by Hamel, B. B.
“You grew up in it,” I said. “And yet you still refuse to mess around with trafficking girls. Why do you have that line?”
“A man’s got to have a code,” he said.
I shook my head and didn’t smile. “Don’t try to deflect. You’re willing to kill, but you’re not willing to sell sex? Why not?”
“I don’t so slavery,” he said and didn’t elaborate.
I let it drop. I could tell I wasn’t going to learn more, but from what I could see, the picture of Ewan only became more and more complicated. He was half Irish, a distant Healy relative, but grew up with the Valentino family. He wouldn’t touch girls, but he’d murder a man without flinching. He wanted to keep me, but he wanted me to run away, and I caught the way he looked at me, like he wanted to drag me into his bedroom and ravish my body.
He was a man full of contradictions, and with each layer I managed to peel back, it was like finding something entirely new.
And it fascinated me. God, it was messed up, but he interested me more than I was comfortable with. Maybe I was as screwed up as him on some level. Maybe I hadn’t escaped my own life without deep, black scars.
I didn’t want to look that closely, and instead stared out the window, thinking about drugs, and dead mothers, and missing fathers.
9
Ewan
“Put on something nice.” I stood in the door to her bedroom and leaned against the doorframe. “I’m taking you out.”
She looked up from the TV and stretched her legs. It was a little past ten at night on a Wednesday, and she’d been cooped up all week, except for our short excursion a few days before. I hated keeping her around like a pet, and she wandered around the apartment, doing yoga, watching TV, reading whatever books I brought home for her, but she was antsy, and she wanted to get out.
So I was going to give her a trip into the real world.
“Taking me out?” she asked, perking up a little. “Now why would you do such a thing?”
“Call it a treat for being good.”
She rolled her eyes and collapsed back against the pillows. “God, and for a second, I thought you weren’t being an asshole.”
I walked into her room and started going through her drawers. I picked out a pair of dark jeans and a low-cut gray top from some designer boutique I’d never heard of, but was obscenely expensive. I tossed the clothes over to her.
“Get dressed,” I said. “And let’s go.” I left her room and lingered in the hallway. I heard her grumble, but the TV turned off, and she started getting dressed. When she emerged, she was wearing the outfit I picked out, with a pair of dark heels and her hair swept over one shoulder. For a girl that was in bed wearing sweats five minutes earlier, she looked absolutely incredible.
“I hope it’s somewhere nice,” she said as we headed downstairs.
“It’s not,” I said, and we walked around the block, heading west. “But it’s my favorite spot.”
“What’s it called?”
“One Less Rib,” I said.
She laughed and tugged at her hair. “Seriously? Sounds like we’re getting barbecue.”
“It’s more like an old-school British pub,” I said. “Except it’s a dive. You’ll love it.”
The place was crowded when we arrived. I knew some made guys sitting at the bar and gave them the nod, but didn’t approach. One held up his drink as a sign of respect. I led Tara to an empty seat and flagged down the waitress, a young girl in black tank top with short hair and too much eye makeup. We ordered drinks, and I scanned the room to see if I knew anyone else.
The place was dimly lit. The walls were laminate wood, stained dark and scratched to hell. Pictures of dogs in fancy clothing covered the walls. Antlers were perched above the bar, and an old guy in a white suit served drinks, moving at a leisurely pace. The floors were bouncy and the tables were covered in thick coats of lacquer, but half the people had some connection to the crime families, and the other half were perfectly clueless.
I had an ulterior motive for bringing Tara to this specific bar. While it wasn’t exactly linked with the Valentino family, I knew word would leak out if I was spotted there, especially if Tara was with me. I wanted the Don to hear that I was giving an effort with Tara, and hoped that it would give us more time. I knew we had a month, but that deadline loomed like a massive, dying redwood tree, waiting to crush me into pieces.
The waitress returned with my whiskey and Tara’s vodka tonic. Tara leaned forward, chewing on the straw. “Okay, you dragged me here. Now please explain why this craphole is your favorite bar in the world.”
I laughed and shrugged. The whiskey tasted good going down. “Look at it,” I said. “Kitschy art. Bartender in a white suit. What could be better?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Comfortable chairs? Somewhere that’s not totally packed? Floors that don’t smell like puke?”
I waved that off, but she was right. The place was crowded for a Wednesday night. It was always crowded though—mafioso men didn’t give a fuck what day of the week it was. If they wanted to get fucked up, they did.
“It has character,” I said with a casual shrug and leaned back. “What sort of places did you go to?”
She arched an eyebrow. “You mean, before I got kidnapped by you?”
I grinned and put a finger to my lips. “Quiet, or else someone will hear.”
She rolled her eyes but sipped her drink. “Local places,” she said. “I was a waitress for a long time so I went out with the girls from work.”
I swirled my drink. “Think they’re worried about you?”
“Probably,” she said and her expression darkened. “I never got my shifts covered.”
“I’m sure they figured it out.”
“I know.” She stopped and seemed to curl in on herself. “It’s just that that was my first and only job ever, you know? I wanted to go to college, but I couldn’t get the money from my dad, and now I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“There are other ways of going to college,” I said, watching her carefully. “You could get loans. Apply for scholarships and grants.”
She snorted. “What do you know about that?”
“I wasn’t always a thug, you know.”
“Please, what, do you have a degree?”
I shook my head. “Of course not. But there was a time when I thought about it. Don Valentino said he would’ve sent me, if I could’ve gotten in somewhere local.”
“Why didn’t you then?” she asked.
“I guess running drugs and getting in fights was more fun.” I sipped my drink and looked toward the bar. I remembered those days fondly, though sometimes I wondered what would’ve become of me if I’d taken Don Valentino up on his offer. I finished high school and had surprisingly good grades, but the idea of college never really appealed.
I was sure the Don would’ve put me to work in his business somehow. Nothing ever came free from the Don, especially not something expensive like a college degree. It would’ve been a different life, but the same in a lot of ways.
“Yeah, well, I think college isn’t in the cards for me. I doubt I’ll ever get back. I’m not even sure where I’ll be in a few weeks.”
I smiled a little. “Tell you what. We make it through this alive, and I’ll pay for you to go back to school.”
“Oh, yeah?” She arched an eyebrow, a little smile on her lips. “So you started a little hit man scholarship, huh?”
I laughed and scratched my head. “I’m working on the name, but yeah, and you’re the first recipient.”
“All right,” she said. “We survive this and I’ll apply to some schools.”
“You’ve got a deal, but go easy on me. I’m rich, but I’m not that rich.”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll only cost you a few hundred thousand dollars all told. Heck, I might want a master’s degree too. Think you’d pay for medical school?”
I leaned toward her and touched the back of her hand with my fingers.
I was aware of several Valentino soldiers nearby, and at least one of them was watching. I had an ulterior motivation—I wanted them to report back to the Don that I was seen out with Tara, like I was really trying to seduce her. But then again, I liked the feel of her skin beneath my callused fingers, and the way her eyes glittered when I came near. Flirting with her, laughing with her, it felt natural and right.
“I’d gladly pay for medical school,” I said, “although I think I’d have to leave a long trail of bodies to afford it.”
“No problem,” she said, pulling her hand away. “I’ll save enough lives to make up for it.”
I grabbed the waitress’s attention and ordered two more drinks. Tara talked idly about TV shows she was missing, about her life working at the diner and the girls there, about what school was like back before she graduated, but neither of us mentioned her father. We skirted around his subject like a black hole in the middle of the room, but it didn’t seem to matter. Conversation flowed naturally, and soon I’d finished my second drink and started on a third.
“I should use the lady’s room,” Tara said, and pushed back from the table. “Or do you need to escort me there?”
“Feel free to escort yourself,” I said. “Unless you’re looking for company.”
“What a gentleman. I’d love a quickie in some dirty, dive bar bathroom.”
“I don’t think there’d be anything quick between us, darling.”
She laughed softly and her cheeks turned pink as she walked off, slipping through the crowd. I leaned back and watched her go, and tried to understand what the hell I was going to do with this messed-up situation.
I was torn between two extremes. At one end, I wanted her to run away. I didn’t think she belonged to me, not if she didn’t want it, and I wouldn’t force her into marriage. But at the other end, I wanted to follow orders and to do exactly what my Don asked of me. I was caught in an impossible situation, and she had more power than she realized.
The thing I didn’t know was, what did I actually want? If she wanted it, would I marry her? Some part of me thought yes, and the idea of having her around forever, in those tight yoga pants, with that adorable laugh and the way she chewed on her lip, and those bright pretty eyes, that idea of being her husband appealed to me in a way I’d never experienced before. I’d had women, but never one I wanted to stick around.
Tara was different. She was strong and self-possessed, and even though she was in an impossible situation, she seemed to be holding on the best she could. Truthfully, she should’ve broken down by now, because most normal humans snap under this kind of strain.
She didn’t, and that impressed me beyond anything else.
I wasn’t sure how much the news about her father really affected her. It was hard to tell, and except for right after she found out, we barely talked about it. I guessed she was struggling, but she was so good at hiding her emotions and shoving them all down out of sight that I wasn’t sure how she felt. I wanted to know where she was, and maybe I could meet her halfway.
I looked around as I turned the glass around in circles on the beat-up table. She’d been gone for almost five minutes, and I was starting to get impatient. Bringing her into a place like this was something of a risk, given how many made men there were around. Bad shit happening wasn’t unheard of, though most people were on their best behavior when surrounded by a bunch of thugs. Still, when ten minutes had passed, and she still wasn’t back, I couldn’t wait any longer.
I got up and headed to the back of the bar, down a small hallway, and around a corner. The women’s room was on the right, and I hesitated outside. Nobody else was around, and the light above flickered as some guys in the kitchen beyond a pair of double doors to my left shouted at each other in Spanish over a radio playing a Top 40 station.
“Fuck it,” I said softly, and pushed open the door. “Tara? You okay in here?”
The lighting was dim and for one second, I didn’t understand what I saw over near the far wall. There was water on the floor, and toilet paper strewn around, and broken glass glittered. A window was open, and warm air from the alley blew inside.
Tara struggled as a man tried to shove her outside.
I barreled forward and nearly slipped as I lowered my shoulder and slammed into the guy. He grunted in shock and cursed. I didn’t get a good look at him as my knee came up, smashing into his thigh, barely missing his groin. He punched me in the gut, then in the jaw, and I caught his next attempt. We wrestled, and I managed to toss him over my hip and into the stall.
Tara staggered back, away from the fight, and I jumped on the guy. He had dark hair and blue eyes, pale skin, wore jeans and a black long-sleeve t-shirt. I didn’t recognize him, and didn’t take the time to try to rummage through my memory. I slammed my fist into his face once, then twice, and I felt his nose crack. He groaned, and tried to shove me off, but I kneed him hard in the mouth. I grabbed his hair and pulled him to the toilet, and he tried to struggle, but I slammed his head against the wall twice until blood smeared along the stall.
Tara said something, but I didn’t hear. I shoved his face into the water of the toilet and held him there. He struggled like a motherfucker, but I knelt on his legs and used all my weight. I was bigger than him, stronger than him, and he hurt Tara, he touched my Tara, this motherfucker. He went for her in the women’s room like some goddamn creep, and was trying to pull her through the window.
“Ewan,” Tara gasped at my shoulder, her hand on my arm. I kept holding the bastard in the toilet, and he struggled wildly, dying, running out of air in some disgusting piss-filled water, and I didn’t give a fuck, didn’t care about anything but making sure this man never, ever came after Tara again.
She tried to pull me back but I shrugged her off. His struggling became weaker and weaker as he tried to shove his fingers into my eyes. I leaned back as his hand smacked at my cheek, getting weaker and weaker, until it slowly slid down, and his body went still.
I held him there a little bit longer. I had to be sure he was dead.
Tara’s sob finally made me let him go.
I stood up, drenched in blood and toilet water. I was breathing hard and hadn’t realized. The guy’s body stayed there, limp and motionless. He couldn’t have been older than twenty, I guessed.
“You killed him,” Tara said. “You killed him. Oh my god, you killed him.”
I turned to her, jaw clenched, and advanced. She took a few steps back until she bumped up against the counter. I didn’t stop, and pinned her there, leaning my hands to either side of her.
“Are you okay?” I asked, my voice soft and calming, but I couldn’t suppress the rage that ran through me.
She looked back at me with fear in her eyes. “I’m okay,” she whispered.
Blood rolled down her cheek from a cut under her eye. Her clothes were ripped and disheveled, and her hair was a mess. “What happened?”
“What are we going to do?” she whispered. “You murdered him.”
I reached up and cupped her chin. I looked into her eyes. “What happened?” I repeated.
“I came into the bathroom,” she said, not pulling away. “I did my thing, and I was washing my hands when he came in behind me. I fought him as hard as I could, and he hit me. The mirror broke, I don’t know how, I think he pushed me into it, then he opened the window and was going to drag me through. That’s when you came in.”
“You fought him,” I said softly. “Did he talk?”
“He said he was with the Healy family.” She sucked in a breath. “He said his name was Jonathan.”
“Jonathan,” I repeated. “Forget that name. He doesn’t matter.”
“You killed him.”
My grip on her cheeks tightened. “I had to,” I said, and a growl from the back of my throat wrenched itself out. “I need you to get it together for me. Do you understand? Can you do that?”
She nodded once, still scared. I held her face and was tempted to kiss her, god damn. I wanted to bit
e her lower lip and finish ripping her clothes off. Lust and rage and adrenaline rushed through my body and all I could think of was having her, right here and now, like an animal in heat.
Her eyes met mine and she knew what I was thinking. She knew it, and her cheeks turned pink. My free hand moved to her ass and squeezed it tight, pulling her hips against mine. She sucked in a breath and let out a soft moan as I moved closer, her breasts pressed against my chest, her heart racing wildly.
“What are you doing?” she whispered. “You can’t do this. Not right here.”
“Tell me to stop,” I said, clenching my jaw. “And you know I’ll let you go.”
She didn’t say a word, so I kissed her.
Fuck, it was heaven. Her tongue in my mouth, my other hand moved back into her hair and gripped it. I took her, controlled her, and made her my own as we kissed. I tasted her blood as it rolled down her cheek, and I didn’t give a fuck, didn’t care about anything but her lips, and her body pressed to mine. She tasted like vodka and heaven, and she moaned into my mouth as I gripped her hair and her ass.
It took all my willpower to pull away. I left her lips swollen and her eyes blinking rapidly. I turned my back on her, half hard and on fire with need. I had to get myself together.
“Listen to me now,” I said, still not looking at her. “Get yourself together. When you’re ready, go back out into the main room. You’ll pay for our drinks at the bar, then you’ll leave.”
“What about him?” she asked, and her voice was choked.
“There are Valentino men out in the main room,” I said. “They know who I am. We’ll get this cleaned up.”
“You’re going to get rid of him? He’s got a family. He’s a person.” She took a shuddering breath. “Ewan, you killed him.”
I turned back to her then. “This is what I am,” I said, staring at her like I wanted her to see me, really see me for the monster I’ve become. “He’s dead, and we’re not, and if we want to stay out of prison, then I need you to do what I’m telling you. Can you do that for me, Tara?”