Page 81 of Vicious King

I swallow and drag my hand down my face.

“People numb themselves with different things. Booze, gambling, drugs, sex.” I shrug a shoulder and push my hands into my pockets as I turn back to look at her. “I kill. But it’s more than that. I fucking decimate. My preferred method of murder is to pull someone’s trachea out of their throat.”

She swallows, but her face doesn’t change.

“With my bare hands.”

“How do you get these jobs?”

Her voice doesn’t even shake.

“Various ways. Usually the dark web. People put hits out all the time, and I take on the jobs. Sometimes I’m called directly like today. I have a reputation.”

“How much do you charge for this?”

I blow out a breath. “It starts at ten million and goes up from there, depending on the hit, where it’s located, and how difficult it will be.”

She nods and runs her tongue over her lower lip, soaking the information in.

“Are these bad people? Like, it’s not some asshole who wants to kill his wife so he can marry his secretary without paying child support?”

I frown. “No, I don’t do petty shit like that. These are politicians. People who have power and influence, who are bad fucking people. Traffickers. Abusers. Pedophiles. Shit like that.”

“Do you kill women and children?”

“Children, no.”

I rock back on my heels as she waits.

“I’ve killed nine women. Each and every one of them was hurting children for money.”

She blinks slowly.

“Jesus, Carson.” Now she pushes away from the desk and paces back and forth. “How long will you be in New Orleans?”

What?

I was expecting I need to get my son away from you.

“That’s it?”

She faces me, her expression completely sober. “Yes. I can survive without you, but Charlie and I will miss you, so I’m wondering how long you’ll be gone.”

“I just told you⁠—”

“I know what you told me,” she says and suddenly looks tired. “I heard you.”

Unable to stand not touching her for another minute, I move to her and frame her face, rub my thumbs over her cheeks.

“You’re not running away.”

“I just got you back,” she says. “I’m not going to judge you for doing what you needed to do to survive, Carson.”

“I’m not going to stop,” I tell her. “You need to know that. It’s my job. It’s what I do. I’m a fucking killer, Rina. Look at me. I make most people piss themselves.”

“You had killed when I married you.”

“It’s not nearly the same thing.”