Conor Read Online A. Zavarelli (Boston Underworld #6)

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Dark, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Boston Underworld Series by A. Zavarelli
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Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
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I bend over and contort my body to grab the lighter, but it’s not as easy as I’d hoped. It takes me three attempts and precious time. When I finally do get a hold of it, it won’t fucking light. There’s only a small amount of fluid left inside, and Ronnie’s muffled sounds warn me that I’m running out of time.

I shake it, and it finally ignites before I force it between my wrists. I’m expecting a slow, agonizing process, but it takes off so fast I don’t have a chance to pull away before the flaming rope singes my shirt.

I jerk my arms apart to avoid burning them, which only manages to cut into my skin. My wrists are raw from the harsh fibers of the rope, but I keep at it, tugging until it finally gives way. When I reach down to untie the knot around my legs, I’m shaking like a leaf. I think I’m in shock, or maybe too much adrenaline. I can’t hear Ronnie anymore. He’s going to be back any second, and I have nothing to fight him off with.

As I’m pulling out the desk drawer, he comes back, and his face goes white. “What the fuck?”

He comes at me, and I have no choice. I swing it as hard as I can and crack him in the head. Without waiting to assess the damage, I take off running. I can’t look back to see if he’s behind me.

I can only go forward.

“They aren’t talking,” Reaper says.

“Then we keep at it until they do,” I tell him.

He sighs. We’re both soaked in blood, and the two Locos we’ve got strapped inside his torture room aren’t going to last much longer. Logically, I know that. We’ve already cut off their ears, noses, fingers toes, and any other appendages I didn’t think they’d need anymore. All they can tell us is to go fuck ourselves, and I’ve never felt so desperate.

Ronan sets down his tools and shakes his head. “If they knew where she was, they would have said so by now. I’ve seen stronger men crack over less.”

I pace the floor and throw a glass at the wall, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. “Fucks sake, it shouldn’t be this hard. We can’t stop until we get something. If they touch her—”

“Where’s the wee one?” Ronan asks.

“He’s upstairs with Rory.”

“I think ye need to have another word with him. Ask him what else he can remember.”

I don’t want to push Archer any more. He’s been traumatized enough as it is, but Ronan has a point. If I don’t, then the lad might not have a mom by the end of the night.

“I’ll keep working on these fellas,” Ronan assures me. “You just sort it out with the boy.”

I huff it upstairs to Crow’s office, zipping up my coat along the way so Archer doesn’t see the blood. Rory’s got him at Crow’s desk, coloring in a book when I walk in.

“Anything?” Rory asks.

I shake my head. “I need to have a quick word with my wee pal.”

He nods and sits down on the sofa while I walk around the desk and kneel beside Archer. He looks at me with eyes too innocent to know such pain. “Have you talked to mama yet?”

I can’t bring myself to lie to the kid, but it kills me to let him down. “I’m still trying, but I need your help, Archer. Can you do something for me?”

“Yes,” he answers. “What should I do?”

“I need you to close your eyes for a second, okay?”

He gives me a funny look, but then does as I asked. “Okay.”

“Now I need ye to think about this afternoon. When you and mama were standing on the steps getting ready to leave, do you remember where she said ye were off to?”

“An adventure,” he whispers.

“Okay.” I rub his back. “That’s very good, Archer. Now were you standing outside waiting for a ride?”

“Mama called a cab,” he supplies.

“Alright. And did the cab show up?”

“Yes. She was putting our stuff in, but when the guy got out, she told me to go inside.”

Something about this just doesn’t seem right. I don’t see the Locos driving around in a cab trying to nail her. “Do you remember anything about the guy?” I ask. “Can ye tell me what he looked like?”

“He was wearing a cap,” Archer says. “And a jacket. I think he hurt his arm.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it was in one of those things the doctor gives people who hurt their arms.”

“Christ,” I mutter.

Archer’s eyes widen, and I apologize. “Ye did a grand job, little fella. I’m going to go find mama now, okay?”

“Please tell her I miss her,” he says.

My throat feels like a vice when I offer him a smile. “I will.”


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