Possessed by the Killer

by Hamel, B. B.

  I laughed softly, but I left her there. I liked that she pushed back against me and didn’t take my shit so easily. I wanted her forgiveness, wanted her company, but most of all, I wanted to earn it.

  Another day, and another present. She lounged out back near the pool wearing shorts and a tank top, still reading that book. She shaded her eyes as I approached.

  “Before you say anything, just look at it,” I said, and handed her the box. She chewed on her cheek for a second then sighed dramatically and opened it up.

  Inside was a pair of reading glasses, a pair of sunglasses, and every book Raymond Chandler wrote in mass market paperback. She gaped at the pile. Apparently, the guy was very prolific.

  “I don’t think I’ll get through this all, you know,” she said, laughing softly. She picked one title up: The Long Good-bye. “But I’ll definitely try.”

  “Let’s go for a walk,” I said.

  She glanced up at me, one eyebrow raised. “I’m still trying to avoid you, you know,” she said.

  “I know that.” I drifted away. “But come with me anyway.”

  She made a big deal of getting up and stretching, but she took the sunglasses from the box, shoved them on her face, then trailed after me. We walked down to the woods together, her flip-flops smacking against her feet, the birds chirping up in the trees, squirrels rustling through the underbrush, and I felt good for the first time in a while. She trailed close to my elbow, but she didn’t talk.

  “I never wanted you to see what happened, you know,” I said softly.

  She grimaced and stared at the ground in front of us. “I know that,” she said. “But can’t help it though.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m sorry you came in.”

  She was quiet for a few minutes as we walked, and I decided to enjoy her company. There wasn’t much more I could do—presents and apologies couldn’t take away memories. I wished she could understand why I did it and why it was necessary, but it was hard for someone outside of my world to truly get it. Those weren’t good guys, far from it, and taking them out of this world was doing everyone a favor. Hard for her to see it that way, when all she could remember was that guy’s brains splattering on the carpet.

  “Bea told me something horrifying the other day,” she said suddenly.

  “Yeah?” I asked, leaning toward her. “What’d she say?”

  “She used to have sex with your dad.”

  I stopped walking and she kept going before she turned, grinning. She picked up a stick from the ground and swiped it in the air like a sword then leaned on it.

  A thousand thoughts ran through my mind. I knew my father hadn’t been faithful to my mother’s memory—far from it. The guy paraded mistresses through the house like candy and new cars. He treated women like they were disposable, which probably rubbed off on me a little bit, if I were being honest with myself.

  Bea was like a mother to me. Not literally my mother, but close enough, and the thought of her having sex with my father was maybe one of the most repulsive things I’d ever heard. I knew they were close and knew she had a lot of influence over him, but never considered that they had a physical element to their relationship.

  “You’re a monster,” I said, snapping my jaw shut. “You know that, right?”

  She laughed lightly and shrugged a little. “I don’t know. I saw you murder someone. All I did was tell you that your housekeeper used to bang your dad.”

  I turned away from her and held up one hand. “God, please, I’m begging you, please stop.”

  “Oh, grow up,” she said, laughing. “I bet they had a very satisfying sex life. I think she used it to convince your dad to do things she wanted.”

  I rubbed at my face hard enough to peel a layer of skin away. If I could take a bath in acid right then, I probably would’ve dipped in and enjoyed it. God, what a nightmare.

  “I’m begging you,” I said.

  “What’s the big deal?” she asked.

  “Bea raised me,” I said and started walking again. I couldn’t stand still, not with the image of my father and Bea in a disgusting, sweaty, horrifying carnal embrace jittering around my brain hole. “She’s like a saint to me. She was the only person that made me feel normal, growing up.”

  “I’m sorry to break it to you, but she had her own motives,” Mags said.

  “I know,” I said. “Bea’s always been important to the family. My dad took her advice to heart. I just didn’t know he also took her—you know, like that.”

  “Sexually,” Mags said, nudging up against me.

  “Right. Like that.” I groaned and looked up at the trees. “Please tell me we’re even now. Tell me you don’t know something else absolutely terrible.”

  “I don’t know if we’re even, but I’m out of sexy stories about your dad.”

  I sighed with relief and she seemed much happier as she whacked at weeds with her stick and pranced up ahead. I watched her hips sway and smiled to myself, and for one second pretended that this marriage was real, that she was my actual wife, and we were out for some stroll in the woods or whatever normal married people did. I was so deep in to the mafia that I didn’t know how regular humans behaved, but I liked to think that Mags could show me something, some small measure of humanity that I never quite learned otherwise.

  We reached the stream and she stopped at the bank, looking down at the fast-moving water. I stood next to her then touched her lower back impulsively, my hand resting inches above her pert, tight little ass. She didn’t pull away and let the stick fall from her fingers. She looked up at me, her big eyes glistening, and I leaned down to touch her cheek.

  “You killed a man in front of me,” she whispered. “And now you want to kiss me.”

  I brushed my lips against hers then said, “You can stop me, if you want.”

  “I’m not sure how I feel about making out with a murder.”

  I pulled her closer, hands on her hips. “It’s not so bad,” I said. “All you need to do is close your eyes and let me do the rest.”

  “Do you have experience with this?” she asked. “Kissing killers?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “And unless you have some enemies you plan on cutting down, hopefully never.”

  She laughed gently, and I bit her bottom lip—then held her tight and kissed her deep.

  We stood in the woods with wild bird sounds and the water rushing over rocks and it all disappeared, as if a mute button was pressed. There was only Mags and her lips and her taste on my tongue and her body against mine and my heart thudding against my ribs and, god, what I wouldn’t give to slide those little shorts off her body, to pull that tank top up, to palm her breast and make her gasp and whisper my name in that cute way she had—

  But she pulled away, stumbled a little over a scrubby bush, and walked back to the path. “I can’t do this,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Mags,” I said. “Wait.” I went to follow, but her held up her hands and stared.

  “Just let me go,” she said. “I need to think, okay? I’m not sure I’m ready for—whatever that was.”

  “It was a really good kiss,” I said. “One I think you enjoyed.”

  “Whether I enjoyed it or not isn’t the point,” she said. “Leave it, okay?” And more softly, “I just need to think.”

  “Think fast,” I said.

  She gave me one more look, confused and tangled, then turned and hurried back down the path.

  I picked up her fallen stick. That girl was lodged inside me, right between my teeth, deep inside my guts, in between my eyes. She was in me, a part of me, and I only wanted more and more. I was greedy for her, and I knew it would be hard, getting past those defenses, that natural aversion to men in the family, but I’d persist.

  I always did.

  I tossed the stick into the water then wandered slowly back to the house, making sure I didn’t catch up with her again.

  14

  Mags

  The kiss, those presents, that conversation
, it swirled in my mind over and over. I tried to numb it all and forget it, tried to drown it away in cheap paperbacks about detectives and dames and murders, but I couldn’t manage to push him away.

  Not when everything reminded me of him. Not when I lived in his house. Not when I was his wife.

  God, what a mess. Even for those brief amazing seconds when he kissed me, I still got flashes of that guy’s head breaking open. Dean drove me nuts, and when I could put away all my reservations for a few minutes, I had a lot of fun. Telling him about Bea was probably mean, but he took it well at least, and it made me laugh—and it led to him touching me by that stream.

  I wished I could get over the terror that rang through me like a siren each time I shut my eyes and thought about him killing, but couldn’t make it happen.

  That night, hours after his kiss, I went down into the kitchen for a late snack. I couldn’t sleep—I kept reading and reading, but my eyes never got heavy. My schedule was getting all messed up. I kept sleeping later and later, and staying up until all hours of the night. I needed to get it together soon, or else become an insomniac.

  I found leftover mac and cheese and ate it cold from the bowl like an animal, standing in that big industrial kitchen all along. Out in the hall, I heard voices, soft but insistent, and I froze. It was a little past one in the morning, and the house was normally dead at this hour.

  I put the food away and crept out. More voices, muffled. They were coming from Dean’s office. I recognized Bea but couldn’t make out the words. I walked down and the floor creaked, and I froze just outside the office door.

  Dean said, “Doctors said there was nothing they could do.”

  “I’m so sorry, Dean,” Bea said. “I know you liked him.”

  The clink of glasses. Probably pouring a drink.

  “I push too hard,” Dean said, voice louder, near the door. “Get too aggressive. Maybe I set a bad example.”

  “You killing those Healy boys didn’t get Lorenzo killed.”

  My mouth fell open. Lorenzo, one of his Capos. I remembered him from that meeting where they voted him into office. I felt a strange relief that it hadn’t been Gian—I liked him a lot. But Lorenzo was nice too, or at least as nice as a mafia guy could be.

  “I know that,” Dean said. “But maybe if I wasn’t so aggressive about going after the Healys and fighting this war, maybe Lorenzo wouldn’t have gone out himself.”

  “Lorenzo made his choice,” Bea said. “You can’t let it eat at you.”

  Dean grunted something, and I moved closer, trying to hear. The floor squeaked again and I sucked in a breath then cursed softly. The door opened and Bea stared out at me. Her face flashed anger, then softened.

  “Come in if you’re going to listen at the door,” she said.

  Dean stared at me with red-rimmed eyes. He looked exhausted, his normally pristine suit crumpled and messy, like he’d been out ever since the last time I saw him earlier in the day.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Fine,” he said, head cocked. “How much did you hear?”

  “Lorenzo,” I said.

  He nodded and looked away.

  Bea touched my arm, smiled, and slipped out of the room. I wanted to tell her to come back, wanted to beg her not to leave me alone with him right now—but I couldn’t bear the say the words, not with Dean on the edge of breaking.

  “Can I do anything?” I asked, feeling helpless.

  “Have a drink with me,” he said, and sat heavily down in one of the chairs, leaning his head into his hand.

  I hesitated, but went to the drink cart and poured a little whiskey in a glass. I didn’t really like it, but figured he’d like it if I drank whatever he was having.

  I sat in the chair next to him and leaned over. I touched his arm, and he shifted toward me.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Lorenzo went on the offensive,” he said thickly, staring at his drink. “He’s a good Capo, but not the best fighter. I don’t know what the fuck he was thinking.”

  “They killed him?” I asked.

  “He tried to knock off one of their safe houses,” he said. “Tried to rob it and kill a couple of their thugs. It didn’t go as planned though, and he didn’t walk out.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah, well.” He sighed and knocked back his drink. “It’s the price of this business, but sometimes it feels too steep.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. They killed each other all the time—some part of me thought that he must be immune to death by now. And yet he seemed broken up like losing one of his Capos hit him deeply. I took his hand on impulse, to comfort him the way I’d comfort anyone in his position, but his eyes met mine and I saw the longing there, deep in his gaze.

  I sipped my drink. It was hot on my tongue. “Do you ever think about walking?” I asked.

  “No,” he said gently. “But it’s hard. Every death is my fault to some degree.”

  “Bea said it’s not,” I said.

  “Bea’s being kind,” he said. “When they die, it’s because I couldn’t protect them. I couldn’t be there, or I couldn’t send the right men. Or the Healys outsmarted me. Or some other reason. There are a thousand ways a Don can fuck up, and I need to be better than all of them.”

  I squeezed his hand. “I think you are,” I said.

  “I’m trying, at least.” Another short silence. “Leading the family is heavy. It’s a weight that pulls me down every day, but I wouldn’t give it up for anything. I love them too much to do it.”

  I leaned closer, and he met me halfway. His hands moved through my hair and tugged me to his lips. We kissed, chaste and gentle at first, then deeper, the taste of whiskey on our tongues mingling until he pulled me up from my chair then lifted me and sat me down on the desk. I gasped in pleasure as I wrapped my legs around him—and I thought back to our wedding night, to his head up my dress—

  “Dean,” I whispered, moaning as he bit my lip. I wore a thin cotton t-shirt and no bra plus a pair of tight sweats. I felt naked, exposed, and it drove my heart into stuttering whirls.

  “Don’t talk,” he said, kissing my neck, then pulled my shirt up over my head.

  I let him, feeling insane and lost and hungry.

  He kissed my collarbone, then my breasts, teasing my nipples with his tongue. He palmed them and kissed me again and god, it felt good to let him touch me. He moved back and tugged my pants off, then tossed them onto the floor, and his eyes moved up my body like he couldn’t get enough of staring at my skin. My nipples were hard and pink and I let him spread my legs with a soft, startled gasp.

  His fingers felt like heaven as they slipped my panties aside and teased my wet lips. Sliding up, and down, then up to my clit again, rolling in slow circles as he bit my shoulder.

  Pleasure and heaven and hell, all in one delicious touch.

  “Wait,” I said, breathless, pulling at his thick hair. “Hold on.”

  His fingers stayed poised there, spreading my sex wide. “Are you sure you want me to stop?” he asked, eyes staring into mine, and I didn’t know the answer to that. I wanted to feel good and wanted his body, his lips and muscles and all his hard warmth, but I was afraid that if I let this happen then it might lead to something more—something I wasn’t sure I could handle.

  “You’re in a bad place,” I said.

  “Not bad enough to stop.” He kissed my neck and I pulled his hair. I let out a soft moan as his fingers moved again.

  “I’m afraid,” I whispered.

  “You don’t need to be afraid with me.” And he buried his lips with mine as his fingers slipped inside of me, and I was lost, fully lost.

  His belt came off and fell to the floor. His pants came down next. I stroked his hard cock as he stepped out of his black boxer briefs. Thick and hard and, fuck, he spread my legs and I leaned back on my elbows, knocking something off the desk and onto the floor with a clatter, but neither of us cared.

  He le
aned over me and slid himself deep inside as a bead of sweat rolled down my chest. He licked it off and I threw my head back with a gasp as pure pleasure ripped through me.

  It was everything I wanted. I gasped, moaned his name, my husband, god, my mafia husband, and he fucked me faster, licked my nipples, teased me, bit my lower lip, looked into my eyes and I saw the man beneath the killer’s mask, the man that wanted what was best for his family and wanted me, god, he wanted me so bad.

  I rolled my hips, panting his name, body trembling and sweating, and I kissed his neck, leaning forward as he fucked me harder, faster, bringing me closer, so fast and so stupid, so good, and everything flashed bright, so bright and intense, the pleasure flaring up my spine as his big hands cupped my ass. He pulled me up and off the desk then fell back into the chair. It nearly tipped back but he stabilized it, and I slid down along his shaft, riding him harder, faster, knees braced on the seat. He pulled my hair and his fingers moved down my back and his lips hung open, and I went faster, panting, sweating, gasping, and I pressed my forehead against his and squeezed my eyes closed and there was only his smell, his touch, his cock deep between my legs—

  And I came in a rush, an intense and wild rush. He fucked me through it as I exploded along his shaft and I leaned back shivering, shaking, eyes rolled back, whispering his name again and again.

  When it was over, I stood up in front of him. He gripped his cock in one hand and stroked himself as I chewed my thumbnail, legs still shaking, brain a foggy mess. I dropped to my knees and took him in my mouth, sucking him fast, tasting my pussy on his shaft. I wanted him to feel the way I felt, to have that release I knew he needed, and he growled my name as he came on my tongue, deep between my lips.

  I swallowed him, every drop of him, and when he was finished, he pulled me up into his lap. I curled there and let him hold me, feeling so naked and exposed, but so good.

  “You don’t have to be afraid,” he whispered, nuzzling my throat. “I’m not going to hurt you, you know that, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, holding him tighter. I shouldn’t have done this— shouldn’t have opened myself like that, because now all I wanted was more, so much more.