Page 1 of Trig

Prologue

A Typical Day

I’m standing there next to the bed of the man I plan to kill in the next thirty seconds. His name? It’s not important, since he won’t be alive much longer. The room’s dark, and the household quiet. A young woman lies at his side, and if she wakes, I’ll kill her too. I lean over and nudge the man. He slowly opens his eyes and jumps when he notices the gun pointed at him. I lean in close, put my finger to my lips, and then point toward the door. He immediately stands up in fear and marches forward. I follow behind him with the tip of my gun touching the base of his skull. He walks to the kitchen and spins around to face me. The gun is now at his forehead, centered right between his eyes.

“Don’t do this. My kids are upstairs. Please.”

There is guilt in his eyes. He knows why I’m here. Carmen placed a hit on him. Yesterday, he snitched to the cops, tossing out names he shouldn’t have, just to save his ass. Fucking coward. Today, he suffers the consequences. I stare at him, and then I do what I always do. I imagine he’s Victor, the man who murdered my brother, Hunter, and it makes the kill that much easier.

“What do you need? Money? I can pay you an obscene amount.”

I stay silent and calm and watch as the man begins to breathe hard. His hands shake and I should’ve killed him already, but I haven’t. I need something from this fucker first. Frantic, he continues to talk, changing gears from pleading to threatening.

“I know who you are.” He pauses. “They call you the angel of death. If you think you can come in here, take my life, and just get away with it, then you have another thing coming. My men will find you and they will kill you. They will make you suffer for this. They will bleed you dry. Goddamn it!”

He’s panicking. I can see it. His speech is fast and hard. His body is tense, and his movements are jerky. I stay focused, and relaxed, and respond when I feel ready.

“Where’s the memory card at?” I finally ask as I place my hand out. The man looks around his kitchen and then back to me. “The card?” I repeat.

“It’s gone. The police have it.”

“Wrong answer.” Just as I go to pull the trigger, I hear a child’s voice.

“Daddy?”

I jerk my head toward the distant sound.

“Don’t,” he cries, as I turn back and glare at him.

The man picks up a knife from inside the sink and comes barreling at me with it. I take one hand, flip the knife away from me, and into his chest. My finger pulls the trigger at the same time, and a bullet quietly fires out of the silencer into his head. I watch as his body falls with a heavy thud to the floor. I can hear light footsteps coming near, so I duck behind the solid middle island, pulling the dead man close.

“Daddy?” the kid repeats, as a bright light overhead turns on.

I close my eyes, and then I inhale and exhale slowly to steady my fast heartbeat. Get the hell out of here, kid, I scream in my head. All I can think about is Mya. Lord, don’t do this to me. I won’t kill the child. I won’t. I remain frozen only allowing myself to stare down at the butcher knife wedged into the man. Blood is pouring out of the hole in his head as it rests against my chest. The light suddenly goes out, and then I hear the sound of feet running upstairs. I briefly let my head fall back against the wooden cupboard, before I get up and quickly drag the man’s body toward the sliding patio door, and into the trunk of this stolen car parked outside. I should have left his shady ass lying there on the cold kitchen floor, but that damn kid fucked up my head.

I run back into the dark, quiet, house and do my usual sweep before that woman he was with comes down. Job done. The contract closed, but it’s not over. The night is young, and I have several people to kill before I sleep tonight. I pull a cigarette out of my pocket and light it up as I walk to the driver’s side of the car. I take a long-awaited drag and hop into the ride. I stare at myself in the rearview mirror as I start up the engine. Blood droplets mark my entire face. I blow a puff of smoke out so that it clouds my reflection and hides the monster I see staring back at me.

I am the angel of death, watching and waiting for the perfect time to take your life. I steal your last breath by delivering payback when you least expect it. I’m your worst nightmare. You had better pray you don’t cross those who pay me, because once I have your name, your time is up. You’re mine for the killing.

Chapter 1. Trade, Money or Blood

My birth name is Trigger Matthews, but my employers call me Trig. I was born in Las Vegas, Nevada. Better known as Sin City. A place where hope comes to die, dreams burn quickly, and addictions such as gambling, drugs, booze, and sex grab you by the balls. Be prepared to be gutted, ripped wide open, and then discarded if you stay too long. This is my warning. Vegas has a heart as black as night, which only beats for your soul. Take a big whiff. Inhale deeply. You smell that stench? That’s the scent of death. If the city doesn’t get you, the fucking heat will. This is the devil’s playground; be careful where you step. It might just be your last.

The Entertainment Capital of the World is enticing. Just look around. It’s a human trap. It’s purposely set up that way. Think about it. Even a moth feels drawn to its death when it looks at a candle flame. The shiny, bright, flashing lights and money on the table are Vegas’s way of luring you in. Put your blinders on. Wear your strongest armor if you must, but do not stay longer than you have to, unless you’re destined to become that goddamned moth. Go vacation somewhere else, a little less sin-ish, because once Lucifer has your perfect little hand in his, that motherfucker doesn’t let go. I know because I’ve been side-stepping that asshole since I was a kid.

Sadly, the story wasn’t the same for my older brother, Hunter. He didn’t side-step anything. He was fearless, bordering reckless. He dove head first into Vegas, fast and hard. He ran with open arms into the false temptations this city offered him, and in the end, he paid a portion of the price with his life. What I didn’t know at the time of his death was that I’d pay the remainder of the balance off by serving with mine. Simply put, I owe for the sins of my brother. Ain’t that some forceful, against my will, type bullshit? It is what it is, though. A good old revolving door of payback. A sick twisted norm for the dirty industry we all love to hate, and because of Hunter’s failure to secure a highly profitable item, I’m part of the madness. Thank you very fucking much, bro.

Nothing about me is the same now. I’ve crossed over, and they made me do it. Fuck my honest character. Fuck my good behavior. Forget all about my morals, because bad men with big guns and no conscience at all don’t care about any of that. These men accept no excuses and make no apologies. Someone has to pay the price when everything goes to shit, and apparently, Hunter’s death wasn’t quite enough to foot the bill. They want the living to suffer, so here I am.

These men consider it street code. A list of unspoken rules and regulations set in place that every living person is supposed to know about. I consider it a hostile takeover of my life, but then again, what do I know. I’m just a puppet on the strings and no one I work for gives a flying fuck about how I feel, because there is always hell to pay and I serve as the final collector.

In case you still don’t get it, I’ll break it down for those living in a delusional bubble of how wonderful life is. In the criminal world, debts are paid off in three ways. Trade, money, or blood. Sometimes all three, even then, tensions stay high, and the wolves of the corrupt life keep hunting. They don’t stop until they get what they want. There are two things that will seduce the fuck out of even the holiest of men. I’m talking about money and power. That’s what all the bloodshed is really about. It’s the real reason Hunter died. Everybody in this type of life wants to excel by moving up the ladder of greed. They need to keep their pockets fat in the process, and to do that, they’ll slice their own mother’s throat if she gets in the way. They use fear and intimidation to cycle in what they call respect. It’s a way of keeping egos in check when they get out of bounds, and when they can’t be, that’s when people die at the hands of an executioner.

That used to be my title. I thought it was over, that I was done when I killed Victor, but no. Here I am, back in this life again, killing, and killing in the name of debt. It’s that same revolving door, and it never stops turning. Body after body and name after name. The game doesn’t end. It never changes. The players just rotate, and the bosses use men like me to handle the wolves. Kill. Kill. Kill. They command, and then I barrel in like the damn plague and take them out. I can’t even remember most of my victim’s names once the job’s complete. I try not to. This isn’t fun for me. I don’t do this because I want to. I do it because I have to. The bosses make threats to men like me to corner us so we do as they like, and we do it. We do it because deep down we know it’s not just an empty threat. It’s a promise. One that will destroy anything and everything we care about in our life.

“Nine’s already known in Vegas. I bet she’d make me a lot of money.”

“Mya sure is a pretty girl. The child trafficking thing is huge nowadays.”

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