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

“Yes,” I said, and slowly lowered my arm down to my side, trembling with adrenaline and terror. I hit the monster, and I baited him, like I wanted him to hit back.

He held my gaze for another moment then returned to his seat at the table. “Here are the rules. You’re not allowed out of his apartment without me. I will provide whatever you want, but you have to ask for it. My room is off limits, but everything else is fair game. If I see you so much as look at my phone, or think about escaping, I’ll lock you in your room. If you give me trouble, I’ll handcuff you to the bed. If you scream, I’ll strip you naked and gag you with your own panties.” He paused and held me with his gaze. “I told you I won’t kill you, and I won’t take you without your permission, but I will make your life unpleasant if you can’t figure out how to control yourself.”

“I understand,” I said, and the words came out choked. I felt tears in my eyes again and I had to blink them away. I couldn’t cry in front of this monster. I remembered the way he reacted like night, like my tears were the most disgusting thing he’d ever seen, like I was a cockroach, mutating in front of him.

His lips curled again. “Good,” he said. “Go back to your room for now. I’ll bring fresh clothes.”

I nodded and turned away. I made it to the hall before he said my name. I looked back at him, and my tears rolled down my cheeks.

He stared at the floor.

“You’ll survive this if you play along,” he said. “Do you understand me? Killing you in inconvenient. You’re not important enough to murder. So play the game, keep your mouth shut, and you’ll be okay.”

“Promise?” I asked.

He only laughed, and I felt like an asshole. I left him and returned to my room with the mug of coffee in my hand.

It was good, rich and strong, with a slight berry after-flavor. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the patterned Persian rug beneath my feet. Out in the other room, a beast waited for me, and I knew what he was thinking.

He wanted me to screw up, so he could take advantage.

But I wouldn’t do that. My father was dead and my life was burned to the ground—but I would survive this.

And when I did, I’d kill that bastard for what he’s doing, and my smiling face would be the last thing he saw.

3

Ewan

Tara was a problem.

I didn’t know what the hell to do with some random girl. I found clothes in the back of my closet that might fit her, some stuff an ex left once upon a time, back when I was dating. Clara thought we were something we’d never be, and she slowly started leaving outfits at my place, until one day I found some of her underwear neatly folded in my sock drawer, and broke things off the next morning.

Now I piled what she’d left on the floor outside of Tara’s door. I figured it would fit well enough, and we could buy her new things when she was ready.

I gave her that afternoon to get her shit together. The clothes disappeared into the bedroom, and she came out around noon for something to eat. We didn’t speak, and I stayed on the couch, reading and watching football. She disappeared back into her room after making herself a sandwich.

That night, I stared at the ceiling and imagined her sneaking into my room. I didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with me. If I needed pussy, I could get pussy—but it wasn’t like that. I pictured Tara straddling me, kissing me, and whispering in my ear. I didn’t know what she said, but it made me smile, whatever it was.

That’d never happen.

The girl hated my guts. And frankly, she was annoying as all hell.

She was a real goddamn problem.

I got up early the next morning, made breakfast, and knocked on her door. She answered, eyes bleary. “Yeah?” she said, wearing a long t-shirt that barely covered her ass.

“Get dressed,” I said, and thrust a bowl of oatmeal at her. “Eat this. We’re going out.”

“Going out?” She frowned down at the bowl like she’d never seen food before. “What is that?”

“Oatmeal and blueberries. It’s good.” I wiggled it until she took the bowl and the spoon.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“I have errands to run and I think it’d be good for you to get out into the world.” I tilted my head to the side. “You won’t give me shit, will you?”

“I don’t know,” she said, taking a bit and chewing. Her face lit up a little bit, but quickly muted as she met my eyes. “Are we killing anyone?”

I smiled and was tempted to touch her cheek. That girl was clever, I’d give her that. “Not today,” I said. “I hope, at least.” I left her then and I heard her door shut.

The girl was going to be some serious, high-grade, supercharged capital-T Trouble.

She came out wearing her black jeans and one of my ex’s shirts. It was a button-down blouse, dark blue, slightly sheer. I could see the vague outline of her black bra over her full breasts. I didn’t bother to hide my gaze, and she didn’t try to pretend like she didn’t notice.

“Come on,” I said, and we headed downstairs. My car was parked halfway up the block, a small black BMW, almost as dinged and beat-up as Dean’s Jeep. Tara made a little face as she climbed into the passenger side.

“What’s with the beat-up cars?” she asked.

“Nice cars get attention,” I said, and pulled out into traffic.

She leaned back in the seat and stared out the window. I could guess what she was thinking—probably wondered if there was a way to escape. Maybe she could jump