The Executioner (Professionals #10) Read Online Jessica Gadziala

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
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“And it wasn’t just the rampant drug use—and I swear at all of the parties I was dragged to by my aunt and uncle had coke on the countertops in the bathrooms—or the insider trading. But these assholes were getting away with assault constantly. The girls used to talk about which of our classmates’ fathers had grabbed their tits or pushed them up against a wall and put a hand up their skirt. Like it was just normal and commonplace. I mean, these were underaged girls. It was sick.”

I knew those stories too.

And it was usually those disgusting dads who produced the frat boys who went out and date-raped all across their college campuses but never got kicked out of school, let alone arrested for it.

“Then, well, I overheard someone at one of those fucking events we always have to go to bragging about date-raping a girl. And I just… I couldn’t act like I didn’t hear it. I tried to go to the cops with what I’d heard, but they said since she didn’t report it, they couldn’t do anything. So he was just going to get away with it.”

“But you couldn’t let that happen,” I said, understanding. More than she could realize.

“I couldn’t. I couldn’t sleep at night. I was honestly half-manic by the time I went to his house.”

“You couldn’t be shooting all these men,” I said, shaking my head. “I would have heard about it. Everyone would be talking about it.”

“I don’t usually shoot anyone,” I admitted. “It’s loud and messy. It was the only option I could come up with for Adams because of all that security he has around him all the time.”

“What methods do you usually use?”

“There is no usual. And, I mean, it’s not like I do this frequently. I won’t kill someone for cheating on his taxes, even if I know those taxes go toward funding schools and fixing the roads and all that shit that, you know, our society needs. But when it’s rape or something like that, and I know they aren’t going to be brought to traditional justice…”

“Example?” I asked.

“Okay. Well, you know Lawrence Haroland Jr.?” she asked.

“He was a year above me going through school. The world doesn’t miss him.”

“Yeah, well, he had a bit of a… nose candy problem,” she said, giving me a smirk. “Some interesting things you learn growing up in this area,” she went on, waving around, “is what you can and can’t lace your supply with to make it last a little bit longer. I can’t tell you how many times some idiot up-and-comer would lace his shit with Oxy or Fentanyl to make it more addictive so the addicts would come to him instead of the OG guys. And, without fail, tons of addicts would start dropping. Killing your customers is shitty business, which the OG guys knew, but the kids didn’t.

“Well, it wouldn’t be completely unheard of for someone’s supply to be laced with something. Even rich guys. So when the cops came to investigate Lawrence’s death, they didn’t have a choice but to call it a tragic accidental overdose thanks to a bad product. Which they assume he got off the street somewhere. Instead of me. At a party. Just a couple hours before then.”

“You work smart,” I said, appreciating that.

“If you’re going to be doing this particular kind of work, you kind of have to do it smart. Another guy got a little too drunk on his boat, and fell over while passed out. Another had a tragic fire.”

“So is it just the four, almost five?”

To that, she got to her feet, turned around so that her back was facing me, and reached to gather her hair, holding it up high against her head, inviting me to look at something.

Getting up, I walked over to six tally marks on the back of her neck.

“I guess I don’t have to make an appointment to get the next mark done,” she said, sighing hard as she released her hair.

Did I take a deep breath, loving the smell of her more than seemed normal? Yes, yes I did.

“How many people have you killed?” she asked, turning, finding I hadn’t taken a step back, so we were nearly touching. But she’d be damned if she retreated first.

“I couldn’t tell you,” I admitted. I’d killed more than my fair share while being paid by the government to do so. “I didn’t count when I was in the service. I was in such a dark headspace, I don’t even fully remember them all. After I got out, well, I had some…”

“You can say it. You were fucked in the head,” she said, shrugging.

“Yeah, something like that. And I started to notice the same things you did about the people I have rubbed shoulders with my whole life. Only my experience extends beyond just the East Coast elites. I have known monsters all around the globe. They have also had many tragic accidents.”


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