Kill For Me (Victor the Assassin, #8)

by Tom Wood

When reason was exhausted and emotion failed there was one final card to play. Violence.

Life had a certain inescapable ugliness. It was messy. Uneven. Death, however, was pure. It was unsullied.

Swung enough times, even the smallest axe could fell the largest tree.

‘This city might be your house, but you’re a hen, and I’m the fox you invited inside it.’