The aftertaste of her words bothered me the rest of the day. It wasn’t like I thought Rocco was a saint. . .but a hunter? What did that even mean? I pushed it aside. It didn’t matter. That wasn’t going to keep me from wanting one night with him. There were no strings attached, so whatever he did wasn’t my concern.
5
ROCCO
Some people hated gettingtheir hands dirty. I wasn’t one of them. The way I saw it, if I could torture and kill potentially innocent people for the government, I could do the same to scums who had tried to take advantage of my father. It was how I got sucked into this business, to begin with. I was home on a paid two-week vacation, and Dad had to collect some money he was owed. On our way over, he told me about Neil Kemp, the former boxer turned wife-beater and child abuser who now worked as an enforcer for another family. Dad just wanted the money owed, and information about the man Neil worked for. He didn’t give a fuck about what kind of man Neil was or the things he’d done to innocent women and children, but I did. It was where the joke about me being a vigilante started. Maybe I felt it was a way for me to pay for the atrocities I’d committed overseas—a way for me to call it even in the eyes of the universe. I watched as my father tied the man up. I watched as he got in his face and questioned him. I watched as Neil laughed and spit blood on my father’s shiny shoes. I watched him not say anything about who he worked for.
After about an hour, I suggested to my father that I take over. His expression was priceless — he had no idea what I’d done after my time in the Marines. When I began waterboarding, clipping nails, restricting airways, and ultimately getting Neil to break, my father was shocked. He gathered his answers, and then I slit Neil's throat — that hadn't been part of the plan. As we left, he stared at me with admiration and unease. Afterward, I told him what I could about my job, which wasn’t much without having to kill him — rules and all. He urged me to return home and work with him, and I did after I finished my contract.
Somewhere along the way, even torturing these people got boring. Once you’d heard ten men’s tortured sobs and pleas, you’d heard them all. They were all the same. They started cocky, boasting about the things they could do. Two hours into the questioning, they changed their tunes. Suddenly, they were sorry for what they’d done. They were begging for the second chance I’d never give them. Lately, I’d been letting Matti and Nico collect on my behalf. They were both young and so bloodthirsty, you’d think they’d lived horrible lives and would never guess that they were raised by good people in quaint middle-class neighborhoods, white picket fences and all. Nico’s dad was an enforcer, but that didn’t mean he was a bad person.
Matti’s grandfather was revered in organized crime, but his dad went on to become a district attorney. I’d seen some shit in my life, but not even I could wrap my head around how his son ended up working with me. They did several things for us, from driving to security to this. Where I was now with my businesses, I didn’t need to be out here at all, but once in a while, for the right cause, I felt the urge to get my hands a little dirty. This was the second time I was sitting in a car with one of these clowns this week.
“Maybe you need to get laid, Roc. Get rid of the pent-up tension in a healthier way.”
“Mind your business.” I glared at Mattia.
“Serious question,” he said. I took a breath to reign in my annoyance. “Do you ever lose control and stab one of these people a million times?”
“No.”
“No?” He sounded surprised.
“In the beginning, sure. Overseas, I’d lose my shit all the time.”
“Why not anymore?”
“I pride myself in maintaining control of my emotions. It’s what separates me from the Mattias of the world, who want to start a bar fight every time he has one drink.”
He scowled. “I don’t do that.”
“You’re young. You’re allowed to do that.” I shrugged.
“Do you have nightmares of the shit you did overseas?”
This fucking kid was really starting to get on my nerves with his questions, but I’d just told him I controlled my emotions, so if I snapped, he’d have something on me, and that was never going to happen. Besides, it was a fair question.
“Not anymore,” I said. “I don’t dream at all.”
“Really?” His brows hitched. “My boy Connor just got back. He’s Navy. He’s really fucked up from being in a submarine for nine months. He can’t stop having nightmares. He can’t even look at the ocean.”
“Tell him to go see a therapist.”
Matti laughed. “You’re joking.”
I glanced at him. “I’m not.”
“You go to therapy?”
“This is my therapy.”
“Torturing people?” His voice hitched, and I bit back a laugh.
“Yep, so shut the fuck up and focus before I add you to my list.”
He sat up in his seat, eyes widening. He was quiet for ten seconds before he broke the silence. That was the thing about him. He never shut up. “I still think you should get laid.”
I glared at him.“You’re starting to piss me off. You know that?”
