Page 5 of Blood Ties

“I have to, V. I won’t pull the trigger without knowing the truth.” I fell back in the chair and ran my hands over my face in frustration. “I should’ve never agreed to this. I fucking knew better.”

I was worried I was slipping.

“You know, you don’t need to do this anymore. You’ve made enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your life,” Vittorio murmured, trying to sound off the cuff.

“It’s not about the money,” I argued, dropping my hands to my lap. Okay, real talk? Initially, it was absolutely about the money. When I’d gotten out of the Army, I was completely cold, heartless, and devoid of emotions. I didn’t give a rat’s ass about the details of why someone wanted some dude dead. That wasn’t my concern. I had a job to do.

Now? I was losing my edge.

“Then what? Do you truly love killing people?” Again with the questioning my sanity look.

“Do you?” I shot back. My brother easily had as much blood on his hands as I did.

He cocked a brow and tipped his chin up. “Touché.”

“It’s no different than what The Family has to do. It’s business. Not to mention, most of the assignments I accept are about erasing people that do revolting and hateful things without conscience. There are too many people who get away with sick shit.”

“Right, but the boys down in Ankeny take care of that, too.”

“True, but fuck, they can’t do it all. Most of mine are international, higher-profile targets that they don’t usually mess with.” We dealt in apples and oranges.

I’d joined the Army with a ranger contract the day I turned eighteen. Our grandfather had been pissed, but I didn’t give two shits then and I didn’t now. He was the biggest reason I wanted the fuck out of Chicago at the time, and one of the reasons I didn’t work for my family. Our dad completely understood, and I was thankful for him—I just wish he’d stood up to our grandfather more for us over the years.

After completing twenty-two weeks of OSUT—One Station Unit Training—I went to Airborne School. Talk about an adrenaline rush. Not that it was a cakewalk, but it was slightly easier than RASP—Ranger Assessment and Selection Program.

What RASP really boiled down to was eight weeks where they weeded out the soldiers that didn’t have the physical or mental capacities to be a Ranger. In other words, it was fucking brutal. That’s where I first met Facet—Damien Blackwood.

Because I refused to fail and have my grandfather gloat, I made it through that eight-weeks of hell and the second I could, I dropped my packet for Special Ops. Facet was right by my side. It had been grueling and fucked with my head, but I made it through selection and was picked up.

What I found out was that we had the opportunity and means to take out so many targets that were a pestilence to humankind and yet our hands were tied. Aggravated didn’t come close to describing the feeling that gave me. I was sickened by our impotence in certain situations.

And I’d complained about it within the trusted circle of my team.

After I got out, one of my old battle buddies from the team approached me and made me an offer. That battle buddy was Facet. The dude is a genius with computers. Like insanely smart and talented—eerily so. He helped me set everything up on the dark web, and the Huntsman was born. He and I had been working hand in hand ever since.

Facet screened the clients and got them in touch with me if it was something I was interested in taking on. It was because of me that Gabriel and The Family started working with the RBMC—the Royal Bastards MC down in Ankeny, Iowa.

“Well, good luck, but be careful. I don’t need some black widow chick—or whatever the hell they call a kid that commits parricide—killing off my little brother. That would bring out a whole other side of me that my fiancée wouldn’t approve of.” He smirked.

Little did he know, it wasn’t him anyone needed to worry about. Because for some insane reason, when I saw my target in the flesh, all I wanted to do was dirty her snow-white skin.

How fucked was that?

The line at the coffee shop was long but I wasn’t in a hurry. When I was halfway to the counter, I tapped on the shoulder of the woman in front of me.

She glanced back at me, and it was like a gut punch. The intense blue of her eyes, framed by thick, dark lashes, was spellbinding. Paired with her long, jet-black hair, she was like Snow White personified.

Though I’d been watching her from a distance for over a week, up close, she was stunning. From the distance I’d watched, I knew she was beautiful with smooth, alabaster skin and full, dark-pink lips that I wanted to lean forward and taste. I gave myself a small shake at that unusual thought.

Fucking hell. Yep, definitely losing my edge.

“Excuse me, I hate to bother you, but are you Nivea Bulgari?” I asked with my most apologetic but hopeful expression.

Her gaze went wary, and I didn’t blame her, because the Huntsman was tapping on her door. She just didn’t know it. “Umm….”

“You probably think I’m some psycho. I’m sorry. I’m Nick Bowman and I’m a huge fan of your work.”

Her shoulders instantly relaxed and a soft pink flush spread over her cheeks. “Really?”

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