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“So you think Falcone didn’t know what was going on?”
“The whores knew and they liked me. They could have told him about it.”
“But he didn’t do anything,” I concluded.
Growl shrugged. “The beatings made me stronger. After a while, you don’t experience pain like other people do. It becomes familiar, almost like a friend. You stop fearing it, and even like it.”
That explained the tattoo on his back.
I moved so I could see his face and was stunned by the almost serene expression on his face. I hoped it was a perfect mask because if he was really this calm about the whole thing, there was little hope for him. When his eyes met mine, I saw a flicker, a crack in the perfect mask he’d built over time and almost exhaled in relief. I put my chin down on his shoulder, bringing my face closer to his. “There are other things that make people strong, not just pain. It’s horrible what happened to you. Someone should have protected you. All the people who stood by while you were tortured, they should rot in hell.”
“You shouldn’t care,” Growl murmured.
“I know.” I didn’t say more. Did I really care? The man in front of me today didn’t deserve my pity or help. He wasn’t the helpless boy from long ago anymore. And yet part of me felt for him. I couldn’t help it.
For several heartbeats we stared at each other and unspoken words seemed to hang in the air between us. I was so close to breaking down Growl’s walls, so close to gaining his trust.
“Bud’s dead now. Got what he deserved,” Growl said eventually.
It took me a moment to free myself from the strange connection I’d felt before. “Did you kill him?”
It was scary how easily the words left my lips and how little impact they had on my conscience.
“When I was ten,” Growl said with a hint of pride in his deep voice. Perhaps that should have made me uneasy and maybe it would have, even though Bud had deserved to die, if the idea of getting deadly revenge on Falcone hadn’t dominated my thoughts in the last couple of weeks.
“He’d beaten the shit out of a whore but that didn’t really do anything for him. Falcone hadn’t given him the second brothel Bud wanted and he wanted to let off steam. When he came into my room, I knew he was out for blood. And I let him. He kicked me and beat me, and I let him but then I decided it was enough, and I fought back. I always had a Swiss knife in my pocket and when he made a pause to light a cigarette and turned away from me, I slashed his hamstring in one clean cut.”
My eyes grew wide.
“He screamed like a pig in the slaughterhouse. Didn’t lose his balance like I’d hoped. Tried to kick me again, so I stabbed him in the upper thigh. Sliced his artery by chance. He bled out quickly. And I watched. I was still watching with the knife in my hand when one of the whores found me and ran away screaming. And I still stood there when Falcone arrived some time later. I was covered in blood from head to toe. Had stabbed the dead bastard a few more times to release some steam.”
The images flashed up in my mind and with the blood came more images, images of my father and how he’d died. But I couldn’t allow myself to dwell on that memory. It wouldn’t help me, nor my mother or sister. “What did Falcone do? You killed one of his men. Shouldn’t he have killed you?”
“No, he decided it was time to take me under his wings and show me what else I was capable of.”
“To kill and maim and torture,” I said quietly.
Growl’s eyes were almost resigned. “That’s all I can do. If there was ever more in me, it didn’t survive.”
He’d said similar words before. And I started to realize that he might be right.
“So Falcone taught you how to kill? When did you become his assassin?”
Growl thought about it for a moment. “I killed the second man a few months after I killed Bud. Falcone had told me the name of the guy who’d cut my throat and where I could find him.”
“So he wanted you to kill the guy?”
“He didn’t say it but I went and killed him. Falcone told me that this was his gift to me and that I was never going to kill without his explicit permission again, and I never did.”
“So you got revenge on the man who burned you and the man who cut your throat, but not the man who is the reason why it happened?”
Growl was silent.
“He is the reason why you have this.” I reached out to touch the scar on his throat, curious how it would feel but Growl’s hand shot out and his fingers curled around my wrist.
