be the bad guy?” Elliot finally asked.
“Yes. What’s your point?”
“Why do that in the first place if you really don’t care about what you do? For that matter, if you’re just doing it for the thrill, why justify it to someone like me at all?”
“Someone like you?”
“Someone who was clearly ready to call you all sorts of names.”
Clay didn’t quite know how to answer Elliot’s questions. As much as he had rebelled against being judged by the man, the look of soft understanding in the man’s face was even worse.
Christ, he could not be getting soft, and damn it, he had not been soft the whole time. Being soft opened him up to a whole new slew of problems he was not prepared to deal with. Didn’t everyone in his line of work find ways to deal with what they did? Didn’t they get picky about assignments, wonder what it would be like to be free, to dream of a normal life now and again?
It was normal. He wasn’t slipping.
Clay took a deep breath, hating how it shook. “Look, is this your way of trying to get into my pants, or just tell me you believe me about your boss?”
Elliot blinked. “Get into your...you know, that reminds me.”
“Oh?” Clay asked with a smirk.
“Don’t even go there, you’re not distracting me.”
“Shame.”
“That night at the bar…”
Clay made a soft sound of understanding. “If you’re about to ask if that was an intentional meeting, then no. Trust me, I was pretty surprised to see the handsome tank of a man suddenly working alongside the target I had accepted.”
“Handsome, huh?” Elliot asked.
Clay scowled. “Now who’s trying to be distracting?”
Elliot chuckled. “It’s the first genuinely nice thing you said about me, I couldn’t resist.”
“No, it’s the first genuinely nice thing I said about your appearance. Think back a bit, and you’ll find I actually complimented you.”
“When’s that?”
“It’s commendable to have moral fiber. Stupid and suicidal in my line of work, but for someone who’s been through some shit like you probably have, it’s good. All too easy to become a brute who uses their strength and skills against other people.”
“The sort of people you hunt down and kill.”
“Those would be the ones.”
“But even then, you don’t have a moral code, right?”
“Now you’re just being stubborn.”
“Pot meet kettle.”
Clay glared at him, debating whether or not he could get away with kicking the man. Deciding that he couldn’t do worse than being tied up and possibly drugged again, he raised his bound legs and heaved them against Elliot’s side. The large man gave a yelp as he toppled off the edge of the bed and hit the ground.
“What the hell?” Elliot demanded as he picked himself up off the floor.
Clay gave him a smug look. “Nothing like a boot to the ass to get rid of some self-righteousness.”
“I was not being self-righteous!”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, excuse me for trying to see you as something other than a bloodthirsty killer for hire.”
“Damn right,” Clay told him, smirk widening.
“God,” Elliot grumbled as he picked himself up from the floor. “Catch yourself an assassin, and find a brat instead.”
“I’m tied up, I have to entertain myself somehow.”
“We both know that if you wanted to, you could get out of that,” Elliot said with a raised brow.
“Hmm, probably. Isn’t that why you drugged me?”
“And you let me.”
True, he had. Even tied up and restricted, Clay was sure he could have put up a fight. With anyone else, he might have. Elliot, however, was a rather capable person, and Clay really didn’t want to test his skills against the man while at a severe handicap. Worse, and he cursed himself inwardly for it, he didn’t really want to upset or hurt the guy. He wasn’t slipping, but that didn’t mean he had to turn away a potential ally.
Clay looked at him again, smile disappearing. “Does this mean you believe me? You never did answer me.”
Elliot hesitated. “I...I don’t know. Everything you said about him is right so far. None of it makes any sense whatsoever. And if you’re telling the truth about the sort of people you go after…”
Clay snorted. “Then that means you’ve been protecting the worst sort of person. Of course, that means I have to be telling the truth in the first place, and you have no reason to believe I am.”
“I have a reason,” Elliot said.
“Oh? What’s that?”
“A feeling. A gut feeling. And if there’s one thing I learned to listen to over the years, it’s my gut.”
Clay wasn’t sure how