by Hamel, B. B.
The Killer's New Obsession
A Possessive Mafia Romance
BB Hamel
Contents
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1. Irene
2. Cam
3. Irene
4. Cam
5. Irene
6. Cam
7. Irene
8. Cam
9. Irene
10. Cam
11. Irene
12. Cam
13. Irene
14. Cam
15. Irene
16. Cam
17. Irene
18. Cam
19. Cam
20. Irene
21. Irene
22. Cam
23. Irene
Also by BB Hamel
Copyright © 2021 by B. B. Hamel
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1
Irene
I never should’ve tried to steal from the Healy family. Then again, I’ve never been good at making smart decisions.
Probably why I ended up living on the streets and picking pockets at the tender age of eighteen.
That, and my dad was an abusive monster and my mother was a drug-addicted shell of a human.
But they weren’t the reason I tried to steal from the Healy family. Truth was, I couldn’t help myself. I had to try to bite the hand that fed me.
It was just in my nature.
And my nature was about to get me killed.
The room was sweltering. Summer in Philly boiled the asphalt and the humidity felt like walking around in the bottom of a swimming pool. I was tied to a chair inside a structure—probably a house, but I couldn’t be sure. The blindfold was scratchy, wool or maybe cheap cotton mixed with synthetic fibers, but either way it was enough to block out everything around me. All was dark, and no matter how much I struggled against my bonds, they wouldn’t break.
Not that I had a chance. I was five foot four and weighed less than some really big dogs. I was strong and fast from living out on the streets for the past couple of years, but no way in hell could I break my wrists out of a rope.
How did magicians do it? Dislocate their wrists? Or maybe they had a key hidden away in their mouth. Unfortunately, I had no hidden key, and I didn’t know how to dislocate my wrists—although if I kept struggling, I might accidentally figure it out.
I let out a frustrated groan.
I really, really shouldn’t have tried to steal from the Healy family.
But they made it so easy. Probably because they trusted me, which was a huge mistake. I mean, I do make my living stealing from people, to be totally fair. They should’ve assumed I’d try to steal from them, too.
Instead, they were careless. Ronan let me see where he kept the cash. I showed up at his safe house with my take for the day—watches, wallets, jewelry, the sort of stuff I didn’t want to try to pawn in case it got reported stolen—and they’d give me money for whatever I had. Usually it was fair, or close enough to fair, and anyway they kept me safe since I was technically a part of the extended family.
Not that I cared.
But seriously, Ronan was too trusting. Seriously, it’s all his fault. I’d stand in the living room of his safe house in front of his TV while his boys leered at me and drank beer and whiskey and watched soccer or football or whatever was on, and he’d bang around in the last room on the left, then come back with fresh bills.
It was too obvious. I knew the house, I knew the room, and that was more than enough.
So last night, I decided to break in. Hear me out. Living on the street sucks—like, really sucks. I was hungry all the time and my living situation was less than ideal, to put it mildly. Ronan’s payout earlier that day was worse than usual and I found myself in a tough spot. I was desperate, basically.
Still, I shouldn’t have done it. I’ll be the first one to admit that, straight up. I shouldn’t have broken into Ronan’s safe house. I shouldn’t have stolen from him.
Like I said though, I can’t help myself.
It went fine at first. I snuck in through a second-floor back window. I had to sneak up a drainpipe then creep across a roof before I flipped the lock with a super-thin piece of metal and pushed the window open. I fell into a little empty bedroom, just a mattress on the floor and a pack of condoms thrown in the corner, some really classy stuff. I snuck down the hall in the darkness, down the steps, and tip-toed into that back room.
The place was dead. I thought it was empty.
So I turned on my flashlight.
If I could go back and do it all over again, I’d hog-tie myself until the urge to steal from the second-largest gang in the city passed, because that was some galaxy-brain style insanity. At the very least, I’d go back, kick myself in the knee and whisper, this is the Healy family, you psycho moron, they kill people for stealing from them, turn off that flashlight.
Unfortunately, that isn’t how time works, so I kept the flashlight on.
The room was a small office. Desk straight ahead, TV on top of a dresser on the right, lots of little storage containers stacked up along the wall. I popped a lid off one and found piles of what looked a lot like uncut heroin, and an enormous bag of pills in another, enough pills to kill everyone in Yankee Stadium.
I rifled through more drawers until I found the cash. Big, thick stacks of it, crisp like it was straight from a bank. Not that I ever got cash from a bank before, I’m just assuming here. I shoved one stack in my pocket and left the rest—better if they never even noticed.
Then I got greedy and went through the desk.
There were papers all over the place. A laptop I knew better than to touch, a stapler, a gun in the top drawer, another in the bottom drawer, and a pile of USB drives in the middle, like way more USB drives than anyone needed, and they all looked old and cheap. I grabbed a handful of them, confused about why the hell Ronan would have so many—
When I heard a sound in the hallway.
I clicked the flashlight off, but it was way too late.
Three guys came toward me. I did what any good thief would do in my position: I ran to the nearest window, threw it open, and jumped the hell out of it. I think I surprised them. That’s the only reason they didn’t jump me instantly. They probably recognized me from all the times I came to drop off loot to Ronan and might’ve wondered if I was there for a good reason. And anyway, I was some twenty-year-old street girl, not really worth their time. But when I got the window open, they realized they had to catch me, or Ronan would be pissed.
You really, really shouldn’t steal from the Healy family.
I went head-first and cut myself on the bottom of the sill. Unfortunately, I landed on top of a garbage can, and the lid clattered to the ground wildly. The guys inside started yelling as I rolled off the side and slammed to the concrete, cursing and groaning. I pushed myself up and sprinted to the fence and jumped up just as the goons came sprinting out from the back door straight at me. One grabbed at my ankle and I barely saw him in the darkness, but felt his nose crunch under my heel as I kicked him in the face.
“Oh, you fucking bitch,” he screamed in pain as I made it
over and ran. The other two followed, coming after me full speed.
I’m a pretty good thief. I have a light touch and nimble fingers, so I’m good to picking pockets and grabbing watches on the subway. I work alone, which is unusual for someone in my position, but still. I’m good at it.
What I’m not good at is running.
They gained on me pretty fast. I tore down to the street and sprinted across, narrowly avoided getting smashed by a random taxi, and flung myself over the hood of a parked car. The guys were right on my heels, and I sprinted off down the sidewalk, gasping for air.
No way I’d escape. I turned left and up ahead was a small park. I thought maybe I could lose them in there and hit the opening to the path that wound its way through the playground like a hurricane.
The guys were close, cursing the whole time.
I ran faster through that park than I’d ever run in my life. Probably because my existence was at stake. I blew across a grassy field and burst through a group of bushes like an animal. I turned left down an alley and made it halfway before I stopped in my tracks and fell to my knees.
Ahead was a big brick wall.
I really, really shouldn’t have tried to steal from the Healy family.
Without thinking, I fell to my side and grabbed the cash and the USB sticks out from my pockets. I wasn’t sure why it mattered, it wasn’t like I’d get out of this, but in case I found a way to escape, I wanted a little stash waiting for me. I shoved it all inside a drainpipe and pushed it really far back so it wouldn’t get washed out in the next rain—
And held my hands above my head when the guys finally caught up.
I was lucky. They didn’t kill me right then and there.
They only kicked me until I cried then hauled me back to the safe house. Ronan gave me one long look and put a blindfold on me himself before they shoved me in a car and drove me to some other location.
And that was how I found myself tied to a chair in an unfamiliar building, waiting to die.
I’ll be honest. I’m freely admitting to this. Trying to steal from the Healy family was not my best move. Some of Ronan’s guys are real dumb morons, to be sure, but Ronan’s not. He’s sharp and he knows how to run a crew. I never should’ve tried to pull one over on him, not in a thousand years.
And yet I was desperate. I was in a dry spell and hadn’t boosted much of anything in the last week, and I needed some money if I wanted to eat. I wasn’t about to whore myself out, so it was either steal or starve.
I chose steal. I fucked up.
It wasn’t my best decision ever.
There was a noise in the hallway. I didn’t know how long I’d been there—it was hard to tell time while blindfolded. My wrists ached from struggling and the blindfold was digging into my temple. The gag was tied loosely, and I could spit it out if I wanted to, but I thought better of pissing off the Healy family more than I already had.
A door opening. Creak of feet on floorboards. The door closing again. I shifted slightly trying to see out the blindfold but there was nothing—
Until it was pulled off.
I sucked in a breath. The light hurt my eyes. I was in some empty room with nothing more than a bare bulb up above me and the chair I was tied to. The walls were white and bare and the window was covered with bars on the inside.
Which meant it was the sort of room they used to keep people in, and not necessarily something to keep people out.
Ronan crouched in front of me. He smiled, head tilted to one side. Light eyes, wicked smile. I despised that stupid look on his face, the cocky jerk.
“I really hate that we’re doing this,” he said. “You know that, right?”
“Then let me go,” I said.
“You stole.” He rubbed his face with one hand then stood up. He was a tall bastard and loomed in front of me. “The money I might’ve forgiven. You steal, that’s what you do, and catching you trying to take cash from me would’ve put you in my services for a very long time.” His smile showed teeth. “You wouldn’t have liked that.”
“I can work off the debt,” I said, breathless. “I swear, I can figure it out.” My heart raced. I didn’t understand what he was saying. I just kept thinking, find some way out, there’s got to be a way out, there’s always a way out.
“I’m sorry, but you took something you shouldn’t have,” he said.
“What are you talking about?” I shook my head wildly. “I took some cash, that’s it.”
“USB drives,” he said. “A lot of them. I don’t even know how many you grabbed. And they’re still missing.”
My eyes went wide. God, those stupid USB sticks. I didn’t even know why I took them, it was mostly instinct. I was surprised when those guys showed up and shoved whatever I had at hand into my pockets before I tried to escape.
“I can tell you where they are,” I said quickly. “I have no clue what’s on them. I didn’t even mean to take them.”
“See, there’s the problem,” he said. “If it was cash or drugs, I can understand that. Thieves can’t be trusted. Your type always fucks up.” He leaned toward me and touched my chin gently with his index finger. “But you took the one thing in that office I really didn’t want you to touch. The one thing a thief like yourself should’ve thought was worthless.” He pressed the finger harder. It almost hurt. “Who sent you?”
“Nobody,” I whispered. “What are you talking about? I stole them by accident. I panicked, I grabbed them and ran, I didn’t—”
He hit me hard. I gasped, shocked. Stars curled at the edge of my vision. He sighed and rubbed his knuckles gently.
“Who sent you?” he asked.
“Please,” I said. “Nobody sent me. I’m desperate, I was out of cash—”
He hit me again and again. I tasted blood and my ears rang like a siren went off next to my head. I spit out a glob of something black and hoped it wasn’t a tooth.
“One more time,” he said softly. “Who sent you?”
“Ronan, seriously,” I said. “I’m out of cash, I needed something to tide me over, nobody—”
Shouts from outside. Ronan held his fist up, but cocked his head to one side like a dog listening to barking in the distance. More shouts, angry and closer.
Then a gunshot. The pop was distinct and it was very, very close.
“Lucky girl,” he said and walked to the door, seemingly unconcerned that someone was shooting. “Don’t move. We’ll finish this later. When I come back, you will tell me the truth.”
He opened the door and slammed it behind him.
My head lolled to one side. He’d hit me so hard I could barely think.
I’d been beaten before. Not on the streets, but back home. My father, after drinking too much. He’d hit me until I bled, and would only stop if my mother asked him nicely.
She could’ve asked him right away, after the first punch.
She never did.
More shouting. I tried to blink away the haze in my vision but couldn’t. Ronan was going to murder me when he came back. I took something I shouldn’t have, and he was going to murder me. No way he’d believe my story, not when he was convinced that I was working with someone else already.
What the hell was on those USB sticks?
More gunshots, more screams of pain. Someone was fighting inside the house. Shouting, chaos, yelling, more guns. I started rocking the chair side to side, thinking maybe I could get free—
Then tipped over sideways and smashed my shoulder on the floor.
“Oh, shit,” I gasped. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”
More gunshots, rapid and nearby. Bullet holes appeared in the door right about where I’d been sitting just a second ago. If I hadn’t flopped over, I might be dead, chest full of stray shots.
“Down the hall,” a voice yelled. “Another door. Check it.”
Then a man appeared holding a smoking pistol. I didn’t recognize him. Dark hair cut short, crooked nose, bad skin like he’d been dipped into boiling oil
and fried. He stared at me and aimed the gun.
“Some girl,” he yelled.
Another person appeared, pushing him aside.
The man stood there and stared, then touched the barrel of the ugly man’s gun and lowered it.
“Hello, Irene,” Cam said.
His familiar green eyes sparkled in the dim lighting. A ghost from my past, back to haunt me. Maybe I was dead already, and this was what happened. He wore dark jeans and a dark shirt. It was splattered with blood. Not his, it was never his.
Handsome and big. Cam came toward me and crouched down.
“Hey, Cam,” I said through the blood in my mouth. “Been a while. Did I die?”
“Only once, a long time ago,” he said, touching my shoulder. “Back when you disappeared, I worried you were dead. What are you doing here?”
“Untie me and get me up and I’ll tell you.”
He laughed and looked back at the ugly guy. “Linc, go check the next room and clear it. Tell Omar and Franco to grab whatever they can find and check the back. If Ronan’s still here, I want him.”
“Right,” Linc said and left.
Cam moved around behind me and untied my wrists. I let out a moan as he released the ropes around my chest then the ropes at my ankles. I crawled away from the chair and spit once onto the floor. It was another glob of red, but I wasn’t missing any teeth. I probed with my tongue to be sure.
Cam stood above me, just like Ronan had.
But Cam wasn’t Ronan, not even close. He held a hand out and I took it.
“Seriously, Irene,” he said. “What the hell are you doing here?”
