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

“Nothing,” I said. “The Healy family wants you. We knew that already. This doesn’t change a thing.”

“He’s willing to pay for me.” She said it almost as if it were a joke, and she could hardly understand the punchline. “Honestly, Ewan. You should take him up on the offer. You don’t want to marry me, do you?”

I smiled slightly. “I don’t know what I want,” I said. “But the Don will be very upset if I let you leave. So for now, you’re staying.”

She let out a harsh laugh. “That’s right, I almost forgot that I don’t have a choice in any of this.”

“I keep saying, you can run whenever you want, but it won’t be as easy as you think.” I walked around the counter and came toward her, but she backed away from me. I stopped and held my hands out, trying to show her that I didn’t mean any harm.

“I don’t understand you,” she said softly, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and uncertainty.

I hated that look. It was despicable, and it made me feel like a monster. The truth was, I didn’t understand myself, and didn’t understand what I really wanted. One half of me needed her to run away and wanted to make sure she got to safety. I wasn’t a trafficker, and I didn’t keep women against their will. But the other half wanted to follow orders and didn’t want to anger the Don. I was fucked if she stayed, and fucked if she left.

And there was one other reason I wanted her to stick around. It was a selfish reason, and it haunted me every time I looked at her.

I wanted her. God damn, I wanted her body, her lips, her long, lean legs, the curve of her jaw, her long, thick auburn her, her sparkling eyes. I wanted it all, wanted to take her and own her and make her beg and drip and moan. I’d never felt it so strong before, but the way the sunlight played off her damp skin drove me insane with pure, animal lust.

“You don’t need to worry about it,” I said. “None of it matters. You’re here, and I don’t plan on giving you away.”

“But you won’t stop me if I run.” She said softly, almost a whisper.

“That’s right,” I said. “I know I’m contradicting myself.”

She stared at me, then chewed on her lip and looked away. The silence was heavy and threatening, and I didn’t know what I would do if she made a break for it, but I thought I would let her go. I might chase, might try to bring her back, but in the end, if she wanted to escape and take her chances on her own, then I’d let her.

But I didn’t want her to get herself killed.

There was no doubt in my mind that the Don would send someone to finish her off if she did manage to break away. It would be a smear on his honor, and he couldn’t accept that sort of stain on the family.

She was safer here. But that wasn’t exactly easy for her to see.

“I should shower,” she said. “I’m gross.”

“I like the way you look,” I said, smiling a bit, but I let her slip past me and head to the hall. “Sweat rolling down your body.”

She glanced back over her shoulder and seemed confused, but she smiled a little, her cheeks still flushed, and disappeared back to the bathroom.

The shower water turned on as I sat at the table and leaned my head back against the wall.

I shouldn’t have shown her that letter. Now she knew the Healy family would take her in, and she was more likely to try to escape. It was stupid, and if I really wanted to keep her captive, I would have kept it from her.

But I was too conflicted and angry with the whole situation to do the right thing.

The Don wanted me to marry her, and I had a feeling I understood why.

He wanted to embarrass the Healy family. And he wanted to have one more piece of leverage over me.

The fucking bastards. All of them, bastards. I closed my eyes and thought of Tara on the balcony, moving gracefully through her yoga routine, her body sweating and lean and perfect.

8

Tara

None of this made any sense.

I was nobody. I was nothing. My father was a real piece of shit, and clearly connected at the highest level to some very bad people, but that didn’t mean I mattered at all. He was dead and I had nothing to do with the Healy family or with the Valentino family.

And yet I was thrown into the middle of their war.

I was pawn, a little plaything, and I knew it. The only person who seemed at all conflicted about using me was Ewan, and he was my captor.

It was fucked up beyond measure. But I kept thinking about the way he looked at me while I did yoga. I noticed him staring, and at first it made me self-conscious, but I quickly got over it and started to enjoy the attention. It was sick, I realized that, and yet that sickness made it even more exciting.

I wanted to tempt my captor. I wanted him to look at my body.

At night, I wrapped myself in strange sheets, and dreamed about running away. And in the morning, I knew I didn’t have the courage to go through with it. I loathed myself for that.

Ewan came out from his bedroom in a dark suit one morning after I finished showering. His hair was combed back and although he didn’t wear a tie, he looked incredible with that top button undone, and that jacket clinging to his muscular shoulders.

“Where are you going, looking like that?” I asked, sipping strong black coffee. I didn’t normally drink it black, but he never had any milk, and I got tired of asking for it.

“I’ve got some errands to run,”