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I try to follow his path, hating that there are so many people in here tonight. I’m about to give up on my search when my eyes land on an exit sign at the far back of the bar, its door not fully shut. Without a minute to lose, I rush toward it, wondering if the ghost I saw evaporated like white smoke in the night air. I leave the door open behind me and slither into the dark alley, holding my breath so I don’t spook him if he’s out here. On featherlight feet, I slowly walk toward two large trash containers and stop when my eyes finally land on who I’ve been looking for.
Whispering something in another man’s ear while holding a blade at his throat, my ghost doesn’t even register he has a captive audience in me. I stay hidden behind one of the containers as I watch the man whose back is against the brick wall spill all his secrets to his tormentor. Unfortunately, I’m unable to hear what they are saying, but the vision before me leaves little doubt.
This man will die tonight.
He knows it.
My ghost knows it.
And I know it.
The only question is if it will be a quick death or a slow, tortuous one.
By the way the man is offering up all his secrets on a silver platter, I’m assuming he hopes mercy will be his benefactor. When both men grow silent, my ragged heartbeat picks up speed.
There are no more secrets to tell.
No more lies or negotiating pleas to utter.
As if I’ve summoned the knife to deal its worst just with my thoughts, my ghost slices the man’s throat. Blood gushes every which way, leaving another mark on his soul. I stand in a daze as the bleeding corpse slides down the wall and lands at the assassin’s feet. The same feet that start to kick the dead man’s face in, as if cutting his neck in one fell swoop deprived him of the satisfaction he craved. I stand there frozen, watching this vengeful force kick bone, flesh, and teeth into a messy pulp until the man’s face is completely unrecognizable. Not even his own mother would be able to say this was her son if she laid eyes on him now. Adrenaline courses through my veins as I watch his murderer lower to his haunches and begin to slice off each of the dead man’s fingers as easily as one would cut through butter and then slip them into a plastic bag.
Casually.
Practiced.
The only thing that pulls me away from my hypnotic state is when the man I have been diligently in awe of since he stepped foot inside this bar stands up to his full height and pulls down his hoodie, wiping away the splatters of blood that are currently streaking down his face.
Something akin to glee fills me when I finally see his face, recognizing his haunting silver gaze.
Most people would run right now.
Most people would call the cops or scream for help as loud as their vocal cords would allow them.
But that’s not what I do.
Instead, I leave my hiding spot and walk toward the man who still has blood on his hands from his fresh kill. My light footsteps must ring as loud as a thunderstorm, since it’s all it takes for him to turn around and face me, his hand already fisting his blade. His stormy eyes flash as I approach.
“Hi, Gray.” I smile silkily. “Looks like you might need some help with that.”
CHAPTER4
Gray
Istare at the woman before me.
I say woman because that’s what she is, especially right now. Her painted lips are kicked up in a smile, and her eyes shine as they lock on me confidently. Her blonde hair is curled away from her beautiful, sharp face, and her curves are on full display in a fuck me outfit. I bet she has all the boys drooling after her, and I find myself snarling at the thought, wanting to kill them at the same time I want to rip those clothes off her and bend her over right in this dirty alley and give her what she so clearly wants.
Instead, I step back, eyeing her warily. I try to hide the body, but it’s no use, and her eyebrow arches as if she’s amused.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Zoey?” I snarl.
She shrugs her shoulders elegantly and circles me like a predator, but Zoey has never been one of those. She’s always been prey, and right now, she’s looking far too good and tempting for a bastard like me to sink his teeth into.
Too young.
Too sweet.
I remind myself of all the reasons I stay away and only let my fantasies take hold of me late at night. But the Zoey I know lives in sweet summer dresses, with a face clear of makeup and a smile as sweet as pie. Where the hell did this Zoey come from? Is she playing dress-up?
