Page 25 of Taste of Blood
He puts his phone away. “My PA. She’s very resourceful.” He looks up at me. “I don’t mind helping you, you know.”
There’s a lot of things I could say to that, but most of them would start an argument and quite frankly, I’m not in the mood to fight with him. It never gets me anywhere anyway. “I get that. It’s just, you don’t need to.”
“This is a bad guy, and he’s putting all our lives in jeopardy. Why wouldn’t I want to help?”
I shrug and am about to say something I’ll probably regret when my phone rings. I glance down at the screen and see it’s Dante.
“What’s up? I’m driving so I have you on speaker.”
“I thought you were sitting on Smyth.”
“Change of plans. Smyth has another place in Staten Island. I’m on my way there now.”
“How’d you learn that?”
My eyes flick to Asher, who’s watching me intently. “I have my sources. What do you want?”
“This just got a whole lot messier. Another victim turned up this morning, this one at the Warwick. Maid found the body. The mayor is holding a press conference right now out front of the hotel.”
“This one like the last two?”
“Yeah. And I can’t get my guys in there to clean this up, which means we need to find this fucker fast.”
I know when he says “we,” he means me. “I’m on it.”
“And Cord, when you find the bastard, I need you to end him. I don’t care how you do it. I’ll send a cleaning crew to deal with the aftermath. Just take care of it.”
He hangs up before I can reply. I glance over at Asher.
“Do you do that often?” he asks.
I know what he means, but I ask anyway, putting off my answer. “Do what?”
“You know. Kill people.”
Asher knows what I do for Dante. God knows it’s caused enough fights between us. “Why? You got a problem with that?” It comes out harsher than I intended.
“Would it matter if I did?”
“Probably not,” I reply, realizing I mean it and almost feeling sorry about it. “You know what my job entails.”
He’s quiet for a minute, as though he’s thinking about how to respond. That’s new. Usually Asher just says what’s on his mind with me, consequences be damned. “Do you enjoy it?”
I do a double take. What? I was half-expecting him to make some comment about how I should’ve learned by now, not asking me how I feel about it. The fact that he asks means I should probably be a little more deliberate in how I answer.
“Part of me does. You know I’ve always liked the violence.” I recall my trip to the fight club yesterday and almost grin.
“I suppose that’s true. Even as a kid you were prone to it. Always picking fights.”
Half the time they were because I was sticking up for you, I don’t say, but he must read the thought in my eyes.
“I’m sorry for whatever part I played in that.”
“Don’t be. This is who I am. I’ve got a screw loose somewhere.”
“I don’t think so,” he replies quietly. “You’ve got a very well-defined sense of justice.”
I snort. “Yeah. Right.”
