Page 132 of Cain
He rests his hand on the chair’s arm and fidgets his fingers, as if they have the answer.
“They turned me into an assassin.”
I scoff. “What, with a paycheck and dental?”
“Nope. Gotta actually have a job to afford my shit.”
“And you are … ?”
“Usually a bodyguard.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Wow. From pulling triggers to blocking them.”
He grins, all teeth and dead behind the eyes. “It’s the dream. Cozy up to some mobster, earn their trust, then push them down the stairs when no one’s looking. Sometimes I even cry at the funeral.”
“How sentimental.”
“Sometimes I push the widow, too.”
“Kinky.”
He shrugs. “It’s a living. Well. Not for them.”
“And they don’t pay you enough?”
“I’m not close to them for long enough to get the paycheck twice.”
I raise a brow.
“You probably think an assassin’s life is all sleek suits and dramatic exits,” he continues. “What you don’t see is the blood-soaked training, the beatings that teach you to forget your name.” He crosses his legs, his stare vacant. “The punishments. They made me a super drone, and now I kill men likehim…”
He’s slouched across from me, eyes dark, hands restless in his lap like they’re itching for violence.
“I hate them. I hate their kind. Men like Father and Atticus hollowed me out.”
I scoff, exhaling smoke straight in his face. “Oh, cry me a river. They didn’t put you in chains.”
“They killed Mom,” he snaps. “Then erased me like I was a clerical error. Their perfect little ghost. And you left me here to fucking rot with the rest of the trash.”
I take a drag and let the smoke pour out slowly. “I begged you to come with me.”
“Oh, right, how heroic,” he spits, standing. “One half-assed plea, and when I didn’t jump, you vanished like I was already dead. You still left, Cain.”
I leave the smoke in the ashtray and stand, too, resting my hands on the desk. “I left because staying meant dying. But maybe that’s what you wanted. For both of us to decay here together.”
He laughs, bitter and broken. “At least then I wouldn’t have had to decay alone in this hellhole.”
I slam my hand on the desk, my voice cracking through the smoke. “I had a chance and took it while you stayed here like their little bitch! Grayson helped us! He helped me!” I spit the words, every syllable meant to hurt him.
“Fuck, you don’t understand shit, right?” His eyes narrow as he stays composed.
I lean in, my jaw clenched. “Then make me understand. Go on. Give me one of your tragic little monologues.”
His voice drops. “Atticus threatened me. He said if I left, he’d hunt you down and gut you like a dog.”
The room tilts. I blink, once, twice, and the anger stumbles.
“What?”
