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Four.
“Does that number include me?”
She nods, a pink tinge flushing her cheeks. “And you? What’s your number?”
I have to think hard. Honestly, as soon as I’m done with a woman, I walk away and never think about her again.
“Jesus, that many?” Cami gasps, then her hand flies up, and she touches my arm. “Not that I’m judging.”
“I think I’ve been with thirteen,” I answer. “I’m not sure.”
A frown forms on her forehead. “You can’t remember how many women you’ve slept with?”
I shrug and take another sip of the water. “They weren’t that memorable. Ask me the number of kills, and I’ll be able to give you the exact figure.”
The moment I say the words, I regret them, but it’s too late because Cami asks, “How many kills?”
I shake my head. “You don’t want to know.”
She steps closer, and tilting her head back, she locks eyes with me. “I want to know.”
I shake my head again, not sure how she’ll handle it.
Her palm brushes up and down my arm as if she’s trying to encourage me.
My tone is emotionless as I admit, “One hundred and sixteen.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t break eye contact. I watch as she processes the high number.
“They were all criminals?” she asks.
I nod.
Luckily the one innocent I shot survived and became an amazing woman.
A confused expression settles on her face. “Does it make me a bad person for not caring?”
“No.” I lift my hand to cup her cheek. “You’re the furthest thing from bad.” I move my hand to the back of her neck and take a step closer to her. “I’m a criminal, Cami.”
She scrunches her nose, and it looks like she’s struggling to associate the word with me.
“Villian suits you better.”
Shaking my head, I say, “Don’t sugarcoat it.”
“I’m not.” Cami pulls away from me. “If you had told me you killed innocent people for a living, this conversation would not be happening.”
Tilting my head, I stare at her as I realize she’s seriously okay with me being an assassin as long as I stick to killing the scum of this world.
Christ, was this woman made for me?
“Careful,” I warn her, my tone dark.
Cami’s eyes fly to my face, and confusion tightens her features. “Careful with what?”
“If you keep being this perfect, I might never let you go.”
The confusion drains from her face and is quickly replaced with hope.
