CROW (Boston Underworld Book 1) (34 page)

The men talk in a mish mash of broken Russian and English. Lach seems to have the basics down, but isn’t completely fluent. I don’t have to see Alexei’s eyes darting to me to understand who they’re talking about.

After a while, they seem to come to some sort of agreement. And then Lachlan pulls something out of his pocket and hands it to Alexei. It feels like there’s glass in my throat when I realize it’s the photo of Talia.

“What are you doing with that?” I ask.

Lachlan doesn’t reply. He’s staring at Alexei, watching him, so I do the same. His eyes are roving over the photograph with laser precision, like he’s downloading every detail to memory.

“Does he know what happened to her?” I accuse.

Lach shoots me a look. “No. He’s offered to help you find her.”

Everything else fades away. All the horror and pain of this evening and the events leading up to it. And for the briefest of moments, my world is filled with sunshine and everything becomes clear again. Alexei glances at me, and I try to see through him. Past his cold exterior to the man who lies beneath. He keeps dragging his bloodshot eyes back to the photo as if he can’t stop himself.
Hope springs up inside of me like an oasis inside of the desert. Even the cynical part of me is jumping onboard with this, too inflated by the possibility to accept any impending rejection.

“How will you find her?” I ask.

Lachlan answers for him.

“Alexei is very good at finding things,” he says evasively. “He works with… computers.”

This is the only explanation I get. And it dawns on me that Alexei must be a member of their alliance. The Russian syndicate. Lach sounds unwavering in his belief that Alexei can find her, and I want to believe it. He appears studious. Quiet and cultured and dangerous too, but in a more calculating manner than the other men I’ve seen. Can he really find Talia? I don’t know. But he’s the only hope I’ve got left.

Alexei takes the photograph and says something in Russian. And then he leaves the room.

I’m still too infused with relief to understand what’s really happening here. But when Lachlan pulls me close and starts peppering my face with kisses, it dawns on me soon enough. This is the moment I realize that
our traumas never really go away. They live inside of us, in the deepest darkest pits of our own tiny hells. Cocked and loaded, waiting for someone to come along and pull the trigger.

Lachlan is pulling that trigger. He’s leaving me. Alone and afraid… and without him. My heart threatens to cave in under the weight of the pain.

“No.” I grab onto his coat and hold on. “What are you doing?”

His answer is the faintest brush of his lips against mine.

“No,” I say again, weakly.

“Mack.” He closes his eyes and buries his face in my neck as he holds me close. “I’m not handing ye over to the Russians, okay? Alexei is a mate, and I trust him. No harm will come to ye here, but I have to go.”

“No.”

I seem to have lost the ability to say anything else.

“Sweetheart, I have to.”

“You can’t do this to me,” I sob. “Don’t leave. Stay.”

He strokes my face, my hair, his eyes soft and completely devoid of any anger as he looks down at me.

“Ye’re beautiful, sweetheart,” he says. “There was no avoiding you, Mack. It was always meant to happen this way.”

“Don’t go back,” I plead. “I’m sorry. But just don’t go back.”

I know it isn’t fair. Or even realistic. But Lachlan gives me a pass for acting like an emotional two-year-old. He takes off his gold medallion and drapes it over my neck, still warm from his skin. I want to protest, but I cling to it instead. Like if he leaves it with me that means he’s going to come back for it too.

“Do ye remember when ye asked what a man like me wants?”

I let out a god-awful sound of despair in answer.

“I already have a family,” he explains. “And I will abide by whatever they decide for me, Mack. That’s how this works.”

I’m shaking my head, a protest on the tip of my tongue, but he just continues anyway.

“But if I was going to marry,” he says. “I’d have wanted it to be you.”

I crawl into his lap, clinging to him, hoping that he won’t be able to shake me off. That this isn’t happening how I think it is.

“Please…” I wrap my arms around his neck and sob against him.

He places one of his palms over my belly, and stares at it longingly. “I wanted to have a baby with you. Can ye believe it?” He looks up at me. “I’ve never wanted that with anyone.”

“You still can,” I insist.

I’d tell him anything right now to keep him from leaving. But it isn’t a lie. I’d have Lach’s babies. I’d have a whole brood of them if he wanted me to.

He kisses my ear and then my throat. “You’ll be safe here, Mack. I don’t want ye to worry about that. Alexei has given his word to keep ye safe.”

“No, Lachlan.”

He picks me up and tries to pry me off of him, but I keep fighting off the distance.

“I’m not letting you leave. I’m not letting you go back there without me. I can explain. I can try to fix things. I’ll make Niall understand. Anything… anything.”

He brushes his fingers over my lips to silence me. And then he leans in and whispers in my ear. “Ye must’ve been chewing on four leaf clovers all along,” he says.

I blink up at him in confusion.

He smiles. “I’m completely mad for you, sweetheart.”

Hands grab me from behind and drag me away as I scream. Lachlan gives me one last glance, and then he’s walking away from me. Out of the door, and out of my life forever.

I try to fight off whoever’s holding me back, but I can’t. I’m too emotional. It’s too much. It’s all too fucking much. It doesn’t matter anyway. Because when I feel another needle in my arm, I realize they aren’t giving me a choice.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Lachlan

I
’ve always said you can’t trust a woman.

Mack wrecked every bit of common sense I had left in me. I was blind to it. Blind to everything else but her. Now there’s only one thing left to do.

I call Niall first and organize to meet him at the club. And then Ronan. He tries to argue my decision as I knew he would, but it’s useless. I will hand myself over to Niall and abide by whatever penalty he feels is necessary.

So long as it’s nothing to do with Mack.

I love her. Can hardly believe it myself, but it’s true. I’m fucking mad about the girl. I’d like to believe that if she’d only told me what the problem was, I’d have helped her. But I can’t say for certain that is true.

I knew Talia was trouble when she started working at the club. She was a bit too fond of one of the Russians. Dmitri, his name was. He wasn’t part of Alexei’s faction, but Ivan vouched for him at the door. That should’ve been my first clue. If I’d had any concrete evidence it was him involved in whatever happened to Mack’s friend, then sure I’d have sent him into the cellar for Ronan to deal with.

We do not tolerate that kind of shite in our club. You touch our women, you meet with Ronan. Simple as that. But Talia had only been working at Slainte for two weeks. She told me she was going on a holiday and she needed some time off. When the cops started sniffing about the place, Detective James mentioned he had reason to believe she ran off to Mexico for one reason or another. So I left it at that. The girl never saw anything, didn’t know anything, so it was no bother to me what she wanted to do with her life.

All of these events culminated to bring Mack into my life. I’d like to say that I’m sorry for it, that I wished it never happened, but that isn’t true. I am sorry for her mate. If anyone can find her, Alexei will.

Mack will be safe with him too. I know that much. It’s all that matters now. She didn’t do this with evil intent. I on the other hand have done plenty. I lied to her, hurt her… planned to hand her over to the Russians for my own selfish reasons. I don’t know what that says about me. But I meant what I told her.

I’d actually considered a life with her. How fucking stupid is that? Bringing a woman into this world is always a liability. This whole situation has wised me right up. Regardless of what lies ahead for me, the best thing I can do for Mack is to let her go. It’s the unselfish thing. The hard thing, too. I don’t want that. I wanted none of this. But I’ve no choice now.

Alexei gave me his word. He will get her out of the state. Set her up with a new identity. And Mack will never know if I live or die because she’ll only be told one thing.

To her, Lachlan Crow is and always will be- dead.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Mackenzie

W
hen I wake up in a pitch black room in a bed that feels unfamiliar, dread snakes its way inside of me. I’m disoriented, exhausted, and for a moment, I have no idea where I am.

But when I sit up and glance out the window, I remember with painful clarity.

Lachlan.

Where the hell is he? And how could I just let him leave without me?

I’m in the middle of nowhere, but that isn’t going to stop me. I’m going to get to him. I’m not going to let him sacrifice himself for me.

I find my shoes near the end of the bed and pick them up so as not to make any noise. This house is much bigger on the inside, and from my vantage point I’d guess I’m on the second or third floor. When I get to the bedroom door, it opens without protest. I creep down the hall, pausing at a cracked door with a light on inside.

Someone’s probably in there, no doubt. And I have to walk right past it to get downstairs. How the hell I went from being trapped inside the Irish mafia to the Russian, I haven’t a clue. I have to wonder if there are more men here that I don’t know about. Surely, Lachlan must trust them to protect me. But he has to know I would do this. That I would try to get to him. What were his orders in such circumstances?

There’s only one way to find out.

I wait for a full two minutes and hear nothing. But instead of creeping past, my curiosity gets the better of me. I push open the door, and stand in the frame. Alexei is passed out on his desk, bottle of Cognac still in hand. But it isn’t the sight of him that has me in a state of shock. It’s the room filled with an entire wall of monitors that surrounds him.

My eyes rove over the screens, and it takes me a minute to realize what they’re for. There are live poker tournaments, chess games, horse racing, and pretty much anything that can be considered gambling on display.

It looks like there’s some kind of programmed bot set up. At the bottom of the screen, there are a bunch of codes running. I don’t have a clue what they mean, but I’ve got a pretty good guess. The Irish are working with the Russians. Is this what they’re dealing in? Illegal gambling rings?

Before I have a chance to come to a decision on my own, Alexei’s eyes snap open and find mine. He drags himself into an upright position and scrubs a hand over his face. He doesn’t look surprised in the slightest that I stumbled into this room, but I still have to wonder.

“Is this what the Irish are doing?” I blurt.

He gives me a cursory glance before pouring himself another glass of Cognac.

“What did you expect?” he arches a brow at me. “Backyard poker games?”

“Pretty much,” I admit.

“Those are the old ways.” He waves his hand around the room and shrugs. “This is the future.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I ask suspiciously.

“I’m not telling you anything you cannot see for yourself.”

“I have to go,” I tell him firmly.

He sighs. It’s clear he’s been expecting this.

“You want to go to Lachlan, yes?”

“Yes. And I need a car,” I suggest boldly.

“I wouldn’t recommend that.”

He’s not making a move towards me. He doesn’t even look like he intends to. But there’s something ominous about his words that make me hesitate instead of bolting out the door.

“And why not?”

He grabs a remote and points it towards the monitors, pressing a few buttons. And then my worst fears come to life.

There, on the screen in front of me, is Scarlett. She’s being held inside a hotel room by none other than Rory.