CROW (Boston Underworld Book 1) (5 page)

I don’t encourage him. Instead, I unbraid my hair and run shaky
fingers through it.
This little war of wills is unexpected. I bet a man like him is accustomed to women falling all over him. There are a few, waiting in the wings, hoping that he’ll notice them. But they haven’t dared to approach him. I guess I’m not the only one who’s heard about his reputation.

As I’m considering it, I catch a glimpse of Donovan charging at me from the corner of my eye. He
snarls as he lunges towards me, a need for destruction in his blood.

I dodge back and prepare to hold my ground, but it isn’t even necessary. Lachlan swoops into action and slams his body into Donovan’s side, spinning him around and yanking his arm into a locked position behind his back. It only confirms my earlier suspicion about him being a fighter. Judging by his speed and agility, he’s a natural.

He leans in close and whispers something into Donovan’s ear. Donovan doesn’t take his murderous eyes off me, but whatever Lachlan said has snapped him back to reality. He reluctantly backs down and mutters something under his breath before walking away. It seems like it’s over, but in the back of my mind, I worry that I may have to contend with him later. He doesn’t look like the type who takes being defeated by a woman too easily.

After a conversation with his men that takes place out of earshot, Lachlan stalks over to me, the same dark expression on his face. It pains me to admit it, but he is handsome. He’s also more reserved than I expected. A calm façade to accompany his quiet broodiness. It’s a complete contradiction to the killer I know he is.

He pauses at the concrete pillar across from me, maintaining his distance and keeping his expression neutral.

“Sorry about Donny,” he says. “He can be a bit of a tool.”

Just as I predicted, there’s still an accent. I totally underestimated the charm factor there. It’s rare that I find myself tripping over words, but that’s exactly what I’m doing right now. Still, I school my features and try to look unflappable. I need to focus on the Russian, I remind myself.

“No biggie.”

“Is it not generally an unwritten rule for women to fight in these things?” he asks.

“Well…” I flash him a cocky grin. “Lucky for me I don’t play by the rules.”

I expect him to throw me a bone. A smile. A twitch. Something. But I get nothing.

“Ye defeated one of my best fighters tonight
.”

I can’t tell if he means it as a compliment or not, but I take it as one. “Thanks.”

Lachlan remains steadfast in his indifference, and I don’t really know how to shake him of it. I need to play my hand carefully here.

“I don’t recall seeing you around here before,
butterfly
.”

The way he emphasizes my fighting name sounds like a threat all in itself. I hate to admit it, but this guy is a little more intimidating than I want to give him credit for.

I blink up at him, formulating a plan. I’m going to play up the fragile little woman card in hopes it’ll soften him towards me when I pop back up later. I doubt he has any heartstrings to pull, but it can’t hurt to try.

“I only fight when I need the money.”

Lachlan narrows his eyes, and I know he isn’t buying it. He taps his fingers against his thigh, and for a brief moment, I almost wonder if he’s nervous. But then I notice his eyes darting to some men across the room. I turn and my face sours on visual impact. The frigging Russians. They’re eyeing me off, but one of them in particular is looking right at Lachlan.

I flash them a sweet smile and wave. I hate them. I hate them all.

When I turn back to Lachlan, he seems agitated, but it dissipates quickly.

“I have to head on,” he says. “Catcha, butterfly.”

My jaw clenches to keep my mouth from falling open. At the very least, I hoped he’d ask me for a drink. My phone number. Something. But his blatant rejection stings, more than I want to admit.

I knew I should have flirted with one of his soldiers, but he totally cock blocked the hell out of that plan.

“Yeah,” I grumble. “See you around then.”

Chapter Four

Lachlan

T
he very moment I depart from the girl, the lads are back at my side, talking their usual shite. Distraction and agitation war in my mind as I approach the waiting party. He’s a big fella with a whole load of tattoos up and down his neck. The beef of the operation, the Russians use this one for threat. Boris, his name is. He looks like one too.

His head jerks in the direction of the door. One of them wants a word with me. A silent nod lets him know I’ll be along shortly.

“Wait here,” I tell the lads. “And keep an eye on Donny. Don’t let him back near the girl.”

Ronan nods, and I follow the soldier out the door. A black car idles at the curb, the windows too dark to see within. In the back seat, Alexei waits for me. This turn of events catches me off guard, which is rare form, I’d like to say.

In the Russian bratva, Alexei is known as the Ghost. It’s a privilege to know him in person, since very few people do. The brains of the entire gambling operation, this one right here. Also, considerably the Russian’s most valuable asset. Personal sojourns like this don’t come about often, so already I know this is important.

He has my full attention. Something most people don’t know about Alexei is the lad’s almost full blown deaf. He reads lips very well and does so without being too obvious. The only reason I picked up on it myself was because my nanna did the same. We have a routine where I pretend I don’t know, and he agrees I don’t either.

“To what do I owe this special journey?” I ask.

“Viktor called,” Alexei replies. “The girl. She’s one of yours?”

His words catch me off guard, and Alexei doesn’t miss it. He never misses anything. Before I can calculate a response, I work on sussing out his motives.

Besides the obvious, Alexei has one very blaring weakness. Women. This same weakness urges him to drink the glass of Cognac in his hand. It would also be the very reason for those bloodshot eyes and the darkness on his face for the last few months. Something I can relate to. Women bring about nothing but trouble. Word is this last bird of his really did a number on him. Lucky for me, I’ve a cure for that. Avoiding them entirely.

I’d have figured by now Alexei would be on the same page in that regard. So what in the bleeding hell does he want with the girl? She isn’t my business. But judging by Alexei’s face, whatever the issue is, he’s about to make it my business.

“She’s Irish,” he remarks. “Yes?”

“Aye.” She’s American Irish, but to them it’s all the same.

“So she’s one of yours?”

He wants me to say yes. For that reason alone, the word no lingers on my lips. Trouble. I can feel it coming.

“Right.” I sigh. “What’s this about, lad?”

He sighs too and then leans back against his seat. He knows as well as I do if the girl were ours he’d already be aware of it.

“I believed the girl to be yours,” explains Alexei. “This is what I told Viktor.”

Viktor, as in his boss. Already, I don’t like the direction this is heading.

“Care to tell me why?” I ask.

“Ivan has an issue with her. Viktor would like a trade once the alliance is sealed. The girl for the traitor.”

Fucks sake. I scrub my hands over my head and release a breath. The Russians still don’t know whose been betraying them. As part of the negotiations, Niall has asked that the traitor be handed over to us as payment for Carrick’ death. Something I’m very much looking forward to.

Adding that girl to the deal has caught me off guard.

“Viktor realizes this may take some time,” Alexei adds. “So he asks that you handle it for the time being.”

“Handle it, as in…?”

“Keep her under control.”

A pause falls, and then, “for the sake of the alliance, of course.”

I’ve no blasted idea what this girl’s involved in. And now they want her under our protection? Pure bollocks. Things are too unstable. Too volatile. Alexei is well aware of this. Spotted it from twenty feet away that girl is trouble.

“Ivan feels she is a threat,” Alexei carries on. “Given that she’s a possible witness to our business dealings with her father. Things did not end well with that relationship. Ivan’s been looking for her for years.”

That’s a load of shite if I ever heard one. There’s no way that girl in there has been evading the Russian mob. If that were true, she’d have better sense than to walk into the fights tonight like she did. She didn’t seem the least concerned about them.

I don’t want to ask the next question. But it comes unbidden.

“Have ye any plans for this girl yet?”

Alexei nods, glancing out the window. “She will be given a choice. She can marry one of ours who will take full responsibility for her.”

He doesn’t have to tell me what the flip side of that choice is. There could only be one. They feel she’s a threat, and so this archaic compromise seems to be the girl’s only option at this stage. I might feel some sympathy for her if I wasn’t bound for the same fate myself. The Russians are fond of their arranged marriages. If I’m to take my place by Niall’s side, I will first have to take the leap with one of Viktor’s daughters.

Jaysus Christ.

I’ve no doubt Alexei handpicked me to deliver this information. He believes me to be soft like him. We don’t generally involve women in our business. By giving Viktor his assurances and relinquishing the burden of responsibility to us, the lad’s jacked me arseways. I’m bound by honor to the impending alliance. This is everything we’ve been working for. The means to get my revenge on the man responsible for Carrick’s death and uniting our factions.

And now we must use the girl as a pawn to do it. A big ask. I don’t like it. But I’ve no choice. The syndicate is already on tenuous ground. Things have been shaky between our two factions lately. Suspicion is high. Tensions are higher. A seed of mistrust threatens to bloom into a noxious weed if we don’t get it under wraps now.

“Now that we understand each other,” Alexei says, “I’ll give him your word, yes?”

I don’t like it. But I reach out and shake his hand anyway.

“Ye have my word. I’ll sort her out.”

***

“Jaysus,” Rory whistles. “Did ye see the body on her though?”

“I saw,” I growl. “Now quit banging on about it.”

He raises a brow at me, and I tell him to piss off. I’m not in the mood for his shite. He carries on anyway.

“Seriously though. Those tits… and that ass… goddamn righteous I tell you. Can’t say I blame Donny for getting distracted the way he did.”

My grip tightens on the steering wheel. In spite of my foul mood, my cock’s formed its own opinion on the matter. I want Rory to stop talking about her. All of them need to stop running their gobs about her.

“There’s not a righteous thing about her,” I announce. “That bitch cost me five grand.”

Rory grins and glances back at Ronan who has chosen to remain carefully disinterested on the matter. Ronan takes that stance on most things. Only because I know him so well can I tell he doesn’t like the girl. I’ve got to say the feeling’s mutual. She came out of nowhere and destroyed one of my best fighters. It didn’t sit well with me either, and now I know why.

“Think she’ll be back next month?” Rory asks.

“Do you ever shut your cake hole?” I clip out.

“I’m just surprised ye didn’t get her number at least,” he says. “So I guess ye won’t mind if I do.”

“Nobody’ll be getting her bleeding number.”

This time Ronan’s disapproving gaze burns into the back of my head. I glare back at him in the mirror as I pull up to the curb. Rory gets out, and Ronan lingers behind when I leave the car idling.

“I’ve some business to do. Keep an eye on things for me?”

He nods, but gives me the stink eye. As far as loops go, Ronan’s in on just about all of them. This one’s a different story. A man has a right to keep a few things to himself now and then.

“An hour tops,” I tell him.

That’s my cue for him to get out. He’d never shut up if he knew what just went down with the Russians. Ronan can only handle this kind of information in small doses. He’ll need to warm up to the girl a bit before I clue him in.

He shuts the door, and I drive to the empty parking garage downtown where I meet my contact. Detective James is already waiting for me, his feet crossed as he leans back against his blue sedan with a newspaper and coffee in hand.

The garage is empty, but I don’t get out. He comes around to the passenger side and slides in beside me, wasting no time in handing off the file.

“The ballistics report. Your suspicions were confirmed.”

I already knew what I’d find in the file, but seeing it doesn’t make it easier. This confirms that the bullet inside of my grand-da didn’t belong to the Armenians. Niall will hand this off to Viktor as proof of their traitor though I’ve no doubt they’ll still argue the leak is on our side.

“Fecking Christ,” I mutter.

“I don’t envy you.” Detective James sips from his coffee. “Breaking news like that.”