I drop the glass. It clatters against the bar.
Okay. Okay. Okay. You can process this.
“Oh. Right. Of course. You just…” My brain whites out for a second. I clear my throat, reaching to pick it up, my hands visibly shaking. I turn back to him. “Wait, what?”
“I killed him.” He says it with the kind of certainty reserved for obvious truths.
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.
“I—okay.” I nod too many times, the glass forgotten.
Hex just fucking calmly watches me, and I can’t tell a goddamn thing he is thinking with that perfect, expressionless face of his.
That’s it. I hate that look!
I spin on my heel, taking two steps before coming right back because where the hell am I going?
Nowhere in my thirty-nine fucking years of existence did“accidentally give an assassin a blow job”make an appearance on the bingo card. It’s hot…
IN THEORY!
“So,” I say, trying to swallow the mild hysteria bubbling up. “You just… casually… commit murder.”
Hex exhales through his nose, a subtle sound that means he’s either amused or pretending not to be annoyed. “It wasn’t casual.”
“Oh, wasn’t it?” My voice cracks. “Because you sure as hell made it sound that way. Do you like football? Yes. Have you ever been on a plane? Yes. Have you ever murdered someone? YES?!”
He sighs, rolling his neck to perhaps relieve tension. “The underaged girl he raped? I know her. Her dad is a regular here.”
I stop fidgeting, my stomach twisting. “Oh.”
“Dillinger came in Friday,” Hex continues. “Wanted the girl taken care of. Thought she’d fuck things up for his business if she came forward with her story.
“He runs a shell company for Ned Stauder and has to keep up appearances. Got the feeling he’d done this before and gotten away with it. He heard things about me and how I take care of problems.”
Hex reaches for Bryant’s card and studies it. “What he didn’t realize was that I don’t clean up the messes of depraved bastards who dig their own graves while preying on the innocent. So, I contacted her dad.”
My mouth goes dry. “And?”
“And he showed up that night with his brother—the girl’s uncle. They were gonna handle it themselves.”
I stare at him. I recall the two men I saw him talking with that night. “But?”
Hex meets my gaze evenly. “I’m more experienced.”
My whole body locks up.Experienced.
My stomach does a slow, uncomfortable flip. I lick my lips, my voice coming out way too thin. “So you’re a hitman.”
Hex smirks, shaking his head. “No.”
“Oh, forgive me for being confused,” I snap. “You just confessed to murder,and somehowmade‘I’m experienced’sound like a goddamn Yelp review for plumbing.”
“I’m a handler.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“There’s a difference.”
