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

he said, and I caught sight of a gun tucked into his waistband. “Stay here for a while. I’ll be back later.”

I leaned back against the counter and thought about the day ahead of me, stuck inside the apartment with nothing to do, and a whole family of Irish thugs on the hunt. They could show up at any moment and pull me away, and he wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it. I shook my head and put my mug down.

“I’m coming with you,” I said.

His jaw clenched and he shook his head. “No, you’re not.”

“Ewan,” I said. “You want to leave me here alone, when the Healy family could show up at any second?”

He let out a soft grunt and ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up. Even when he tried to put himself together, he managed to somehow make himself look slightly disheveled. But that worked for him—the muscles, the tattoos, the straight jaw and small nose and bright eyes. He was handsome enough to pull off the messy look, and I liked it better when he had a little grit about him.

“They wouldn’t dare,” he said. “Colm wants you, but not enough to piss me off.”

“You don’t know that,” I said, gesturing toward where the letter was still left lying on the counter. “He’s willing to pay for me. Maybe he’s willing to break in here when you’re distracted and steal me away.”

“That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?” he asked. “Then you wouldn’t have to get married.”

I grimaced slightly and looked down at my feet. He was right about that, but I didn’t know what the Healy family would be like, or what they’d make me do. I knew my father sold them girls, and maybe that’s what Colm wanted me for. I could imagine him putting me in one of those sad little massage parlors and putting me to work, selling me to men, letting them use my body up until there was nothing left.

Ewan wasn’t going to do that. He was the devil I knew, and so far, he hadn’t hurt me at all.

“Bring me with you,” I said softly. “Don’t leave me here.”

He let out a frustrated sigh and turned to the door. “Come on then,” he said. “But keep your mouth shut, all right?”

“Of course,” I said, following him out into the hall. I wore yoga pants and running shoes and a zip-up sweatshirt, but that didn’t seem to matter. “What are we doing? Picking up the Don’s dry cleaning?”

He smiled slightly then took my wrist, pulling me along behind him. “Something like that,” he said.

We drove across town in silence. I didn’t ask where we were going, and he didn’t say. I couldn’t understand what route he was taking, or where our final destination would be. He made random turns, cut across Old City to the river, then down south to the stadiums, then all the way up Broad, through Rittenhouse, up to the Parkway, down Kelly Drive, then back across West Philly and into North Philly. I was insanely lost by the time he pulled up outside of a dilapidated row home bordered by two overgrown, trash-filled empty lots.

“Stay,” he said.

“No way.” I got out and followed him. “I’m curious about your business.”

He gave me a look but didn’t fight. The front stoop was crumbling, and the neighborhood seemed empty. There was one other car, and it was missing a tire, and the doors were rusted out. As far as I could tell, all the houses were boarded up and abandoned.

He knocked on the door, waited, and knocked again. I smiled a little to myself and he shot me a look. It was like a secret spy thing, the sort of shit little kids did.

The door opened a crack. “You him?” the voice asked.

“Valentino sent me,” Ewan said.

The door slammed shut.

“That wasn’t very polite,” I said.

He looked back at me and wasn’t smiling. “Stop it.”

“I’m just saying.” I stretched my arms up and looked around. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Kensington,” he said. “North Kensington.”

“Huh.” I chewed my lip. “Near Temple, right?”

“Sort of,” he said. “Now be quiet.”

I paced away a little while we waited. A few city cats slinked past, hiding near the rusted-out car. I bet they stayed hidden during the day and went hunting for rats at night.

The door opened again and a black duffel appeared. It looked absolutely stuffed, the material stretched tight.

“This is all of it?” Ewan asked.

“What the Don ordered,” the man said. I moved to the side to get a better look. He had dark skin and sallow eyes, and wore a freshly pressed checkered shirt.

“He’ll weigh it, and if you’re short, it’ll be a problem.” Ewan slung the bag on his shoulder.

“It’s not short,” the man said, and glanced down at me. “You brought a friend?”

“Ignore her,” Ewan said. “I’ll pass this along. I’ll be seeing you.”

“Yeah, I bet.” The guy shut the door gain, and Ewan walked back to the car. He tossed the duffel in the back and got in behind the wheel. I hesitated before climbing into the passenger seat.

“What was all that?” I asked. “It seemed pretty dramatic.”

“He just gave me fifty pounds of pure, uncut Columbian heroin,” he said as he drifted down the block again.

I turned around and gaped at the bag.

Ewan laughed and I flinched at the sound. I’d never seen heroin before in my life, and I was tempted to look inside, but kept my hands to myself. I didn’t know how much heroin went for on the street, but I guessed fifty pounds would be worth an astronomically large number.

I faced forward again as Ewan began to drift around the city. “Do you do this a lot?” I asked. “Buy drugs and cart them off?”

“Sometimes,” he said. “I do whatever the Don asks.”

“You answer directly to him?”

He shrugged. “It’s an unusual arrangement. Most guys in my position have a Capo, you know, like a leader. Capos are like middle management.