He could love. He had loved. But at the end of the day, he was still a sociopath.
“You don’t miss that love?” I asked. I knew I did. “Don’t you ever crave affection? Have that skin crawling need to snuggle into the arms of someone you love?”
He stopped zipping up his suitcase, pausing as he stared down at it. “I’m an unfeeling killing machine, remember? I do the job, and the job is death. Love has no place in my life or in me.” His gaze moved up to me, his brow knitted as he lightly shook his head. “I do very bad things, Lacey. I’m not blind to that.”
Tears filled my eyes, lips pursed as I fought the scrunching up of my face.
Broken. Bruised and my heart bleeding.
I admitted to myself I wanted his love, but at what cost to myself?
“Where are we going now?” I asked after we were loaded up in the car.
“We’re staying here, just moving to the other side of town.”
I turned in my seat. “People tried to kill us here, more than once, and you want to stay?”
He looked out the windows, waiting for the opportunity to turn. “The response to the situation would be to run, to move on. That’s what they’ll be expecting.”
I didn’t like moving. I didn’t like Six much right then. I especially didn’t like Seven.
I didn’t like anything at that moment. Everything was wrong with me and my surroundings.
The drive was silent as I stared out at passing buildings and people. The sun beating down on the desert city, baking everything in a dry heat. Strangers moved all around us who had no clue that people like the Cleaners existed.
I envied them and their ignorance.
To go back to February and take a different path. To pretend it was all a nightmare.
Six left me to my thoughts. Not that he was one for talking anyway.
Across town, in yet another piece of crap motel, we dropped our bags and moved to the table to eat some food we’d gotten on the way.
The room had more of a ‘70s vibe. Old wood paneled walls were dark, matching my mood. Maybe the cave was what I needed.
We sat down and ate in silence.
The night before played on a loop, from every time Six stopped himself from killing me all the way to Marissa’s empty eyes.
I wiped a tear away and tried not to think about her family. Darren, her brother, was once a crush of mine, and when we were in school, they were very close, even living states away.
The devastation of not only her family, but the families of all the other people who perished. Which reminded me of Indianapolis and Cincinnati.
All the lives lost to cover up the death of three men.
Three men with a distinct marking.
“Do you have them?” I asked as I toyed with a fry.
“Have what?” he asked in return as I failed to say what I was thinking.
“The dots behind the ear? Three had them, then Four. Do you have Six?”
He stared at me for a long moment. I wasn’t sure if it was awe or if he was contemplating my mental health, but it began to be a few beats too many.
Stepping forward he kneeled down, left ear toward me, and folded his lobe over.
Sure enough, in a straight line were six small dots.
“What are they for?” I asked. A curious tattoo, but it held some meaning.
He moved back to his seat and his sandwich. “Identification.”
My brow scrunched as I looked at him. “But I thought you said you had none.”
“Not in the conventional sense.” He took another bite of his sandwich. “It’s mainly for our own safety from each other.”
“How so?”
“For instance, do I look like the same man you met in that bar?”
I blinked at him. No. No, he didn’t. It was a cosmetic difference, but enough to change him.
“We change looks so much and don’t run into each other all that often.”
“Why didn’t they just put a barcode on you?” It wasn’t really a question, and I rolled my eyes as I said it.
“They thought about it,” he said, even more deadpan than normal.
I quirked my brow and took a sip of water. “But?”
“But that would be too much of an identifying marker.”
Shifting positions, I pulled one leg under the other. “So, back to a question from a while ago… can you change ranking?”
He shook his head. “No.”
One word answer, which was at least an answer. With a sigh, I returned to nibbling on my sandwich. I didn’t have much of an appetite, but I also hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before.
“We were ranked out of fifty candidates. The top nine made the cut.”
I stared at him in shock.
Twice that day he’d shared personal information. Maybe it was his way of letting me in. Could it be that he did care about me?
“Did you know what you were a candidate for?”
He shook his head. “An elite task force.”
“Do you wish you’d have known?”
“The reason didn’t matter. My country wanted my skills.”
My country. The words didn’t sound right. His country was my country, and knowing they had people like him was unsettling. That they tasked a crew of killers that seemed above all laws.