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Authors: Marquita Valentine
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everything behind, the man I used to be, but for nearly a decade I did just that. Worked my arse off to get a proper job.” He runs a hand through his black hair. “But now I know it was a setup. For what purpose, I’m not sure, and that scares the fuck out of me.”
“How do you know it was a setup?”
“I spied on Pinter and learned that someone was spying on me at the same time. It was rather disconcerting, especially since I considered myself untraceable. Pride and all that.”
“Maybe they know you.”
“I thought the same thing. But whom? Certainly not Grandfather and my brother has no idea how to arrange for such a thing—at least not without my help. I have two half-brothers, but they are firmly in the sunshine. Their careers so bright that even the Bratva leaves them alone. They’d make shite assassins anyway,” he says and my mind whirls at the possibility of who his half-brothers are. “That’s probably more than you wanted to know.”
My heart pounds in my ears, but I continue, “Actually… how many people have you killed?”
“Including the man who attempted to kill you?” he asks, his voice deadly quiet.
“Y-yes.”
“Too many to count.” There is no pride in his voice, only resignation. “Although I guess the last time two times I got to play the hero.”
My brow furrows. “Last two?”
“My sister-in-law had been kidnapped and I helped rescue her.”
“That’s totally a hero thing.” I exhale slowly, my brain trying to come to grips with the fact that I’m not only willing to travel with a killer, but grateful. Who are you to judge, I remind myself. Who knows how I would have turned out had my parents lived? After all, it wasn’t my Granny who taught me how to use a gun.
“I’m the daughter of a killer.”
“Don’t.” He glances at me, making a face. “Just don’t. You don’t need to lie.”
“Seriously, you think I’d lie to make you feel better?”
“I think you have a kind heart,” he says. “Go on. I want to hear your story.”
“Before the massacre,” I swallow, forcing away the memories of that horrible day, “My dad was rumored to have shot a man just for looking at my momma.”
“Rumored is not the same thing as actually committed.”
“That man turned up dead. No one stepped forward with information, but we all knew. My momma wouldn’t speak to him for a long time after that happened, so he left us. I don’t remember it though. Too young.” But I do remember the fights. The screams. The sound of my dad hitting my mother, her wretched sobs as he begged for her forgiveness.
“And how do you know all this?” he asks.
“Granny told me.”
“She sounds perfectly lovely.”
“Her favorite nickname for me was Satan’s spawn and by Satan, she meant her son.” I laugh a little and shake my head. “I actually miss her. She had a mouth on her, but she took me in when the state could have put me in foster care. I was never cold or hungry once I lived with her. Always had clothes and a warm bed.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Really? Why is that?” I can’t help but ask.
“Because it would be extremely difficult to exhume a body only to murder it, but I would have if she hadn’t taken care of you,” his says in a voice that makes the hair stand up on my arms. “You were only a child, and you can’t help who brought you into this world.”
I stare at him, nonplussed. “You’ve never mentioned your parents, so I’m going to take a big leap and say that they were about as good as mine.”
“You could say that. However, my mother is still alive.”
“Do you want to see her?”
“No.” His mouth thins into a straight line for a moment. “I never want to see her again.”
“Does she need a killin’?” I ask, half-joking. “I’ve got cousins…”
“I’d rather not answer that.”
“I was only kidding. Mostly .”
The look on his face is chilling. “I know and that’s why I can’t answer
“How do you know it was a setup?”
“I spied on Pinter and learned that someone was spying on me at the same time. It was rather disconcerting, especially since I considered myself untraceable. Pride and all that.”
“Maybe they know you.”
“I thought the same thing. But whom? Certainly not Grandfather and my brother has no idea how to arrange for such a thing—at least not without my help. I have two half-brothers, but they are firmly in the sunshine. Their careers so bright that even the Bratva leaves them alone. They’d make shite assassins anyway,” he says and my mind whirls at the possibility of who his half-brothers are. “That’s probably more than you wanted to know.”
My heart pounds in my ears, but I continue, “Actually… how many people have you killed?”
“Including the man who attempted to kill you?” he asks, his voice deadly quiet.
“Y-yes.”
“Too many to count.” There is no pride in his voice, only resignation. “Although I guess the last time two times I got to play the hero.”
My brow furrows. “Last two?”
“My sister-in-law had been kidnapped and I helped rescue her.”
“That’s totally a hero thing.” I exhale slowly, my brain trying to come to grips with the fact that I’m not only willing to travel with a killer, but grateful. Who are you to judge, I remind myself. Who knows how I would have turned out had my parents lived? After all, it wasn’t my Granny who taught me how to use a gun.
“I’m the daughter of a killer.”
“Don’t.” He glances at me, making a face. “Just don’t. You don’t need to lie.”
“Seriously, you think I’d lie to make you feel better?”
“I think you have a kind heart,” he says. “Go on. I want to hear your story.”
“Before the massacre,” I swallow, forcing away the memories of that horrible day, “My dad was rumored to have shot a man just for looking at my momma.”
“Rumored is not the same thing as actually committed.”
“That man turned up dead. No one stepped forward with information, but we all knew. My momma wouldn’t speak to him for a long time after that happened, so he left us. I don’t remember it though. Too young.” But I do remember the fights. The screams. The sound of my dad hitting my mother, her wretched sobs as he begged for her forgiveness.
“And how do you know all this?” he asks.
“Granny told me.”
“She sounds perfectly lovely.”
“Her favorite nickname for me was Satan’s spawn and by Satan, she meant her son.” I laugh a little and shake my head. “I actually miss her. She had a mouth on her, but she took me in when the state could have put me in foster care. I was never cold or hungry once I lived with her. Always had clothes and a warm bed.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Really? Why is that?” I can’t help but ask.
“Because it would be extremely difficult to exhume a body only to murder it, but I would have if she hadn’t taken care of you,” his says in a voice that makes the hair stand up on my arms. “You were only a child, and you can’t help who brought you into this world.”
I stare at him, nonplussed. “You’ve never mentioned your parents, so I’m going to take a big leap and say that they were about as good as mine.”
“You could say that. However, my mother is still alive.”
“Do you want to see her?”
“No.” His mouth thins into a straight line for a moment. “I never want to see her again.”
“Does she need a killin’?” I ask, half-joking. “I’ve got cousins…”
“I’d rather not answer that.”
“I was only kidding. Mostly .”
The look on his face is chilling. “I know and that’s why I can’t answer
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