The Killer's New Wife by Hamel, B. (uplifting novels .TXT) 📗

“It’s not so bad. Ewan killed the last owner because he got a little too violent, but the one before him was kind of nice.” She shrugged a little bit. “But it sounds like we have some options now.”

“My father,” I said suddenly. “Did he come here? Did he ever come in here?”

She shook her head sadly. “Sorry, honey, but no. I only ever met Jermaine one time, when I got off that cargo ship, sick and dizzy and out of my mind. He gave me a shot that cleared all the pain away, patted me on the ass, and told me good luck. Never saw him again, but all the girls say he did that for him. Shot in the arm, pat on the ass, good luck. He was one of those guys.”

I didn’t know what she meant, but I felt sick again. Ewan came over and gently helped Lotte up to her feet. She adjusted her robe.

“Go tell the other girls,” he said softly. “Figure out what you want to do. I don’t plan on telling the Don he forgot about this little shithole, so you have some time, if you want to stick around and make more money.”

“We’ll see what we want to do,” Lotte said, then put her hand on Ewan’s arm. “Thank you. I know what kind of man you are.”

His face was hard and he looked away, down toward me. I met his eyes, and I knew what kind of man he was too, although I didn’t think I agreed with Lotte, based on her tone.

“Good luck,” he said, and pulled away from her, then reached out to me. I let him help me up, and he hustled me to the door. I glanced back and caught Lotte hugging her robe closed as Irina came out from the back, frowning a little bit.

The door swung shut. Ewan held my arm as we walked back to his car. I stopped before I got in and puked on the pavement, the coffee finally coming up. It burned my throat and made my head spin. I saw spots at the edge of my vision before I got in and sat back, gasping for air.

We didn’t pull out right away. Ewan watched me carefully, and I wanted to scream at him, to scream in his face. My father trafficked women and I just met some of them. My father brought them over, stole them from their lives with promises, with money, with whatever, then got them hooked on drugs. My father, my sick father, my dead father.

I hated him and hated myself for not seeing it sooner.

“You did good in there,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said, and laughed once, disgusted with myself. Coffee puke still tingled my tongue and throat. “What’s going to happen to them?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s not normal for the Don to forget about a cat house like that. I took care of their problem boss three weeks ago, and normally a few soldiers would be in charge of that place the next day, but here we are.”

“Can they escape?” I asked, desperate to know that at least some of the girls my father ruined could have some semblance of a normal life.

“I hope so,” he said, and started the car engine. “We’ll see.”

“Why are you helping them?” I asked suddenly.

He stared straight ahead and hesitated. “Because I hate men like your father,” he said. “And I hate men like Larry, and the guy I killed that used to run that place, and all the others I sent to their graves. I hate them, and I hate that I work for a family that hires them and profits off them.”

“So why do you?” I asked, desperate.

He didn’t answer, and the car pulled out into traffic. I sank back in my seat and watched the city flash past as he drove around again aimlessly. I thought of my life, and all the times I could’ve realized something was wrong, and didn’t.

And all the girls that suffered because of it.

5

Ewan

That question still haunted me.

If I hated men like Larry and Jermaine, then why did I work for people that profited off them?

I had no good answer for that, and the question bothered me for the rest of the day.

I dropped Tara off back at the apartment and left her some cash. I told her to order some takeout if she wanted, but she stormed off into the bathroom, started the shower, and kept the door locked.

Poor girl. I wished I could do something to help, but there was nothing, not when her world was so broken. I left her alone then, since seeing me would only make it worse. I was the man that pulled the trigger and showed her the truth about her piece of shit father, and having me around would only keep those memories fresh and sharp.

I found Dean at a bar called Here It Is, a little dive joint near Girard. The place was dark, the bar oiled and polished, and the tables practically falling apart. Some were held together with duct tape and luck. They had two beers on tap and the cheapest liquor imaginable. Dean loved it because nobody knew him, and nobody bothered him.

I sidled up next to him at the bar and ordered a whiskey. It felt like rubbing alcohol in my throat.

“Bad day?” he asked, glancing at me over his drink.

“Something like that,” I said, and the bartender filled me back up, a dark-skinned guy with liver spots and a cheap hat pulled down low.

“How’s the girl?” He asked it casually, swirling his drink, but I felt his intense interest.

“Fine,” I said. “Back at my place right now.”

“You think it’s smart, leaving her along?”

I shrugged. “If she runs, then your father will hunt her down and kill her. If she doesn’t, she’s equally fucked. What’s the girl supposed to do?”

“I don’t give a shit what she does,” Dean said, sounding exasperated. His dark eyebrows