Kissing the Killer(6)

By: B. B. Hamel

Fear lanced through me, fear and defiance. Finally I was going to be free one way or another. Maybe I’d be dead, but at least I’d be with my mother.

My father would be far away, rotting in hell.

Then he swung open the closet door and I saw him for the first time. Tall and broad, muscular, handsome, covered in tattoos. Even though he held a gun pointed at my skull, I couldn’t help but stare at his body, at the intense expression on his face.

I never expected him to put the gun down. I never asked for it.

But the feeling of his lips next to my ear, telling me what I needed to do, well, it sent shivers down my spine. I hated myself for it, but I wanted him to drag me half naked from the house. I wanted him to take me up into his apartment.

I didn’t want him to throw me into the closet.

“Stay here,” he said, shutting the door.

“Wait!” I said. “You can’t just leave me in here.”

“I can and I will. Stay quiet. I’ll be back soon.”

“Hey!” I yelled as he moved away. I tried the knob but it was locked. I pounded hard on the door. “You asshole, come back!”

I heard his apartment door open and then close.

This was the second time I’d been locked inside a closet.

I collapsed down onto the ground and pressed my back against the wall. I couldn’t do anything about this. I wasn’t going to break the door down and I knew it, as much as I wanted to.

I had to just wait.

I didn’t understand why he was letting me live. The other man, the one with the crooked, creepy smile, had said something that made my skin crawl. You have some fun with her.

Maybe he was going to come home and rape me, over and over again. Then when he was finished, he was going to kill me.

I wished he’d killed me back in my home. I’d gone through enough, been owned and abused by one man for long enough. I couldn’t take it again, not again, not after I was so close.

My father was dead, that bastard. But instead of being free to finally live my life, I was trapped in another man’s closet.

A deadly man. A mysterious man, handsome, tall, and dangerous. I was afraid of him, but also strangely drawn toward him.

I didn’t know what he wanted, but as I sat in that closet, I couldn’t help but picture the worst.

No matter what though, no man was going to own me again. Not ever. I wasn’t going to just roll over and let this bastard take me however he wanted.

I resolved myself to fighting, even if that cost me my life.



I parked my car in the alley behind the deli. I sat there behind the wheel for a second, getting myself together.

What the fuck was I doing? No doubt Abram had already told Dante, our boss, what had happened. This was a fucking mess beyond my wildest dreams.

But I wasn’t going to kill the girl. I’d gone through all this shit just to keep her alive, put myself in danger, and I wasn’t going to just turn around and murder her. I had to figure out another way.

I got out of the car and pushed in through the deli’s back door. I’d been working out of this building for a long time. It was where I first got my start, back when Gian owned it. When Gian got promoted, Dante took his place, and so the deli passed into his hands.

Abram and Dante were sitting at a folding table next to a television playing static. The place was empty otherwise, since most fucking people were asleep at this ungodly hour.

“There he is,” Dante said, looking over at me. “Come on, have a drink.”

Dante was shorter than me, heavier, and older. His hair was thinning, and he wore the gaudiest fucking gold jewelry I’d ever seen. The man was basically an Italian stereotype. The only reason I listened to him at all was because he’d been in the mob for a long time, and he knew what he was doing.

“How’s the girl?” Abram asked, grinning.

I sat down at the table and Dante slid me a bottle. I poured myself a drink of whisky. Dante smirked at me but really just looked tired as hell.

“Fine,” I said. “Locked her in the closet.”

Dante laughed loudly, leaning back in his chair. “Didn’t think you had it in you, kid.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked him.

He exchanged looks with Abram. Clearly they’d been fucking talking about this already.

“Well, you got a reputation.”

“Spit it out, Dante. It’s fucking late and I’m tired.”

“Yeah, Dante. Brooks here wants to get home and break in that new pussy he got,” Abram said, grinning at me.

I suppressed a shudder. I could only imagine what these two men thought I was going to do with the girl once I got home. The sick fucks had both taken women this way in the past; I was sure of it.

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