Jean-Claude lay spooning against Asher's back, one arm over the other man's waist, his hand trailing along the scars on the right side of Asher's body. We're not executioners. I grabbed for his hand without looking, and clung to it. He could have said a lot of things that I'd expected, but that wasn't one of them.
Until that moment I hadn't understood how very good he'd been. We're not executioners. Usually, the gun made most clients nervous, but Barbara Brown didn't give a fuck about my gun. This was Larry's day, and none of us wanted to screw it up.
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