Page 84 of Hunter

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Greyson

Sometimes,deathisappealing.The certainty of knowing what happens next would be a relief. By that, I mean nothing—the welcoming feeling of nothingness that permanent sleep offers.

It’s almost tempting to step into the darkness and never back out. Life as it is doesn’t offer much joy in my endless stream of violence and evil. No matter which way I turn, there’s a gun or knife pointed in my direction. My mortality is challenged around every corner; another fight required to keep my life.

But even with the evil that surrounds me, I hold on to my dream of living on the beach. The clear blue water lapping on warm sand. If I can make my wish of ending my years happy in the heaven of Thailand. It will all be worth it.

***

I pull the cheap pack of cigarettes from my rucksack, flip the lid, then slide one pathetic white cylinder between my lips. Before I even light up, I know I will regret not saving one of my favorite cigars for now, but I smoked the last one earlier. I hate cigarettes, but this was all I could find on my way to the bar tonight. So, they will have to do. My craving for nicotine is too much to ignore and one of the few treats in my life as it is.

“That’ll kill you,” a deep voice says as I take a draw. I glance up to see my comrade, Cash, strolling toward me. My face automatically contorts into a scowl at him pointing out the truth. I don’t need to be reminded of the tar coating my lungs, restricting my breath more and more each day.

It’s even more annoying that he looks like he’s out for a Sunday walk rather than meeting us for a final night of drinks before heading home. Nothing about his persona suggests we’ve just completed the most dangerous job of our independent contracting careers, and at one point it had looked as if none of us would make it home alive. He seems positively jovial.

“I’ll die someday anyway,” I grumble back. “Don’t shit on one of my favorite pastimes.”

“Smoking?” he jibes. “Smoking is one of your favorite hobbies? Greyson, you need to get a life. There’s no point looking death in the face every fucking day when you’re a miserable bastard anyway.” He smiles almost sympathetically, and that annoys me even more. “Put that out and let’s get a drink. I know I need one.”

Not waiting for my response, he reaches forward, plucks the cigarette from my lips, throws it on the floor, and stamps it out. His eyes lift back to mine and widen, goading me to say something about it.

“Do that again, and I’ll snap your neck,” I growl.

“Good thing you’re fucking off back to London tomorrow then, and I’ll be safely on US soil.” He moves past me, pushing open the door to my left, and heads into the small bar where we agreed to meet. “You heard from Cami?” he asks with a glance at me over his shoulder as I follow him.

“Not yet, but she’ll be here. That woman needs a drink more than any of us. She’s fucking nuts.”

Cash laughs out loud but nods in agreement. This most recent job involved a new team for all three of us, andwe’d never met until our briefing day. I’d never worked with a woman before on an independent job, and I’ll admit to scoffing when she walked in, but after her blade flew past my ear and lodged itself in the wall behind me, I knew she wasn’t one to mess with. Cami is possibly the most lethal of all three of us and, from the beginning, that was fucking mesmerizing.

We step into the cold December night. It's nothing fancy, but it'snot a backstreet dive. A fire flickers in the corner, and it’s warm enough that I can remove my winter jacket. Cash signals for me to get a table, and he heads for the bar, returning a few minutes later with two cold pints. We sit at a table in the corner, and I pull a pack of cards from my pocket.

“A game for the road?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but I’m not betting again. You still haven’t given me my fucking shirt back.”

“You lost it fair and square,” I remind him, lifting my glass to my lips and then drinking deeply. “Fifty dollars, and the loser buys the next round.” That familiar look flits over his face, the one that says he knows damn fine he shouldn’t, but he wants to bet anyway.

“Fine,” he says, slamming a fifty on the table. “One game, one bet, then we are done, Greyson.”

“Deal,” I tell him. “It’s good to see you being an independent man before you go back to your boss.” It’s his turn to scowl at me now. “Angelina has your ass whipped.” He shrugs and moves his focus to the playing cards in his hand.

“At least I have someone to whip my ass.”

“Touché.”

His comment is said in jest, but it stings. He’s right. He is leaving this place behind to go home to a beautiful woman who is pregnant with his child. In a few months, they’ll be a family of three. I can see why Cash takes the risks he does at work. He has someone to win for.

Me? I do this because I can, because I dream of eventually escaping. But will it all be worth it if I have no one to escape with? As my life flew past my eyes again a few days ago I wasn’t sure, and today, I’m still not. It feels as if what I do in my life is all for nothing, and I’ll probably end up a corpse that no fucker cares about.

“You playing, Greyson?” Cash prompts, waving his cards in my direction.

“Nah, mate. Keep my fifty for the little one. That should keep you in wipes for a few days at least.” I slide my note in his direction, and he looks at me warily before taking it.

“Thanks,” he says. “You’ll find her too. Your girl is out there.”

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