“That’s not my job title, although some of us have been called that.”
“You’ve killed people?”
“Some.”
“Did you…did you enjoy it?”
A flare of wild hurt cross his face. “It’s my job.”
I braced myself, waiting for him to remind me what my job had been and to ask if I’d enjoyed what I’d done, but he didn’t. His mouth tightened, and he turned away, and I remembered the times he’d come home from out of town, to fall into an exhausted sleep that was plagued by nightmares. No, he hadn’t enjoyed it.
“I’m sorry, Wills. How…” I cleared my throat and swallowed. “How long have you been doing this?”
“For five years. When I found out what I’d be required to do, I wasn’t sure at first if I could.”
“What made you change your mind?”