"Yessir." The order to kill them doesn't bother him at all, they knew the risk they were taking when they took the job, and they'd been willing to kill him and anyone else who got in their way if they'd been able to.

He waits patiently, if a little restlessly, for Damien's appearance, and steps just clear of the door when it finally swings open. He's not expecting the contact, not expecting anything from Damien other than more disdain, honestly, and so he's not quite braced for the searing pain as Damien slaps his hand directly over where the bullet had torn a deep furrow through skin and muscle. He manages not to jerk away, but he stiffens and sucks a sharp breath in through his teeth before taking a step back. He nods in acknowledgment of the praise, though.

"I'll have housekeeping come through and tidy this room up once the clean-up crew's done with the bodies and the blood," he offers, though his voice is a little tighter with the spike of pain. His only concession to the situation, though, is to reach into his coat pocket and pull out the small handtowel he has in reserve for when the current one bleeds through too badly and offer it to Damien for his hand.