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Chapter8
Grayson, who?
Grayson
I’ve tried for a long time to stop, but it’s an addiction.
A deadly one.
One I simply can’t seem to give up.
No matter how hard I try.
Like some people are addicted to cigarettes or alcohol.
I will go on the record and say sex is probably my other addiction. If a man says he’s not into sex, he’s most definitely lying.
But my number one addiction is the obsession of watching the life drain from someone’s eyes as they are half asleep.
My first-ever job was because of the Hunter brothers. They dared me to do it, thinking I wouldn’t. They had a hit on someone and told me if I did it, they would pay me more money than I could have ever dreamed of.
So I did it that same night.
I’d like to say I found my calling.
But I’m not entirely sure someone can as a killer.
A hired gun, as they like to say.
The Hunters didn’t believe me when I told them what I did. So Zuko went to check out for himself that the mark was dead.
He was.
Still lying in bed.
Strangled in his sleep.
He joked and called me the bogeyman and the name stuck.
The only people who call me by my first name are my mother, brother, and Avani. My employees call me boss, and everyone else calls me bogeyman. But that’s because I have no friends and those that call me by bogeyman, are in the world of killing.
The sole reason I became a hired gun for the Hunters was that it pulled the authorities off their tracks. If they were somewhere in plain sight, how could they have possibly killed someone?
It worked.
And it worked again and again.
I watch as my newest mark climbs into his bed. He doesn’t see me, but I see him clear as day. I’m in his room, crouched in his closet, while he finishes up talking to someone on the phone.
When I opened his closet earlier, I was disgusted. Photographs—ones a grown ass men should never have—were stashed in the sock drawer. I came to snoop, to gather information, but what I found made me change the purpose for my visit.
I want to make it very, precisely clear everything the Hunters do is to their advantage. They are not the good guys, but neither am I.
They kill for money, usually with no questions asked. When they can’t take the job, they call me and take a cut from the kill.
I wouldn’t go as far as to say I love the boys, but I do like them. And respect them.
We have a mutual understanding, and it’s served me well for many years.
