Bratva Beast by B.B. Hamel
Preview: The Killer’s New Wife
Chapter One: Ewan
Ash from the burning building drifted down and landed on my tongue like a snowflake. I swallowed and felt burnt wood stick in my throat.
The girl knelt in the dirt in front of me as the Philly row home blazed at my back. I could feel the heat melting away layers of insulation and metal, licking up all her lost memories, all her family photos, and her father’s corpse lying in a pool of its own blood in the living room. Soon enough it would all be gone, her father included, only a memory for her.
It was a comfortable summer night and the moon shone along her skin. Her eyes were dark blue in the flickering orange firelight. She had long, thick auburn hair, gone wild. Her full pink lips pulled back into a snarl and she wore a simple pair of tight black jeans and a black The Shins t-shirt. She was pretty, and pissed off, and I couldn’t blame her. I had just murdered her father, after all. That usually made people mad.
Dean stood off toward the fence and peered out to the street. He was the son of the Valentino Don and should’ve been a spoiled little prick, but he actually wasn’t so bad. Came with me on the hit which was more than I could say for the other Valentino Capos. They hid behind their soldiers whenever the real shooting started.
Not me, they sent me in first to make the blood fall like rain.
“We need to get moving,” Dean said, frowning back toward me. “That house is going to drop soon and the cops are on their way.”
I nodded slightly and didn’t take my eyes from the girl. I knew she was dangerous and liable to spring up at any moment. I could see it in her face, despite the gun I held at my side. She was angry, and no amount of pain would make that go away.
I knew something about pain and anger and dulling it all, except I had a very specific sort of outlet and I doubted she’d be interested in all that.
“Got to do something with the girl,” I said. “Can’t just leave her here.”
“We’re not,” Dean said and walked over. He was about my height, with an athletic build and an arrogant smile. “You’re taking her home.”
I frowned and looked at him. “The hell I am.”
She made her move then. Smart girl. She leapt at me like a tiger, hands flying out, fingers in claws. She tried to jam her nails into my face and might’ve pulled it off if I hadn’t been ready. I caught her by the wrists and wrestled her down to the ground with ease. I had sixty pounds of muscle on her at least, and years and years of experience fighting on the streets. She was some twenty-three-year-old girl that lived at home with her rich sex trafficking father.
Fucking girl had no chance. I put her down on the dirt, face in the grass, hands wrenched behind her. She gasped but I didn’t put enough pressure on her wrists or her elbows to break anything—only enough to keep her immobile. I got a nice view of her ass and her lower back as her shirt was pulled up from the struggle.
“That’s a wild one,” Dean said with some amusement. Easy for him to think it was funny considering it hadn’t been his eyes the girl wanted to tear out.
“I’m not taking her home with me,” I said and glared back at Dean. “Absolutely not. She’s your problem.”
“Kill her then,” Dean said, waving a hand.
I grimaced. He knew me well enough to know I never would. I had very few rules in my life, except for two: no kids and no women.
I’d kill, mar, torture, steal, fight, hurt, or do just about anything the Valentinos asked me, but I wouldn’t hurt a woman or a kid.
I was just principled like that. A man’s got to have a code, and I’d known women all my life, women that suffered quietly under the hands of shit-stain men. I wasn’t going to be like one of them.
“You know I’m not going to,” I said, and the girl stopped struggling and started to listen like she was curious.
“Then take her home.” Dean looked over his shoulder as a siren blared in the distance. “Better hurry. Firefighters or the cops are almost here.”
More ash fell around us as the breeze picked up. I hated this goddamn decision. Normally, I would’ve let the girl go, but she was too connected to the Healy family and now she knew both our faces. She was a witness, and I didn’t leave witnesses behind, at least not witnesses that could talk.
I hauled her up to her feet. She struggled but I held her by the arms and showed her my teeth. “You keep fighting, and I’m going to use your shirt to tie your wrists together. You want that?”
Her lip curled up but she shook her head and spit on the ground. “Let me go,” she said. “I’m dead weight. You need to run, right?”
“You need to shut your mouth,” I said and she stared at me defiantly, but didn’t speak again.
“Make up your mind,” Dean said, the sirens coming closer. “You’ve got ten seconds.”
“Come on,” I said, dragging the girl to the back fence. “We can talk about this in the car.”
Dean laughed and unlatched the gate. We slipped out into an alley, pinned by the fence line on the left and the stone walls of the houses on the next block to our right. The ground was littered with bottles, cans, syringes, rotting plant matter, and tree roots. The girl stumbled more than once, but I kept her on her feet as we hurried to the far end. Dean reached it first, made sure it was all clear, then motioned me forward.
The girl tried to run as soon as we hit the sidewalk. I gripped her harder and she screamed. I covered her mouth with my hand and she bit me hard enough to draw blood, but I didn’t pull away. She cursed, her voice muffled, and I bled freely against her lips.
I knew pain. I could handle pain.
I kept my other arm around her shoulders and dragged her along. From a casual observer, she’d probably look drunk, or at least I hoped so. Dean was parked up ahead at the end of the block. His black hardtop Jeep was dinged and marred from countless accidents, but he insisted the thing drove like a tank.
I got in the back with the girl and he got behind the wheel. It smelled like stale beer and diesel fuel. He started the engine and we pulled out into traffic.
I dabbed at my bleeding palm with my shirt. “I should strip you down for that,” I said, keeping my voice steady.
She curled up in the corner, getting as far away from me as she could. “You touch me and I’ll rip your dick off.”
I ignored her. “Why the fuck do you want me to take her home?” I asked Dean, leaning forward between the seats.
He drove fast but not out of control. He didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention. “Have I ever asked you about your mother?” he said softly.
I pulled back and stared at his eyes in the rearview mirror. He watched my reaction carefully, and I kept my face as neutral as I could. The motherfucker had never mentioned her before, and as far as I knew, he had no clue who she was. But clearly, if he was bringing her up now, then the Valentino family had learned something about my past, something I hoped would stay buried for a very long time.
“I don’t know what she has to do with this,” I said and was unable to keep the anger from my tone.
“She’s got everything to do with it,” he said. “Now that things with the Healy family’s heating up, my father’s a little worried about your loyalty.” He paused and glanced back at me when he stopped at a stop sign. “I’m not so worried, but you know how my old man is.”
He drove forward and I leaned back, arms crossed. “So, what, this girl is some kind of test?” I glanced at her and she stared out the window like she wasn’t listening, but she hung on every word.
“That’s right, she’s a test,” Dean said. “She’s Tara Donnelly, distant cousin to the Healys, and you know how those fuckers are about family. The Don wants you to keep her and make sure she’s safe until we can figure out what the fuck to do with her.”
Tara looked at me and shook her head quickly. “I’m nobody,” she said. “I barely know the Healys, they don’t—”
“Shut up,” I said softly. “You’ll only make it worse.”
She bit down on her lip but stopped talking.
I felt sorry for her. She was angry and she was scared and she was nobody. Her father was hardly a blip on my radar. He was an easy kill and I’d only done it because the Don ordered him dead. Otherwise I never would’ve bothered with a lowlife piece of trash like Jermain Donnelly.
Dean took the long way through South Philly in case we were being followed, crossed over into West Philly, then looped back around through the north. He came down Broad Street, driving slowly, and angled back through Old City toward Passyunk Avenue. I had an apartment above a Mexican food place and it smelled like fried food and cheap beer all night long. Most people would hate it, but I loved the noise—it drowned out all the swirling thoughts that ran through my mind when I tried to get to sleep at night.
I tapped my fingers on the window and considered my position. I could refuse to take the girl and fail this test. I resented being tested at all and my long service to the Don should’ve been proof enough of my loyalty. But I understood how the family worked, and I knew that they had to be sure, even when there was no reason to doubt.
Loyalty was the most important thing to the Valentino family, loyalty above all else. Loyalty above self, above love, above life.
I was a loyal killer, but I had the wrong kind of mother, and not that we were getting into a war with the Irish—they had to be careful.
If I accepted, the girl would be mine to keep safe. I didn’t know how that would go. She’d already given me trouble, and I had no reason to think she’d sit around my apartment looking docile and taking commands. She’d be trouble, and I didn’t want or need it.
I had enough trouble without some girl to make things worse.
But I knew there was no turning this down. If the Don ordered something, then it was my duty to obey, no matter how distasteful.
Dean found a spot a block away from my place. He shifted in his seat and looked back at me. “What do you think?” he asked.
“I think it’s a shitty thing for your father to do,” I said, glancing at Tara. “But I can’t exactly turn him down.”
“No, you can’t,” Dean said. “Lucky for her, too, since if you refused, I had orders to kill her and toss the body in the Schuylkill.” He laughed and shook his head. “God damn, that would’ve been such a pain in the ass. And I just got this car cleaned.”
“Smells like puke,” I said, and reached out to grab Tara’s wrist.
She struggled for a second, then glared at me. “I don’t get a say in this?” she asked.
“You heard him,” I said. “You can stay here and die, or you can come with me to my apartment, and maybe you’ll survive all this if you’re smart. I guess it’s your call, but I’m tired, and I’ve got your dad’s fucking blood on my shoes. So get out and come on if you want to keep on breathing.” I kicked Dean’s door open with a curse.
Dean laughed and leaned across the passenger side seat. I stood on the sidewalk as he rolled down the window.
“Just be careful,” he said. “Consider the girl a gift as much as a test.”
“You’ve got a funny idea about presents,” I said. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with her?”
“No clue,” Dean said, tapping his finger on the gearshift. “Good luck though. I’ll check in tomorrow.”
Tara got out and came around. She stood next to me on the sidewalk, and Dean waved as he pulled out and drove off.
We stood side by side in the gloom of the weak street lights. There were no stars in the sky—there never were in the city. Too much light pollution. Too much regular pollution too, I’d bet.
Passyunk was a popular street, but at around one in the morning it was mostly clearing out. Bars closed at two, and beyond that, the place turned into a ghost town. Tara looked around and I could practically read her mind.
She wondered how she could get away.
“Try screaming again,” I said, shaking my head. “Go ahead, I won’t stop you. Hell, run away, if you want. I won’t chase.”
She narrowed her eyes, then looked over my shoulder, probably judging the best route. “Why?” she asked without moving.
“Because then you wouldn’t be my problem anymore. The Don would send someone to kill you, and I’d wash my hands of the whole thing.”
She went stiff. I pretended like I wasn’t watching her, but studied her in my peripheral vision. She was thin and pretty, and that hair made my heart race. If I’d met her under different circumstances, she would’ve been my type.
Unfortunately, she was the cousin of my enemy, and I had no use for her. I didn’t hurt women, and I definitely didn’t use them as some kind of sex toy, the way Dean probably thought I might.
She wasn’t a gift then. She was a pain in my ass.
“You’re bluffing,” she said.
“You heard him back there,” I said. “He had orders to kill you if I didn’t take you. If you want to die, you can run away. Maybe you’ll make it, but I doubt you’ll get far. No money, no ID, no nothing. You could go to the cops, but eventually they’d let you out, and you really think we don’t have people in the police?”
She narrowed her eyes. Maybe that last bit was a little too far, but it was actually true. The Valentino family played the long game, and some of the younger distant cousins had joined the police force a few years ago. They weren’t powerful or important, but they were on the inside.
“I don’t believe you,” she said defiantly.
I sighed. My right knee hurt from kicking down the door, and I wanted to try to scrub as much blood from the soles of my shoes as I could before I went to bed. I didn’t have time to stand around and argue.
“Do what you want,” I said. “But if you run, you’re dead.” I started walking then, and truly didn’t give a shit what she did. I almost wished she’d try to make a break for it—at least then she wouldn’t be my problem anymore. The Don would be angry that she got away, but he’d get over that.
Unfortunately, she followed. I did my best not to look at her as we made our way to my apartment. I unlocked the unmarked metal door that was tucked in an alcove next to the Mexican place’s entrance, and walked up the creaking steps. I opened another door, and stepped into my place.
Tara followed me inside. I shut and locked the door behind me.
“Welcome home,” I said, and tossed my keys in a little plate on a side table next to the door, beneath the intercom.
She lingered, looking around, and said nothing as I took off my shoes and got a scrub brush from the kitchen. I stood over the sink, water running, and went to town. The blood came off in pink rivulets.
My place was spacious. I had the whole second floor to myself. There were two bedrooms, a full bathroom, a nice sized living room with pretty bay windows overlooking a park across the street, and a decent kitchen with new appliances. I had good furniture, shit from this local artisan guy that charged way too much money, but I had more cash than I could ever spend. Art hung on the walls, mostly stuff I’d bought from local street guys that sold their stuff on the sidewalk during flea markets. It was a mishmash of styles, from cartoons of Star Wars characters to more serious realistic portraits of women I’d never met before. I had plants blooming from large clay pots, and decorative vases, and colorful throw pillows, and nice, heavy rugs, and the place was really fucking cozy.
I was a killer, but I liked comfort.
“What am I supposed to do?” Tara asked, standing in the little doorway. The kitchen was separated from the living room by a long counter, and she leaned against it, chewing her lip.
“I’ve got a spare room,” I said. “Go sleep in there. I’ll get you some clothes. Beyond that, I don’t know. We’ll figure it out.”
She stood there slumped over the counter, and her full pink lips started trembling. Her eyes filled with tears, and I looked away, because, fuck, I didn’t want to see her cry.
“Go to the first room on the right if you’re going to do that,” I said through clenched teeth.
I’d seen plenty of women cry in my life. I didn’t want to see it again.
She left without a word. I heard the door slam.
I finished scrubbing my shoes. Her dad’s blood came out mostly. They weren’t ruined, at least.
I stopped near a control panel for my alarm system next to the front door. I flipped it open, typed in my passcode, and armed it. Now if she left the apartment, the thing would start blaring.
I hurried into my bedroom and shut the door before it fully activated.
The space was gloomy and small, dominated by a big bed. I leaned up against the door and shut my eyes, squeezing them hard.
I couldn’t remember the last time I lived with a woman. Probably not since I was a teenager, stuck in my father’s house. There were always women around my father’s house, so many women, cycling in and out. Few stayed for very long, except for my mother. She lasted the longest, but even she went sooner or later.
Now I had Tara, my test and my gift.
Some fucking gift. She was gorgeous, I could admit to that, but I didn’t want her, and had no clue what the hell I’d do with her now.
That was a problem for tomorrow. I stripped off my clothes and got into bed. Downstairs, the sound of laughing people eating good enchiladas and drinking copious inexpensive Coronas drifted up through my floorboards, and lulled me to sleep.
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