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

“Yes,” she whispered. “I can do it.”

“Get yourself together, go pay for the drinks, then leave. Walk back to the apartment. I’ll give you the key.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll follow soon,” I said. “Be ready to let me up when I come back. It might not be for a while.”

“Ewan—”

“Do what I’m asking you,” I said. “Clean up. Pay for the drink. Walk back to the apartment. Understand?”

“I understand,” she said.

“Good.” I turned away and walked to the bathroom door. “I’ll give you a minute.”

“No,” she said quickly, “stay in here, please.”

I hesitated, but nodded. She stared at me with her mouth hanging open, and I still wanted her more than anything, but I knew I had a long night ahead of me. It wasn’t easy, getting rid of a body.

She splashed water on her face and used a paper towel to staunch the bleeding. She fixed her hair and her clothes the best she could, and when she was done, she looked almost presentable.

I gave her cash and my key. If she wanted, she could take everything I owned back at my place and disappear. I was trusting her not to do that, and I wondered if she even realized.

“You can do this,” I said, and squeezed her fingers in mine. “Pay for the drinks and walk back home.”

“I can do this,” she said.

I pulled her to me and kissed her cheek, lingering for a second too long, before I let her go.

She left, walking fast.

I waited for a few minutes. My dead friend Jonathan still lay in the toilet bowl. I wondered how fucked up Tara would be now, after watching me murder a man by drowning him like that. Poor girl didn’t know what she was getting into, but now she saw the real me. Sooner or later, she’d have to understand.

I was a monster. I was a killer.

And maybe, in some broken part of her, she liked that.

After ten minutes, I went back out into the main room, signaled at the Valentino guys there, and dragged them into my mess.

10

Tara

I sank back into a blazing hot bath and closed my eyes. I tried not to think about Ewan kneeling on top of that struggling Healy man, the guy’s head shoved into the toilet bowl, his legs and arms flailing wildly. I tried to push Ewan’s almost gleeful look from my mind, but it kept coming back, over and over.

Ewan killed him, right there in the bathroom, drowned him in a toilet. And then he kissed me.

I touched my mouth. I still felt numb from where he’d bitten my lower lip. I’d never been kissed like that before, like I was a prize, like I was something he’d always wanted but never been allowed to have before. I caught him looking at me like that all the time, and I knew what he wanted from me, but I never thought I’d actually give it to him.

Until I watched him kill a man. And then I couldn’t help myself.

“I’m fucked up and broken,” I whispered to nobody. The empty bathroom judged me. The memory of my father judged me. I felt like I was going insane.

I still didn’t fully understand what happened. I went into that bathroom, and when I went to wash my hands, the Healy man came inside. I started to shout, but he held up his hands and said, “It’s okay. I’m Jonathan, I’m with the Healy family.”

I listened to him. He told me the Healys wanted to take me away and to protect me. Because of my father’s loyal service and good business, they thought I was worth saving from the Valentinos. They knew that Don Valentino wanted me to marry Ewan, and the head of the Healy family was willing to do what it took to get me out. All I had to do was follow Jonathan, and I could get away.

That was my chance to escape. Right there in that bathroom. I could’ve followed him and Ewan never would’ve found me. Hell, I think he would’ve let me go if he caught it happening.

Instead, when Jonathan came near me, I fought him.

It was stupid. I wasn’t thinking. But as soon as I realized I didn’t have a choice, I started clawing and hitting like my life depended on it. He slammed my face against the mirror, which is probably what broke it, then tried to pull me through the window. He would’ve gotten away with it, if Ewan hadn’t shown up.

I let out a stupid, ugly sob. It ripped from my throat and the tears rolled into the hot bathwater. Ewan drowned that man, drowned him in the toilet of some random dive bar, and I stood there, watching it happen. I could’ve tried harder to stop him, but I didn’t.

Some sick part of me wanted to see it happen.

I didn’t know how long I was in that tub. One second, I was staring at the ceiling, and the next I heard the door buzzer screaming. I climbed out, the water tepid at best, and wrapped a towel around my body. I trailed water out into the living room and buzzed him inside.

He came up a few minutes later, looking exhausted. He had on different clothes. I stood there, naked, soaked, barely covered by a towel, and I knew I should’ve gone into my room and locked the door. That would’ve been the safe thing, the smart thing.

And yet I kept thinking about that kiss, and the way he made my body feel, his hand on my ass, his other hand in my hair.

He stepped toward me. “You okay?” he asked.

“I think so,” I said. “Are you? Is everything—?”

He nodded once. “Taken care of.” His eyes moved from my lips down along my chest, down to my legs. “You took a bath.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I think I fell asleep.”

He came closer. I didn’t move. I felt rooted to the spot. “You could’ve gotten dressed,”