The Killer's New Wife

God, it was disgusting.

And Ewan killed him. The world was probably a better place without my father in it, and yet he was still my dad. The confusion and the anger mingled in my chest and I shifted in my seat again. I had the urge to get up and run, to burn away whatever this feeling was that circled around my spine and held me tight. Marriage, death, murder—that man’s face in the toilet—everything I’d seen—Ewan’s lips against my throat—

“Excuse me, miss,” a man said, standing a few feet to my left. I hadn’t noticed him, but his voice pulled me back into the moment. Sunshine graced his face, a strong chin, light green eyes, dark red hair, and decent button-down tucked into chinos. “Do you mind if I sit?”

I gestured at the spot next to me. There were three, each separated by a black metal divider. I was at the far end, and he should’ve sat at the other end, but he took the middle, right next to me.

I squirmed, a little uncomfortable. He was handsome though, and he kicked his legs out with a sigh like he’d been on his feet all day. He wore expensive leather boots that looked well worn.

“Lovely today,” he said pleasantly. “I come here all the time and people watch.”

“It’s nice,” I said absently, and was about to stand up. I wasn’t in the mood to chat with a stranger.

“I watch closely, you know, Tara,” he said, smiling slightly, but not looking at me. His eyes roamed across the open square, and I felt my guts churn wildly.

Dark red hair. Light green eyes. This man had to be a Healy. I went to stand, but his hand shot out and grabbed my arm. Not tight, not painful, but firm enough that I’d have to wrench away if I wanted to escape.

“Stay,” he said. “Hear me out. I don’t mean you any harm.”

“Tell that to the last guy you sent,” I practically spit at him.

He looked at me and tilted his head. “That’d be hard, since Ewan drowned him in a toilet.”

I bared my teeth, but sank back down into my seat. “What the hell do you want from me?” I asked.

He released my arm and sighed, cracking his knuckles. “If it were up to me, nothing,” he said. “I’d leave you the hell alone. The Valentinos want you? They can have you.”

“Then you can get away from me whenever you want,” I said icily.

“I assume the name Colm means something to you?” he asked, ignoring my comment.

“He’s the head of the family,” I said.

“Well, I’m his son. My name’s Ronan.” He flashed me a charming half smile, lip pulling up slightly, eyes crinkled. He was an athletic-looking man, muscular and toned and tall. His voice was deep and melodious, though he sounded tired, and the beginnings of a reddish beard grew along his cheeks and jaw.

I wanted to scream. Son of Colm, sitting next to me, here on this bench. If we weren’t surrounded by people, I’d truly panic, but I knew he couldn’t abduct me in public. There were too many witnesses. I was safe, more or less, at least so long as I stayed in the park.

Eventually though, I’d have to leave, and I didn’t know what I’d do on the quiet, lonely walk back to Ewan’s apartment.

Coming out here was a bad idea. I knew it, but I couldn’t stay in there, not when the place reminded me of the impossible choice I had to make.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, and hated the pleading tone I couldn’t quite suppress.

“Nothing,” he said, then laughed at the annoyed look on my face. “Truly, nothing. My father though, he thinks you’re a prize. He thinks you know something that can help our family.”

“Know something?” I took off my sunglasses and shook my head. “I have no clue what you mean.”

“Your father’s business,” Ronan said gently. “What do you know about it?”

I blinked at him for a full five seconds before I laughed in his face. He grimaced slightly and frowned, leaning away, clearly not happy. I couldn’t help it though. The idea that I knew something about my father’s business was the most absurd and hilarious thing I’d ever heard in my life.

“I only just found out what he did,” I said, my tone bitter and hilarious. “I didn’t even know he was some fucked-up sex trafficker until a few days ago.”

“Really?” he asked, and sounded genuinely surprised. “I find that hard to believe. Jermaine was notorious.”

“Well, not to me,” I said, and my laughter slowly died. “I thought he was an accountant.” His eyes went wide and I glared at him. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Accountant,” he echoed. “Come on, you have to be kidding.”

“I’m not,” I said. “That’s the lie he told me, at least, and I believed him. He was my father and I didn’t know any better. I didn’t look into his business. I trusted him.”