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

returning to the moment, his brain starting to work again.

We both got dressed hurriedly and were out the door in five minutes. He drove wildly to Jefferson Hospital and parked nearby. We practically ran inside, rode the elevators up, and were promptly shown to a visitor’s waiting room.

Ewan paced around like a caged animal and I didn’t know what to do to help. I had no clue how bad the Don was, or what even happened. The Don just turned seventy, but he didn’t look like a healthy man. It could’ve been natural, or it could’ve been something else, considering his job. I didn’t know what I could say that would bring Ewan out of his anxiety.

Dean showed up after a while. He looked exhausted, and still wore the suit he had on the night before. “Ewan,” Dean said.

Ewan walked over and they hugged. I was surprised, and sat forward on the edge of my seat.

“How is he?” Ewan asked. “What happened? Who the fuck did this? Dean, what the fuck happened.”

Dean steered Ewan to a chair and sat him down. Dean sat next to him, and I leaned toward him, my body vibrating with anxiety.

“It was the end of the party,” Dean said, his face screwed up into a mask of anger. “Mostly everyone was gone. Dad was in his den drinking with a couple senators and some lawyer guy. Bea was getting the place cleaned up, and I was with Giancarlo. I was—” He stopped himself and looked down, suddenly ashamed.

“It’s fine,” Ewan said. “What happened?”

“I heard a shout,” Dean said. “I ran to the den. The state senator was on his knees, holding dad, pressing a hand against a wound in his gut. The back door was open, and the lawyer guy was gone. I didn’t even know his name. He must’ve been—” Dean stopped and shut his eyes.

“Dean,” Ewan prompted. “Is he alive?”

“Yes,” Dean said. “Stab wound to the gut. Doctor says he’s insanely lucky. He was in surgery all night and just came out earlier. That’s when I called you.”

Ewan looked relieved, though the tension didn’t lower. “Who did it?” he asked. “The lawyer?”

“I don’t think he was a lawyer,” Dean said, eyes hard. “I think he was with the Healy family. I think he was a plant.”

Ewan let out a strange growl and stood. He paced again, and Dean watched.

“How do you know?” Ewan asked, spreading his hands. “They could’ve gotten someone inside. We were careful. Everyone there was invited, and security knew all the faces.”

“It’s not that hard to slip someone onto the guest list. You drop the right name in the right place, plant some fake details. There were over two hundred people there last night.”

Ewan’s jaw clamped down. “We got sloppy,” he said.

Dean stood up and checked his phone. “He’s awake,” he said. “And he’s asking for you.”

The blood drained from Ewan’s face and he glanced at me. I nodded at him, trying to be encouraging, but I could only guess at how he felt.

“Tara’s coming too,” Ewan said, looking back at Dean.

Dean only grunted like he didn’t care and hurried to the door. Ewan took my hand and we followed him, down a series of halls, and into a side room across from a nurse’s station. It was large and well appointed, with a big window and a decent view. Curtains were pulled around the single bed, and Dean ripped them back.

The Don looked frail and half alive. His hair was frizzy and wild, and his eyes were sallow and jaundiced. He grunted something and coughed as Dean ran to his side.

“Dad,” Dean said, taking the old man’s hand.

I lingered back near the door as Ewan went closer. This wasn’t my place. I should’ve left, but Ewan wanted me there for moral support, and I wouldn’t abandon him.

“Where is he?” the Don rasped.

“Ewan’s here.” Dean shifted aside and let Ewan kneel down next to him.

“I’m here, Don,” Ewan said.

The Don’s eyes fell on Ewan, and the old man tried to sit up. Dean stopped him, soothing him softly, and got him settled back on the pillows again. “Easy, Dad,” Dean said, “save your strength.”

“Ewan,” the Don grunted. “I want Colm Healy.”

The words struck silence into the boys. It felt like a thick blanket was dropped down from the ceiling, and the tension ratcheted up wildly.

“Dad,” Dean said slowly. “You can’t ask him to—”

“I want Colm,” the Don said. “Kill him for me, boy.”

Ewan didn’t move. His body was statue still, every muscle flexed. I wished I could see his face, but the back of him was a storybook of anxiety. I wanted to go over and kiss his neck and rub his shoulders, if only to help relieve some of that pain.

“You don’t know it was them yet,” Dean said. “We’re not sure—”

“Become sure,” the Don said. “Then Ewan, you will kill Colm.”

“Dad,” Dean said, exasperated.

But Ewan spoke up.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

“Ewan,” Dean said. “He’s well-guarded. Come on, you won’t get close.”

“They got close to us,” Ewan said, his voice on the edge of pure rage. “If they can hit the Don, then I can hit them harder.” Ewan stood up.

“Colm,” the Don growled.

“I’ll do it,” Ewan said, and turned away.

His face was a twisted mask of pain and rage. I walked toward him, holding my hands out, and he took them. I led him away from the bed as Dean leaned forward and spoke quietly to his father. I couldn’t hear him, but I assumed it was soothing, or maybe arguing for him to drop this idea and leave Ewan alone.

But Ewan wouldn’t leave it alone. I could see it in his eyes, could see the determination and hate. It was cold and horrible, and reminded me what he was, deep down inside, the killer, the monster. I took his hands in mine and went to the door, and together we left, back out into the hall.

“You don’t have to,” I said weakly.

He shook his head. “Yes, I