Page 55 of The Carver

“You know, for a man who’s never been in a relationship, you’re awfully good at it.”

He gave a slight smirk. “Because there’s only one relationship I’ve ever wanted to be in.”

The fact that he’d chosen me of all people still shocked me, but I didn’t voice that insecurity when it would only ignite his fury.

He drank his wine again.

“Do you mind if I ask you questions about work?”

“No.”

“You said you used to be a hit man?”

“For a brief time.”

“So, people would just pay you to kill someone?”

“More complicated than that,” he said. “I didn’t aimlessly kill anyone. The target had to deserve it. So, men would hire me to take out the enemies they couldn’t take out on their own. If the target was ever a woman, I would kill the man who hired me instead. And if a woman hired me, I’d do it for free.”

“Why would a man want to kill a woman?”

“The number one reason is because she’s a mistress. She threatened to tell his wife, so instead of paying her to be quiet, he’d rather pay me to kill her.”

I gave a slow nod in understanding. “A whole different world out there…”

“That world is your world—but you don’t see it.”

I was glad I didn’t see it. “You said you did that for a brief time. What else did you do?”

“The drug business. I grew up in it, and I’ll die in it.”

“What do you mean you grew up in it?”

He was quiet for a while before he answered. “It was the family business. When I was fifteen, I was forced into it.”

I cocked my head as I listened to that answer. “Your mother ran a drug empire?”

“My father.”

I remembered one of our first conversations where he gave me conflicting information. “You said you never knew your father.”

“And I didn’t.” His mood soured noticeably, like speaking of him was a sore subject, like there was an entire wall of secrecy behind it. “We never got along. From the moment I was born to the moment he died, we were at odds with each other. We had very different business philosophies.”

He didn’t raise his voice or deepen his tone, but I could tell by the look on his face that this was a serious point of contention. There was an injury underneath the surface that hadn’t healed, and the wound continued to fester as time passed. Something told me I shouldn’t pry into this territory. It was like when I’d asked him why he felt so protective of the girls who were forced into hard labor. Bastien was easygoing and calm, like he didn’tcarry the burdens the rest of us did, but it was clear that wasn’t the case. “So, this is the only life you’ve ever known.”

He stared at me for a while before he agreed. “You could say that.”

“Is this the only life you’ve ever wanted?”

He was quiet again, a pause so long, it seemed like he wouldn’t provide an answer to follow it. “There was a time when I wanted something else. To take a path no one else in my family wanted to walk. But I learned the hard way that this is what I’m destined for. I’m a criminal who earns his living in unsavory ways, but innocent lives remain untouched because of it, so some good comes from it.”

I wanted to ask how many people he’d killed, but I chose to keep the question to myself. I appreciated what he shared with me, especially since it visibly pained him to do so. “You’re so wealthy, I’m sure you could retire whenever you wanted.”

“Yes, but it’s not about the money.”

“Then that means you enjoy it.”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t,” he said. “When I left my father’s house, I wanted to do something more with my life. But it was too late. I’d already made too many mistakes, and I got into drugs instead.”

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