Bad Boy Saint (The Bad Boy Series Book 1) Page 6

  Some Irish families sent their boys to seminary to become priests. My family sent us to the ring to become fighters. Our family was known as the Fighting Irish Saints. We fought our hearts out, scrappy, dedicating our lives to the pugilistic art.

  That was the story, anyway.

  The real story was that we'd been fighting for generations to keep out of the organized crime world, but had mostly failed—even more so under my Uncle Donny's leadership, or lack thereof. He laundered money and collected protection money for the Russian mob to keep them from burning down the business. My brother Sean provided muscle for the Romanov family, breaking legs and arms or whatever body part the family needed to get the money they were owed.

  I refused to become involved. The exception to the family rule, I'd given up boxing and the family business after my grandfather burned to death in a crash outside of Boston—a suspicious single vehicle rollover and fire which my father claimed was the result of his mob ties. As a sixteen-year-old at my grandfather's funeral, I decided I would go clean and extricate myself from my family's business and influence.

  After receiving an MBA from Harvard, I planned on starting a business with my best friend Graham. If all else failed, I'd join the Marines like my mom's father – the side of our family that wasn't tied to the mob. The side I wanted to emulate.

  That weekend, I felt good about my life. It was Saturday and I'd been out surfing and when I arrived back at the beach outside our family house on Cape Ann, a considerable crowd of my friends from Harvard had arrived. It was the last week before we closed the beach cottage and I wanted to party hard.

  When I saw Celia, I thought once again how hot she had become – so different from the skinny girl with braces and glasses who grew up before my eyes into a stunner.

  Greg, one of my friends from Harvard Business, sat beside me at the makeshift beach bar. I'd pulled out all the stops for this final party before we closed the cottage down for the fall. I'd hired a bartender and had several kegs of beer brought in, several fire pits built, and a music system set up so we could party all night long.

  Greg wolf-whistled when he saw Celia.

  "Man, is she hot or what?" Greg said, turning to where she stood—a knockout brunette with dark doe eyes and a body that just wouldn't stop.

  "She sure grew up. Girl's got it going on."

  "And," I said, "she’s officially off-limits."

  "Crap." Greg said, resignation in his tone. "Life's not fair."

  Graham and Celia were regular fixtures at the gym when she was growing up. I'd treated her as my own kid sister, never expecting that she'd grow up to become a regular participant in my fantasies.

  "She used to be skinny as a rake and had these thick glasses and braces."

  "She's not skinny anymore," Greg replied. "She's built. Baby's got front and back."

  I glanced around and surveyed the several dozen friends who were on the beach. Of all the women at the beach party, Celia was the one I wanted. The one I would pick, given the choice. Which I usually was.

  I never wanted what I could have. It was always the one just out of reach.

  That was the story of my family's life. We always bit off more than we could chew. Ambition and pride pushed us to achieve, but at a cost. I didn’t want to think about any of my family's seedier connections, so I pushed it all out of my mind.

  We watched as Celia ran out into the surf wearing her wetsuit and carrying her board. She caught wave after wave like a pro. Graham taught her well. He'd been a serious surfer who surfed every weekend during the summers. Until I was sixteen, I’d spent my summers boxing in the amateur MMA circuit, so I hadn't been part of Graham's life except during the school year.

  I’d lost touch with Celia when she went away to boarding school, but the three of us reunited at Harvard when Celia started her freshman year and Graham and I were finishing up our last year of our MBAs. She was still Graham's kid sister and so she was untouchable.

  Which was pure hell, because that was all I could think of when we were together.

  When Celia finished surfing about half an hour later, Greg and I watched as she returned to the beach chairs where the party was being held and removed her wetsuit.

  "She's seriously hot," Greg said once more, his voice appreciative. "Like, get her drunk and party hard hot."

  My back stiffened.

  Greg wasn't the kind of man I wanted to hit on Celia. Although I was also mentally fucking her—and very guiltily, I might add—I didn’t like the thought that a manslut like Greg was ogling her. Or should I say, another manslut.

  I knew what I was.

  I shook my head and took a sorrowful sip of my beer. “She's officially off-limits, in case you're too dull to realize it.”

  “What?” Greg turned to me. “She's all grown up, and very nicely.

  "She's not on the market."

  Greg frowned. "Graham said she's starting her sophomore year at Harvard. Isn't she nineteen?”

  “I think so," I said, remembering something Graham had said the previous week. "Just turned.”

  "She spent four years at some Catholic boarding school upstate. Think of all the pent-up lust she must have."

  "She's a nice kid, Greg, not some plaything. Graham wouldn't approve of you making any moves on her."

  "Graham should back the fuck off, man. She’s ready to go. I might go over and buy her a drink. In fact,” Greg said, giving me a telling leer, “that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  I stood, my hand on his shoulder. “She’s off-limits.”

  He glanced at my hand. At almost a foot taller than Greg, I towered over him. While he spent most of his down time in bars playing the field, I spent a lot of mine in my family's gym. I could take him easily and he knew it. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but I would if I had to.

  “Oh, man,” Greg said. “Cockblocker is so not a good look on you, Hunter. You’re supposed to be my wingman. What the fuck?”

  “It’s Graham’s little sister. She's not only sweet, she's brilliant and she’s not fresh meat.”

  “You know, those words sound really strange coming from your lips.” Greg took a long swig from his beer. “Graham’s going to be gone tomorrow, and you're going to be gone, but I’m still at Harvard for another year, so…”

  I straightened to my full height and glowered at Greg. He'd seen me in the ring before. He knew the damage I could do—and how fast I could do it. I was built and strong and he knew it.

  “You won’t touch her." I stuck my finger in his face. "And if you hadn’t screwed around all the time instead of studying, you’d be graduating with Graham and me instead of repeating a year.”

  “Jeez. What are you, my dad? Chill, okay? I’ll leave her alone. I’m not a rapist or anything.”

  “There are lots of fish in the sea.” I motioned to the array of beautiful young women on the beach. “Take your pick but leave Celia out of it. I'm serious. She's not fair game.”

  Greg glanced around and appeared to consider.

  “Later, bro.” He punched me lightly on the arm and left me sitting at the beach bar.

  Alone again, I turned around on the bar stool and considered Celia, who was towel-drying her long dark hair. She was officially nineteen, so by all rights she was a full-grown woman and could do whatever—or whomever—she wanted, but she wasn’t a party girl. I knew that much from what Graham had told me about her over the years. Serious by nature, Celia was a bookworm who planned on studying criminal law at Harvard, following in her dead father's footsteps.

  Her stepfather Spencer had practically kept her under lock and key during high school, and I could see why. She was a beauty. I hated to see my former frat brothers hitting on her, knowing how persistent they could be.

  I turned back to my beer and considered my upcoming schedule. My father wanted me to stay in Boston and work with him, but I'd be drawn into the worst part of the business no matter what I did—organized crime. My father had intended to take the bus
iness legit, but he’d failed.

  Graham and I were talking about starting a business together but I wasn't sure things would work out. Spencer hated me and my family. As the Assistant DA, he had a pretty good idea about us, but I wanted to be completely legitimate and not use any of my family's dirty money.

  That had to count for something.

  If things didn’t work out with Graham, I'd sign up with the Marines like my grandfather on my mother's side.

  No matter what choice I made, I couldn't have Celia anyway. While I was musing on the fact that I’d never have Graham's beautiful little sister, he sat down beside me at the beach bar.

  "So, any news on your decision?" He grabbed a beer from the bartender. "You going to stick with your dad? I know he wants you to help Sean run things."

  I frowned. "What about Innova?" I asked, mentioning the name Graham and I settled on for the business we were going to start together.

  "You know what a hardass Spencer is." Graham took a drink. "I don't know if I can do it. Besides, it'll be hard for your dad not having you to help with the business."

  I said nothing for a moment, too shocked at Graham's suggestion that we might not go into business together. I'd already filed papers to check for our business name but maybe I'd been wrong about Graham's commitment to our vision for an investment start-up…

  He knew I didn't want to get mixed up with my father's business. I'd often complained about the business dealings that were bordering on criminal – or outright criminal – that he couldn't seem to escape.

  "You're getting cold feet," I said softly.

  "Nothing's been decided yet, but it's hard for me to come up with money."

  "I thought you had your trust fund," I reminded him. We were going to use it as half our nest egg to start the business. I'd provide the rest.

  "There are complications," he replied. "That's all I can say for now. You can still go on your own even if I can't join you right away. Besides, you said you might join the Marines if things didn’t work out."

  "I thought it was a sure thing," I replied, trying not to sound as disappointed as I was.

  "Your dad needs you," Graham said. "Sean really has no mind for business. What happened to the old I'll clean up the business plan you had?"

  "It worked out really well for Michael Corleone," I replied dryly, referencing the Godfather movie Graham and I had watched when we were kids.

  "If you got involved," he added like it was a done-deal, "You could clean things up. Take the business legit. Cut ties with your uncle. Extricate the business from the mob."

  I raised my eyebrows at him. "They don’t tend to like it when you stop paying them protection money. I think my father understands my decision to start a business not at all tied to the gym, even if he's upset."

  Graham made a face. "Go into the Marines, then. I'll miss you but we all have to move on, right?"

  I drank down my beer and placed the empty bottle on the bar. "I may do that."

  "Your dad will be upset if you do, but you gotta be your own man, Hunter," Graham said, and took a long swig of his beer. "Do you think Sean can manage?"

  "I don't know," I said, and shrugged. "That's the one thing that's stopping me. He's distracted."

  "Too many knock-outs." Graham shook his head. "Good thing you stopped fighting when you did or you'd be a lot uglier than you already are."

  I laughed at that, despite the sick feeling in my gut that Graham was pulling out on me. I was called Pretty Boy Saint when I was—briefly—in the local MMA circuit. For whatever reason, I'd managed to avoid the kind of disfigurement other fighters suffered—cauliflower ears, broken and bent noses, busted swollen lips like Sean and Conor. I had my share of scars from kicks and punches, but my bones had all remained intact.

  "I see Celia is with you," I said, keeping my tone level. I had planned to tell him Greg was talking about hitting on her, but Graham interrupted me.

  "Speaking of which, stay away from her." Graham turned to me, catching my eye, an accusing expression on his face.

  I frowned, a jolt of adrenaline surging through me. "Like you really need to even say that."

  "I know what a dog you are. Just keep away, okay? Spencer would love an excuse to come after your family. Believe me, any excuse. If you even touch Celia, you're going down."

  I glanced away, hurt by his words. "I thought you'd ask me to look out for her."

  "What am I? A fool?" he said, laughing. "I know you better than anyone."

  "Then you should know I've never laid a hand on Celia and never would."

  "Keep it that way."

  We sat in an awkward silence, and I was at a loss for what to say.

  Sure, I was a notorious bachelor, and hadn’t dated seriously since I’d entered the MBA program. I’d tried love, but found it to be untrustworthy. You give your heart to someone, tell them your secrets, your fears, and they up and leave you for your frat brother.

  I grabbed another beer and took a long drink, needing the warmth to wash away the anger and hurt Graham's words brought out. Not only had he given me a not-so-subtle hint that we wouldn't be going into business together, he was warning me off his little sister.

  Like I was planning on banging Celia…

  Yes, I’d imagined it. Practically every time I saw her I imagined it, but I would never hit on Celia even though she’d grown up to be this beautiful sexy woman.

  I wouldn't touch her. I knew how her family felt about me and mine.

  "You're a hound," Graham said. "You can't deny that, even if you're my friend. Keep away." Graham stood up from the beach bar. "I'm going up the coast with a few guys to catch some bigger waves. Greg's going to watch over Celia for me."

  "Greg?" My jaw dropped in shock. "He's as big a hound dog as I am. He's already said he wanted to hook up with her."

  "He was just testing you. See what you said. I'm warning you: Stay away."

  "Don't worry about me." I gripped my beer. "I'm not in the market for the girl next door."

  “I’m counting on that,” Graham said and held my gaze. “She’s not that kind of girl, Hunter, and you know it.”

  I waved him off and he finally left me alone, carrying his board to his Jeep. I sat there fuming and thinking about Graham's stepfather. He had ample reason to dislike my family, and avoided being connected too closely with any of us despite my long friendship with Graham. Guilt by association and all. One day, I'd find a way to take the business totally legit, free from any association with my uncle and his wise-guy friends.

  Still, it hurt that Graham felt he had to even say anything about Celia. Graham and I had gone to public school and college together. While his family's money was legit and mine was dirty, it was all green and got us both into the same schools. There was nothing his stepfather the bastard assistant DA could do about that, no matter how hard he tried. He had tried to get my uncle on racketeering charges, but failed. He had a vendetta against us, and a grudge because my uncle had broken his perfect record of prosecuting bad guys.

  As I nursed my beer and considered my future, I felt someone sit beside me, and turned to see Celia. She’d sidled up beside me and taken the stool next to mine.

  Damn. She was hot in that girl-next-door, girl-you-take-home-to-mother way. Her skin was tan and smooth, her bikini was tiny with a semi-sheer wrap tied around her waist, and her long dark hair was wet from surfing. I’d admired her form while she rode the board during several decent waves and now I was seeing it up close.

  “Hey, Hunter,” she said in that soft voice. “What’s up?”

  “Not much, little sis." I did my best to put on my big brother persona. "That was some nice surfing. You’ve got great form. Graham's taught you well.” I tried to meet her eyes, but I couldn’t help taking her in with a quick look from her feet right back up to her eyes once more, skipping ever so briefly over her delicious over-ample curves, which threatened to spill out over the top of her tiny bikini. She was lush, like a ripe fruit brimming with sweet
juices—so different from the geeky dork girl with braces who used to hang out at the gym with Graham.

  "You look upset," she said and frowned. "What was my big brother saying to you that's made you mad? "

  "Nothing," I said and turned away from her too-probing expression. "Nothing's wrong."

  There was no use in talking about it, so I shut it off and tried to be more positive with her. It wasn't her fault her stepfather wanted to ruin my life.

  "How about you?" I asked, turning to her. "You're moving out next week. That must be exciting."

  I honestly hated to think of her alone at Harvard without either Graham or me to look out for her. We'd been her wingmen for the year as she learned the ropes at Harvard, and now she was moving out of the house and moving into Kirkland House, the most prestigious dorm on campus.

  Her big chocolate brown eyes took me in, her thick black lashes clumped and still wet. A light spray of freckles over her nose gave her this totally innocent look, in contrast to those bedroom eyes. She looked so delicious I was afraid I'd get a hard-on just sitting there looking at her.

  “I'm excited. There's so much to do, and I'm so glad to be free of Spencer."

  I nodded, understanding completely how she must be feeling. "Free at last, am I right? That's actually what Graham was talking to me about."

  She narrowed her eyes. “Was he giving you a hard time? Telling you to watch over me?”

  “Something like that. He was just worrying about you and all these sharks in these waters.” I gestured to the bar with my chin. "And I mean the human ones, not fish."

  "Sharks?" She laughed. "You have to remember, I grew up with Graham and you. I know all about men." She waved me off like I was being foolish, which I most definitely wasn’t. I knew what might be in store for someone as sweet and innocent as her.

  “Hey, Celia!” Greg ran up to where we sat, concern on his face. "I'm assigned to be your knight in shining armor and protect you from the likes of him."