The Monster: A Mafia Romance (Boston Belles Book 3)
The Monster: A Mafia Romance: Chapter 11

I smelled it before I saw it. The puke.

Then when I noticed the first spot, I realized they were everywhere. Vomit stains.

Yellow and faint, covering the carpets, the floor, the walls.

I dropped my backpack at the door, following their trail up the stairway, where they led. It was unlike the housekeepers to leave any sort of dirt unattended.

Unless they wanted me to see it.

It was a cry for help, I knew. And not just from my mother.

Lord, what did she do now?

I reached the second floor then rounded the hallway, my stride picking up speed. Just as I expected, the puke stains led to the master bedroom, my mother’s room. Athair had left days ago, and even though I tried my best to keep an eye on her, I knew Mother was spiraling.

I stopped outside her door, putting my hand on the doorknob and drawing a deep breath.

“Mother?”

There was no answer. I threw the door open, flashbacks of Ms. B attacking my memories, raw and vivid.

Blood.

Bath.

Wrists.

Despair.

I scanned the room. It was completely empty.

“Mother?” I echoed, confused.

Cautiously, I made my way into the en-suite bathroom, my heart in my throat. I hoped for the best but expected the worst. Mother, rehashing that scene at Ms. B’s apartment, finally making good on her idle threats to take her own life. I knew my mother was a cutter. It actually provided me a screwed-up sense of security because people who cut were less likely to perform “successful” suicide attempts.

Jane Fitzpatrick wasn’t even entirely a cutter. Sometimes she bruised herself a little, well and far away from the wrists, to draw attention. But she almost exclusively did this for my father’s and my viewing. Hunter and Cillian had no idea. They weren’t pawns in her emotional blackmail scheme.

I found her lying on the floor by the vanity, facedown.

“Mother!” I cried out, rushing to the bathroom, swinging the door open.

I fell down on both knees, turning her over by the shoulder. She was passed out cold in a pond of her own vomit. Half-dissolved pills were swimming in the vomit like little stars, their content, powdery and thick. Like stardust.

Jesus.

I grabbed her hair, shoving my fingers into her mouth, forcing her to gag and throw up more. She came to life instantly, at first protesting weakly about my hurting her as I held her head, but then she started puking more.

More pills. More everything.

“You need to get your stomach pumped,” I groaned, calling an ambulance with my free hand as I continued trying to make her throw up. “What have you done?”

But I knew exactly what she’d done and why.

The ambulance arrived four minutes later. I followed it with my own car. I tried to call Hunter and Cillian repeatedly. Both their phones went straight to voicemail.

I couldn’t understand why. It was nighttime. They should be at home with their families. I resorted to texting both of them our code word. Our emergency code.

Clover.

And then, when there was no answer: Clover, clover, clover! Pick up!

Reluctantly, I didn’t want my sisters-in-law to know the extent of how screwed-up my family was, especially with Da living out of the house and my parents probably getting a divorce. I called Persy.

Persephone and I always had this unspoken connection, of two, shy and romantic wallflowers forced to blossom in the jungle that was the Fitzpatrick family.

“Hello?” Pers sounded drowsy, drunk with sleep.

“Oh. Hi,” I said chirpily, feeling idiotic for forcing on a cheerful tone. “It’s Ash. I’m trying to reach Cillian, but he is not answering. Any idea where he might be?”

“Hey, Ash. Is everything okay?” she asked and then, processing the fact I asked her a question, she added, “Kill is at Badlands with Sam, Devon, and Hunter. It’s some kind of a special gambling night. I wasn’t paying attention. Can I help you in any way?”

My blood sizzled in my veins as I gripped the steering wheel to a point of having white knuckles. My brothers were ghosting me. They’d left me to tend to our mother while they went gambling with Sam Brennan.

Fresh anger bubbled in my stomach. How dare Cillian and Hunter so easily accept a reality in which sweet, timid Aisling took care of Mother and Athair while they went to live their big fulfilling lives?

I pulled up at the hospital and ushered Mother to the ER along with her designated doctor, giving him as much information as I could based on what I knew. What drugs she may had taken, the quantity, how much of it she threw up.

They ran some tests at the speed of light and pumped her stomach, but it was already mostly empty thanks to me. Mother was put on an IV drip and was conscious now, not even two hours after she got admitted.

“Just don’t tell your father. He’d think it’s about him, and he doesn’t need the ego boost,” she moaned, reaching for the remote by her hospital bed. “Do you think they have Netflix here? Oh, this is so highly inconvenient for me. I have a facial tomorrow morning.”

I stared at her through bloodshot eyes, my whole body shaking with rage.

“You’re an idiot.”

The words slipped from my mouth before I could stop them, but I couldn’t for the life of me replace a drop of remorse after they were out in the open.

“Excuse me?” Her head jerked sideways. She gave me a hard, motherly stare.

“You heard me.” I stood up, walking to the window, watching snow-caked trees and dirty ice roads. “You’re an idiot. A selfish one at that. You refuse to get the help you need, and you abuse prescription drugs to get back at … who, exactly? The only person you are hurting is yourself. Now let me tell you what’s about to happen …” I turned back around, fixing her with my own glare, my newfound spine tingling with the need to take action. “I’m going to go back home, leave you here on your own, and empty all your cabinets of drugs. Any drugs. You won’t even have an Advil for your morning migraines. Then I’m going to book you an appointment with a therapist. If you don’t go, I’m moving out of the house.”

“Aisling!” Mother cried. “How dare you! I would never—”

“Enough!” I roared. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m tired of mothering you all day, every day. Of holding your hand through life. Of being the parent in our relationship. You know, I grew up seeing you and Da shipping off Cillian and Hunter to boarding schools in Europe and was terrified of sharing their fate. There was nothing I feared more than saying goodbye to you and Athair. Now, I am actually jealous of my brothers,” I spat out, “because you gave them the best gift of all. They grew up barely knowing you and liking you very little. They are not attached to you like I am. They can live their lives, do as they please, free from the chains of loving two people who are incapable of loving anyone else but themselves. I’m done!”

I flung my hands up in the air and stormed out, bumping into a doctor who scurried into Mother’s room. He called out to me, trying to replace out what was wrong, but I ignored him, feeling very young and very desperate all of a sudden.

The drive back home was a blur. I was surprised I made it at all, seeing my unshed tears impaired my vision. I stormed into my mother’s en-suite, opened the cabinets, and started throwing everything into a white trash bag I’d taken from the pantry.

Anything you could get high on was gone. I shoved it all in without rhyme or reason. Sunscreen, Vaseline, bandages, painkillers, and cough medicine alike. When I was satisfied with my replaceings, and sure there were no other drugs to be found in the house, I proceeded to stomp my way outside, hoisted the full trash bag into the trunk of my Prius, and floored it all the way to Badlands.

I tried not to think about the last time I’d seen Sam.

I told him I never wanted to see him again then went ahead and knocked on his door. Not the most consistent I’d been, but I was worried. When I’d heard from Cillian, Hunter, and Da that Sam was nowhere to be found, I figured he was holed up in his apartment and for good reason. Honestly, I’d been more afraid he’d gotten shot or had a serious wound and was too proud to ask for help.

I’d found him sick and shivering, nursed him back to health, and then gave him the space he needed.

That was three days ago.

He never even said thank you.

Not that I had any reason to expect him to. This was Sam I was talking about, a well-known monster.

While I knew he wouldn’t hand me over to the authorities in a red satin ribbon, I also didn’t trust him with the information of what I was doing with my medical degree. Why did I share with him my story of Ms. B, then?

Because you love him, mon cheri, and when you love someone, you want them to get to know you, so maybe they’ll fall for you, too.

Well, Sam was obviously feeling much better, seeing as he was clubbing with my selfish brothers tonight.

I stopped in front of Badlands, dragged the trash bag out, and rounded the building, toward the back door leading to Sam’s office.

I knew better than to knock. Which was why I took the tweezers out of the trash bag and tampered with the lock. It was a simple lock, and I had the advantage of knowing what I was doing. I’d broken into my brothers’ rooms plenty of times when I was younger. I was bored and alone in the impossibly large, looming Avebury Court Manor.

Sometimes, my only company was other people’s things. Toys and gadgets I had found under their beds. I’d even pretended the women gracing the covers of Penthouse and Playboy—found under Hunter’s bed—were my girlfriends.

The door hissed open with a soft click, and I trampled inside. Sam’s office was dark and empty. I threw the door open and headed downstairs, the music pounding from the club making the floor quake.

I wasn’t interested in the club, though. I headed straight to the card rooms. As soon as I reached the junction of the four card rooms, I peeked into each of them. It wasn’t hard to replace my brothers. They were in the last one. It was the noisiest, most boisterous room, filled wall-to-wall with men wearing tuxedos, smoking Cuban cigars and drinking old whiskey, huddled around roulette and craps tables.

Cillian was in the corner of the room, talking animatedly with Devon, while Hunter was next to Sam by the roulette.

The Monster looked brand-new, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth as he barked at his employees, no hint of his previous, sweaty, fever-ridden self in sight.

Swaggering inside, the trash bag flung over my shoulder like I was Santa delivering presents on Christmas Day, I stopped in the center of the room and emptied the content of the trash bag in the middle of the roulette table, a smile on my face.

Everyone, and I do mean everyone, gasped.

Everyone other than Sam.

Hunter was the first to recover from my little stint.

“Holy shitballs, sis. Way to make an entrance.” He whistled low, reaching for the center of the roulette table to grab a pack of mints I’d thrown in there accidentally, popping two into his mouth. “Do you have some blow? I don’t use drugs anymore, but if you have a side hustle, I’d like to financially contribute.”

“Aisling,” Cillian said, all ice and manners, sauntered toward me. “What are you doing here, besides the obvious, which is embarrassing yourself?”

“Great question,” I chirped, all honey and smiles. “Well, brother, I started my day off at six am, worked a long shift, came back home to replace our mother passed out in her own puke, then proceeded to shove my fingers down her throat and usher her to the hospital to ensure she didn’t overdose on chewable vitamins or whatever it was she decided to cram into her stomach. At this point, I tried to call my dear brothers, but both of them were too busy playing cards to pick up the phone. You didn’t even answer our emergency code word, even though I’ve never used it in my life before, so it should have tipped you off about the situation. Our mother is fine, by the way. But I’m not. I’m tired and in need of a shower and fed up with carrying the burden of gluing this family together all by myself.”

The room turned very quiet and very still, and suddenly, I was only aware of Sam, Cillian, and Hunter. No one else registered.

Sam snapped his fingers together and barked, “Everybody out. Family business. Phil, Jonathon, Archie…” he turned to his croupiers “…take it to room three, and get everyone a complimentary drink. Not from the vintage menu.”

Sam sat back on one of the vintage armchair recliners, lighting himself another cigarette as he observed us. I turned my head toward him. I was in the mood to set fire to every single relationship I’d ever had, and he was high on my list of people I wanted to snap at.

“Wow. You mean you’re not going to kick me out of your club?” I gasped mockingly.

“If you show up tomorrow, I will.” He lounged comfortably in his seat, smirking. “Right now you seem to be doing a fine job ruining your own evening. No need for me to interfere.”

“You’re an asshole,” I spat out.

“And you sound like a broken record.”

“Cut this out, both of you. Start from the beginning, Ash,” Cillian ordered as the last of the crowd trickled out of the room. “What happened? Since when has Mother been dabbling with prescription drugs?”

“Since forever.” I threw my arms in the air. “She is a cutter, too.”

Both my brothers paled in response.

“Bet you didn’t know that either, huh? She mainly does this for attention, to keep Da and me on our toes whenever she thinks we don’t pay her enough attention. There’s a lot you don’t know. I can’t do this all by myself. Our family is falling apart.”

“I—” Cillian started, but I was so mad I cut him off. It was the first time I ever snapped at my older brother.

“And you didn’t even pick up the phone when I called you! You ghosted me.”

“We didn’t ghost you,” Cillian maintained coolly. “We put our phones aside and didn’t see your texts.”

“Even if you didn’t ghost me tonight, you’ve ghosted me our entire lives, letting me live this nightmare of tending to our mother alone!”

“Sis,” Hunter said softly, reaching for my hand over the roulette table, “we had no idea. It wasn’t like we ignored the situation on purpose. You were our blind spot.”

“Yeah.” Cillian leaned a shoulder against the wall, looking gravely serious. “Mother and Athair always seemed on the unhinged side, but you have to remember we’ve never actually lived under their roof. Not since toddlerhood, anyway. We thought it was under control. That you were the one taking advantage of the perks of staying at home and not vice versa.”

“Staying at home is a nightmare!” I fell onto a nearby stool, burying my face in my hands, hating that Sam was watching this whole freak show. “Mother is a master manipulator. I draw her baths, drive her places, act as a messenger between her and Da. I’m basically her maid, and I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“You don’t have to,” Cillian said firmly. “We’ll come up with a plan. I will go to the hospital and stay with Mother tonight. Hunter, you’ll take over tomorrow. Aisling needs some space from her for the time being.”

Hunter nodded. “Don’t worry, sis, we got this. You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

I tried to regulate my breaths. I could feel Sam’s gaze on me. He seemed eerily quiet the entire conversation. Not that I expected him to weigh in on our family woes, but Sam wasn’t a fan of gossip. Usually when he lost interest in something, he removed himself from the situation.

Why did he stay in the room?

“I just need to clear my head,” I said quietly. “Her overdose was to get back at me. I’m afraid if I give her what she wants—more attention—it’ll defeat the purpose of strong-arming her into getting the help she needs.”

At the same time, moving out and going cold turkey was something I didn’t want on my conscience. She needed me, learned how to be dependent on me, and leaving now would be cruel.

“You’re right,” Hunter agreed. “We don’t want you near her. We’ll let her know it can’t carry on like this. Now that we’re in the picture, too.”

“I’ll give Aisling a ride home.” Sam stood up, his voice toneless.

I shot to my feet at the same time. “No, thanks. I’m parked outside.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Sam’s right.” Hunter gave me an apologetic look. “You’re in no condition to drive. Pick the car up tomorrow morning. Your body must be flooding with adrenaline. Try to take it easy tonight. We’ll tackle this clusterfuck tomorrow.”

“It’s a clusterfuck indeed. Which reminds me—now’s a great time to ask for a raise,” Devon drawled sarcastically, emerging from the shadows of the room. I forgot he was even here, which was an impossible task, seeing how gorgeous he was. “The Windsors draw less attention than you lot.”

“Hands to yourself, Brennan,” Cillian barked in Sam’s direction. “Remember your paycheck comes with stipulations.”

“Your neck does, too, Fitzpatrick.” Sam offered me his hand, helping me to my feet, leaving my brothers behind us. He pressed his hand to the small of my back, ushering me up the stairs back to his office.

“How are you feeling?” he asked tightly. I had an inkling the mere idea of pretending to care made his skin crawl, yet I oddly appreciated his concern, even if it wasn’t genuine.

“Fine.” I rubbed my forehead. “Just tired. Overstimulated.”

“Stay at my place. I have a spare bedroom and zero fucked-up parents living under my roof.”

“And I have two brothers who’d kill me if they replace out I spent the night with you.” I sighed, inwardly admitting the offer was very tempting.

Sam wasn’t going to go to war with Da and my brothers just to be with me. I came to terms with that a long time ago. So there was no point in accepting his offer and creating more tension between him and the men in my family.

“A dead Aisling would make life easier for me. The offer still stands,” Sam remarked.

“Charming, but I’ll pass. I don’t go where I’m not welcome.”

“Since when?” he asked, dead serious.

“Since always.” I felt my cheeks flush. “For your information, you’re the only person to bring the crazy out in me.”

“Dangerous dick tends to do that to good girls.” He kicked the back door to his office open. “I had no idea things were that bad at home.”

We poured outside into Boston’s December freeze. A thin layer of ice coated everything, from the ground to the buildings and glass panes of windows. Red, white, and gold Christmas decorations hung on the streetlamps twinkled back at us. Sam clasped the back of my neck possessively, leading me to his Porsche like I was his prisoner.

“They weren’t always,” I heard myself say. “There had been ups and downs. Being the backbone of the family wasn’t so bad when the posture of our skeleton wasn’t terrible. The last weeks were the worst, though. Ever since the media picked up the story of Da’s stupid affair, things began deteriorating. Then the poisoning happened and the mysterious threatening letters. The heirloom cufflinks were the cherry on top of the crap cake.”

Sam unlocked his car and helped me inside the passenger seat. The drive to my house was quiet.

The first portion of it, anyway.

When we reached the affluence of the Back Bay, a silver Bentley closed in on us from behind. Sam’s eyes flicked to it in his rearview mirror. The Bentley sped up, kissing our bumper once and sending us flying forward with a jerk.

“Shit,” Sam muttered. “Unbuckle yourself, duck your head, and cover it with both hands, Nix.”

“What?” My blood froze in my veins. “Wh-why?”

“Just do it.”

“But—”

Sam didn’t wait for me to finish my sentence. He took a sharp left turn, driving over the manicured lawn of someone’s front yard as he sliced through a junction, not stopping at a traffic sign, and sped through a side street. The first bullet pierced the rear window and popped into the AC unit, where it got stuck.

“Motherfucker,” Sam hissed, still completely calm. He grabbed the back of my head roughly, dipping it further down, leaning toward me to ensure I was tucked away as carefully as possible. The car skidded, and I knew that the fact it had been snowing and the road was extra slippery didn’t work in our favor.

“On the floor, Nix.”

“Sam,” I screeched, terrified, “don’t lean toward me! They’ll shoot you if you do.”

“Better me than you.”

Another shot pierced through the rear window. It made it shatter completely. The glass came down in a sheet. Sam jumped on top of me, his torso covering my body, blocking me from harm, but still somehow driving.

“What are you doing!” I moaned. “You’re going to get yourself killed. Drive!”

He floored the accelerator. The car started to sound like a plane taking off. Then, without warning, he swiveled, making a sharp U-turn and speeding up again. Since my head was tucked firmly below my seat, I couldn’t tell if we lost whoever was after us or not.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” I chanced a look at him through my periphery, noticing that his arm was bleeding. He caught a bullet while pushing me down to the floor. He took a bullet for me.

“You’re bleeding,” I said.

He groaned but didn’t say anything.

“Are we safe?” I asked.

Sam didn’t answer. I could tell he was concentrating on deciding which turn he was going to take next. I guessed driving home was out of the question. He was hardly going to lead his enemies to his doorstep.

“Who are they?” Tucked under the passenger seat, I pressed, my knees knocking against my chin as my teeth chattered. I’d never been this scared in my life. The kind of fear that seeps into your bones and burrows into your soul.

“Bratva. The Russians.”

“They own Brookline,” I murmured. I knew that. Everyone knew that. My parents hadn’t allowed me into their neighborhoods fearing I’d get kidnapped for ransom.

“Not anymore.”

“They’re trying to kill you because you took over their territory?”

“Conquered, fair and square. If they replace you in my car, they’ll have a merry good time milking your daddy for money. But they’ll gang-rape and torture you first. Which is why you need to stay the fuck down and let me handle this.”

I heard another shot fired toward us. I squeezed my eyes shut, keeping my head bent, just like he told me. Sam took another sharp turn. He opened the glove compartment above my head, knocking my forehead in the process. He took out a gun, stopped the car, then reversed fast. He turned around and started heading in the Bentley’s direction, releasing the gun’s safety, a devious smirk on his face, his eyes zinging with determination.

He is playing chicken.

I wanted to claw his face to ribbons.

The buzzing coming from the Bentley became louder, and I knew they were close. Sam stretched his arm outside his open window and fired two shots.

Time and space hung above our heads, suspended.

I heard a scream. A moan. Then footsteps over damp concrete, the crunching of the snow underneath someone’s feet. Someone running. Fleeing. Sobbing.

“You can come up now,” Sam murmured, stone-cold. Numb, I slid back to my seat, buckled up, and moved a shaky hand over my raven hair.

Sam slowed his vehicle, and I noticed he was following a man. I only saw the back of him. A scrawny figure with blond messy hair and a prominent limp. He wore baggy sweatpants and matching hoodie. The glow-in-the-dark type. Sam directed his gun at his head, holding it steadily.

“Are you going to shoot him?” I whispered.

“Only cowards shoot people in the back, Nix. I’ll shoot him in the face. Respectfully, of course.”

I didn’t know if he was being sarcastic or purposely crass. Either option seemed completely unsuitable for the ears of a lady. But that was the essence of Sam Brennan. He would take a bullet for me without even thinking twice about it but trash-talk to the moon and back in my presence.

The man stumbled on the uneven cobblestone of the sidewalk, trying to pick up his pace when he heard us driving by his side. It was futile. Sam had already caught him. The Monster was now playing with its food.

The man’s shoulders quaked, and he sniffled loudly.

“Please.” I put a hand on Sam’s arm, the one that wasn’t holding the gun. “Don’t make things worse.”

He ignored me, passing the man and parking in front of him, blocking his way.

Our victim stopped. I leaned forward, taking a good look at him. Sam must’ve killed his armed companion.

The man was not a man at all.

It was a boy.

Of fourteen. Maybe fifteen at most.

Gangly, long-limbed and wide-eyed, his pasty face sprinkled with acne.

My heart lurched and twisted behind my ribcage. He was obviously a minor. Maybe even an innocent one. I imagined he was born and initiated into the Bratva. It was hard to believe he would choose such a life for himself.

Sam got out of the car, blocking my view with his body, still protecting me, his gun aimed at the boy’s head. The boy dropped to his knees, raising his arms in the air in defeat. He didn’t seem to even realize there was a second person in the car.

“P-p-please,” he sputtered, weeping so openly, so loudly, it felt like he tore my chest in two and watched while I bled out. “I didn’t want to do this. I begged them not to. He was … I was … my father, I mean, put a gun to my head. I couldn’t say no. I couldn’t. You know what it’s like with dads like him. You know. You have one, too. You’re a Brennan.” He swallowed air, hiccupping, his face twisted in so much agony, it was hard to make out his features.

“You fucked up. Now it’s time to pay,” Sam ground out.

“No!” I gasped.

I shot out of the car, desperate to do something, anything to save this boy.

I tackled Sam without thinking, trying to bring him down to the ground with me. But he was much bigger and heavier than I was. It felt like slamming headfirst into a concrete wall. I flew backward from the impact, but Sam snaked his free arm around my waist, jerking me behind him, like the boy still posed a threat to me.

“Please, Sam, please.” I wrapped my arms around his chest and stomach and felt his muscles tensing against my fingertips through his shirt. A soft, barely audible groan escaped his lips. I took that as a sign.

“Please, he is just a boy. Young and misled. Like you were. If you don’t do this for yourself, do it for me. For what I did for your soldiers. For … for … for the chicken noodle soup!”

I held my breath, waiting for another stinging rejection and the pain that came with it. To my surprise, all I felt was a brief shudder passing through his torso. Goose bumps rose on my skin. I didn’t know why, but I felt this moment was monumental for both of us, though in very different ways.

“You have one thing going for you, and that is that I don’t want the fucking headache that comes with the territory of blowing your brains out in front of her.” Sam bared his teeth, lowering his gun just an inch.

I let out a relieved breath, feeling nauseous with relief.

My throat burned as I exhaled. I must’ve screamed bloody murder while we were being chased in the car.

“But I’m sending you with a message and a souvenir. The message is as follows: tell Vasily that I am going to have his head on a plate if he as much as tries to breathe in my direction again. Last time, I cut his face. Next time, I am going to decapitate him completely.”

The teenager nodded almost violently.

“W-w-what’s the souvenir?” He peeked at Sam through one eye, the other one squeezed shut in fear.

Sam smirked crookedly.

“This one is something to remember me by. A farewell. A reminder. A warning. Are you left or right-handed?”

The kid didn’t try to beg for remorse. He bent his head obediently.

“Right-handed.”

Sam fired a shot, the bullet grazing the teenager’s right arm, going straight through his nerve system.

“Here. This’ll ensure you’ll be a crappy aim for the rest of your life and choose a different occupation. In case you’re thinking of finishing your daddy’s job …” Sam chuckled.

Blood pooled beneath the young man, but he didn’t make a move to press a hand to his wound.

“Thank you for sparing my life, sir.”

Sam hoisted me over his shoulder, blood still trickling down his arm, and led me to his car. His blood ran the length of my thigh, and I shivered with unexpected desire.

I felt protected and wanted to protect him, and if that wasn’t majorly screwed-up, I didn’t know what was.

“Never interfere with my business again, Aisling, and never, ever show your face when we bump into my enemies.” He tugged my pants and panties down my upper thigh, the cold night air stinging my skin. Sam sank his teeth into one of my ass cheeks, biting hard.

“They’re your enemies, not mine.” I involuntarily thrust my thighs against his shoulder, begging for more. He opened the passenger door, tossing me inside and buckling me up like I was a toddler.

“They’ll think you’re my weakness.”

“They’d be wrong.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Very astute of you, Einstein,” he snapped. “But I’ve never been seen with women before. They’ll jump to conclusions.”

“Is that why you won’t marry Becca?” I challenged. “Because you wanted to spare her precious life?”

“First of all, who the fuck is Becca?” He rounded the car then started it.

“Are you serious?” A hysterical laugh bubbled from my throat. “Becca is the woman you took to the charity event.”

He drove away from the Back Bay and outside city limits. Boston’s skyline slid away through the windows, giving way to wildland. It made sense that Sam wanted to lie low for tonight, but what did that mean? Were we going to stay together, wherever it was? Where was he taking me?

“I thought her name was Bella,” he said.

“Nope,” I snapped.

“At any rate, yes, part of the reason why I’d never take a wife is because watching an innocent woman die because of me is not on my to-do list.”

“Sparrow didn’t die,” I pointed out.

“Troy was a fixer. A mostly good guy doing bad stuff. I’m an underboss. An all-around monster. I dabble in many things and have enough blood on my hands to fill up your Olympic-sized pool.”

“Where are you taking me?” I asked, tired of being repeatedly reminded how far from the realms of commitment Sam was. He didn’t want a wife, a family, children; even though he protected me, prevented me from dying tonight, it was more about his newly found moral code than his affection toward me.

“The Brennan cabin.” Sam tapped a cigarette pack flat against his muscular thigh, fishing one and tucking it into the side of his mouth. “A nice reprieve for you from your family.”

“Yeah…” I turned my head to the window “…I already feel so much more relaxed.”

Sam chuckled, lighting up his cigarette, yet again ignoring my acute disapproval of what he was doing to his body.

“You saved me tonight,” I said throatily, bracing myself for disappointment when he shut me down. I knew he would, too. Sam Brennan didn’t allow himself to feel anything. Especially toward women.

His eyes remained fixated on the road.

“Why?” I demanded.

“Because you’re my boss’ daughter.”

“You don’t care about my father,” I said.

“True. But I do care about his money. I’m on the fast track to becoming one of the richest men in Boston. Keeping you protected is in my best interest.”

“So it had nothing to do with me,” I muttered.

Why was I doing this to myself? Why?

“None whatsoever, Nix. I would do the same for Hunter. For Cillian. Even for your deranged mother. You are business to me, sweetheart. With a side of pleasure every now and again.”

I didn’t say another word the entire journey.

I’d already heard everything I needed to know.

Sam may have been a good underboss, but he was a terrible potential realtor.

He was being modest calling the place a cabin. It was more of a ranch, one like my brother, Cillian, owned. It was smack-dab in the middle of the woods.

The place was so remote, there wasn’t even a paved pathway for the car to get there. The Porsche trudged through gravel and sleet the last few miles to get to the front door.

Sam got out of the car and threw the door open for me. I followed him inside as he began flicking the lights on. He turned on the central heating, scanning the living room and open-plan kitchen for any signs of a break-in.

The place was freezing. First, I tended to the wound in his arm. Removed the bullet and did some light stitches. Then, I hugged myself, realizing all of a sudden that it was the middle of the night—two maybe three in the morning—and I still hadn’t had lunch, dinner, or a shower. The last thing I ate was a Nature’s Valley granola bar in the morning, and as we were all aware, those bars tended to crumble so badly you only consumed about thirty percent of them. My stomach growled, demanding to be fed, giving zero F’s about the life or death situation I’d just escaped.

“I’ll see what we have in the fridge,” Sam said without turning around, and my skin prickled with heat when I realized he must’ve heard my stomach.

As it turned out, there was absolutely nothing in the fridge.

The heating was taking too long—maybe it was broken; Sam said the place hadn’t been occupied in years—so as far as a relaxing retreat went, this resort got one star and a scathing review on Yelp.

“You’ll have to settle for something canned,” Sam clipped. “Refried beans.”

“I don’t know how to make them.” I stood on the opposite side of the room, looking down, humbled by my own privilege.

Sam spun in my direction. “You don’t know how to heat a can of refried beans?”

“I’m guessing you do it without the can.” I looked sideways, wanting to die of embarrassment.

“You made me chicken soup,” he reminded me. I nodded seriously.

“Ms. B had taught me how to make it. It’s the only thing I know how to make because it was the only thing she could keep down when she was sick. I can’t even make an omelet.”

With a growl, Sam opened a tin of refried beans using his metal key, tossing the can-shaped congealed beans into a pan. It looked about as appetizing as fresh manure and smelled similar. Still, I stood close to him as he prepared the food, mainly to catch the warmth of the fire coming from the stove. I ate straight from the pan. It was horrible, but I knew better than to complain. I imagined canned food was a luxury for him before the Brennans officially adopted him. I had no right to complain.

As for me, I suspected this was the first time I’d eaten anything from a can. I always had food made from scratch, prepared by our cook who used fresh produce, seasonal vegetables and fruit, and herbs.

Of course I didn’t share this with Sam. Already, he mockingly referred to me as a princess. There was no need to give him any more ammo.

“The heating is not working properly. I think at this point, it’s a given.” I took the pan to the sink and began to rinse it clean. The water was freezing cold. Sam sat at the dining table across from me, looking mildly entertained. I think he took joy from watching me do everyday chores. Little did he know I was my mother’s maid.

“My apologies. There’s a Waldorf Astoria across the road,” he drawled.

“Very funny. Thanks for the ride home, by the way. Highly appreciated,” I said sarcastically, drying the pan and putting it back in the cupboard where it belonged. There were some refried beans still stuck to it. Call it my little revenge. I liked to take my wins where I could get them.

“Stop being a brat.” His tone had an edge now.

“Why? It’s exactly what you expect from me,” I sniffed. “Admit it. You think the worst of me and my parents. And while I suspect you don’t hate my brothers, you are far from the realm of respecting them.”

Rather than answering me with words, Sam got up, snatched a few throws from the couch, and stomped into one of the rooms.

“Master bedroom is the first door to your right. Don’t bother trying to seduce me in the middle of the night. I fucked you out of my system and don’t need a repeat.”

I watched his back retreat, stunned with his brashness. He slammed the door behind him. I wondered why he’d given me the master bedroom and not the extra one.

Because, mon cheri, even though he says he doesn’t like you, I suspect he really quite does.

It was the first time Ms. B and I weren’t in complete agreement.

Shaking my head, I carried my purse to the master bedroom, slipping under the blankets, which were cold as ice and did nothing to warm me up.

For the next hour, I tossed and turned, staring at the patterned ceiling, wondering how they’d decorated it.

Sleep didn’t come, even when I willed it, begged for it. Adrenaline ran through my bloodstream like poison.

The brush up with the Bratva.

Sam saving me.

The way he’d rejected me before I’d even offered myself up, all while cooking me dinner and giving me the master bedroom.

Was he my protector or adversary?

I was tired of sorting through his mixed signals like it was Halloween candy, separating his actions by brand, intent, and flavor.

Whatever his reasons might be for treating me this way, I intended to keep away from him.

I was tired of chasing him around. Even though he’d done his fair share of showering me with averse, cold attention every time he wanted to get in my pants, there was always a static undercurrent between us. I was the pursuer, and he was the somewhat amused, precious prize. He tossed me around and played with me whenever he had a few minutes to burn but always went back to ignoring my existence.

This had gone on for a decade, reaching its peak these past weeks.

And I knew, with a clarity that stole my breath away, that I could spend the next decade being his casual plaything just as easily if I let it happen.

But I wasn’t a teenager anymore. I had aspirations. Dreams. Goals.

It was time to cut the cord. Not just with Sam but with everyone else in my life who assumed I’d cater to their every need and whim.

An hour and some change after I tucked myself into bed, I heard the door to the master bedroom creak open. I rolled in bed, turning toward the door.

Sam stood on the threshold, fully clothed in his suit, his hair a tousled mess, like he ran his hand through it a thousand times.

“Fine. I’ll fuck you one last time.”

I rolled onto my back, sighing as I whispered to the ceiling.

“Romeo, oh Romeo, wherefore art thou?”

He chuckled, stepping inside, interpreting my sarcasm as invitation.

Why wouldn’t he? I’d never denied him anything. Not when he intended to sleep with someone else the night I showed up at his apartment. And not at the charity event, when he brought a date who looked freakishly similar to me.

And tried to sleep with her, too.

“This’ll be the last time, Fitzpatrick. A farewell. There’s a reason why your brothers pay me extra not to touch you, and you just got a taste of it tonight. I’ll make your life a living hell and a short living hell at that.”

“Newsflash, Sam, you’re already doing that.”

He shifted closer but still far enough that I realized that despite everything—who he was, what he did, the general callousness of him—he was waiting for an explicit offer. He didn’t want to pounce and take me on his own terms. He wanted me to come to him willingly, desperately, lovingly.

Neither of us made a move.

I didn’t invite him into my bed.

He didn’t leave the room.

My thoughts swirled around in my head like the snowstorm outside, and I dug my heels into the mattress, refusing to give in to the urge to feel his body over mine, his skin against my own, his hot, sweet breath everywhere. His heat was irresistible in more ways than I could count.

“Well?” he spat out, all but sneering. “Am I going to stand here for long?”

Kicking off the blankets, I darted past him, out the door. He whirled, his brows pinching in a frown, following me to the living room.

I plopped down on the carpet, jamming my feet into my sneakers, lacing up.

“What are you doing?” he growled.

“I’m tired, Sam. Tired of you. Tired of us. Tired of this cat and mouse game. There’s only so much push and pull I can tolerate before it gets repetitive and abusive. You want me? You’ll have to get me. The hard way. I’m going to run, and you are going to catch me. If you don’t, you’ve missed your chance. How about them apples?”

He stared at me like I was crazy.

It was nighttime, and we were in the middle of the woods, in the midst of a never-ending snowstorm, with no cellular reception, no heat, and no food.

He had a point.

Scooping my phone, I slid my arms into the long plush sleeves of my coat. Sam stood there, motionless, watching me.

“You’re not roaming the woods,” he said dryly.

“You can’t tell me what to do, Brennan. You’re the hired help,” I spat out, bitterness exploding on my tongue. I was hurting because of him, so I wanted to hurt him back.

That was the excuse I gave myself, anyway, yet it didn’t make me feel any less horrible.

It was probably exhausting to be him. To constantly look for people’s weaknesses, press them where it hurt, and never allow yourself to be exposed.

The word ‘help’ seemed to set him off. He pounced on me so quickly his movements were a blur as he slammed me against the floor, my back plastered against the parquet wood. His arms bracketed me on either side of my head. His body was flush against mine. I tried to kick him in the groin, but he dodged me easily.

“I don’t fucking think so, Nix. You don’t get to call me the help and live to tell the tale unharmed.”

Feeling my eyes flaring, I was surprised to discover I didn’t fear him. I knew he wasn’t going to hurt me. Not physically, anyway. After all, he said it himself—his kingdom was on the line. His fate was entwined with my family’s. This was the way it had always been.

It boggled my mind that I’d ever thought he would stand against my father and my brothers. Insist on being with me. Even if he hated my family, he still needed it. For more money and power. We were his door to Boston’s upper crust, and he wasn’t going to let it slam in his face. Not because of me.

If the men in my family paid him to keep his hands off of me and found out what we did in secret, in the dark, it would be the end of their business relationship.

I also wouldn’t put it past Sam and Cillian to try to kill each other.

“You can’t harm me more than you already have, you fool.” I writhed underneath him, attempting to push him away. “Unfortunately, I’d never be able to hurt you the way you hurt me, but at least I can stop loving you.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” he said grimly, reaching for his boot and yanking out a small dagger. He took my fingers and curled them around the handle. He directed my hand to the center of his throat.

“You want to hurt me? Go ahead. You should know where my carotid is, Doc.”

I slid the blade across his neck, to the pulsing artery calling for me, faint blue against his endless, smooth brown skin. My hands shook and my teeth chattered.

His eyes bore into mine. “Now be a good monster and kill me, Nix.”

I tried to poke the blade against his skin, to push it through, to cut him, even a shallow nick, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t inflict pain on him. I caught my lower lip between my teeth, struggling, panting, trying desperately to push through, to make him bleed.

I shook all over.

The knife fell to the floor with a dull thud beside us.

“I can’t!” I roared. “I can’t hurt you, no matter how much I hate you. And I do hate you. Because I love you. I love you and you treat me like garbage. What do you want me to say? That I’m jealous of your dreams because you belong to them at night? Because I am. I cannot breathe, eat, or blink without thinking about you, Sam Brennan. You’ve conquered every inch of me before you’d even touched me. After you did, things got worse. Way worse. I’ve always loved you, Monster, but the more I get to know you, the more I wish I didn’t.”

Getting it out there, in the open, felt like shedding old, dead skin. Even if I knew I was putting myself in a position of weakness, I was still happy that I did.

If my confession stirred anything inside him, Sam didn’t let it show.

In fact, he made it a point to keep my arms pinned with one hand as he jerked down his slacks, kicking my legs open and pushing my pants down.

“Rape? That’s the only thing you haven’t done to me yet,” I spat in his face, seething. Having him was a torture because it reminded me he would never be mine.

He stopped undressing us.

“You think I’ll rape you?” His eyes were hooded, the hint of a sneer on his face.

“I know you will, if you enter me,” I kept my voice steady, “because I don’t want you to touch me.”

“Then what the fuck was that love declaration a second ago?”

“A confession, not an invitation, you moron. I don’t trust you. I don’t know what you want from me. I’m not even sure what part you play in my life. My father is MIA. My mother is an addict and a cutter. My brothers left me with this mess. And the only thing I know for sure is that the person I’ve been pining for over a decade doesn’t want me back but is willing to play with me whenever it tickles his fancy. I’m done.” I shook my head. “Let me go. I don’t want this anymore.”

We stared at each other. He knew this time was different from all the others. Because all the other times I tried to make light of things, to playfully banter with him while drawing closer and closer to him.

Now, I wanted to leave.

“You’re serious,” he rasped.

I jerked my head in a nod.

He sat up and let me go, allowing me to scurry backward toward the wall. I tugged my pants up.

The truth of my statement hit me all at once.

I was done with his games. Done with giving him what he wanted, whenever he wanted it. Done hoping he would someday wake up and realize he cared for me, too.

He stood up and stared at me, blinking somberly, like I’d just slapped him in the face. Maybe it felt that way. I doubted a man like Sam was used to hearing the word ‘no.’

“We’re done?” he asked, businesslike. The icy edge to his voice made me shiver.

“Yes,” I said, quickly retying my shoelaces. “Leave me alone. Don’t show up at my clinic anymore and don’t steal kisses from me when we see each other at family functions.”

“Why? Because I don’t love you back?”

He let the word ‘love’ roll out of his mouth like it was profanity. I licked my lips. Dawn was breaking outside beyond the pine trees, and the room began to wash with cool pinks and royal blues, the shadows framing his face making him look even more breathtakingly beautiful than usual.

“No. I can handle it if you don’t love me back. But I won’t accept indifference, humiliation, and unstableness. I am not your plaything. The little teenybopper who stared at you with starry eyes at a carnival. Those days are over. I deserve respect and consideration, and you know what? I changed my mind.” I frowned then began to laugh. A throaty, screechy laugh, not even caring how unhinged I looked anymore. “Yes. I don’t want to have sex with you anymore because you don’t love me back. Is that bad? Immature? Anti-feminist? I expect love. I want it all, so if you don’t intend to give it to me, I suggest you leave me be or I am going to tell my family how you dipped your hand into the honey jar, tasted the forbidden sweetness, then came back for third and fourth helpings.”

“I told you I will never settle down.”

“Then that means you are letting me go.”

He nodded once, sauntering over to the door and throwing it open. A chill rushed into the cabin, biting and claiming every inch of my exposed skin.

“Love is not a price I am willing to pay for pussy, no matter how tight and aristocratic. Goodbye, Aisling.”

He was letting me go.

Maybe I was on a roll because of my own speech, or perhaps the adrenaline still pumped in my blood, but all at once, I gathered my courage, stood up, grabbed my purse, and fled out the door.

He didn’t chase me. I knew he wouldn’t.

Men like Sam never did.

I followed the faint tire signs of the Porsche to replace my way out of the woods, clutching my cell phone in a death grip. I slipped several times, and my knees and hands were soaked with melted snow. When I reached the main road, I called an Uber then continued walking. The foolish, desperate hope flaring in my chest that Sam would replace me shrank more and more with each step I took.

My toes were numb, my fingers had frostbite, and I could feel myself coming down with something.

I played with the monster under my bed and felt the wrath of its claws on my skin.

This was all on me.

But that didn’t mean I had to put up with it anymore.

It was like my love for him had snuffed out after teetering on the brink of death for a while. A love that started as a sun-shaped blaze when I was seventeen, big and hot and impossible to extinguish, but as time passed, Sam’s actions doused water on it until there was barely anything left.

I slipped into the back of an Uber, thinking about that night at the carnival.

About the text I’d seen scribbled on that bathroom.

Maybe it wasn’t meant for me.

Maybe it was meant for someone with a happy ending.