by B. B. Hamel
“They will,” I said again. “It’s the only thing that makes any sense. Cut a deal, make everyone happen. Mafias don’t love killing each other if they can avoid it, believe it or not.”
“You don’t know my dad then.”
“I know him better than you think.” I pushed off the chair and stood. “If you run, you lose everything. Your life, your job, your friends, all this. You’ll start over as a nothing, as a nobody. You can never open up a bank account or log in to the internet under your real name. You’ll constantly be on the run, constantly look over your shoulder. Do you have any idea what kind of life you could live like that?”
“I don’t,” she said and her voice was tiny.
“You don’t,” I repeated. “But imagine it. You’d be nothing, with nothing, and could never be anything. You’ll rot in Barbados, or Jamaica, or Aruba, or Argentina, or wherever you run.”
“I’m still trying to figure out why you care.”
“I care because I saw something in you last night.”
“We had sex, okay?” She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “That’s all, just sex.”
“We had a connection at dinner.”
“You’re handsome and charming. So what?”
“I don’t have many connections.”
“That’s a big shocker.” She looked up at the ceiling. “What the hell am I going to do?”
“You’re going to stay here,” I said. “You’re going to let me move in and take care of you.”
“Wait— what?” She shook her head and her hair flew wildly. “You’re not moving in.”
“So then how am I supposed to protect you?”
“Do you see the size of this place?”
I frowned and stroked my chin. “Fair point. We could go to a hotel. That might be safer, actually.”
“Tanner—”
“A nice hotel,” I said. “Something fancy. Top floor, one way in, one way out. Lots and lots of cameras.” I could feel my brain working on a plan already. It wouldn’t be foolproof and I’d still have to do a fair amount of legwork to make sure her father made nice with the Leone family, but it just might work.
“No way,” she said. “Take me to the train station.”
I gaped at her. “Are you kidding?”
“Tanner—”
“You really want to die, don’t you?”
“No,” she said. “I just don’t trust my life to some… some… crazy weirdo.”
I grinned at her. “Please, you want to fuck me again. Don’t pretend like I’m just some weirdo.”
She threw her hands up. “You murder people. You’re a psychopath.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” I said. “But hey, it might be smart to have a psychopath on your side, right? Since you’ll be dealing with psychopaths for a while.”
“You’re seriously out of your mind.”
I shrugged like it was no big deal, although I stared at her and couldn’t look away. I felt her slipping out of my grasp and I had to do something to change her mind before she made a huge mistake.
“I want you, Elise,” I said, walking toward her. She leaned back on the couch as I stopped and crouched down inches from her knees. “I want you to make me feel alive again. I want to make you my little pet. And in order to do that, I need to keep you alive and breathing. How am I going to fuck you mindless if you go and get yourself killed? Or if you disappear somewhere in South America?”
“Jesus,” she whispered, “you’re really insane, aren’t you?”
“No,” I said. “I’m just a man that knows what he wants.”
I put my hands on her knees and leaned closer. She pulled back and put her hands flat on the couch cushions. She stared at me with wide eyes and her lips fell open to reveal her little white teeth. Her pink tongue ran along her lower lip and I could’ve sworn I felt her tremble.
Maybe I was crazy, because it turned me the fuck on.
“You’re serious,” she said.
“I’m very serious.” I leaned closer. “Let me protect you.”
“I have to— I have to think,” she said.
“Don’t think.” I tilted my head. She closed her mouth then bit her lip hard. “You know I’m your only choice.”
“How can I trust you?” she asked.
“If I wanted to hurt you, darling, you’d be hurting,” I said. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead. I don’t want either of those things.”
I held her gaze with mine, head tilted slightly, breathing her in. She smelled like soap and fear. It was an acrid scent, sharp and musky. I knew that smell well, and it disturbed me how fast it made my heart race.
She had no inkling how bad things were for her. She thought she knew, but there was no way she could ever fully grasp what all this meant.
“Fine,” she said.
“Fine?” I asked.
“Fine.” She pushed me away. I teetered then toppled back onto my ass. I laughed and hopped up to my feet.
“Great,” I said. “This is great. Okay, go pack a bag, we’ll—”
“But we’re staying here.” She crossed her arms and snapped her legs shut.
The words died on my lips. “Elise,” I said.
“I’m not getting stuck in some random hotel with you,” she said. “If I’m going to do this… I want to do it in my own apartment. I figure I’m going to die anyway, so I might as well die at home.”
I groaned. “Elise,” I said.
“Stop,” she said. “Take it or leave it.”
I rubbed my face with both hands and messed up my hair.
“Fine,” I said. “Shit, fuck, fine. I hope whoever they send is a moron, because he’ll have to be one if we want to live through this.”
“I thought you said you could keep me safe.”
I glared at her. “I can. Don’t you start.”
She stood up. “I want to take a bath.”
“Fine.”
She marched past me. Our shoulders brushed and I grabbed her wrist hard. I held it and pulled her, making her stumble. I saw real fear in her eyes then and relief washed through my chest.
Good. She still cared whether she lived or died. That meant she might actually listen to me and get through this.
“Enjoy your bath,” I said.
She gave me a look and pulled her wrist away. I watched her ass sway as she marched down the hall, into the bathroom, and slammed the door shut behind her.
The water turned on.
I looked around her apartment. Cheerful plastic roosters lined the top of her refrigerator. Brightly colored geometric-patterned blankets lay folded on the back of the couch. It was a cute place.
I just hoped it was secure enough.
6
Elise
I sank low into the warm tub and let my hair drift into the sudsy water.
Somewhere in my apartment, an insane man wants to protect me from other insane men, all because I was born to the wrong father.
“This is so fucked up,” I whispered.
I stared up at the cracks in the ceiling then closed my eyes.
And pictured the moment I decided to leave home.
I was twelve years old. My father came home late most nights back then. I remembered staying up watching old movies on TV and wondering if maybe tonight was the night he wouldn’t bother showing up.
But he always did. He came in through the front door trailing cigar smoke and whiskey stench.
That night, I sat up on the couch as the door banged against the wall.
“Dad?” I asked.
“Help me,” he called from the entryway.
I got up and ran to the front of the house. My father was leaning against the open door, sweat dripping down his face. His white shirt was covered in blood.
I stood and stared. My mouth hung open. My hands moved up like baby birds to paw at my cheeks.
“Daddy?”
“Help me, damn it, Elise.” His teeth clenched tight. “Get your fucking ass over
here.”
I ran to him. I let him put some weight on me and I nearly fell over. He always was a big man. I helped him inside, kicked the door shut behind us. He stumbled, slipped in his own blood, took us both to the floor.
“Fuck,” he grunted. “Come on. Help me.”
I helped him crawl into the kitchen where he collapsed against the cabinets, breathing hard.
“Get my shirt off.”
I tried to do the buttons but my hands shook. There was so much blood.
“Scissors,” he said.
I found kitchen shears in the knife block. I cut down his shirt and the buttons popped off. They bounced along the tile floor like pebbles.
He had a long jagged gash slashed through his abdomen. He pressed his hands against the slowly oozing wound.
“Fuck,” he said.
“Daddy, that’s bad,” I said. “There’s so much blood. I have to call an ambulance.”
His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. “No,” he said, eyes wild. “Help me.”
“Daddy—”
“Get me a towel. And a phone.”
I got him the towel first. He wadded it up and shoved it against his wound. He grunted in pain. I got him the house phone and he snatched it from my hand. He dialed a number then held it against his ear.
“Mark,” he said. “I need a doctor. Yeah, right now. My place. That fuck Yuri. Yeah the fucking fat one. Stabbed me with this fucking commando knife. Cut me the fuck open. Yeah, I’m bleeding, fucking bad. I need a doctor and right now. What? I put a bullet in his fucking skull. Send the doctor to my house.”
He hung up the phone and shoved it back to me.
I took it. My hands shook.
“Pretend like you didn’t hear what you just heard,” he said.
I nodded fast. I didn’t trust myself to speak.
“Good girl. Now sit with your daddy. I’m going to be okay. Doc will be here soon to clean and stitch me up.”
I sat down on the tile floor next to my father. I felt his sticky blood under my legs. I leaned my head on his shoulder.
And I swore I’d get out of that house as soon as I could.
I opened my eyes again and let out a breath. I kicked my feet and splashed the water in the tub.
He hit me sometimes. Only when he got too drunk and only when I was still awake to take it, but he hit me. That wasn’t the worst part though. No, the worst part was the uncertainty. The worst part was the late-night phone calls, the men coming over at all hours, the girls hanging around in the driveway, the drinking and the smoking and the blood.
So many bloody shirts. I learned how to get blood out of a suit at a very young age.
It fucked me up. I’m still fucked up because of it.
I sat up in the tub and let the water run off me.
God, I was broken. I don’t think I knew it back then, when I was just a little girl. I didn’t realize how scarred I was and how desensitized to all the insanity he made me. Children weren’t supposed to be around violence and sex and alcohol and drugs, they weren’t supposed to grow up thinking that stuff was normal.
I didn’t realize just how broken I’d become until I actually left that house and met normal people.
I climbed out of the tub and wrapped a towel around myself. My hair dripped down my shoulders and my back. I wrung it out in the sink then opened the bathroom door.
I half expected to find Tanner waiting for me. But there was nothing.
I snuck into my bedroom and shut the door. I put on a pair of yoga pants and a clean tank top. I wrapped the towel around my hair then padded back out into my apartment.
Tanner stood at my front windows staring at something along the edge.
“What are you doing?”
He jumped and looked back at me. He gave me a goofy smile. “Hey,” he said. “Scared me.”
I gave him a look. “What are you doing?” I repeated.
“Making sure these close right,” he said. “Do you know when this building was made?”
“I have no clue,” I said. “It’s Philly. So probably in the fifties? Maybe older.”
“Figured,” he said. “Old ass windows. Piece of shit locks.”
“We’re on the second floor.”
“Brick’s not that hard to climb.”
“Someone would see him.”
Tanner grunted. “You’d be surprised,” he said and went back to inspecting the frame.
“So how’s this going to work?” I asked. “You’re just going to sit around here and wait for someone to come try to kill us?”
“Nah,” he said. “I plan on being a little more proactive than that.”
“How?”
“I’m going to convince the Leone family to cut a deal with your father.”
I gave him a disbelieving laugh. “I thought you said my dad would just do that on his own?”
“I exaggerated a little bit,” he said, not looking at me. He pulled at the window and shook his head. “Fucking piece of shit.”
“Tanner. How do you think you’re going to do that?”
“I have connections,” he said. “I know the guys in the family. Some of them actually like me.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“I’m very personable.” He grabbed the end of the window and slammed it shut with a loud bang. I jumped and clutched at my chest. He looked back at me and grinned. “There we go. That’ll do.”
“Jesus,” I said. “Warn me next time.”
“Sorry.” He walked over and kicked at the coffee table. “Seriously though. I’m on good terms with a few of the guys.”
“I’m guessing they probably don’t love you now that you’re protecting me,” I said.
“True.” He made a dismissive gesture. “Small thing.”
I let out a breath through my nose then walked into the kitchen. I filled up my tea kettle and put it on to boil.
“Want tea?” I asked absently.
“That’d be lovely.” He walked over and sat down at a stool on the other side of the little kitchen counter.
I leaned against the cabinets to wait for the water to boil.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“Sure,” he said. “Go for it.”
“How many… you know.”
He tilted his head. “How many… what? Women have I slept with?”
I gave him a look. “No,” I said. “Although should I be curious about that?”
“Only if you’re the jealous type.”
“I’ll just ignore that,” I said. “I mean, how many… people have you killed.”
“Ah,” he said, voice soft. His dark eyes stared at me like a hungry wolf. “That’s an impolite question to ask, Elise.”
I had to looked away. I felt a shiver run down my spine. He was gorgeous, so incredibly gorgeous, but he scared me.
“Sorry,” I said.
“It’s okay. You’re new to this.”
“I just want to know what kind of person you are.”
“My body count doesn’t have much to do with that.”
“Okay then.” I looked back at him, head cocked. “How’d you get into the business? Or is that off limits too?”
“No, that’s a better question.” He stroked his chin then messed up his hair. I guessed it was a nervous habit. He’d done it earlier when he was convincing me to go along with this crazy plan. “I’m not sure where to start,” he said.
“Start anywhere. Doesn’t matter to me.”
“I’m an orphan,” he said. “Went through the system.”
“Foster parents?”
“Long string of them,” he said. “Then I got adopted when I was fifteen. Nice couple out in the suburbs, really tried their hardest with me, you know?”
“You didn’t…” I trailed off.
He laughed. “God, no. I don’t just murder people. Jesus, Elise.”
I spread my hands. “How am I supposed to know that?”
“Whatever. They were nice peop
le, okay? I rebelled hard, got involved with some pretty nasty people. I ran away a year later, ended up living on the streets in the city. Kept to myself but formed a little tribe, you know what I mean? Hit some hard times in those days until I met a guy named… I’ll call him Dan.”
“Dan?”
“Sure,” he said. “Dan. Anyway, Dan was involved with the mafia. Mostly stole stuff, petty crimes, that sort of shit. But one day Dan caught wind of a contract out for this guy named… I’ll call him Todd.”
“Dan and Todd,” I said.
“Todd was a junky and stole a lot of cash from a Leone establishment. The Don put out a bounty on his head, five hundred dollars. In retrospect, that wasn’t a lot, but it felt like a fortune to me then.”
“So you found him and killed him?”
“In a nutshell,” I said. “Dan did the heavy lifting. Tracked the guy down and all that. But when the time came to actually do the killing, Dan got cold feet. But I didn’t.”
My heart raced. I stared and tried not to let him see the fear in my eyes.
The kettle whistled. I jumped and put my hand on my chest. “Shit,” I said.
“Good timing,” he said.
I got two mugs, dropped a black tea bag in each, and filled them with water. I slid his mug to him then returned to my spot.
“So you killed Todd.”
“I killed Todd,” he said. “And I realized it wasn’t that hard. I mean, I didn’t like it. Had nightmares for a week. But when the Leone family put out another bounty, I went after it hard. Then I did another… and another… and soon the family came directly to me when they had work. Things took off from there.”
“So you just stumbled into killing people.”
“More or less.”
“Lucky you.”
“I know you’re being sarcastic, but I am lucky.” He dunked his bag in and out of the water. “I was on a bad path back then. I don’t think I’d be alive right now if I kept on it. Killing people isn’t exactly a great job, but the people I’m sent after tend to really deserve it.”
“And me?” I asked. “You think I deserve it?”
He stopped dunking and looked at me. “No, I don’t,” he said.
“I guess that’s why I’m alive.”
“You’re right.” He took the bag out, looked around, dropped it onto the counter.