesn’t understand you don’t wear these type of things to the gym. It’s just what he’s comfortable in. Been that way since we were young lads and he came to live with me. My mammy handed him a pair of jeans and a shirt and he just stared at them all day, like. Then he went on to announce he didn’t want to dress that way no more.
So what did my mammy do? She sewed him a suit if you can believe it. At thirteen years old he was strutting around the neighborhood in that thing. He was already deadly, but the kids didn’t know that. They were always giving him shite because he was such a scrawny little fella back then. I guess the suit made him feel good about himself, so I never said anything to him about it. Next thing ye know, he st
arted boxing with me. He filled out, bulked up, and nobody ever fucked with him again. Even so, he still wears the goddamn suits.
Now here we are, all these years later, and he hesitates to punch me in the face. My best mate can off a man six different ways with his bare hands, so long as it isn’t me. His loyalty always gets in the way, but he’ll do it. It’s an order, and when I give an order, Ronan follows through. He’s good at that. Doesn’t want much of anything else. Just to be left alone and follow the orders that come down the pipe.
“Are ye afraid to fight the mighty Lachlan Crow?” Sean mimics our accents like the tosser he is. He was born and reared here, and it’s just another thing that sets him apart from the rest of us.
“Let me have a go. More than happy to oblige in fact.”
“Not going to fight ye, Sean,” I tell him.
“Why not? Thought you were the best. That’s what they say.”
Pushing Ronan isn’t something I’m fond of. He comes to terms with things on his own time, for reasons only I’m clued in on. But in this case, I’ll be glad to make an exception if he doesn’t get his shite together. Sean is always bleeding on with this bollocks. It isn’t enough he bedded two of my women behind my back. Now he wants to have a go at my face as well.
“The boys are always going on about it,” says Sean. “And yet you won’t fight in the underground. Why is that, Lachlan? You think you’re too good?”
“Fack off, Sean,” Ronan grunts.
“Well, you won’t spar with him, so let me. We’re an equal match. In fact, I’d say Lachlan probably has about fifteen pounds on me. So he has the advantage already.”
It’s no little feat not to tell this prick to shut his gob. He’s got it in his head that he wants to fight me, but I’d destroy him. Niall wouldn’t have that. He expects better of me. So this muppet can spin this drivel all day long, it’s still not going to happen.
Ronan finally takes it upon himself to step up to the plate. He moves into my space and I keep my guard up. His eyes flick between mine, looking for weaknesses and trying to guess my next move. A very obvious and tightly controlled right hook comes straight at me. I don’t bother trying to deflect. It hits me in the jaw with a satisfactory crack and sends my head jerking to the left.
“Ye’re off your goddamn head, Crow.” Ronan tears off his gloves and tosses them to the floor like a child. “We’re done here.”
With a shrug, I take to the bag instead. The repetition of the punches keeps me grounded. I’m piss drunk and right now the pain feels good. My grand-da always said there’s nothing like a good solid punch to the head to clear your mind.
Ronan grunts, and I glance over to see what his problem is now. The man is so fucking contrary you’d think he was a goddamn woman sometimes. Donny walks in and I make the same low grunt in my own throat. It’s a reflex. I’ve no love for this wanker either. He never shuts his gob, and he’s grinning like a lunatic half the time. The lad smiles too much if you ask me. One of those slimy smiles that tells me he’s up to no good. I don’t trust him, but I keep it to myself. Until he crosses Niall, he’s just an annoyance I have to contend with from time to time.
“Michael just called,” he announces. “The Russkies are at the club with at least fifteen little birdies in tow. A celebration of our most recent acquisition.”
Ronan’s eyes flash towards mine as I smash my fist into the bag so hard I’m almost certain I’ve cracked some bones. That most recent acquisition he’s gloating about is the one that got my grand-da done. If he wasn’t such a dumb fuck, and I hadn’t come to expect this carry on from him already, I’d use his face instead of the bag.
But Donovan is a dumb fuck and everyone knows it. Too dumb to remember we lost one of our own that night. That’s where his loyalties lie. He’s a man who thinks with his prick and counts his victories in whores and cocaine. As a whole, our outfit doesn’t deal in drugs and we’re not supposed to dabble in them either. Something else Niall’s been letting slide where Donovan is concerned. He’s a hot head who’s always toeing the line. No doubt he’s one coked out high away from killing one of those whores.
For the time being I’ll keep a close eye on him, but with the outfit on such unstable ground as it is, it pains me to admit we need this tool.
“So what do you say boys?” he raises a couple of ginger brows at us. His pupils are as big as quarters, and I’m too wrecked in the head to care right now.
“I can’t be arsed.” I nod towards Ronan. “You go on with the lads. I’ll catch up after a bit.”
Ronan replaces his suit jacket and smooths it out. He has as much fun at these parties as I’d have at a high tea, but there’s something else that draws him back to the club.
They disappear down the hallway and I wipe the sweat from my brow. My knuckles are bloody when I unwrap them, so I retrieve the flask from my bag. I splosh some of the amber liquid onto the fresh cuts and a river of crimson washes down my wrist. The flask finds my lips. It’s empty far too soon, and I’m left to the quiet solitude of the gym.
Restless and too high strung to go home, I yearn for something else. I could do with the softness of a woman right now. The problem is finding one who isn’t a conniving bitch.
My thoughts drift to Mackenzie. There’s not an ounce of trust in that one. I don’t want her anywhere near the lads. Also, I wish I’d never laid eyes on her. Or hands for that matter. Don’t know what the bleeding hell I was thinking carrying on like that. It hasn’t left my head, the way she felt. It’s only going to bring about trouble. If I’m to seal the alliance with the Russians, then I need to be prepared to marry one of them and send Mack on her way. I doubt they’d fancy my leftovers after I’d had a go at her.
The flask moves to my lips and I toss it when I remember it’s empty. Christ. I don’t have the energy to seek out a woman tonight. My cock hasn’t had the energy in weeks. Ah shite, even that’s a lie. It’s been months. Mandy was my last. Until I caught her and Sean together, in my fecking office no less. One of the most important rules of the syndicate is one he fancies breaking often. Had she been my wife, he’d have been dead for such an act. As it was, I had every right to leave some permanent marks on him as a reminder of what happens when you touch another lad’s woman.
If he weren’t Niall’s son, I might have. But Mandy wasn’t worth losing sleep over. Or focus for that matter. I’ve not met a woman worth any of that headache as of yet, and I’ve no plans to either.
Think I’m officially ballsed.
I splash some water on my face and pull my tee shirt over my sweat slicked body. Shoes on, jacket, Glock. Every day the same routine. This is the life I want, so I haven’t a clue why it feels so empty at times.
Hitting the lights, I lock up and step out into the cool Boston air. Instead of going left, back to the car that’ll take me to Slainte, I turn right. These streets are familiar now. They feel like home. And even though the weather is cooling as Autumn takes hold of the city, I don’t mind the walk. The fresh air is the only thing that can breathe life into the stagnant energy inside of me.
The spent casing rolls against the marred wood of my old desk, twisting this way and that. No matter how much I stare at it, I can’t wrap my head around it. It needs to be brought to Niall’s attention when I meet him next.
He’s not going to like it. With everything else going on right now, this is the last thing he’ll want to contend with. With the territories as unstable as they are, this alliance with the Russians means everything. There is power in numbers if only for show. The problem with numbers though, is always questioning loyalties. We don’t have the same business practices. But evolving to the times means overlooking such things. They have the Ghost, and we need him, bastard that he is.
These are all things I’m well aware of. I won’t stand to let my grand-da’s death go unpunished. But going to war right now isn’t an option. With the Armenians flocking to the East to get themselves a piece of the pie, all of the factions are up in arms.
The door to my office swings open and Ronan stalks inside. He arches a brow when he spots the bullet on my desk, and I snatch it up and place it in my pocket.
“Right, lad?” I ask.
He tosses a file onto my desk with a scowl.
“Detective James sends his regards.”
The urge to open the file straight away is strong. I smother it down. Ronan’s hovering over me like a bloody prison guard and I could do with a bit of privacy for this.
“What the feck’re ye doing, Crow?”
I reach for my glass of Jameson and take a drink, eyeing him over the rim. His intentions are good. They always are. If there’s a lad I trust in this world without a scrap of doubt, it’s Ronan Fitzpatrick. He followed me here at sixteen, earning his way into the syndicate on his own accord. He’s fought and killed and done anything I’ve ever asked of him. We’re as close to brothers as two men can be.
For this reason alone, I answer his question.
“I’m giving her a job.”
“I don’t trust her,” Ronan says.
“You don’t have to.”
He grunts his disapproval at the same time another knock sounds on the door. This office may as well be a bleeding department store.
“Come in,” I call out.
Mandy pokes her head in and smiles.
“Am I interrupting?”
“Aye, ye are.” Ronan can barely contain his distaste for this woman.
“Nah.” I grin back at him. “What do ye need Mandy?”
Ronan stalks out of the room, and the guilt ebbs away as he leaves. I don’t like keeping things from him, but it’s for his own protection. The less he knows about this, the better. When I turn my attention back to Mandy, the relief is short lived.
“So, what is the calamity this time?” I clip out.
She flinches from the coldness of my voice and then pouts her lips.
“Why does Sasha get more sets than I do? She’s on the schedule…”
“Ye know better than to come to me with this shite,” I cut her off.
Undeterred, she walks around my desk and sits on it, arching her back in an effort to draw my attention to her tits. It might have worked on me before, but I’ll never touch her again.