Boston Underworld: The Collection

by A. Zavarelli

  By the time he comes out to check on Ronan, it’s been over an hour since they brought him here. An hour of putting his health on the line, and for what? Another surge of anger moves through me, and I only have one place to direct it. I wait to see what the doctor does with Ronan, which isn’t much, but he does manage to rouse him for a few moments. Just hearing his voice, no matter how briefly, calms me. He’s going to be okay, the doc says. He’s going to be just fine.

  But that’s not true. Because how can anyone be just fine when they’ve been beaten to a pulp like that. I’m pissed off. And all I can think about is how this happened. Why this happened. Once the doctor’s done and out the front door, I walk down the hall to Lachlan’s room to find Mack sitting on the bed. He’s passed out too, and in about as good of shape as Ronan.

  Mack looks up at me, and there are tears in her eyes. I don’t care.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I demand.

  She blinks at me in confusion. I’ve never yelled at her before. I like Mack. I respect her. And I’m grateful for what she’s done for me. But that doesn’t stop me from being angry at her right now too.

  “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I didn’t know they were going to do it until it was happening.”

  “But you let it happen anyway, didn’t you?”

  “I couldn’t stop it,” she says. “I’m sorry, Sash.”

  Her voice is sincere. She’s genuinely as sick as I am over what happened, but right now I don’t care. I want to lash out at her. And it isn’t until the words are out of my mouth that I even understand why.

  “He did this for you,” I snarl. “Ronan did this for you.”

  Mack stands up and reaches out towards me tentatively. “That isn’t true, Sash. He did it for Lachlan.”

  “No,” I argue. “He talks to you. Why? Why can he talk to you, but not me?”

  Again, Mack stares at me in confusion. “He doesn’t talk to you?”

  “No,” I bite out. “He never says one fucking word to me. But you come in here, and he has no problem talking to you. Or fighting for you…”

  My words drift off as Mack pulls me in for an unexpected hug. I know she doesn’t like to hug. But she’s hugging me now. And it turns out to be the thing I needed because I break down in her arms.

  I don’t know why. I’m just emotional with everything that’s happening. With my mom and Ronan and all of the unknown changes I’m facing in the future. That’s what I tell myself.

  “You should just try to talk to him, Sasha,” Mack says as she pulls away. “Believe me when I say Ronan never talks to me by choice. I usually just annoy the hell out of him until I get him to talk.”

  I smile through bleary eyes and wipe my tears away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

  “It’s okay,” she says. “I would yell at me too.”

  “I should go sit with him.”

  She nods, but then gives my arm a little squeeze. “Hey, Sash, for what it’s worth, I talked to Lachlan.”

  “Oh.” I swallow. “And?”

  “And he said you can go. He’d even help you out if you need him to. He just wants to talk to you about it first.”

  I should be happy with that. But I’m not and I can’t figure out why. So I just give Mack a weak smile and a nod. “Thank you.”

  8

  SASHA

  WHEN I WALK BACK OUT into the parlor, Conor is passed out in the recliner, so I sit down on the sofa beside Ronan. He’s sleeping, and at peace right now, even with his bruised and beaten face.

  His glasses are missing, and he’s wearing a tee shirt. I didn’t notice it before, but I am now. I’ve never seen him in a tee shirt. It makes him look younger. More like his age. At twenty-nine, he’s only six years older than me. But he doesn’t carry himself that way.

  He’s an old soul trapped in a young man’s body. But then there are moments when I glance at him, like right now, when he seems so young too.

  I quietly squeeze my body into the gap between him and the back of the sofa and use the opportunity to soak in his handsome features. We’re so close right now I could touch him if I wanted to. Conor’s words still linger on my mind and I wonder why Ronan told him not to let anyone touch him.

  In the three years I’ve been hanging around the club, I’ve never seen him touch any woman. Or vice versa. Which is a good thing because I don’t think I’d like that at all. He’s so quiet and guarded that I doubt he lets anyone touch him.

  But he did let me once. I was high on him, but I still managed to notice how unsure of himself he was. He never even kissed me. I have so many questions about him. Almost everything about this man is a mystery. And against my better judgment, I want to know him.

  I reach down and drape his arm over my hip. And then I touch his face. I can’t help it. It’s been so long since I’ve felt him. I want to feel him right now. My fingertips ghost over his cheeks and his jaw line. He shaved this morning, so his skin is smooth. I want to kiss every inch of it. My thumb drags across his lips, and they part a little for me. And then he moans. Afraid that I’m hurting him, I let my hand fall away and lean closer to give him a gentle kiss on the forehead.

  I don’t know when it is exactly that he woke during my exploration, but I can feel it now. His eyes are still closed, but his breathing has changed, and his hand has tightened reflexively on my waist. He doesn’t move, or say a word. So I nuzzle closer and drape my own arm across his stomach, falling asleep enveloped in his warmth.

  It’s the best sleep I’ve had in three years.

  With the arrival of dawn, so comes something else.

  It takes me a moment to understand what it is. The words are muffled, but Ronan is thrashing beside me as he repeats them over and over again.

  “Will not speak,” he murmurs. “Will not question. Protect your brethren… free the chains. The chains. The chains.”

  His voice grows more strained with every word. More agonized. And I don’t know what to do. I’ve always heard that you aren’t supposed to wake someone during a night terror, but it seems cruel to let him suffer through it.

  “Ronan.” I give him a gentle shake, and he still doesn’t wake. So I clasp his face in my hands and try to soothe him with a calm voice.

  Before I can even make sense of what’s happening, he’s got me flipped onto my back with his hands wrapped around my throat. I can’t breathe. I can’t even fight him. The man is a goddamn machine. He’s crushing every part of me with his body, and the only defense I have is to claw at his hands with my own. But it doesn’t even faze him. I’ve never felt strength like this before.

  He just keeps repeating the same garbled words under his breath.

  Free the chains.

  I try to choke out his name. But it’s too quiet. He isn’t hearing me. Blackness is seeping in around my eyes again, and the irony is too painful to consider. This is how I was dying when he saved me. And now he’s going to kill me the same way.

  I shove at his chest, but he’s like a brick wall, and I’m too weak.

  “Ronan!”

  Someone else is shouting now. Through my hazy vision I can barely make out Conor, trying to pry Ronan off of me.

  “Ronan!” he screams again.

  He manages to loosen Ronan’s grip enough that I can take a breath, and in the next instant, Lachlan is charging down the hall with Mack trailing behind him. He tackles Ronan to the floor, and I gasp for air as Lachlan holds him down and repeats a bunch of stuff I don’t understand.

  “Ye’re not there,” Lachlan says. “Ronan. Ye’re okay. You are in Boston now. With me, Lachlan. It’s okay.”

  Ronan’s breathing hard and fast, his eyes fully dilated as they dart around the room. He’s a cornered animal right now. Unrecognizable. But those eyes. They remind me of a small boy. One who has no idea what he’s just done. And when they land on me curled up on the couch with Mack trying to calm me, they fill with horror.

  “I told you not to touch him,” Cono
r whispers.

  “I didn’t know,” I croak.

  My voice is hoarse. I can barely speak. And I have no doubt I’ll have bruises around my neck when I look in the mirror. But Conor is right. I should have listened. But I couldn’t have known. My eyes find Ronan’s again, and he looks away.

  Lachlan takes over, shouting out directions.

  “Conor, take Sasha home.”

  I try to argue, but I can’t even speak. Mack gives me a worried look and then pulls Lachlan across the room where they start to argue. But it doesn’t matter. One look at Ronan, and I know he doesn’t want me here. I never should have come here.

  I stand up on shaky legs and nod at Conor. He helps me across the room, and Mack runs over to meet us at the door.

  “I’m so sorry, Sash,” she says. “They gave him something to knock him out. It must have done something. I don’t know. But it’ll be okay, I promise.”

  I give her a nod because I can do nothing else.

  It’s the lie we all want to believe. That it will be okay.

  The problem is that it never really is.

  9

  RONAN

  FROM MY BED, I listen to the deep voice by the door. The man is big and strong and has brown eyes like me. The lady who looks after us said he is my father. But I do not know him. I know nothing but these four walls. And these three other lads beside me.

  And this lady. The nice lady who looks after us, but tells us not to speak.

  I do not even know her name. But she’s all I’ve ever known. This lady and these four walls. She is not my mammy. I do not know who my mammy is. But this man, she says, is my da.

  He comes to the bed where I am and sits beside me. I curl my knees up and look at him, wondering if he’s come to take me home. This place is all I’ve ever known, but these other lads, they say that they came from other homes. They say I must have a home too, somewhere.

  “You are a good lad,” the man says. “I’ve heard many reports about you, my son.”

  “Am I coming to live with you now?” I ask him.

  “No,” he says. “You will continue to live here until you finish training. This is the way soldiers are made.”

  They always tell me the same words, but I don’t understand them.

  “I have something very important I need ye to do for me today, son.”

  “What is it?” I ask.

  He holds out his hand, and I stare it.

  “Come with me,” he says.

  “To where?”

  “Today marks a special day. Today you are eight years old. And today your training will begin.”

  He takes my hand in his. It’s warm and big and it feels strange. I don’t think I ever remember someone touching me before. The lady who feeds us never touches us. She says it is not allowed.

  My da opens the door, and I freeze.

  “I am not allowed to go out the door,” I tell him.

  He smiles at me. “Today you are, son.”

  I don’t want to go out there. But he pulls me through and shuts the door behind us. The air is warm, and it smells strange. Everything feels strange. My eyes try to adjust to the darkness as I’m pulled along.

  When we turn the corner, there is a large fire blazing. And people. A lot of people. I’ve never seen them before, but they are all staring at me.

  My father kneels down in front of me and meets my eyes. “Do ye remember everything the lady has been teaching you in that room, son?”

  I nod. I always listen carefully so I don’t miss anything she says.

  “So ye remember then that we must make sacrifices to prepare for a better future. And today, Ronan, you will become known by another name. You will become a man. A future soldier. And after tonight, you will not see me again until you finish training.”

  “But I only just met you,” I argue.

  “This is the way soldiers are made,” he says.

  His eyes are wet and it makes me nervous.

  “I know that you will do me proud, Ronan.”

  He musses the top of my hair and then leads me towards the people. They are split into two groups, and between them is a large pit. A beam lies across the center like a bridge, only it’s very narrow.

  “You stand here,” my da says. “And I’m going to walk to the other side. And when I tell ye to, you must walk across that beam towards me, Ronan. And ye must only look at me as you do it. No matter what anyone says or does. You only look at me. And you cross the beam. Do ye follow?”

  I nod, even though I really don’t.

  He lets me go and walks around the pit, and the people are starting to yell things at me. They are all watching me. I try not to listen and do as my father says. When he tells me to, I steady my feet and move onto the beam.

  When I look down below me, I get scared. It’s a long way down, and I don’t want to fall. My father directs me to move, and I try to remember everything the lady has taught us. That we must always do as we are told straight away without any hesitation.

  I look at my da, and he’s holding out his hands. I move slowly and carefully towards him one tiny step at a time. But the people are talking louder now. Chanting. The rules that the lady has been teaching us. They are chanting them over and over as I cross the beam.

  And then something hits me in the arm. It hurts and surprises me. But I don’t take my attention off my da. It happens again on my leg, and this time I notice it’s a small stone. The people are throwing them at me.

  I don’t understand. But the chanting is getting louder, and my hands are sticky. I’m halfway across the beam. And then something wet hits me in the face. It smells like fruit, only rotten. I try to wipe it from my eyes, but something hits me in the leg as I do. And that’s when I lose my balance.

  The last thing that I see before I fall into the pit below is the disappointed expression on my da’s face. And he was right. Because even when the men come and carry me back to the room and tell me that my leg is broken, I never see him again.

  Conor tries to accompany me to my house, but I tell him to stay put. I just want to be alone. He apologizes again, and I disregard him entirely.

  The drive home is short and quiet. Not many people know I live on the same street as Crow. I’ve followed him all my life. Ever since he found me in that bloody massacre of a church so many years ago. The memories are blurry at times, but occasionally sharp too.

  I walk up the steps to my door and am greeted by the dog. When I collapse onto the sofa, she jumps into my lap and whines as she nudges me. I don’t know what she wants. I wish she would leave me alone, but I can’t bring myself to push her away.

  “I suppose ye’re hungry again,” I tell her.

  She whines in agreement and then curls up on my lap. It’s odd that it doesn’t bother me. I’ve never been around an animal before. But I know she’d never try to hurt me. So it doesn’t bother me.

  My head falls back against the chair and I think of Sasha. The horrific thing that I’ve done which I’ll never be able to wash away.

  The blood of others has never troubled me. I kill to protect the syndicate. Crow, Conor, Niall. The men who have been loyal to me. My brethren. But I’ve never hurt a woman.

  I never wanted to hurt Sasha.

  She didn’t come to me. She didn’t trust me enough to protect her from Donovan. Or to tell me that he knew our secret. I’ve been out of sorts since I learned the truth. I wanted to fault her for it. Shake her and demand that she tell me why. She was supposed to trust me. To understand that I would take care of her.

  But now I know. I know exactly why.

  She’ll never trust me again.

  Two days come and go with calls unanswered before Crow comes knocking at my door. He lets himself in and sits down across from me.

  The dog is in my lap, and he looks at her and then to me with a stupid grin on his face.

  “I’m not keeping her,” I tell him.

  “Ah sure,” he agrees. “She’s awfully fond of you though.”
<
br />   I set her down on the floor and tell her to go away. She sits down and rests her head on my foot instead.

  “Ye’re needed back at the club,” Crow says. “We have a shipment tonight, in case you forgot.”

  “I haven’t forgot,” I tell him.

  “Could have fooled me,” he says. “Being as I haven’t heard from ye in two days.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  Silence falls between us, and I can’t look at him. Crow knows me better than anyone. He doesn’t judge me. Or blame me. He’s always let me be who I am and never asked me to change. But I’m still ashamed for what I’ve done.

  “She’s fine, if ye’re wondering,” he says. “Mack’s checked up on her twice, as have I.”

  I don’t reply, but his words make the tension in my muscles dissolve just a bit. Even if they shouldn’t.

  “Do ye believe it would be the end of the world if you just talked to her, Fitz?”

  “And what exactly would I have to say?” I reply.

  “The truth. She could understand it if you gave her a chance to.”

  “I still don’t understand it myself,” I tell him. “How can ye expect me to explain it to her.”

  “Or that’s what ye like to say anyway,” Crow says. “Suit yourself.”

  He stands and walks towards the door.

  “Six tonight,” he says. “Don’t be late.”

  I nod, and he pauses with his palm on the handle. “I guess it also won’t interest ye to know that Sasha wants to leave when her mom passes.”

  I look up at him, trying to process his words. The tension that dissolved only moments ago returns with a new sort of pressure, and my head swirls with the frustration of trying to sort out this unfamiliar emotion.

  “But as ye said, no point in talking about it,” Crow continues. “Just in case ye did care to know though, I told her yes.”

  10

  SASHA

  I’M HALFWAY between sleep and consciousness when I feel the weight of the bed dip. At first, I wonder if I’m dreaming. Because in my sleep addled brain that’s the only possibility I want to accept.