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

selling drugs, blood and teeth and bullets, none of it mattered as I kissed her, held her close against me, and I felt a stirring of something I didn’t know I had, something deeper where maybe my soul lived. I broke off the kiss and looked into her eyes, and I knew I had to make her my wife.

This wasn’t about the Don anymore. I had what I needed, right here in front of me, and I’d known it from the start.

“I’m still going to kill Colm,” I whispered, and kissed her neck, my hands moving along her hips, up to her breasts. “I’m not going to stop.”

“I know,” she moaned. “I don’t think I care.”

“Good.” I tugged her down to the couch, peeled off her clothes, and spent the rest of the afternoon making her body sweat, making her back arch, making her scream.

18

Tara

Baby May’s was a diner at the edge of Drexel’s campus tucked down an alley and surrounded by dive bars. The front was glass plastered over with generic pictures of food and from the outside it seemed like a real dump. College kids came and went, some of them carrying plastic to-go containers, but there was no sign of any Healy guys.

We sat across the street in a small park on some benches set back from the sidewalk. Young guys with backpacks and headphones kept glaring at us like we were taking up their bench, but Ewan didn’t seem to mind. “Beats sitting in the car,” he said as he draped an arm across the back of the bench.

“Think he was telling the truth?” I asked as a group of girls walked past, laughing loudly about something, probably making plans about where they’d get drunk that night.

“I think so,” Ewan said. “Hard to lie after seeing your friend get shot in the gut, and knowing you’re next.”

I chewed on my lip and looked at him. “Would you really have killed him?” I asked.

“Nah,” he said. “Wouldn’t have killed him. I planned on shooting him in the knee.”

She shook her head and laughed softly. The idea was so absurd, but I couldn’t help myself. Apparently, that was an acceptable alternative to murder now, and this was my world.

Midafternoon rolled past and Ewan called it a day. The next morning, we arrived even earlier, but no sign of the Healy family. For an entire week, I got up at the crack of dawn so we could sit on that bench across from the entrance and watch people come and go. We arrived before the place opened, and left around noon, just in case Colm was into brunch.

“I’m starting to think we got played,” I said, leaning my head on his shoulder, a hot coffee in my lap. It was ten past six and the diner had been open for over an hour.

“He didn’t lie,” Ewan said, which had become something like a refrain. He was so sure that Hyde told the truth, but it seemed like that wasn’t the case.

I was ready to give up. Ewan would find some other way to get at Colm, or maybe he’d move on to something else, but that was wishful thinking. Ewan wasn’t the kind of man that would turn his back on a job, especially one that involved his family’s honor.

He was obsessed with hurting the Healy family for hurting the Don. Even if the Don was starting a trafficking business, he couldn’t help himself. The Valentino name was too important to Ewan for him to stop now, and the only thing that would make things remotely good again was to murder Colm. If the Healys could hurt the Don, then Ewan had to take that one step further and finish off their leader.

Part of me thought it was just toxic masculinity, but there was some logic to the whole show. On the streets, in their business, power came from perception as much as strength. If the low-level guys, the dealers and the soldiers, if they all saw the Don as strong then they’d do almost anything for him, but if they thought the Valentino family was weak then there’d be some hesitation and dissent in the ranks.

During a war, the Don couldn’t have that. I understood why Ewan wanted to push this whole assassination thing forward, but it still seemed like it wouldn’t work out—

At least until around six forty-five, a black SUV appeared, and two men stepped out.

Ewan sat up straight. “Look,” he hissed, leaning forward onto his elbows. The SUV drove off, leaving the two men alone out in front of the diner. One was heavyset and wore a long black jacket and khaki slacks. His hair was frizzy and thinning, and his ears and nose drooped. The other man was around the same age, but fitter, athletic and tall, wearing a sweater and jeans, with a dark baseball cap pulled down low over his face.

“Who are they?” I asked.

“The fat one’s Fergal Healy,” he said. “Vice officer of the family, second-in-command and Colm’s younger brother.”

I sucked in a breath. “And that would make the other guy?”

“That’s Colm,” he said, eyes burning bright, and he looked at me grinning huge. “I fucking told you Hyde didn’t lie.”

I groaned and rolled my eyes. He couldn’t help himself. Had to get in the last word. “Fine, you were right,” I said. “But what now? You go in there, guns blazing?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I need you to go pull the car around.”

“Around here?”

“End of the block over there,” he said, pointing. His words came out rushed and excited, and he had a sudden manic gleam. “Park in front of the fire hydrant and put on your four-ways.”

“Won’t that draw attention?”

“It’s a college neighborhood, you’ll be fine.” He shoved the keys into my hands. “Get moving.”

“What do I do after that?”

“Sit tight and wait. You’ll see.” He practically pushed me off the bench. “Get moving.”

I started walking then looked over my shoulder. Ewan fidgeted in his seat