CROW (Boston Underworld Book 1) (3 page)

Myself, however, is a different story. We both know this is my last day in Southie. Tomorrow I’m moving to a shitty motel in Roxbury and beginning a new chapter of my life. One in a world I may not make it out of alive. If Talia’s track record is anything to go by, then there’s every chance I won’t be. I refuse to bring anyone else into this mess, so as agreed upon previously, she won’t be kept in the loop.

I’m going to miss the hell out of her.

She’s the closest thing to family I’ve got left. I never had any real siblings, and my mother died before I was even out of diapers. Cancer.

But my father though?

He was a fucking legend.

Jack ‘the hammerfist’ Wilder. The reigning champion in Boston’s seedy underworld of boxing. Until he wasn’t. When the Russians couldn’t beat him with their fists, they beat him with a blunt knife in a dark alley.

I think my dad always knew he wasn’t long for this world. He only sped up the process by getting involved with the mob. I guess he felt by passing on the Wilder ways he’d give me a fighting chance. I was still in diapers when he started teaching me how to throw a punch. He didn’t know anything else. The man ate, breathed, and lived for boxing. He always said he couldn’t help me with math or teach me how to cook, but he could show me how to defend myself.

To me it was priceless. I learned to be scrappy, and never to apologize for shit. He showed me that I didn’t have to be the biggest or the toughest, I just needed to know how to hit where it hurts. And the Russians hit me where it hurts when they took him from me.

There was nothing I could do about it at the tender age of thirteen. But there’s plenty I can do about Talia. Pricks like the Russians and these Irish gangsters who run Slainte think they can do whatever the hell they want without consequence. That might be true in most cases, but they haven’t met the likes of me.

I’m the daughter of Jack Wilder. A third generation Irish-American with champion’s blood running through my veins. I was raised on the streets of Southie, and I’m not afraid of anyone. I’ll take on every single one of those motherfuckers and I’ll do it with a smile on my face. And when it’s all over, they will rue the day they ever met or fucked with Talia Parker.

More than likely sensing my train of thought, Scarlett shoots me a knowing glance.

“Do you want to take my lucky knife, just in case?”

“Naw.” I grin at her. “You need that for your clients. My body is a deadly weapon.”

My sense of humor doesn’t even faze Scarlett in the slightest. “It isn’t as easy as you think, Mack. I’ll tell you that much. Don’t forget what it’s like when you’re outnumbered.”

I hop up off my mat and windmill my arms.

I know she’s right, but I’m not going to let her see it. Scarlett’s been selling her body for years. Her soul jumped ship a long time ago. She would know better than anyone what it’s like to be outnumbered. The horror is still written in her eyes. And yet she continues to put herself at risk every day. I made peace with her decisions a long time ago. You can’t change a leopard’s spots. Broken people can only fix themselves.

As for me, I’m painfully aware
that I can’t rewrite history. Whatever happened to Talia is done. I can’t change that either. But I will get my answers.
I’m going to get Agent Cameron her proof, and I’ll march back in there and slap it on her sad desk with a smile on my face and brighten her whole fucking year.

Scarlett watches me stretch with feigned indifference. She has the same dull look on her face every day I do my three-hour practice. But even she can’t hide the small glint of pride in her eyes at how far I’ve come.

The last six months have been entirely dedicated to this. A combination of martial arts, yoga and pilates helps me stay strong and focused without building too much muscle tone. Scarlett says I can use this to my advantage because at five-foot-two I’m about as intimidating as a kitten. People underestimate me, and I plan to use and abuse that in every way possible.

“You’re going to kick ass,” she says.

“I always do.” I blow her a kiss and head to the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

“Just… be careful, okay?”

I pause when I hear the slight tremor in her voice. It makes a little ball of emotion form in my throat. I promptly choke it back down.

“How much longer do you have?” I ask her.

“An hour,” she says. “Enough time to quiz you on all the different ways to bring a man to his knees. Theoretically, of course.”

She says it like I’m going to fail, so I rub my hands together and shoot her an evil grin.

“Bring it on, Scarlett. Bring it on.”

Chapter Three

Mackenzie

B
oston is a cultural melting pot. One steeped in a rich history of corruption, oppression, and bloodshed. This city was built off the back of immigrants. Immigrants like my great grandfather.

When he and his brothers left Ireland to escape British rule, they dreamt of a better life. Unbeknownst to them they were coming to a society that deemed them scum the moment they stepped off the boat.

But as everyone knows, the Irish are known for their fighting spirit, and they didn’t give up so easily. Back then, everybody was fighting for a piece of the pie. Alliances were formed and turf wars waged. Turns out, not a lot has changed over time. The corruption is better hidden, but the alliances still breathe. Sure, the gangs have had their rise and falls. The Italians, the Irish, the Russians… they’ve all been burnt to the ground and resurrected more times than I can count. That’s the thing about organized crime, it never really goes away. When one powerhouse falls, there will always be other players ready to step up and take the reins. They all want to run this town.

It’s a carefully balanced act. They each have their alliances, their territories. You don’t step on my toes, I won’t step on yours. In modern day Boston, there are still many players in the game. Big and small fish. But it’s the Russians and the Irish that make up one of the powerhouses now. You see, the Irish learned a thing or two from history. While the lone wolf act was cool back in the day, it also wasn’t smart. The Italians had an entire hierarchy that worked for a reason. You’ve got my back, I’ve got yours. La familia isn’t just for show. You mess with one guy, you mess with the whole damn family.

And that’s exactly how things work in the MacKenna Syndicate. Direct descendants of the Bedford Row Bandits, they come out of the womb with bloodlust stamped in their DNA. Except, unlike their predecessors, they’ve evolved to the times. They have bosses and underbosses and captains just like every other modern organized crime syndicate. And they also have cops, senators, judges and a long list of others on their payroll. Oh and one other thing. An iron-clad agreement with one of the biggest factions of the Russian bratva in this city.

My point with all of this? You don’t want to fuck with this crew.

And yet, that’s exactly what I plan to do. I’m about to walk straight into the seedy underbelly of one of the city’s largest criminal organizations and poke my nose where it doesn’t belong.

If it were anyone else, I might be able to sit back and pretend someone else gave a fuck. But it’s not anyone else, it’s Talia. She’s been by my side since I met her in foster care nine years ago. There’s a bond between orphans that just can’t be replicated. Sharing that experience of having nobody else in the world to rely on. Talia and I came to rely on each other. Until the state separated us and sent her somewhere else.

When she told me that her new foster dad was molesting her, I promptly went over there and smashed his nuts in with a baseball bat. After that, things got a lot sketchier. It wasn’t easy being a couple young kids on the streets of South Boston. But just like my grandpappy did when he arrived here, we found others like us and formed a union. Us against the world.

The state tracked us down eventually, and we ended up in a group home together, but it was touch and go for a few years there. Thanks to Scarlett and a few other kind souls, I never once had to sell my body. I am however an excellent lock picker and made more than a few bucks in some back alley fights. Talia, though… she didn’t have the same durability as I did. She was soft and sensitive and still believed the world to be a good place. It only made it that much more important for me to protect her.

And during our years on the streets, I did. But when we got older and moved into our first apartment together, things changed. As it turns out, there aren’t a whole lot of opportunities for girls like us. Talia wanted to get a job to pull her fair share of the rent, and for her that meant dabbling in underground clubs. Then she started hanging out with bad men, letting them use her.

I didn’t know how to stop her downward spiral. We weren’t kids anymore, and Talia had a whole host of problems I didn’t know how to fix. Before I even got a chance to try, she went missing. Right after she got a job working for the Irish.

Coincidence? I don’t believe in them.

Maybe the Irish are responsible for her, maybe they aren’t. Either way, this is what I know. I know that the Russians hang out in their club. And I know that one of those Russians took a very strong interest in her.

I couldn’t get a name out of her. She thought I was too jaded and was just trying to rain on her parade with my warnings. I didn’t want to be right. God knows I never wanted to be right.

Now the only thing I can do is find out who he is. That’s what I keep telling myself as I glance in the mirror and take a deep breath. My fingers sweep over the heart-shaped pendant resting between my collar bones before I remove it completely and hold it in the palm of my hand.

“I’m doing this for you, Tal,” I whisper. “Whatever it takes.”

The tightness in my chest is almost too much right now. My motivation has never been clearer and I don’t need the pendant to remember that. I stash it with my other belongings and focus on grounding myself.

My dad was a boxing champion. The scrappiest, toughest, baddest dude to ever grace the streets of Boston. His father before that? The same. Now it’s up to me to continue the legacy. I might be a girl, but that means jack shit in my family. We’re Irish. This shit is in our DNA. We love to fight. We love to brawl. And we love to have an audience for it. I know I’m a damn good fighter, but I’d be lying if I said I still wasn’t a little bit nervous.

Those men out there? They’re fucking animals, every last one of them. They won’t take it easy on me because I’m a woman. It wasn’t easy for me to sweet talk Johnny into letting me do this. He wouldn’t have if he didn’t believe I could handle it. But Johnny knew my father, and he’d seen that his blood ran true in my veins. I’d proven myself again and again in his gym over the last six months. And it’s all led up to this moment.

One no holds barred fight with Boston underground’s biggest and baddest competitors. The first and most important step in my plan. There isn’t a fight that goes by the Irish and Russians don’t place bets on. It’s in their blood to love this sport.

Unfortunately for me, I can’t just walk into Slainte and ask for a job. In their world it doesn’t work that way. They hire people they trust. And the only way to get on that list is to build a rapport. So the quickest way for me to get their attention?

You guessed it. I’m gonna’ knock one of these motherfuckers out.

Which one of them takes the bait makes no difference to me. I only need one to take an interest in me. And there’s nothing the Irish respect more than a damn good fight.

I glance at myself in the mirror and steel my nerves with another deep breath as I crack my knuckles and do a couple of shoulder rolls. I’m in the best shape of my life and more ready than I’ll ever be. My long raven hair is braided and thrown over my shoulder. A light sheen of sweat coats my pale white skin as I shift from foot to foot. My blue eyes are electric, even without a scrap of makeup on my face. I can literally feel the energy humming through my body, breathing life into me as I recite my father’s creed in my head.

“You’ll knock em’ dead.” Scarlett smiles from behind me.

I spin around and cross my arms, hitting her with the meanest glare I can muster up. “What the hell, Scarlett? I told you not to come here, it’s dangerous.”

She shrugs, of course. “Do you think these guys are any worse than the ones I deal with on a nightly basis? And I came here to watch you fight. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The pride in her voice is unmistakable and I smile in spite of myself. I really shouldn’t because it only encourages her. And I want Scarlett as far away from this as possible.

“The very minute it’s over you get out of here,” I tell her. “Go straight home and make sure nobody follows you. And while I’m out there, you’re just another observer.”

She nods to pacify me though I know she hasn’t listened to a word I just said. Before I have time to reiterate, Johnny comes in.

“You ready, Mack?”

I nod and slip into my robe, placing the hood over my hair to conceal my face. “Yep.”

Johnny grins and shakes his head just as the music starts up. I picked it myself. LL Cool J’s
Mama Said Knock You Out
.