Knocked Up by the Killer Read online B.B. Hamel

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors: B.B. Hamel Advertisement1

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Things were done with Elise. So why did I care if someone went and killed her?

“Fuck,” I said, gripping the railing.

I asked nicely. I hate asking nicely.

I’m not that kind of guy.

But Dante told me to go sit and screw anyway. That pissed me off almost as much as the idea of some amateur asshole hurting Elise.

And the girl seemed like she didn’t fully understand her situation. I tried to ram it home for her. I showed her the gun, made sure she understood that she was at my mercy that whole night.

If she were smart, she’d go running to daddy and his protection.

But I saw her eyes.

She hated that man. Hated him more than she valued her own life maybe. It was hard to say exactly, but I didn’t think she was going to do the smart thing.

In fact, I was pretty sure she wasn’t going to do anything at all.

And that meant she was going to die.

“Fuck,” I said again.

I turned around, went inside, slammed the door behind me.

I scooped my phone off the floor and dialed Elise’s number. It rang a few times then went to voicemail.

I hung up and threw the phone onto my low gray couch.

The apartment felt stifling. I took off my jacket and draped it over a chair. I unbuttoned my shirt.

I did fifty pushups, fifty sit-ups, and still felt like a caged tiger.

“Fuck,” I said.

I was going to have to save the girl’s life.

Goddamn it.

I marched into the bathroom to grab a shower before I made the biggest mistake of my life.

4

Elise

I stood in front of a black door with a white frame at the top of a gray stoop. The street was barely more than a cobblestone alleyway. Graffiti covered walls and dumpsters nearby. A window unit dripped water onto the pavement.

I paced away to the end of the street and stood at the corner. I looked back over my shoulder and shifted from foot to foot, finally pulling my phone out from my back pocket.

I had one missed called from Tanner. I almost called him back but stopped myself. I bit my lip and thought about what he said.

I shoved the phone into my pocket and stalked back toward the door.

It had been a long time since I was close to my father. I remember the day I walked out on him.

It was a Saturday. Sun was shining. I told him I was taking a bus to Philadelphia.

He looked over his shoulder and took a long pull from a beer bottle. “Good luck on your own, you fucking bitch,” he said.

All the struggle that came after was worth it. All the sleepless nights worrying about whether I could make rent or not, all the long hours doing menial bullshit jobs, all the hustling and praying, it was all worth it.

It all meant I didn’t have to be a part of my father’s life anymore. I didn’t have to live on his blood money. I didn’t have to put up with his abuse.

And now he was back, somewhere behind that black door with its white frame.

I stared at it then walked up the stoop. My heart hammered and I felt like I might be sick.

He called me the day he came into the city. He called and told me that he was moving his business down south. He said he wanted to be close to his daughter again. He said that sooner or later, I’d come crawling back.

He was right.

I knocked hard and waited.

There was noise inside. Locks slammed open.

My father’s sallow face stared out at me. His dark eyes were surprised. His hair was thinner than I remembered, his gut was bigger. He wore a pair of black slacks and a short-sleeve dress shirt. He looked like a Cuban cab driver.

“Come on,” he said. “Get in out of that alley.”

I stepped into his house. He looked both ways then slammed the door shut and locked it up tight.

The living room was sparse. Wood coffee table, big leather couch, oversized flat-screen TV. Takeout containers littered the surfaces. There was a kitchen table with mismatched chairs.

A soccer game played on mute on the TV.

My father put his hands on his hips. I walked further into his house just to put some space between us.

“I wondered when you’d show up,” he said.

I turned and faced him. I felt years of pent-up fury begin to boil up through my chest. This man, this bastard, he’d tormented me for so long. I worked hard to get away from him and just when my life was going okay, just when things were somewhat stable and I had a future to look forward to, he decided to come roaring back into the picture.

He decided to fuck my life up all over again.

“Someone came to kill me last night,” I said.


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