The Killer's New Wife by Hamel, B. (different e readers .TXT) 📕

pulled down and he ran a hand through his short hair. He wore tight black joggers and clean white sneakers, and a gun was tucked into his waistband. “I give a shit that you follow orders.”

“I’m following orders,” I said through clenched teeth. “I didn’t come here to get attitude from you.”

“Then why did you come here?” Dean turned to me, shoulders square. “You know how things are going right now, and considering your mother—”

I reached out fast and grabbed his shirt. He didn’t react as I yanked him toward me and snarled in his face. “You don’t talk about her.”

He spoke calmly. “Considering your mother was Irish and there’s some uncertainty around just how connected you are with the Healys, my father understandably wants to be sure.”

I stared at him and took a few deep breaths to calm myself. I had to remember that Dean was my friend, and he meant well, even if he was being a real dick about it. I released him and he straightened his shirt, and I noticed the bartender standing nearby, staring at the two of us like he might pull a shotgun from under that bar at any second.

I stared at the bottom of my drink. My mother’s Irish heritage didn’t mean shit, and I thought he was about to bring up something else about her, something I tried to keep buried deep, deep down inside. I only shook my head and drank off half my whiskey.

“You know I’m loyal,” I said. “I don’t give a fuck if I’m some bastard half-cousin of the Healy family. Your father gave me a place and they didn’t.”

Dean nodded slowly and leaned forward on his elbows again. “I know that, man,” he said. “But my dad’s old school. He thinks blood lines matter, which we both know is stupid. It’s nurture, not nature, right?”

I grinned slightly. “You and that pop science shit,” I said. “You read too much.”

“What can I say, I’m a Renaissance man.” He sipped his drink and spun the glass. “I’m just saying, be careful, all right? This whole test thing is some stupid dangerous game, but my dad will get over it sooner or later. Just keep your head up.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “And I have the girl under control.” Although I didn’t know if that was true or not. Telling her about her father was a risky move, and it could backfire at any second. Hell, it might’ve already blown up, and I might go back home to find her gone.

“My father’s making moves soon,” Dean said. “We’re going to need you.”

“Then he shouldn’t have saddled me with the girl.”

Dean sighed and squeezed my shoulder. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but it’s his way of rewarding you as much as it is a test.”

“I don’t take advantage like that,” I said.

“I know you don’t.” He dropped his hand away. “I’m just saying, things are going to blow up. The Healys have been pressing into South Philly, coming over the fucking bridge like a bunch of psycho heathens.”

I grunted a little and nodded. The Healy family controlled West Philadelphia, and everything over the Schuylkill was their territory. The Valentino family was mostly concentrated south of City Hall, but we had pockets of North Philly all the way out to the suburbs. The family’s main trade was drugs, though they had gambling and protection rackets mixed in there. The flesh trade didn’t start until a few years ago, and nobody gave a shit that it made me uncomfortable since it made the boss a fat profit.

Dean, for his part, was more ambiguous toward the girls. He didn’t seem particularly interested in them, but he wasn’t outright against them like me. We disagreed there, but we remained friends despite it, and anyway, I was smart enough to know that the Don’s son was a powerful ally.

All this lately though, this test bullshit, I knew it stemmed from my recent grumblings. I’d gotten more and more vocal about the girls, and the Don didn’t like that I was critical of him. Giving me a girl of my own was the perfect way to prove my loyalty.

Perfect and sick at the same time.

We finished our drinks and I left Dean there. I thought I might feel better, talking to him, but that didn’t clear anything up.

I drove into Center City and parked on Walnut. There were a few decent clothing stores nearby, designer shit, and I went into a few, guessing her size, and spent more than I should have. I headed back to the apartment laden with bags and went inside.

The place was quiet, and there was still steam on the bathroom mirror. I lingered outside of Tara’s door, then turned the knob and opened it—

And found her sitting at the end of her bed on a towel, knees pulled up to her chest, completely naked, her hair soaked.

She looked up, surprised, and dropped her knees away. For one moment, my eyes moved down her body, lingering on her breasts, on her perfect pale, smooth skin, and fuck, she was gorgeous. I quickly looked up to her eyes.

“Get the fuck out,” she said, her cheeks turning bright pink.

I slammed the door and took a step back, cursing. I hadn’t meant to walk in on her like that. Part of me thought she’d be gone, but god damn it, I was wrong. I headed back into the kitchen and cracked open a beer as I stood there, and as I drank half of it down, I thought about her long naked legs, her perky little breasts, her lips parted slightly as she stared at me with a mixture of shock and anger, and god damn, I felt my blood pulse fast through my skin. It took all my self-control not to go running back to her room.

She emerged an hour later, wearing sweats and a sweatshirt. I offered her a glass of wine as an apology. “I really didn’t mean to walk in