CROW (Boston Underworld Book 1) by A. Zavarelli Read Free Book Online Page B

place?
    There’s only one way to find out, and that involves getting into the back of the building. The one that’s closed off by dark walls and a pair of velvet curtains with a burly bouncer standing guard. That’s where the exotic dancing takes place, and unlike other clubs, it’s VIP and invitation only. That was where Talia worked, but she wasn’t a dancer. She swore up and down she was just a cocktail waitress, but I had a bad feeling about it all along. When I told her my concerns, she brushed them off and said the guys she worked for were great.
    One thing is for certain, they’re great at hiding what goes on here. When I filed her missing person’s report, they didn’t even have Talia on file as an employee. Supposedly there isn’t any sort of a camera security system either, which I thought was shady as hell and made a point to say so. But everything else appeared on the up and up, and the police quickly washed their hands of it.
    I don’t know if Talia is still alive. A very large part of me fears she isn’t. It’s been a year already. A year of exhausting every other option. I knew coming into this that it might be a one-way ticket to hell. But I can’t let it go. Talia doesn’t deserve to be treated like another statistic and I won’t stop until I find out what happened to her. If nothing else, I will give her the final resting place she deserves and make those responsible pay. These assholes think they can take vulnerable women and nobody will give a shit. But I’m here to show them just how wrong they are.
    The bartender brings me another glass of Patron, and I open my wallet to pay when he shakes his head.
    “On the house.”
    Shit. I’ve been made already. Just as I’m about to glance around to see who it is, I feel his body heat behind me. I don’t even have to look to know it’s him. His scent hangs in the air between us. Cedarwood, sweet limes, and the leather from his jacket. The same scent that lingered in the warehouse between us last week.
    “ Butterfly .” His breath skates over my ear in a threatening whisper. “Fancy seeing you here. Stalking me, are ye?”
    Pfft. Get a load of this guy. Stalking him? He frigging wishes. I turn around on my stool and come face to face with the devil himself. He’s a lot closer than I realized, and my leg brushes his when I come to a stop. He’s looking at me like he can’t believe it’s really me, sitting in his club. That’s a good thing, I hope.
    “If I’m the butterfly,” I say sweetly. “What does that make you?”
    “That depends.” He leans a little closer, inky darkness eclipsing the gray of his eyes. “What do you think I am?”
    “How about we just call a spade a spade?” I flash him a smile. “Or in this case, a Crow a Crow.”
    The threat in his gaze turns to something else entirely as he presses his hands against the bar and boxes me in with his arms. “How do ye know that name?”
    “Oh, puh-lease. Everybody in Boston knows the notorious Crows. This little club you’re running is a hot bed of criminal activity. For the… what’s it called?” I tap my finger against my lips. “Oh yeah, that’s right… the MacKenna Syndicate.”
    Before I can even really enjoy the effect my taunting has had on him, he’s grabbed me by the arm and yanked me off the stool. I’m dragged down a dark hallway and into an office before I’m roughly shoved against the wall.
    Without pretense, he starts groping around my body for a wire. His hands aren’t at all gentle, and I flush unexpectedly when his palms move over my breasts. Scorching heat ripples along every inch of me he brazenly roams. I definitely don’t like it, but I’m responding nonetheless. Until he yanks up my skirt and kicks my legs apart, cupping me through my thong.
    “Jesus,” I mutter. “You aren’t going to find one in there if that’s what you’re thinking.”
    His attention dips to the pulse that’s now jumping in my throat and his jaw sets as his