“Why would anyone ask for pain?”

“I like pain. Learned to like it over time.”

“You like it?” I repeated, dropping my hand from his skin. Did he ask someone to burn him? Was he that messed up? The idea didn’t sit well with me. Someone who did this to themselves would probably do much worse to others. Though the fact that surprised me was ridiculous. I knew what Growl was. More monster than man.

A corner of his mouth twitched in an almost smile. That small gesture managed to change his entire face, making him seem more approachable, less dangerous. But the usual hard line returned to his lips too quickly. “Not getting burned. I didn’t ask for those scars,” he said roughly. “When I was a kid, I wasn’t into pain yet.”

My eyes trailed over the many burn marks, counting almost a dozen. “Someone did this to you when you were a kid?” I paused, unsure about the next question. “Your mother?” That would at least explain why Growl didn’t want to avenge her.

Growl shook his head. “She wasn’t the best mother. She worked as a whore. Her addiction and job didn’t really help with raising a kid, but she never beat me or hurt me physically.”

I licked my lips. This was dangerous territory I was treading. My curiosity made me eager for more, but at the same time I was equally scared of the horrors I’d hear and what they would make me feel. With every piece of Growl’s past and his character that I uncovered, it became more difficult to not feel compassion, and more. “Then who did?” I asked despite my worries.

“After my mother died and I was released from the hospital, Falcone gave me to one of his henchmen, Bud, who was responsible for one of the brothels. He was a pimp, really, and didn’t want a kid around. But he couldn’t give me away if he wanted to get in Falcone’s good graces, and so he kept me. But he was a sadistic bastard and when he grew tired of beating the shit out of his whores, he liked to torture me.”

“Why didn’t Falcone stop him?” I shook my head. “I don’t know why I’m even asking. The guy almost killed you. It’s not like he’s a decent human being, or anything close to that.”

“He didn’t kill me, though he could have. And he never actually touched me. He let one of his men cut my throat. And Bud always made sure that he beat and burnt me where nobody could see it.”

“So you think Falcone didn’t know what was going on?”

“The whores knew and they liked me. They could have told him about it.”

“But he didn’t do anything,” I concluded.

Growl shrugged. “The beatings made me stronger. After a while, you don’t experience pain like other people do. It becomes familiar, almost like a friend. You stop fearing it, and even like it.”

That explained the tattoo on his back.

I moved so I could see his face and was stunned by the almost serene expression there. I hoped it was a perfect mask because if he was really this calm about the whole thing, there was little hope for him. When his eyes met mine, I saw a flicker, a crack in the flawless mask he’d built over time, and almost exhaled in relief. I put my chin down on his shoulder, bringing my face closer to his. “There are other things that make people strong, not just pain. It’s horrible what happened to you. Someone should have protected you. All the people who stood by while you were tortured, they should rot in hell.”

“You shouldn’t care,” Growl murmured.

“I know.” I didn’t say more. Did I really care? The man in front of me today didn’t deserve my pity or help. He wasn’t the helpless boy from long ago anymore. And yet part of me felt for him. I couldn’t help it.

For several heartbeats we stared at each other, and unspoken words seemed to hang in the air between us. I was so close to breaking down Growl’s walls, so close to gaining his trust.

“Bud’s dead now. Got what he deserved,” Growl said eventually.

It took me a moment to free myself from the strange connection I’d felt before. “Did you kill him?”

It was scary how easily the words left my lips, and how little impact they had on my conscience.

“When I was ten,” Growl said with a hint of pride in his deep voice. Perhaps that should have made me uneasy—and maybe it would have, even though Bud had deserved to die, if the idea of getting deadly revenge on Falcone hadn’t dominated my thoughts in the last couple of weeks.

“He’d beaten the shit out of a whore, but that didn’t really do anything for him. Falcone hadn’t given him the second brothel Bud wanted, and he needed to let off steam. When he came into my room, I knew he was out for blood. And I let him take it. He kicked me and beat me, and I let him but then I decided it was enough, and I fought back. I always had a Swiss knife in my pocket, and when he paused to light a cigarette and turned away from me, I slashed his hamstring in one clean cut.”

My eyes grew wide.

“He screamed like a pig in the slaughterhouse. Didn’t lose his balance like I’d hoped. Tried to kick me again, so I stabbed him in the upper thigh. Sliced his artery by chance. He bled out quickly. And I watched. I was still watching with the knife in my hand when one of the whores found me and ran away screaming. And I still stood there when Falcone arrived some time later. I was covered in blood from head to toe. Had stabbed the dead bastard a few more times to release some steam.”

The images flashed up in my mind and with the blood came more pictures, images of my father and how he’d died. But I couldn’t allow myself to dwell on that memory. It wouldn’t help me, nor my mother or sister. “What did Falcone do? You killed one of his men. Shouldn’t he have killed you?”

“No, he decided it was time to take me under his wings and show me what else I was capable of.”

“To kill and maim and torture,” I said quietly.

Growl’s eyes were almost resigned. “That’s all I can do. If there was ever more in me, it didn’t survive.”

He’d said similar words before. And I started to realize that he might be right.

“So Falcone taught you how to kill? When did you become his assassin?”

Growl thought about it for a moment. “I killed the second man a few months after I killed Bud. Falcone had told me the name of the guy who’d cut my throat and where I could find him.”

“So he wanted you to kill the guy?”

“He didn’t say it, but I went and killed him. Falcone told me that this was his gift to me and that I was never going to kill without his explicit permission again, and I never did.”

“So you got revenge on the man who burned you and the man who cut your throat, but not the man who is the reason why these things happened?”

Growl was silent.

“He is the reason why you have this.” I reached out to touch the scar on his throat, curious how it would feel, but Growl’s hand shot out and his fingers curled around my wrist.

“Don’t,” he said quietly, warningly. His eyes were haunted as they fixed on me.

I wound out of his grip and put my hand back into my lap. “Why? It’s not like I haven’t touched your other scars.” And every inch of your body.

“Don’t,” he repeated in a voice that made me shiver. “Nobody is allowed.”