Page 89 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
“The first few were slit throats. I got in a few well-placed stabs, too. They didn’t even know what was happening. The rest were confused. They thought it was Vincent, though they couldn’t be sure in the dark, but suddenly, there was only nine of them left.
“They had their night vision goggles on in the darkness, so their peripherals were useless. I made sure they couldn’t see me. And then, I turned on the lights and shot the rest before they could take off their night gear.” He makes it sound so easy. “When Vince woke up, it was to a house full of dead bodies.”
“He slept through the whole thing?”
Asher nods. “He used to take sleeping pills. It’s why he had to have so many guards. Just in case.” He gives a sordid laugh. “He doesn’t take the pills anymore.”
I exhale loudly. “And you killed all of those men?” I study him. “And more,” I guess.
He nods, and I wonder why he’s trusting me with this. “The Romano elders caught wind of what happened. There were too many dead guards. Vince couldn’t cover it up. Plus, the Andretti family was responsible for the hit.”
The Andretti are one of the five families. Their territory is in the South of the U.S. The northern area of their territory brushes against the southern area of the Romano’s territory, causing a lot of territorial disputes over the years.
Pure hatred crosses Asher’s face. “They killed our men and tried to kill Vince. It had to be retaliated. They gave me a team and sent me off to do it.”
I gasp. “At 18?”
He nods. “And I was successful, too. It was actually pretty poetic. I never learned who specifically ordered the hit, but I went after someone with the same rank as Vince. I did it the same way they planned Vince’s hit, too. In his sleep. An eye for an eye.”
I don’t want to ask, but I have to know. “Did he have a family?”
“Yes, but I don’t kill innocents.”
“But you still kill people.”
“Killed,” he corrects. “I don’t do it anymore.”
I believe him, but that doesn’t change the fact that he used to. It’s different suspecting that he’s a killer through rumors and internet gossip, but having it confirmed in such detail, straight from his mouth, a mouth that I recently kissed, is sickening.
I run to the bathroom and dry heave into the toilet. I can sense Asher hovering at the door.
“I can’t do it. I can’t be with you when I know this,” I whisper.
I don’t know if this is a cheap way to fight the intense feelings he brings out of me or if I’m really this disgusted by him defending someone he loves. But killing people is wrong. I believe this with absolute certainty. Killing the assassins in self-defense is impregnable.
But going into Andretti territory and killing a capo and his men?
He didn’t have to do that.
That’s premeditated.
That’s murder.
What type of person would I be if I know this and continue to pine after him? If I like him despite all of the blood on his hands?
His words mock me.
You can’t un-know it.
I should have listened to him. Maybe then would we have our what-could-have-been back.
His
mouth tightens, but he nods. “I’ll have Xavier help you with your stuff.”
“Wait!” I falter, knowing that what I’m about to say is so stupid, so reckless, and so emotional. I shouldn’t, but I continue anyway, “I can’t be with you romantically, but I’ll still honor our deal.”
I don’t know why I say it.
