Bad Boy Saint (The Bad Boy Series Book 1) Page 4

  Down a long hall, past the washrooms, was the small, cramped office filled with old furniture. It was like a relic from the fifties. Not much had changed since the last time I had been in the office when I was a kid and Hunter and Graham were best friends. I spent so many afternoons at the gym once school got out and Graham was responsible for me until supper. So many Saturdays and Sundays Graham dragged me along to watch the two of them work out or spar. Even the smell of old leather and sweat was familiar and elicited a strong pang of melancholy and sadness that it had all gone so spectacularly wrong.

  The office was empty. Not even Conor or Mr. Saint were there. I sighed, upset that I wouldn’t get the chance to at least talk to Hunter. I saw a sticky note pad on the desk and decided to leave a message for him in case he came by later.

  Hunter, I was here to speak with you.

  Graham asked me to come by and talk to you.

  He needs your help.

  Please call or text me.

  Celia

  I left the sticky on the computer screen and then thought I should go upstairs where Hunter lived to see if he was there. I'd been upstairs only once four years earlier. It was a fantastic apartment above the gym, and had been renovated with the top of the line fixtures and furnishings. I'd spent most of the night in Hunter's bedroom, but had never gone back.

  My memories of that night returned as I climbed the stairs to the floor, my heart in my throat at the prospect of seeing Hunter again. I hadn't talked with him since that fateful night that set all this in motion, although I did see him from a distance at the funeral for Sean.

  What would he say if I showed up at his door?

  I went to the apartment and stood at the front entrance, my heart racing. Behind the door, I heard laughter – a woman's soft high voice and then a man's low voice, deep, and amused.

  Was it Hunter?

  If it was him and not Conor, he was there with a woman.

  I turned away and crept back down the stairs, for as much as I needed to speak with Hunter, there was no way on Earth I would dare interrupt him if he had a woman with him. Besides, I hated the idea that he was with someone else. There was still this silly part of me that would always be in love with him, no matter what.

  I hated that part of me, but it was a part I couldn't deny.

  I left the gym quickly, having not run into anyone who recognized me and gave a huge sigh of relief once I was outside. I was a coward after all, afraid to face Hunter.

  He'd find my message and know I was there. He'd know it was serious so I hoped he'd call me the next day.

  I took the bus home and flopped down on my tiny sofa once I was back inside my dorm room. On the coffee table were a half-dozen articles I needed to read for the next week, but my heart was just not into it.

  I took out my cell and checked once more for any messages, but there was none so I wrote another text.

  CELIA: Hunter, I really really need to speak with you. This is a life or death matter.

  I hoped that would convince him to contact me. He understood life and death matters – probably better than most. He'd been a MMA fighter. After the blowup with Spencer, he'd joined the Marines. He'd become and officer and then seen combat. He'd seen his brother shot down by police…

  There was no response by midnight when I finally threw down the last journal article and decided to call it a night.

  I knew what I had to do.

  I had to go to the club. Tomorrow was Saturday. I had to work at noon for four hours, and I had to see Graham, but Hunter spent Saturday nights at his uncle's club in South Boston, working as a night manager. I'd go to the club and confront him. Maybe if I showed up in person, he'd realize how serious this was and stop avoiding me.

  I went to sleep with a sense of gloom. What if Hunter refused to help us?

  Graham seemed so sure of his old best friend but I wasn't.

  The feud between our two families reached back more than a decade. Even farther back because the two families had been on opposite sides of the law and were adversaries. I hoped that Graham's situation would soften Hunter's heart and convince him to help us.

  We had four days before the loan shark would expect to be paid. I had to contact Hunter and soon or who knew what they'd do to Graham and then to me to collect their debt?

  On Saturday morning, I visited Graham before I went to work. He was feeling much better and was sitting up by the side of the bed briefly with a nurse at his side.

  "You're getting him up already?" I asked, hoping that meant he was ready to come home. "Will he be coming home soon?"

  "Not for a while," the nurse said and helped Graham lie back down. "He's still got a few days to go on the neuro ward. Once we get the catheter out, and he's able to walk around the ward a few times, the doctor will consider releasing him to the rehab wing. He had serious internal injuries and broken bones. He'll need extensive rehab."

  I nodded and sat on the chair beside Graham. The nurse administered him a dose of pain meds and before I could talk to him, he dozed off in a morphine haze. I checked my cell to see if Hunter had finally responded, but nothing.

  I had to go to the club and see if I could confront him.

  Honestly, I didn’t blame him that he refused to respond to me, but I had to talk to him.

  I spent an hour with Graham, reading several articles in my book bag I'd brought so I could read while he slept. Then, I went to work and took a bartender shift over the lunch hour. Later in the afternoon, after I choked down a quick lunch at work, I went back to the hospital and sat with Graham until dinner when I went back to my dorm.

  When I arrived back at Kirkland House, Amy popped in to see me. "Hey," she said. "How's big bro?"

  "On the mend. Still catheterized so he's not being released to a rehab ward until it's out."

  "Ow," she said and made a face. "That's gotta hurt. Poor bastard."

  "I know. They bruised his kidneys and bladder, I guess."

  "So, what's the plan?" she asked and plopped down on my bed. "You going to the club tonight?"

  I nodded. "Yep. After supper. I'll go and see if Hunter's there. From what Graham told me, he's usually there on weekend nights, managing the club. I’ll go early and try to see him."

  "Do you want me to come along for moral support?"

  I shook my head. "No," I said and sighed. "This is something I have to do myself."

  "Okay, but if you change your mind…"

  "I won't."

  She and I had dinner together in the dining hall, and then I watched some television, working up the nerve to go to the club and confront Hunter. I had this low level of anxiety about seeing him. Scratch that – it was a high level of anxiety, and I felt a little sick to my stomach.

  I could only imagine the look of hate on his boyishly beautiful face when he saw me – the outright contempt in his pale blue eyes. Eyes that once stared into mine during the most intimate moment of my life.

  An intimacy I’d never been able to rekindle with anyone else since.

  At eight, I popped into the washroom and brushed my teeth, fixed my hair and checked out my image in the mirror. My long dark hair was pulled back into a pony tail. I didn't wear makeup besides a bit of gloss. I wore my hoodie and jeans and my Blundstones.

  I looked like an average college student and not a damsel in distress approaching the local hard-hearted head of an Irish mafia family for money to pay off loan sharks…

  I still could barely believe that had become my reality.

  I kept putting off going and decided to drop by Graham's hospital room before I went, just to give him a break from being alone all evening. He was watching television when I arrived and had this expectant expression in his eyes when I walked in.

  "Did you talk to Hunter?" he asked through a clenched jaw.

  I shook my head. "I thought I'd stop by and see my big bro first," I said and leaned down to kiss his cheek.

  "Go tonight," he said. "He'll have to get the money. It might take time
."

  "I will," I said, my stomach lurching at the thought. "As soon as I leave."

  That seemed to satisfy him and so I sat on the chair beside his bed and we watched the game on the tiny television for a while.

  "What happens if Hunter won't give you the money?"

  Graham turned his head and looked in my eyes. "Then we'll tell Spencer. But don't tell them until you talk to Hunter. I don’t want to ruin their vacation for nothing. If he helps, I won't tell Spencer."

  I kissed Graham's cheek. "Don’t worry. I won't tell him either. We've all suffered enough shit from him."

  I left him at nine and made my way from Mass General to the The Venue, the music and dance club Hunter's Uncle Donny owned in the waterfront district. When Donny went to prison, Hunter took over and managed it. Located on Seaport Boulevard, it was just a block from the water in an old warehouse. In the center of the block, it dominated the street, and there was already a lineup to get inside even that early on a Saturday night. Things didn’t usually get busy until after ten, but tonight was busier than normal.

  I checked out the line and saw there was a bouncer at the door admitting people a couple at a time. I bypassed the line and went to him, hoping that if I dropped Hunter's name, he'd let me in ahead of other people.

  "The line ends there." A big beefy guy with a shaved head and a business suit pointed to the end of the line with his pen. He appeared to be taking names or checking names off a list on a clipboard. "But you're not getting in dressed like that so go home, little girl."

  I frowned. "I'm not here for the club. I'm here to see Hunter," I said, trying to display all the dignity I could muster.

  "You and a dozen other hopefuls. Now go. Grow up a bit and come back when you know how to dress."

  I checked out the people in line and saw they were all dressed up, the men in suits and the women in sexy dresses with high heels, their hair and makeup impeccable. By comparison, I appeared what I was – a college student with no social life and no clue what one even looked like.

  "I'm a friend of Hunter's," I said. "He’ll want to see me."

  "What's your name?" the bouncer asked.

  "Celia," I said. "Celia Parker." But I knew that my name wouldn’t ring a bell with the bouncer.

  He glanced over his clip board. "I checked my list, Celia Parker, and you're not on it, so get. Go home."

  "Hunter will be mad when he hears you turned me away."

  He laughed and checked me over. "I highly doubt that, little sister, but you dream on. Now, I have work to do, letting these very attractive people inside."

  With that, he turned away and I saw smiles on the faces of those people at the front of the line.

  I felt like a complete idiot. Of course, I didn’t expect there would be a lineup this early. I thought I'd be able to just walk right into the club and go find Hunter in the back or wherever it was he spent his time.

  I walked away, found a taxi driving down a side street, and took it back to my dorm in Cambridge.

  I'd have to dress up if I wanted to see Hunter that night. I knew what I had to do. I had to call in the big guns.

  Chapter 6

  Celia

  Amy glanced at me, her eyes narrowed. "I could have told you that you'd never get in looking like that," she said, her voice amused. "Look at you – faded boyfriend jeans, Blundstones, a grey hoodie? What were you thinking?"

  "This is me," I said and shrugged. "This is who I am."

  "Who you are is awesome, underneath that student getup. Now, let's look in your closet…"

  She checked out my closet and took various skirts and blouses and shook her head sadly.

  "When was the last time you went on a date?"

  "Months ago, and you know it."

  She laughed. "I do know it."

  My romantic life was dismal, so I didn't have a lot of sexy numbers that I could wear to The Venue to impress the very discerning bouncer at the front door.

  "You can borrow my red dress," she said and pulled me into her room. "With your black hair and fair skin, you'll be a knockout." She opened her wardrobe and removed this red dress with deep plunging neckline that fell just above the knee. "Wear these shoes and put on some eyeliner, you'll have Hunter eating out of your hand."

  "Hardly," I said with a grim laugh. "Remember it's me asking for money from him. If anything, it'll be me eating out of his hand."

  I changed clothes and then sat in front of her desk while she brushed my hair and straightened it with a flat iron until it was shining.

  When she was finished, she stood behind me so that I could see myself in the mirror over her desk. "Your hair looks like black silk."

  Then, she proceeded to paint me up so that I was practically unrecognizable.

  "Kitten eyes are all the rage. That stupid bouncer won't be able to resist you now." I checked myself out in the mirror and sure enough, I looked like someone else.

  Someone who fit in with the rest of the crowd at The Venue.

  I slipped on Amy's black pumps with the straps around the ankles and turned in a circle for her.

  "Perfect," she said. "When Hunter sees you, he'll realize what he lost back then."

  I shook my head. "He'll hate me. He'll look at me with total contempt. I can see him now." The very thought of it made my stomach churn.

  "I'm coming with you," Amy said. Then, she proceeded to get dressed herself in something hot – a black dress that looked great against her blonde hair. She applied her makeup quickly like a pro, and within half an hour, we were out the door and into her little Austin on our way to the waterfront where I would once again try to get past the bouncer.

  By the time we got there, the lineup was even longer than before and so Amy and I stood at the end and talked while we waited for the line to move. It was slow going. The place was popular and was one of the in-spots on a weekend night.

  The weather was warm and the sounds coming from the depths of the club made my heart rate increase. What would Hunter think when he saw me? Would he even be there or would this be a total waste of time?

  By the time we got to the front of the line, the bouncer looked us over and motioned inside with his jaw. He didn’t recognize me, and I was happy I took Amy's advice and changed clothes.

  We entered the building and made our way past the cashier where we paid the cover charge and then went inside. The EDM was blaring, the fog machines were pumping out the fog on the dance floor and laser lights bounced off the walls.

  Amy turned to me, a frown on her face. "You look like you've seen a ghost.

  I hadn't seen a ghost.

  I'd seen Hunter.

  Hunter Saint. The middle brother of three. The Fighting Irish Saint Brothers, they were called by those in the business.

  All six feet four inches of gorgeous Hunter Saint.

  There he sat on a sofa on a raised dais in the rear of the huge room. He leaned back, his arms on the back of the sofa, his legs spread, surveying the club like he owned the world. Beside him sat an equally well-dressed man leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He was speaking to Hunter and Hunter nodded occasionally, lifting a glass of some beverage to his mouth every now and then. On the sofa beside Hunter sat a beautiful blonde and her friend, who were leaning close and talking to each other.

  She must be Hunter's most current fuckbuddy. Despite everything, a surge of jealousy filled me.

  Hunter looked just as drop-dead hunky as the last time I saw him. His hair was a bit longer, but there was nothing that could disguise that fair skin, pale blue eyes with thick lashes and chiseled features. Impossibly handsome with a touch of boyish beauty that made my heart skip a beat.

  Pretty Boy Saint was his nickname when he fought in the MMA circuit when he was younger, before he finished his MBA and joined the Marines.

  The last time I saw him at the funeral for Sean, Hunter was still in the Marines and had his hair buzzed so short on the sides you could see his scalp. Whitewalls the Marines called it.
Now, his hair was longer, below his collar, tucked behind his ears. He looked like what he was – a wealthy owner of a mobbed-up business in South Boston.

  When I last saw him, he was on leave for the funeral, and still had that upright straight and narrow look to him like the red-blooded American hero that he was. Soon after the funeral, Hunter got out of the Marines on compassionate grounds to take over the business in Sean's place. Mr. Saint, their father, had suffered a heart attack a few years earlier and Sean had been the manager instead of him, but with Sean dead, Hunter had to step in.

  Conor was no manager and was busy with the Olympic boxing circuit, so it was left to Hunter to take over.

  I knew how much Hunter must have hated that. He had wanted to take the family business out of the bad influences in Boston – the family mafia ties in other words.

  Now, he was in the middle of it.

  It had been over a year since Sean died and I wondered how things had gone for Hunter and his dream to make his family's business completely legit. I doubted much had happened to change that, but I knew that was Hunter's eventual goal. According to Spencer, the Saints were still involved in money laundering for the Russian mob, and were still tied into the protection racket.

  Hunter never wanted that for himself.

  What a nightmare…

  Now, I was supposed to go up to him with all that between us, and ask him for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars to save my brother's – and possibly my life.

  "I need a drink," I said and turned to Amy. "Preferably a double."

  "Coming right up," she said and pulled me over to the bar.

  "Two Margaritas, doubles," she said to the bartender.

  "Two Margaritas coming up, doubles for the pretty ladies," the bartender said, winking at me. We watched him pour the drinks and then place them on the bar for us. I took mine and drank half of it down in one gulp.

  "Hey," Amy said, laughing. "Slow down. We have time."

  "I need liquid courage."