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

bedroom and leaned against the doorframe. “I’m taking you out.”

She looked up from the TV and stretched her legs. It was a little past ten at night on a Wednesday, and she’d been cooped up all week, except for our short excursion a few days before. I hated keeping her around like a pet, and she wandered around the apartment, doing yoga, watching TV, reading whatever books I brought home for her, but she was antsy, and she wanted to get out.

So I was going to give her a trip into the real world.

“Taking me out?” she asked, perking up a little. “Now why would you do such a thing?”

“Call it a treat for being good.”

She rolled her eyes and collapsed back against the pillows. “God, and for a second, I thought you weren’t being an asshole.”

I walked into her room and started going through her drawers. I picked out a pair of dark jeans and a low-cut gray top from some designer boutique I’d never heard of, but was obscenely expensive. I tossed the clothes over to her.

“Get dressed,” I said. “And let’s go.” I left her room and lingered in the hallway. I heard her grumble, but the TV turned off, and she started getting dressed. When she emerged, she was wearing the outfit I picked out, with a pair of dark heels and her hair swept over one shoulder. For a girl that was in bed wearing sweats five minutes earlier, she looked absolutely incredible.

“I hope it’s somewhere nice,” she said as we headed downstairs.

“It’s not,” I said, and we walked around the block, heading west. “But it’s my favorite spot.”

“What’s it called?”

“One Less Rib,” I said.

She laughed and tugged at her hair. “Seriously? Sounds like we’re getting barbecue.”

“It’s more like an old-school British pub,” I said. “Except it’s a dive. You’ll love it.”

The place was crowded when we arrived. I knew some made guys sitting at the bar and gave them the nod, but didn’t approach. One held up his drink as a sign of respect. I led Tara to an empty seat and flagged down the waitress, a young girl in black tank top with short hair and too much eye makeup. We ordered drinks, and I scanned the room to see if I knew anyone else.

The place was dimly lit. The walls were laminate wood, stained dark and scratched to hell. Pictures of dogs in fancy clothing covered the walls. Antlers were perched above the bar, and an old guy in a white suit served drinks, moving at a leisurely pace. The floors were bouncy and the tables were covered in thick coats of lacquer, but half the people had some connection to the crime families, and the other half were perfectly clueless.

I had an ulterior motive for bringing Tara to this specific bar. While it wasn’t exactly linked with the Valentino family, I knew word would leak out if I was spotted there, especially if Tara was with me. I wanted the Don to hear that I was giving an effort with Tara, and hoped that it would give us more time. I knew we had a month, but that deadline loomed like a massive, dying redwood tree, waiting to crush me into pieces.

The waitress returned with my whiskey and Tara’s vodka tonic. Tara leaned forward, chewing on the straw. “Okay, you dragged me here. Now please explain why this craphole is your favorite bar in the world.”

I laughed and shrugged. The whiskey tasted good going down. “Look at it,” I said. “Kitschy art. Bartender in a white suit. What could be better?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Comfortable chairs? Somewhere that’s not totally packed? Floors that don’t smell like puke?”

I waved that off, but she was right. The place was crowded for a Wednesday night. It was always crowded though—mafioso men didn’t give a fuck what day of the week it was. If they wanted to get fucked up, they did.

“It has character,” I said with a casual shrug and leaned back. “What sort of places did you go to?”

She arched an eyebrow. “You mean, before I got kidnapped by you?”

I grinned and put a finger to my lips. “Quiet, or else someone will hear.”

She rolled her eyes but sipped her drink. “Local places,” she said. “I was a waitress for a long time so I went out with the girls from work.”

I swirled my drink. “Think they’re worried about you?”

“Probably,” she said and her expression darkened. “I never got my shifts covered.”

“I’m sure they figured it out.”

“I know.” She stopped and seemed to curl in on herself. “It’s just that that was my first and only job ever, you know? I wanted to go to college, but I couldn’t get the money from my dad, and now I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“There are other ways of going to college,” I said, watching her carefully. “You could get loans. Apply for scholarships and grants.”

She snorted. “What do you know about that?”

“I wasn’t always a thug, you know.”

“Please, what, do you have a degree?”

I shook my head. “Of course not. But there was a time when I thought about it. Don Valentino said he would’ve sent me, if I could’ve gotten in somewhere local.”

“Why didn’t you then?” she asked.

“I guess running drugs and getting in fights was more fun.” I sipped my drink and looked toward the bar. I remembered those days fondly, though sometimes I wondered what would’ve become of me if I’d taken Don Valentino up on his offer. I finished high school and had surprisingly good grades, but the idea of college never really appealed.

I was sure the Don would’ve put me to work in his business somehow. Nothing ever came free from the Don, especially not something expensive like a college degree. It would’ve been a different life, but the same in a lot of ways.

“Yeah, well, I think college isn’t in the cards for me. I doubt I’ll ever get back. I’m not even sure where I’ll be