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I haven’t killed a man since I cut up that Moroccan sailor ten years ago. I hear footsteps approaching and quickly slide behind a thick stand of greenery. Robert strolls down the path toward me, hands shoved in his pocket, with a look of polite interest on his face.
Fucking prick.
Without a doubt, he had something to do with this. I know it.
My joy fizzles and turns sour. I stalk over to him, fists balled. I suppose I should be grateful to him for providing me with the most fun I’ve had in ages, but I’m getting sick of all the melodramatic cloak-and-dagger shit. He holds the truth of my entire life in his hands, and I hate how much power that gives him.
He doesn’t say a word as he stands there, just looks down at the man regretfully. He nudges him with his toe after a minute, then looks at me. “You’re good. He’s one of my best men,” he says.
“That’s disappointing,” I drawl. “You should find a new employment agency.”
Robert frowns down at the slack, sprawled body. Vacant eyes stare sightlessly at a pale blue sky. Then he looks up at me. “You could have just killed him.” A tone of mild rebuke.
“Yes, I could have. But that’s not who I am.”
“And who exactly are you?” His eyes narrow in on me, waiting for my answer.
“A man who doesn’t kill without probable cause. Someone who’s learned to control his hunger for violence. Saving it for those who deserve a painful death. Bad men that this world doesn’t need in it.”
Robert favors me with a faint smile. “Exactly. I needed to see if you’re really one of us. If you’re worthy.”
Interesting. Does that mean they’re vigilantes, ridding the world of scum, while having fun doing it?
“Try this shit again, and I won’t be so kind to you,” I snap. “I flew to this fucking country because you said you’d give me answers. I’ve been here for almost a week. I’m getting a little tired of playing Spy vs. Spy.”
Most people stammer and cringe when I’m angry, but Robert is made of the same stuff I am. His indifferent, cold blue gaze meets mine. “Our family doesn’t let in just everyone, nor do we trust just anyone,” he says. “I technically didn’t have the go-ahead to invite you here. It’s a bit of a fraught time for us.” A shadow crosses his face. “They wanted me to wait until after… well, never mind.”
“Boo-hoo. Would you like a handkerchief to wipe away your tears? I’m done with these games, Robert. Give me answers or stop calling me.”
He arches his eyebrows, looking at me with cool appraisal. “I’m not going to give you everything just yet, but I can show you something. Do you trust me?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Smart man. I was going to offer you a ride, but you can follow me in your car if you prefer.” He flashes me a fierce grin. “I’m parked right behind you.”
Reluctantly, I follow him to the edge of the park, then climb in my car. He’s in a little red Porsche, and he drives like a speed demon, repeatedly attempting to lose me. My respect for him diminishes considerably, and I’m disappointed we crawled out of the same gene pool. If he wanted to lose me, he should have picked a subtler car, but he loves showing off too much.Insecure, easily manipulated.I’m taking mental notes, filing the information away in case it’s useful at some point in the future.
We drive for about an hour, the city giving way to suburbs and then long stretches of country roads, until we arrive at a faux antebellum-style McMansion with tall columns, a wraparound porch on the first and second floor, and a row of dormer windows peering out at us like hooded eyes.
We park in the brick roundabout out front, and my earlier elation creeps in, slowly edging out my annoyance. I bested a man in combat earlier, and now, I’m about to get closer to discovering the mystery of my life.
About fucking time.
CHAPTER8
Bastien
I barely sparea glance to the four men standing on the front porch with their arms crossed over their broad chests, guns dangling visibly from their belts, and earpieces clipped to their ears.
They puff up and bristle at me, rolling their shoulders, eyes narrowing. Too much flash, too cocky, just like their friend who we left sleeping it off in the grass. Easy to manipulate, to bluff and feint. One of them moves his shoulder to deliberately bump into me, but he’s too slow. Everybody’s too slow. I see it coming and swing my shoulder to meet his hard.
He bites back a curse, and his hand shoots down to his holster. The other three men follow suit. I pause, bored.
“Right here, right now? Fine with me.”
“Some other time,” Robert says impatiently, and the guards slide back and make room for us, glowering at me and grunting under their breaths, trying to reclaim their dominance.
I follow Robert through the front door, and into the bland confines of the house. Oil paintings of hunting scenes hang on the walls, and the floor is tiled with marble. He leads me through a few hallways, moving quickly, not glancing back. The furnishings are sparse and feel impersonal.
