The Monster (Boston Belles 3)

“Remember our conversation the night of?”

“Night of?” I asked sardonically.

“The night you moved in with us permanently.”

The night Cat finally threw me to the curb.

“What about it?” I tensed, even after all these years.

“I told you one day a woman was going to change your mind about all women.”

I cocked my head, flashing her a pitiful look.

“You were wrong.”

“I’m about to be right. I have a feeling. A mother always has a feeling about her children. I was watching you today and…” she stopped, squeezing my arm tighter “…I don’t know how to explain this, but it is close. I could feel it. But you are fighting this. I can tell. You can’t reject fate, Sam. Whatever it is, go to her.”

Petting her head, I said, “She better fucking hope I don’t go to her because everything I touch, I ruin.”

With that, I gave her a peck on the cheek, leaving with a playful smile on my face.

Nothing could stop me from getting what I wanted, and what I wanted was to destroy Gerald.

Not even a like-minded monster with eyes like jewels.

It was a short distance from Sparrow and Troy’s place to my apartment block.

So short, in fact, after ten minutes of driving, I was starting to wonder why the fuck I wasn’t home yet. I looked around and realized I was heading straight to the clinic where Aisling had operated on my soldiers a little over a week ago.

God-fucking-dammit.

This wasn’t in my plan, but I was already halfway through Boston, heading toward Dorchester, so there was no point turning around now. Besides, it had nothing to do with Aisling. I wasn’t in the habit of not knowing things about my clients and their families. If Aisling was up to something stupid, I had to stop her.

I parked in front of the Victorian building, surveying it.

It was Sunday evening, so it was most likely empty. Then again, it was an underground clinic, so visiting hours may vary. When I was sure the place was deserted, I got out of the car and proceeded to break in. The front door was embarrassingly easy to tamper with, and when I descended the stairs to the actual clinic, there was a second flimsy door I only needed to shake a little to pry open.

I went for the third door—the door leading to the surgical room, where Nix treated Becker and Angus. This one was a breeze, too. Once inside her office, I started throwing drawers open and took note of the medicine they kept there, typing the long names of them on my phone so I could conduct a deeper research once I got home.

I checked every piece of furniture, examined every nook and corner until I hit the jackpot.

The patients’ files.

The first telltale sign something was wrong was the fact there was only one folder. Yellow and razor thin. What kind of clinic only took six to seven patients?

The kind that has very specific requirements to accept people in the first place.

I began flipping through the files, reading the patients’ records, their test results, their consultation recommendations.

Something didn’t add up. The drugs. The number of patients. The setting. I knew a scheme when I saw one, and this was so fucking fishy it gave the Atlantic a run for its money. One thing was for sure—whatever Aisling did, there was a good reason why she wanted to keep it a secret from her family and friends.

It wasn’t kosher.

It wasn’t good, or innocent, or fitting for the angelic Fitzpatrick. The Mother Teresa everyone knew and loved.

I tucked the folder back into the cabinet.

I was right.

She was a monster.

A terrible monster.

A sweet, beautiful Nix.

Now I just had to find out what her sins were.

I made a pit stop at Badlands and slipped into one of the card rooms, downing three stiff drinks to take the edge off what I saw at the clinic. Nix was a doctor, all right, but she didn’t work at the hospital or any of the registered clinics around town. Whatever she did, it was secretive, illegal, and had nothing to do with people without insurance.

Stop thinking about Nix. She is just collateral.

Collateral and an inconvenience at best and a complication at worse.

I needed to get my head out of my ass and be ridden by someone who wasn’t my niece. It was time for a diversion. A reminder there were other pussies out there. Just as good and warm and tight as Aisling’s and not half as troublesome.

Pent-up lust.

That was all it was.

I was a busy man ruling the underworld of one of the seediest, dirtiest places in the country. It’d been a long-ass time since I drowned myself in a woman. Aisling was the last, and the woman before her happened so long ago I forgot her name, her hair color, and the setting.