Rake: A Dark Boston Irish Mafia Romance (The Carneys Book 1) Page 5

  “Maybe. I don’t sugarcoat situations. But you’re in a lot of trouble, and I’m someone who can help you out of it, hopefully in a mutually beneficial way.” There’s an offer in there, but one she seems to miss.

  How sexually experienced is this woman? She’s in her mid-twenties, but she hasn’t had much time to be young, between taking care of her mother and her brother. Her life’s been exactly the kind of drudgery I’ve worked hard to avoid.

  She’s clutching the pedestal sink for support, pain evident from the tension in her body. Her sense of duty is going to be hard to overcome.

  Another reason to fuck her senseless.

  But not yet.

  I’m going to bring about the sexual awakening of this lovely woman and get us both what we want, but the timing has to be right or I’ll scare her too much. I need to scare her just the right amount.

  But I don’t like how much pain she’s in right now.

  “Come on,” I say, my voice gentle, coaxing. “You’re making your injury worse.”

  She catches her reflection in the mirror and draws her fingers to her neck for a moment.

  Sliding my hand to her lower back, I reluctantly stop just above the generous curve of her ass. She lets go of the sink and holds my arm tentatively. Her hands are small, her fingernails covered in peeling nail polish—something my mother never could abide on her daughters.

  “Do you like to read?” I ask, walking her out to the living room.

  Sasha seems surprised at the question. “Yes,” she answers, her tone suspicious. “Why?”

  She eases onto the couch, while I pull a book from my well-stocked shelves. I’ve always been a voracious reader. School was far too easy for me, so I devoured any and all information I could. I learned how to figure out what people wanted at an early age - and how to give or deny them that - to get what I wanted.

  It worked with my parents until that last year of high school.

  “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn,” I say, offering her the book. “Reminds me a little of your situation. I mean having to put off what you want until your brother gets his education.”

  She takes it from me, still suspicious. I sit at the other end of the couch, grabbing my book from the end table. It’s Les Liaisons Dangereuses in the original French.

  A little on the nose, but an interesting way to maintain my language skills.

  I’m fluent in several. My father told me I could’ve been an ambassador, but I’d disappointed him there too.

  Sasha’s asleep in minutes, curled into a ball at the end of the sofa. Part of me wants to forgo patience and gently tease her pussy through those yoga pants. Instead I touch her hair, testing to see how deeply asleep she is. Her exhaustion seems to have finally overridden her animal instincts, so I carry her to the bedroom. As I pull back the comforter and place her on my bed, she rewards me with a languorous stretch that arches her back and puts her full breasts on display.

  Good thing I’m a gentleman.

  I’ll have plenty of time to explore her body later.

  I leave a bottle of water and ibuprofen on the nightstand and shut the door behind me.

  Quickly I clean up the kitchen, and then decide to take a quick shower and get myself off.

  My sex drive has always been absurdly high. With women, I draw out the foreplay and build tension as long as possible to create the most intense climax I can.

  It’s fun watching the warring factions of their desire and good sense do battle. It’s why I reject my sister Siobhan’s criticism that I use women. In fact, I always give them the fucking of their lives. So good they can’t hate me even if they want to.

  Tonight, though, it’s just going to be me, so I climb into the warm water, stroking my cock, imagining Sasha’s pretty little mouth wrapped around it.

  That’d keep her from talking our staff into unionizing.

  Maybe I’ll fuck her on one of the poker tables and then play the closed-circuit footage for our staff.

  You just don’t know who you can trust nowadays. Your union rep could be in bed, so to speak, with the boss’s son.

  It’s a compelling idea. I come with a growl, pressing my forehead against the cool tile of the shower as the power of that particular fantasy washes through me.

  Satisfied for the moment, I head to the guest bedroom and look forward to bringing my fantasies to life.

  5

  Sasha

  Bolting away from a nightmare, I gasp for breath.

  It’s not one of the worst ones, so I don’t think I screamed. God. The constant replay of the worst day of my life is unpleasant, to say the least. Why can’t my brain let it go? It’s always so vivid. I can still smell the fetid stink of the Mystic giving way to the coppery scent of my own blood.

  Clearly I need to go to therapy, but the copays are high. It’s not an easy choice, but I’m trying to save as much as I can in case Benjamin doesn’t get enough scholarships to afford school.

  It takes me a second to realize where I am. Finn Carney’s bedroom – alone. Still, it’s enough to have my heart racing.

  I slide out of bed and head into the bathroom but not before noticing the bottle of ibuprofen on the nightstand and swallowing four pills—twice the recommended dosage. Grabbing my phone and charger, I plug it into the wall. No way I’m getting any more sleep tonight. It’s not even two yet, but if I try to sleep, I may end up with one of my scarier dreams. I don’t need Finn Carney witnessing my shrieking and rushing in.

  And he would rush in. Not because he’s a good person, but because he knows how to take advantage of a situation.

  I have a text message from Jamilah, the woman who took the leadership role for the casino staff and who contacted SWU in the first place. She’s brave as hell, and one of the reasons I refuse to quit.

  Still, Finn’s comment about my brother scared me. It’s bad enough that I’ve been hurt, but what if Jamilah or my brother get hurt? I don’t know what to do.

  The legal documents have been filed and notarized. The election is going to happen now. I made sure of it. There’s no doubt Carney will harass the hell out of his staff and try to suppress voting, but the National Labor Relations Board is scary in their own way.

  Where are you? the text message says. It’s from a few hours ago.

  It’s late, but Jamilah has a teenage daughter who often sneaks out. She may sleep less than I do.

  You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I’m at Finn Carney’s. His daddy found out I’m still at it. I type out. I’m not going to hit send.

  But I do.

  My phone lights up immediately. THE FUCK. YOU NEED ME TO COME GET YOU?

  This is why I shouldn’t have replied. The heavy bang of a truck dropping its plow to clear the road sounds in the distance. Another reason why I can’t accept Jamilah’s help right now. None of the Carneys can know who my contacts are. Her name is “Aunt Mary” in my phone.

  No, I reply. But I don’t know what to do. He’s trying to convince me to go team Carney.

  Jamilah was livid when I was attacked. She even visited me in the hospital, though I warned her away from it. James Carney would kill her with impunity.

  But she came anyway. Sometimes when she looks at me it reminds me of my mother.

  TELL THE MOTHER FUCKER YOU’VE SEEN THE LIGHT. LIE TO HIS SMARMY ASS.

  I almost laugh but don’t want to draw any attention. I’m afraid his father will hurt you or Benjamin if he finds out I lied.

  The response is all-caps again. HONEY, FINN IS BOND VILLAIN SMART BUT PURE SEX TOO. DAMSEL IN DISTRESS IT. TRICK HIM INTO THINKING HE’S WON. GIVE HIM SOMETHING SMALL SO HE’LL BELIEVE IT. SEDUCE HIM.

  Jamilah is brilliant. If I tell him about the petition, he’ll think he’s changed my mind, just a little, and hopefully he’ll underestimate me.

  I’ve never seduced anyone in my life. Completely lacking in seduction skills.

  It’s true. I’m still a virgin at the ripe old age of twenty-six. I hadn’t had time for boyfrie
nds and wasn’t sure I wanted to bother after seeing what my mother went through. Men seem to be far more trouble than they’re worth.

  SHOW OFF YOUR BOOBS AND PLAY UP THE INNOCENT THING YOU GOT GOING ON. I BELIEVE IN YOU.

  But what if he wants something I can’t give him? I’m not sure it’s a good idea, but I don’t count it out, either. I need to fix this problem and do so in a way that makes it seem like I’m cooperating. Caution sparks: I can’t acquiesce out of the blue, so I’ll have to be careful. Finn is a keen observer of human nature. I gave away more information about my family than I probably should have during our conversation earlier, but he’s the definition of a smooth talker. If I were to guess, his downfall is arrogance. He’s someone who’s used to always being right. I’ll lean into the story he’s created about me and use that to get what I want.

  Or at least get out of here safely.

  Won’t be hard, because most of it’s true.

  He resents his father and knows I resent mine. My mind flashes back to his scar. Did his father hurt him, too? Maybe I can play up that angle. Finn isn’t exactly empathetic, but maybe I can bait him into letting his guard down and get helpful information. I don’t buy his rebelling-against-daddy persona for a minute. Finn lives a comfortable life and wants to keep living a comfortable life. He’ll throw me under the bus whenever it suits him.

  Okay. I’ll try. I’ll text you again when it’s safe. Radio silence pls.

  GIRL U BETTER. RADIO SILENCE NOW.

  I delete the texts and shut off my phone.

  After I watch the snow fall for a while, I decide to take a shower, grateful for the en suite bathroom. My ankle isn’t any better, no surprise there. It hurts as I strip off my borrowed clothes and climb into the shower. The water pressure is amazing. Luckily our Lothario keeps souvenirs like a rake version of a serial killer, and I find a basket full of toiletries left behind by his former conquests.

  I’m not averse to using men’s supplies when I have to, but I don’t want to smell like him.

  Trying to fool a man like Finn won’t be easy, and it strikes me as more dangerous than openly defying him. Still, I have to succeed to keep my brother safe.

  After my shower, I wash my clothes in the sink. It’s nothing new for me—growing up poor gives you a particular skill set. Luckily, I haven’t had to do it much lately.

  As I wring my underwear out, I consider: they’re practical and not at all sexy. Do I have any sexy underwear? Probably not. Certainly nothing that could be construed as lingerie. I set the blow-dryer on low and hoping it won’t wake Finn, dry my hair along with my clothing.

  How does one go about locating the right kind of sexy underwear? Most of the “sexy lady” stores in the mall seem more cheesy than anything else—like a teenager’s version of sexy. Finn is in his mid-thirties, sophisticated and wealthy. There’s no way he’d like the cheaply made garments my high school friends and I used to giggle at.

  They’ve all finished college and moved far, far away from Everett. Someday I hope I can do the same.

  When my clothes are dry, I put them back on. I’m not the kind of girl who can go braless. My mother always tsk’d at me. You got Grandma Goldie’s big ol’ titties on my bird bone frame. Gotta support ’em so they’re not dragging on the ground by the time you’re forty.

  My family’s nothing if not classy.

  Still, it’s good advice and I hold on to all of my mother’s words of wisdom. Sometimes I’ll forget what she sounded like. That scares me. We were too poor to have the latest technology, so the videos I have of her are grainy at best.

  The bruises on my neck are ugly now. Talk about manhandling. Jamilah suggested going the damsel-in-distress route, but he responded more to my anger. I’ll give him that, but always let him win. Always let him think I’m submitting to his masculine prowess against my better judgment. Because I have to.

  Surviving difficult men is something the women in my family excel at, for better or worse.

  I can do this.

  I hate that I’m in this awful position, but I’ll do what it takes to keep my brother safe and get the casino staff organized. Then my brother and I can both leave Boston and I can restart my life.

  Finn doesn’t start moving around until nine am. Must be nice. I emerge fully dressed in my work clothes from yesterday. It’s nothing impressive—black slacks and a plain purple sweater. Grandma Goldie always told me she liked me in purple. Made the green in my eyes pop, she’d said. Maybe that’s why she gave me the purple bunny socks.

  I limp over to the couch. Finn’s doing pull-ups on the doorframe.

  God, he’s hot. I hate it. He’s got an intricate sleeve of tattoos on one arm, and I can see through his t-shirt that it continues onto his chest. His broad chest, that tapers into a lean waist. Ugh.

  “Sleep well?” he asks, not looking at me.

  “No,” I say.

  Better save the lying for when it counts.

  “That’s too bad.” He doesn’t break a sweat as he continues to do pull-ups. “There’s coffee in the kitchen.”

  I need to stop staring at him. Coffee is a good distraction. I walk slowly into the kitchen. Like I said, damsel in distress doesn’t seem to play to Finn’s appetites.

  The coffee’s a dark roast, full-bodied and delicious. It’s probably the best coffee I’ve ever tasted. I settle into a chair and pick at my nail polish. His feet hit the floor, and he joins me with a cup of coffee.

  “This coffee is incredible. Another business perk?” I ask. I need to push him just enough and back off.

  His smile turns predatory for a moment and then eases into something more generic. Perfect.

  “No—my father has shit taste in coffee. He’ll drink the instant stuff to save time if he has to. Absolutely no palate, that man. How’s the ankle?”

  “Fine.”

  “If it’s anything like those bruises on your neck, I doubt it.”

  My hands fly up to my neck. It’s tender, but not even in the top ten of my catalog of injuries now.

  “No need to be self-conscious,” he says, his mouth turning up in a wry smile. “No need to be a hero, either.”

  I hate him so much.

  “I have an idea. A compromise of sorts.”

  I can’t bring myself to look at him.

  “Something that allows you to save face at work—it’s clear you need to keep your job—and keeps my father happy too. Let me know the name of the staff person who got this all started.”

  “No!” I snap, pulling my gaze up suddenly. “Finn, your father will…”

  He shrugs. “He’ll fire them, unless you can convince them to quit first. You can let them know we found out. The staff decides it’s too dangerous to organize, and they can leave too if they want. My father is happy. Everyone goes on their merry way. No one gets hurt. Easy.”

  Do I tell him about his father being served? His plan will work either way, but this’ll throw one hell of a wrench in it. The labor board will be watching firings and departures with much more interest now. James Carney is powerful, but there are always people who love to take powerful men out.

  Not necessarily because it’s the right thing to do, but because powerful men have powerful enemies.

  “Don’t get hung up on pride,” he says, reaching for my hand. I should snatch it away but letting him touch me is one way of letting him think he’s winning. His fingers skate across the back of my hand pausing when he hits the scar on the back of my wrist. The tips of my fingers are sickly white, the blood draining from them.

  “What is it?” he snaps. “You’re scared. What aren’t you telling me?”

  Jesus Christ. My body is always ratting me out.

  “Don’t make this worse for yourself or your family,” he warns, his grip tightening on my wrist. It doesn’t hurt, but I let out a whimper despite my best effort not to. He seems to remember himself and drops my hand. I pull it to my chest.

  “This isn’t a game,” he says, his voice calm agai
n. “I can’t help either of us if I don’t know what’s happening.”

  Like he has any desire to help me.

  Still, I’ll pretend this is my ace. There are more up my sleeve.

  “It’s a moot point, Finn. We filed with the National Labor Relations Board. They’ll be serving your father Monday. It’s a legal matter now. The election’s going to happen.”

  I’m giving him a head start on bullying the staff, but they knew they were in for a battle.

  His expression is one of pure rage for just a moment, but then he blinks, smiling serenely at me.

  How does he put on his mask so quickly? Must have a lot of practice.

  “Thank you for telling me. I need to talk to my father. I’m going to ask that you stay here since you’re hurt. It’ll be safer than going home.”

  “But my family,” I say, grabbing his arm.

  He stares at my hand. It looks small on his forearm. His skin is warm under my cold fingers. He’s a powerful man that I barely know. It would be a mistake to forget it.

  That predatory smile returns to his face. He leans forward and traces a finger down my temple, over my lips.

  “Don’t worry, love,” he says. “I’ll let them know you’re okay.”

  No.

  “Finn. No, please!” I’m clutching his arm desperately.

  He kisses me on the forehead.

  “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m sure they’ll love me. Parents always love me.”

  He shakes off my hand, stands up, and grabs a button-down shirt from the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “You can still tell me who’s your lead at Trinity,” he says, doing up the buttons. “Just as another good faith gesture?”

  Fear coats the back of my throat. What will this man do to my baby brother? I have to believe he won’t hurt him at this point. I can’t give up Jamilah. How has this gotten so out of hand?

  “No?” He pulls on a gorgeous charcoal-colored pea coat. It’s perfectly tailored to his body. “Think about it, love.”

  He strokes my hair, and then writes a number down on a piece of paper. “Text me if you change your mind. I’ll tell your brother you said hi. I’d lock the door behind me. You’re a pretty girl, and P.J. seemed more than a little interested.”