The Killer’s New Obsession by B.B. Hamel
Irene
Iwas bored enough to pace around the apartment by the time Cam came back with a several shopping bags full of stuff. “What’s all that?” I asked, staring with my mouth open.
He dropped the bags in front of me. “Didn’t know what size you were so I got two of everything,” he said. “Go try it on.”
I opened one up. Designer clothes, sports bras, yoga pants, jeans and tops. “What did you do?” I asked, eyes wide. “Did you steal all this?”
He barked a laugh. “Despite what you may think, I am very well paid by the Valentino family. Now I just ran around town getting you some nice things. I expect you to wear it.”
I was tempted to strip down then and there, but I figured that would be a very bad idea. I was used to getting changed in or around other people, had learned to take off my pants while keeping my eyes peeled for some fucker that wanted to try something. Cam wouldn’t do that, but he’d certainly watch, and maybe that was worse.
Dresses, tights, bras and underwear. Most of it should fit, though some was too big. I put on a sports bra, some clean underwear, a pair of yoga pants, and a tank top, and stared at myself in the floor-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door.
I looked like one of those girls with clean teeth and good families. One of those girls from the suburbs that drank Starbucks and laughed a lot and mostly worried about what boys she wanted to call and how cute she’d look on Instagram. I couldn’t remember the last time I wore yoga pants. Probably never.
I almost liked it. There was a moment where I could pretend I was someone else, like I was one of those girls, happy and free and whole, instead of broken and caged.
“Let me see you,” Cam called from the hallway.
I opened the door and tugged at the hem of my top. “I don’t know about this,” I said.
But his eyes narrowed and his lips parted, and I knew he liked it.
“Look at you,” he said softly. “God damn. You clean up good, Irene.”
“Shut up,” I said, smiling despite myself. “I’m not freaking modeling for you, okay?”
“I think you should,” he said. “There are some very revealing outfits in there. Doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”
I pushed past him and headed back out into the living room. “How about you just use your imagination and leave me out of it?” I said.
He laughed and followed me. I sat down on the couch, pulling my legs up underneath me. I didn’t know what to do with myself—it’d been so long since I had somewhere stable to stay, with a hot shower and clean clothes and actual food in the refrigerator. I felt weird, twitchy, like someone had wrapped ropes around my body and kept slowly tightening them, cinching me into pieces.
Maybe that was my problem. My first instinct was to run, and for the last two years, I’ve barely slowed down. I drifted from one spot to another, never sleeping in the same place for more than a few nights before moving on. It kept me safe and out of trouble and alive, but it wasn’t a real life.
Cam followed me back out. He had changed into jeans and a clean black shirt, minus blood splatter. I had to admit he looked good, even if I was still resentful of this whole situation.
“We should talk about what we’re going to do moving forward,” he said, sitting down on the chair next to the couch.
I shifted toward him with a shrug. “All right then,” I said. “What’s there to say? I figure I’ll crash here until things blow over with Ronan.”
His raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips. “When’s that gonna be, exactly?”
“Are you in a rush to kick me out?” I leaned toward him, grinning.
“Not at all,” he said. “Only, you should think about what you’re going to do once you leave.”
“I’ve got places to go,” I said and put my chin on my hands. “You worried about me now?”
“Yes,” he said, his face serious. “I really am. Why don’t you stay here for a while? I can get you back on your feet—”
“No, thanks,” I said sharply and pulled back.
I was waiting for this. Typical Cam, coming to the rescue, as if I needed his help.
“I’m not going to force you into anything,” he said, holding up his hands. “But you’ve been living rough for a while, haven’t you?”
“I’ve been making it work.”
“How?” he pressed. “Stealing?”
“Mostly,” I said. “It’s good work if you can get it.”
He snorted and didn’t admonish me for being a thief. Considering what he did for his job, that would be more than a little hypocritical.
Still, I felt a slight twinge of embarrassment. I never felt this way out there on the street, where the other people I surrounded myself with were also struggling in their own ways, with addiction or mental illness or were simply like me and wanted to disappear for a while. Out there, everyone stole and did whatever they had to do to survive. That was never meant to be me, though.
From a distance, my family wasn’t so bad. My dad worked at the docks doing something on computers, and my mother took waitressing shifts at a few different places. We were middle class, relatively comfortable, and I wasn’t going hungry or cold at night.
Get closer though, and that pretty picture fell apart. My father drank as soon as he got home from work, and I was pretty sure he drank during the day, too. My mother took more pills than was healthy, and sat around zonked out and high out of her brain most of the time. Dad had a temper, and his temper was almost always directed at me, and Mom barely ever gave a damn what happened to me, so long as she got her pills.
In theory, I had a chance. My parents had some money and stable jobs, even if they were only good at faking it, and beneath the calm exterior there was rot threatening to drown us all. But nobody ever saw that, nobody except for Cam.
He was the only person that understood me. I wanted so much from him and he never let me down—until the day he decided to join the Valentino family.
He broke my heart. I told him joining the mafia was too far, that I couldn’t be friends with him if he went down that road. He refused to discuss it with me, refused to ever talk about it, and one day he ruined everything.
I wanted better for him, even if I was cursed to something worse. Instead, he traveled the same path I was destined for, and it broke me up inside.
“What if I paid you to stay here?” he asked softly.
I leaned back against the couch and stared at him. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” he said. “I’ll give you five thousand for every week you stay here, twenty thousand per month. All you have to do is sleep on my couch and get your shit together.”
“I have my shit together,” I said, standing up. I paced across the room, boiling with anger—and temptation.
That kind of money could change things for me. One month here and I could afford my own apartment. I could get a job, figure out how to live like a normal person, get the hell off the streets. I could have the life I’d always wanted.
And all I had to do was give up my freedom to Cam.
“I’m not saying you don’t,” he said. “But you’re homeless and I’m not going to let you drift forever.”
“You didn’t give a shit before,” I said, glaring at him. “Where were you two months ago when I was trying to sleep outside in the rain?”
He grimaced and looked down at his hands. “I should’ve found you sooner,” he said softly. “You’re right. But I’m not going to make the same mistakes.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Cam,” I said and the edge of anger softened somewhat. He really did meant it—he thought that it was his own failure that kept me from him, instead of my own stupid stubbornness.
He didn’t see how broken I was. He never did quite see that.
“Stay with me,” he said. “I’ll pay you. I’ll buy you clothes, food, whatever you want. Hell, I’ll even decorate this place if it’ll make you happy.”
I snorted and looked around. “It is a little barren.”
“Go nuts. Buy some shit for the walls. Get some little statues and hang shelves, I don’t care. But stay here with me.”
I crossed my arms and looked away from him, over toward the back window where the city light shattered up against the stark white blinds. Outside, the world moved past us, and I thought of everyone I knew on the streets, the few friends I had that helped me survive. Larry with his thick black beard and wild smile and paranoia; Janine, turning tricks, missing a molar, laughing so loudly it must’ve hurt her throat; Simon and his perpetual limp and crack addiction. And so many other drifters that flitted in and out of my life, so many people that helped.
I wondered how many of them would kill for a chance like this. Probably all of them. Though you didn’t end up on the street for no good reason. Most people on the street either wanted to be there, or couldn’t be anywhere else.
I didn’t know which one I was.
“I’ll think about it,” I said finally. “I don’t want your money, but I do like the idea of having a roof over my head for a while.”
“That’s all I’m asking,” he said. “Think about it while we get this shit with Ronan figured out. The offer will always be there, if you decide to leave. I’m not going to give up on you.” He slowly stood up and stretched his neck. “Now, there’s one more thing we’ve got to talk about.”
I took a step away from him. “What’s that?” I asked, suddenly wary. I didn’t love the way he stared at me with a predatory glare.
“USB sticks,” he said.
And those word sent my spine tingling.
“You asshole,” I whispered. “You followed me.”
“Damn right I did,” he said, suddenly angry. “What the hell were you thinking, Irene? You kept whatever you took from him?”
“I hid it,” I snapped. “I didn’t mean to grab those USB things, those were an accident. I just wanted the cash.”
“Ronan wouldn’t kill you over a few hundred dollars,” Cam said. “Whatever’s on those USB sticks must be serious.” He paced back and forth, scratching at his neck, and I wanted to scream at him.
I felt betrayed, but I should’ve seen this coming. He didn’t trust me yet, and I couldn’t blame him. Obviously, he was right, something important was on those sticks, and I didn’t know what it could possibly be.
And I didn’t want to find out.
“You should’ve left me alone,” I said. “I was going to leave that crap hidden, but you’re not going to let it go, are you?”
“Of course not,” he said, frustrated. “Can you blame me?”
“Yes, I can.” I went to push past him. He grabbed my wrist and wouldn’t let me past, and I was suddenly inches away from his chest, staring up into his large, angry eyes, his perfect lips turned down into a snarl, his muscular chest against mine. God, Cam was big, so much bigger than I remembered, but also so much the same. His mannerisms, his way of speaking, it was Cam, still Cam, even if the mafia had shaved him down and reshaped him into a killer.
“Let me go,” I said softly.
His lips came closer. “You can’t lie to me,” he said. “If you want this thing to work, you can’t lie.”
“I didn’t lie,” I said, not moving. “Now let me go.”
He was so close. Lips inches from mine. I wanted it and hated myself for it, wanted him to close that gap and press his mouth against my own, and I was terrified that that would make me feel.
“You’re taking me to collect them,” he said, still lingering there.
“No,” I said. “You know where they are. You go get them.”
“I’m not leaving you alone,” he said. “The second I turn my back is the second you’ll run.”
“I guess that’s a risk you’ll have to take then,” I said, and ripped my wrist from his grasp then shouldered past him. He let out an annoyed grunt as I left him there and stormed down the hall and into his room. I shut the door, locked it, then sat down on the floor at the base of the bed with my knees pulled to my chest.
Broken, always so broken. I hadn’t been whole in a long, long time.
I should’ve given him the USB sticks from the start. I didn’t know why I hid it—probably because I wanted some sort of leverage, and that was all I had. He wouldn’t care about the money and I knew it from the start, and yet I lived so long keeping everything a secret that it felt strange to tell him something he didn’t absolutely have to know.
I’d lost my sense of trust. I left it behind out there on the street, and I wasn’t sure if I could bring it back.
I wouldn’t run. I knew I was stuck here for a while, even if it hurt. Every time I let him down and showed him just how fractured I’d become, it only wiggled a knife deeper into those cracks and widened them, bit by tiny bit, until I’d eventually fall into tiny pieces.
I didn’t know how to keep myself together.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to remember the last time I was happy. It’d been so long, but I could still almost smell it: Cam’s arm over my shoulder, laughing with him at the park while we drank cheap beer from paper bags that some friend’s older brother bought. He looked down at me, grinning big and white, and tilted his head. “Doesn’t get any better than this,” he said, and I smiled back at him, and knew he was right.
And he was still right, because it hadn’t.
I stayed in that room for the rest of the day and hoped I wouldn’t pay for all my careless anger.
