REAPER (Boston Underworld Book 2) (16 page)

Dark clouds roll through his eyes, and something shifts in his expression. It looks like betrayal. And I feel a little guilty for even mentioning it though I shouldn’t.

“He did that?” Ronan asks.

“It doesn’t matter,” I sigh. “I don’t want to cause problems between you two. That wasn’t my intention. I just needed to know that you were safe.”

He’s quiet for a long pause, and it’s obvious he’s still thinking about it. But whatever’s actually going on in that head of his is still a complete mystery to me.

“Ye’re done dancing,” he says finally, in a tone like I have no say in the matter.

“I’m fully aware of that,” I snap. “Tonight was my last night.”

He grips my hair into a makeshift pony tail and tugs on it. His mouth hovers over mine, the heat of his every exhale skating over my lips.

“Nobody else gets to see you like that,” he declares. “Ye're claimed.”

His words douse me in gasoline. His eyes light the match. And when he grinds himself against me, all that's left to do is burn for him.

He crushes his lips against mine and kisses me so hard it borders on painful. His hands are tearing at the strings of my bikini, yanking them apart until I’m completely naked in his arms. His raging hard cock is still sandwiched between our bodies, at least until it isn’t. He picks me up and the next thing I know, I've got ten inches of Ronan shoved inside of me. I cry out against him, and he feeds off of it, sucking his own choice of poison from the hollow in my throat. The taste of my skin is what gets him off. Being inside of me. Owning me. He drinks from me and gives me another lethal injection of his brand of narcotic.

“Why are you always doing this?” I pant against him. “Why do you always do this?”

His only answer is to fuck me into the wall. Being the psychopath that I clearly am, I come so hard I nearly black out. I want him. But he’s so bad for me. The worst. And still, I clamp down around him, pulling him deeper inside.

He’s putting me on display right now. Anyone could come down here and see us. I can only imagine what we look like. Him fully dressed, me naked and pressed against the wall. Lipstick smeared, mascara running down my face. Good and thoroughly used by him.

I wonder if Ronan’s thinking about that too, when he groans and finishes inside of me.

Without a condom. Again.

Jesus. This fucking man.

His forehead falls against mine, and we both just hold on to each other until our breathing calms. And then he releases me and I slide down his body until my toes touch the floor.

His come is still leaking out of me when I bend over to pick up the scraps of my clothing. I attempt in vain to make myself decent while Ronan watches. He’s already zipped and apart from his bloody lip, there’s not a bit of evidence he just fucked me into next week.

“I hope you enjoyed that,” I tell him. “Being that it was the last time.”

He looks at me. And we both know it’s a lie. This thing between us isn’t over. I'll always be enslaved to this man. I'd serve him any day of the week and twice on Sundays. Because, fuck me, that’s why.

He could just come out and say it if he really wanted to. Rub it in my face and tell me the ugly truth. Instead, he simply says, “Come on. I’m taking ye home.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Sasha

W
hen Ronan said he was taking me home, the most logical conclusion would be that he meant to my place. So when we pull up to an unfamiliar house in Beacon Hill I stare over at his shadowed profile and wait for an explanation.

But Ronan being Ronan, he doesn’t bother giving me one. Instead, he steps out of the car and comes around to open my side and then escorts me up the stairs. He’s looking around the street, his eyes darting at every shadowed car and bush in the vicinity. And I’m used to him being uptight, but not like this. He’s on high alert, and it’s making me nervous.

“Is something wrong?” I ask him.

He glares at me. “Aye, something’s wrong. You were flashing your tits and ass for all the lads tonight. After I’d taken you. Made you my woman.”

I’m still staring at him in disbelief when he drags me through the door. And then I’m being attacked by the last thing I ever expected to see in his house.

A frigging Corgi.

I bend down to greet her, and she licks my hand before wiggling her butt back and forth and whining at Ronan. He calls her into the kitchen and gives her some food, but it’s obvious she only wants his attention. Ronan doesn’t seem to understand this… the most basic of emotions, and it’s just so Ronan that I can’t help but smile.

“She wants you to pet her,” I tell him. “Hold her.”

“How can ye tell?” he asks.

I want to tell him it’s obvious, but the more I’m around Ronan the more I learn he actually does need things like this explained.

“That’s why she gets so excited,” I say. “When you come in the door. She does it every time, right?”

“Aye,” he says. “I thought it meant she was hungry. That’s what Crow said.”

I roll my eyes and set down my bag. “No, Ronan. It means that she missed you. While you are out and about in the world and doing your thing every day, a dog only has interactions with you to look forward to.”

“But why would she look forward to that?” he asks.

“Because she loves you.”

He glances down at the little Corgi who is staring up at him with an expression I know far too well. It’s the same damned expression I get when I look at him, too. Ronan moves to the fridge, and the dog comes running to me. I pick her up in my arms and smile.

“You and me, sister,” I murmur. “We’re just a couple of suckers, huh?”

“Would you care for a drink?” Ronan asks very formally.

“No,” I answer. “What’s her name?”

He comes back into view. “Her name is dog. And how did ye know it was a girl?”

I frown at him and shake my head. “You have to give her a real name. And it’s pretty easy, Ronan. She doesn’t have any balls.”

He looks away uncomfortably and then sits down on the sofa. He’s back to being stiff and unnatural and I have no idea what I’m even doing here.

I sit down in a spare seat and continue to play with the dog. “What about Daisy?” I ask him. “I think it suits her.”

He watches the dog for a few moments and then shrugs. “That sounds… grand.”

“You hear that, Daisy?” I coo. “You’ve been upgraded from dog. You have a real name now.”

She whines and then gets overexcited, bounding off to go see her beloved master.

“Why am I here, Ronan?” I ask finally.

He won’t look at me. And the tension in his body is only growing with every passing minute. He stands up and makes a gesture with his hand.

“Will ye come with me?” he asks. “I’d like to show ye something.”

“Okay,” I agree cautiously. He’s acting really strange. Even more so than usual.

He walks down the hall, and for the first time I notice that the layout of his house is very similar to Lachlan’s. But the furniture is much less prevalent, and I highly suspect that he pretty much never has company. This is a house designed for function only. Eat, sleep, and read from the looks of it. Everything is clean and tidy, but not overly so. There isn’t much in the house at all for personal belongings. No photos, no knitted blankets or other personal effects that one usually collects over a lifetime.

When I stare at his back as he leads me down the dark and empty hall, it makes my heart ache for him. The only things this man has in his life are literally his brothers in the syndicate. And a dog that he didn’t even know should have a name. I want to ask him more about his background, and there’s a question on the tip of my tongue, but then he pauses in front of a room.

His room.

It’s obvious from the scent alone that lingers there. It’s Ronan’s personal space. Where he sleeps at night. There’s a bed with stark gray blankets and a closet full of suits and shoes and little else. A couple of books on the nightstand and a lamp to read by. That’s it.

I look up at him and wonder if this is some misguided attempt at flirting with me. Or getting me into his bed, which doesn’t seem likely. He’s very fond of taking me up against walls and then making a quick getaway. He doesn’t even like to remove his clothes.

“What did you want to show me?” I step inside the room and take a look around.

But Ronan doesn’t follow. Instead, he shuts the door behind me, and a lock clicks into place from the other side.

“What the hell, Ronan?” I walk to the door and slap my hand against the wood. “What are you doing?”

“Conor is bringing over the rest of your belongings from your apartment,” he says from the other side. As though this statement is totally reasonable and should explain everything.

“Excuse me?”

“And if ye need anything, you can call out for me.”

“Ronan.” I rub my temples in frustration. “You aren’t making any sense. Tell me what’s going on.”

There’s a long pause of silence, and I wait, hoping he hasn’t disappeared. But then his voice is soft and slightly nervous as he explains.

“Someone broke into your apartment,” he says.

“What? How… I mean how do you even know this?”

“Because they sent me a photo, to my phone,” he replies quietly. “With a picture of your bed and your… um… your knickers and such.”

A tremor moves through me, and suddenly I’m glad for the sanctuary of Ronan’s house.

“Why would they do that?” I ask.

I don’t understand. But the longer he remains silent, the more I start to piece it together.

“They know you,” I speak into the wooden door. “Are they threatening me?”

Another pause, and I can almost imagine him taking off his glasses and rubbing his tired eyes the way he does when he’s stressed.

“I fucked up,” he says. “They’ve been watching me, and I came to your apartment. They must have had someone following me. I got the text tonight, and I went looking for you. And then I saw you at the club…”

His words die off, and I understand now why his reaction was so crazy. He probably thought I was dead. And then he saw me up on stage and snapped.

“Oh,” I reply. “Well it doesn’t matter. Because I’m leaving tomorrow, so they won’t know where I’m going.”

“Sasha,” Ronan cuts me off, his voice agonized. “I can’t allow ye to leave. They know your name. Your face. This isn’t just someone I’ve pissed off. It’s one of the blokes who worked for the Russians. Andrei, his name is. But he’s better known as the butcher. I botched up the job I was meant to do, and now he’s going to come after you to get back at me.”

“I don’t understand,” I clip out, even though I do. I understand perfectly well.

“Ye’re not leaving.” He says through the door. “Ye’re going to stay right here with me.”

His footsteps move down the hall, away from me, and I slam my hand against the wood.

“This is called kidnapping, you know!”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Sasha

A
ccepting my fate, I slip out of my jeans and sweatshirt and raid Ronan’s drawers for a tee shirt to sleep in. He does have them, which surprises me for some reason. Track pants too. I open up his other drawers out of curiosity and find several stacks of the same pairs of black briefs.

Even though he just locked me in his room and I’m annoyed at his fucked up methods of trying to protect me, I can’t help imagining what he would look like in the briefs. I’ve never seen him naked. I’ve only ever been graced with a small glimpse of his powerful body. His chest and his arms, which were littered in scars and battle wounds that seemed worse than I expected.

I know what Ronan’s job in the mafia is. I know that they call him the Reaper. And the day that I snuck down in the basement, I knew he was down there with Donny. But I needed confirmation. I needed to know for certain that he was going to be the one to kill Donny. Because a sick and twisted part of me wanted that. Wanted Ronan to be the one to exact vengeance on the piece of shit who treated me like a dog. Like a worthless whore who was only good for opening her mouth and getting him off whenever it suited him.

I knew Ronan would make him suffer for what he did. And I got off on the idea of it. Of the man who threatened both of us being wiped from existence. But what about the other men Ronan kills? I think about them often. Who they are, and if they’re just as bad too.

I want to believe that they are. To justify what he does. I know Ronan has rage inside. I’ve seen it first hand when he killed Blaine. But even then, it was justified. And when I look at him, all I see is the calm. He’s my anchor in the stormy sea. The one that keeps me from being pulled away into the chaos.

But Ronan needs an anchor too. Whatever caused those scars on his body, whatever caused him to be the way he is… so guarded, so untrusting, so quiet… it makes me question my own humanity. Because if I was faced with the men who did that to him, I would want to kill them too.

With a sigh I shut his dresser drawers and crawl into his bed. The sheets are stiff and not very comfortable. Shocker, I know. But they smell like him, and that makes me feel safe. I wonder what he’s doing. Where he’s sleeping. But these are dangerous thoughts to have. Because I can’t get pulled back in.

This situation is only temporary.

That’s what I keep telling myself as I curl up and bury my face into his pillow. I can’t be angry at him though. My kidnapper and my protector are one in the same. He’s trying to take care of me in the only way he knows how. And it’s oddly fucked up.

Come morning, I will try to have a rational conversation with him. But until then, I allow myself to fall asleep in the sanctuary of his bedroom.

***

I stretch out on Ronan’s bed and yawn.

The bed itself isn’t very comfortable, but I slept better than I have in a long time. I can smell coffee brewing from somewhere inside the house, and I suspect he’ll be in soon.

I pad across the room and decide to raid his drawers again since I don’t see any of my stuff in the room yet. I pull open the drawer that had his track pants and grab a pair off the top. But then I feel something beneath them that catches my attention.

I flip through the rest of the cloth until I find a cardboard box hidden beneath. Pulling it out, my curiosity is riled. I bring it back to the bed with me and open it up. And my breath completely flees with what I find there.

The first thing I recognize is an earring I thought I’d lost forever. It’s old and just a plain jane sterling silver braided hoop, but it’s one of my favorites. I used to wear them all the time.

I slide my finger over the grooves and set it aside, digging through the rest of the contents. There are handwritten notes in there. Notes I left for the other dancers. Even a few I’d left in Lachlan’s office regarding the schedule. They are nothing of significance, but Ronan kept them for some reason.

As I dig deeper, I find a napkin with my lipstick print on it. Another thing he must have retrieved from the club. One of my tank tops. Photographs of me from my apartment. Even a couple pairs of my lace panties. One pair in particular, I remember well. They are the same panties I was wearing when he killed Blaine and took me for the first time.

I’m still staring at all of it in shock when the door cracks open, followed by a sharp intake of breath. There’s a pause, and then Ronan stalks over and starts shoving everything back into the box with his cheeks flushing a furious shade of pink.

He reaches for the earring, and I snatch it away.

“That’s mine,” I tell him.

He isn’t looking at me. I’ve never seen him so embarrassed. So stiff.

“Ronan,” I call out to him, and finally his eyes snap down to mine. “Why do you have all this stuff?”

He doesn’t answer me. I want to hear him say it. He reaches for the earring again and I close my fingers around it.

“I like this earring,” I protest. “I thought I lost it.”

He stares at me like I just took away his favorite toy. And then with a huff, he takes the box to his closet and shoves it up onto the highest shelf where I can’t reach and into the dark shadows. I’m staring at his back while I choose my next words carefully.

“I’m right here,” I tell him. “Why do you need the earring when you have me?”

He turns around slowly and glances at me from across the room. And then his eyes move to the door. He’s probably thinking about bolting and locking me in again. But I’m not about to let that happen. So I go to him.

One terrifying step at a time. Logic be damned.

When I reach him, I grab the lapels of his suit and smooth my hands over his chest. I wrap my arms around him, and he tenses.

“What are you doing?” he asks suspiciously.

“Hugging you.”

He just stands there, arms hanging awkwardly at his sides. His hair is disheveled for the first time since I’ve known him. He’s flustered. His breathing accelerated. And his eyes are darting over me, trying to anticipate my next move.

“Is this okay?”

He clears his throat. “It feels… okay?”

I drag my hands up and over his broad shoulders to the warm skin of his neck.

“Do you like me touching you, Ronan?” I ask. “Because sometimes I can’t tell.”

“Aye,” he answers, his voice husky. “I like it very much.”

He’s quiet for a moment, thoughtful.

“When you touch me, it feels different,” he adds. “Nice.”

The gravity of that simple statement knocks me off balance.

“Hasn’t anyone ever touched you in a nice way before?”

There are no words in response. But his body and his eyes tell me everything I need to know. Ronan Fitzpatrick is an iceberg. He only shows the world the smallest and safest parts of himself. But inside, underneath, is a wealth of hidden discoveries. I want to know them all.

I cling to him and lay my head against his chest. After a while, he seems to get the simple concept of a hug. His hands wrap around my waist and rest on my back. And even though it’s the most awkward hug I’ve ever had, it’s also the best.

“You don’t have to keep me locked in the room,” I tell him. “I won’t leave until you say it’s okay, Ronan. Because I trust you. I trust that you’ll protect me.”

He makes a small grunt of approval. But I’m honestly not sure he even heard me. Because he’s staring at the place where my breasts are pressed against his chest. He likes that. Judging by the bulge digging into my stomach, he likes it a lot.

Knowing the way that Ronan is, I anticipate it’s only a matter of time before he’s throwing me down and fucking me again. But before things can even get that far, I reach for his hand and pull him back to the bed.

I tell him to sit down. After a moment’s hesitation, he does. And when I drop down on my knees before him, I have his undivided attention. My palms rest on his thighs, massaging the solid muscle beneath before I go any further. His pulse drums against my fingertips, betraying how much he likes this too.

“We don’t have a condom,” I remind him.

My palms are slowly creeping up his legs while I speak, keeping his attention focused on how he feels instead of the words. When I reach the bulge straining against the zipper of his trousers, I palm him through the material and then tug. He makes another sound in his throat, and his eyes flutter shut.

I pull his cock free from his briefs, toying with it while I work up the nerve for my next question. He looks huge in my hands. Pure male perfection. And the thing is, he doesn’t even know it. He just wants me. My touch. My hands on his body.

I let that go to my head a little. Because goddamn this man. He’s hot as fucking hell. That’s a fact. But if he tells me he’s only ever been with me, I might go off the deep end completely. I need to know. I need to know just how much his dark obsession burns for me. Because I don’t think I could ever let anyone else have him. He’s mine, already. But the words… the words make it real. Make it true.

I swirl my thumb over the head of his cock and squeeze, milking the moisture that’s already leaking out of him. His eyes are open now. Heavy and dark as they watch me taste him.

“Has anyone ever touched you like this before?” I ask.

His answer is a rough murmur.

“No.”

I wrap my hand around his thick base and give it a couple more pulls, making his balls draw up against his body.

“Has anyone else got to have you, Ronan?” I ask. “Have you ever fucked anyone the way you fuck me?”

The resulting jerk of his hips makes me think he secretly likes my filthy mouth.

“No,” he grunts. “Only you, Sasha.”

A torrid fever builds inside of me, charging my blood with manic possession. Jesus. I nearly come just thinking about it.

This man is the walking definition of masculinity. Virility. If his crew were a wolf pack, he'd be the strong and silent Alpha. And yet I'm the only one who’s ever touched this God among mortals.
Me.
A girl from the Dot with nothing to offer but my broken self.

“Good.” My voice is hoarse, drunk on the knowledge of my claim. “Because if you ever touch anyone else, I’ll murder them.”

His eyes snap to mine, dark and hot like melted chocolate. They reflect my own right now. The way that I feel. Only, Ronan takes it a step further when a small boyish grin cracks across his face. I’m pretty sure I hear angel’s singing, because holy shit that’s a beautiful sight. It doesn’t last long though, because as soon as I drag him back into my mouth, his head tips back and his eyes fall shut.

“Do you know what, Ronan?” I ask.

He’s having trouble concentrating with his cock in my hand. But I tell him anyway.

“You deserve to feel good. And the fact that you never have is a fucking tragedy. I'm going to rectify that. Here and now.”

His cock pulses in my palm, branding my skin with his heat as I suck him hard and deep, then soft and teasing.

“Tell me which way you like,” I urge.

He hesitates. So I keep talking.

“Do you like me on my knees for you?”

“Aye,” he answers in a husky voice. “Very much.”

“Show me what else you like, Ronan.”

He grabs the back of my head and surprises me when he thrusts up into my mouth roughly, the same way he did last night. Not only do I let him, but I get off on it. I reach down and cup his balls, and he makes another sound in his throat. God, I love the sound of Ronan coming undone for me.

He face fucks me with erratic thrusts, the head of his cock gnashing against my teeth and the back of my throat. This brand of roughness suits his personality. The way he dominates me. He takes me when he wants, without asking. Because Ronan can’t help himself. He’s starving for this. Has been starving for it for years. I see that now.

He pushes me all the way down on his cock and then explodes into my mouth. He isn’t polite and doesn’t ask if I want to swallow. He’s an animal. So unpolished and not at all suave. But he’s mine. My caveman.

When he pulls away though, uncertainty creeps across his face. The wheels are turning in his head again. Wondering. Thinking. Worrying. I won’t let him get locked inside those thoughts. Those thoughts keep him away from me.