Page 1 of Morally Grey

Chapter One

Grey

This moment doesn’t feel real. Even as I step onto the sidewalk, even as the tangible earth rushes up to meet each of my solid footfalls, I feel very outside of myself. That’s to be expected, I suppose. I lost a piece of my soul the day my wife died, and a year of anguish hasn’t lessened that loss of connection. Feeling very outside of myself is nothing new.

I glance down at my watch as I finger the cold metal tucked inside my waistband. It’s just after five in the evening, and the lady of the hour should appear at any moment. The human part of me says this is wrong. What I plan to do goes against everything we’re taught from an early age.

But this bitch ruined my life.

A woman emerges from the building and heads toward the back parking lot, but she isn’t my target. She’s a cog in their machine, but she doesn’t press the buttons. My issue lies with the button mashers.

It doesn’t have to be this way. Before I settled on the finality of murder, I considered other avenues. With my background incomputer sciences, hacking into her home security system and learning her dirty secrets wasn’t very difficult. My plan was to wipe her accounts and leave her high and dry, but then I discovered just how vile some of her secrets truly are.

Like the way she neglects the two adopted children in her care. Or perhaps people would like to hear the racial slurs she slings about her staff and clients. And don’t even get me started on the many “charities” she donates to. The real ones have yet to see a dime, and her house of cards isn’t long for this world.

But justice just isn’t swift enough for me. Justice isn’t revenge.

And I want revenge.

The gun’s metal burns against my skin in an ominous reminder of the level of desperation I’ve succumbed to. The cold fire reminds me that there’s no other option. She needs to die.

Minutes feel like hours, and another ten minutes pass before the bank door opens and closes. The blonde woman turns to lock the door with her chain of keys. After killing her, I could easily snatch those keys and take every penny from inside that bank, but I don’t want the money anymore. I just want the house I lost. I want my wife and child to be alive again. Money hardly has importance to me any longer, and since it made this woman selfish enough to screw over who knows how many families, it holds even less value for me now.

The only thing that can right the world is for her to die like my wife, but that isn’t possible. My wife died a slow, agonizing death. She endured fear and pain before finally bleeding out. I’ll just have to settle for the next best thing and give her a quick death.

But a death, nonetheless.

I’ll remove her from this world. I’ll take her away from her massive home, no doubt built on the backs of desperate people like me. Has she ever received those terrifying letters with a redPast Due written across the top? I guarantee she never had to eat, sleep, and shit on the street. I’m certain she hasn’t watched someone die a painful death that she herself set in motion.

Studies show that the rate of suicides related to foreclosuresdoubledduring the housing crisis.Allof those deaths, including my wife’s and child’s, are on her hands. Her hands and every single bank CEO who put their greed above the lives of their clients.

Over my life. Over Sarah and the baby I didn’t even have the heart to name without his mother.

I’ve had time to get over this, to let it all go, but the passage of time didn’t heal my wounds. The anger brewed, bubbled, and boiled inside me, growing hotter by the day. The worst part, though? The burn just keeps burning. Keeps searing me and making me hope for death. It will never end.

I rub the pistol’s grip before I pull it out of my waistband. I have looked down this barrel so many times and talked myself down from the ultimate end. The chance to see my wife and son again. But I swear I heard her voice telling me no, that I couldn’t leave this world until Gloria Rogers is dead.

After scanning the area, I step out from the alley and begin to follow her. I grip my pistol beneath the right flap of my jacket.

“Gloria!” I call out. My voice nearly startles me as it shatters the silence.

The blonde turns to look at me. She doesn’t even recognize me. She doesn’t remember selling me a fucking pipe dream. The woman is willfully blind to the damage she’s done.

I had a whole speech planned out for when I came face to face with her. I planned to tell her how her greed has ruined the lives of so many. But just seeing her beady brown eyes makes my throat tighten. Her nose rises a few inches as she looks annoyed at me for wasting her time, and I can’t speak.

I pull the gun into the light. Fuck speeches. Fuck explaining my loss to a woman who wouldn’t care. She only cares about her life now, not anyone else’s.

She squeals and throws her purse at my feet. I don’t deserve to feel fucking offended, but I do. I know what I look like. Rough around the edges. Stubble lining my jaw. Dark, messy hair that hasn’t been washed in nearly a week. My eyes are probably bloodshot from lack of sleep, but she sees an addict. An addict who wants what she has.

If she only knew what I want from her. And what she’ll be forced to give me. If she only knew the only thing I’m addicted to is my desire to see her die at my hand.

I step around her bougie bag and cock the hammer. “This isn’t a robbery, lady. This is revenge.”

Her mouth opens as she draws a breath, likely to scream for help, but my finger pulls back on the trigger before she utters a sound. Noise erupts from the gun’s barrel in a flash of light, and the woman crumples in a heap of designer fabric. Her legs shuffle around, knocking off one of her expensive heels, and then she stills.

Blood pools beneath her. It isn’t like you see in the movies, however. It isn’t a fast-moving river, and it’s mildly disappointing. I do feel powerful, though. Vindicated. As if I’ve taken back some of my control.

I tuck the gun inside my pants and run, ignoring the muzzle’s heat pressed against my lower abdomen. As I hurry from the scene and slip into an alleyway, I pull clothes from my backpack and throw a zip-up over my shirt, then zip it to hide the evidence of my crime.

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