Graves & Griggs

Prologue

Zayden

I’m listening to the doc go on and on about preparing my angel for labor.

She’s thirty-seven weeks, which is pretty much a miracle for twins—our own mom made it to thirty-five before her water popped.

Then again, wouldn’t have put it past her to induce herself so she could go get her fix.

Like her being pregnant stopped that anyways. Junkie bitch.

Dominic is listening with rapt attention while I’m sitting on the exam table, my angel tucked between my legs.

The doc tried to get me off the exam table, just like she does every appointment.

You’d think she’d have given up by this point.

Where my angel goes, I go. Simple as that.

She doesn’t even fight it anymore, just gives me a patient smile while Dominic shakes his head.

It’s a nice little dynamic we have set up.

My fingers twist her wedding rings around on her hand as the doc continues. I’ll still never get over the fact that this perfect fucking angel married me. Technically, me and my brother, but if you ask me, she just agreed to marry him because she felt bad. We all know I’m her favorite.

Not only did she marry me, though—us—but now she’s giving us the most precious thing in the world. A family. Two sons.

“Do you have any questions?” the doc asks, looking at my angel briefly before her eyes find Dominic, who’s looking at his phone, no doubt at the mile-long list he’s compiled since the last appointment.

He’s been really on top of all the medical stuff during her pregnancy, and I’ve been there to rub her back and eat her pussy anytime she’s uncomfortable. It’s a balance.

My phone rings in my pocket, and irritation rises inside me as I pull it out and glance at the screen.

An unknown number, no surprise there. No doubt it’s a job.

We still take on jobs here and there, but not like we used to.

We don’t feel the need—well, Dominic and my angel don’t.

I get a little stabby from time to time and will pick up something last minute for a little release.

It’s like therapy for me. I know what you’re thinking: maybe I should try actual therapy.

C’mon, though—killing worthless fucks who have it coming is so much more fun.

I tap Blake’s thigh, signaling that I’m going to take the call, and she scooches to the side. I slide off the table, pressing a kiss to her head before I step out of the room and answer.

“What?” I snap into the phone.

A voice I haven’t heard in a while echoes through the phone.

“Not very good manners, Graves. Is that how everyone on the West Coast begins new conversations?” Christopher Putnam asks.

I roll my eyes in annoyance, not the least bit impressed by this slimy prick.

He runs a secret society out in Salem, Massachusetts, called the Brethren.

Though, if you ask me, they operate pretty loud for being a “secret.” Maybe the secret part is what their motives truly are.

I’ve heard rumors that they’re descended from witches or the people who killed the witches in the Salem witch trials.

Something like that. If you ask Putnam, I’d say he more closely aligns himself to Christ, though.

The fucking asshat thinks he walks on water or some shit.

We haven’t gotten a call from him in years, mainly because they have in-house men that take care of their needs. So why the fuck is he bothering me?

“What do you want, Putnam?” I sigh heavily.

A raspy chuckle echoes through the phone, and I can practically see his smile curling his face up as he continues.

“I have a job that I would love your hands on. We’re doing some remodeling and could use a man with your skills.”

“Yeah? How big is the remodel?” I ask as I walk down the hall.

“Not too bad. One room, easily manageable, as long as our timing lines up.”

The Brethren is calling me all the way out to the East Coast for one kill? Very unlike them. Consider my interest officially piqued.

“And what does the job pay?” I ask, strolling over to the front desk where a jar of lollipops sits out.

I grab a cherry one for my angel, her favorite, before I grab one for myself and pop it into my mouth. I close my eyes; I can already taste the cherry flavor on her lips.

“Triple our standard rate,” he says, catching me off guard.

The rate Dom and I have in place with the Brethren is $250,000. Whoever this target is, Putnam is willing to spend three-quarters of a million dollars to make them disappear?

“When?” I ask.

“You have three days.”

I don’t love the idea of leaving town with Blake so close to her due date. I’ll call my contact at the airport, get on a private jet. I can leave tonight and be back by breakfast.

“I’ll be there tonight. Send me the details.”

“Already sent,” he says before the line goes dead.

I pull my phone away from my ear, looking down at the incoming text message.

An address and a coded name.

Griggs.

Damn, that’s a shame. I actually liked that kid.

He reminds me of a version of myself. He’s not nearly on my level, but he’s in his early twenties—he’s got time.

According to this text, though, not much time at all.

I knew his parents for years; we always ran into each other on jobs.

Maxim and Putnam seemed to always have similar enemies.

I’ve crossed paths with Griggs even recently.

It’ll be a shame to eliminate all that raw talent.

Oh well.

Now to break the news to my very pregnant wife.

Nine hours later, I’m leaning against the wall on the second floor of an abandoned warehouse in New York.

I sent Putnam an update of my ETA, and he said that all the materials would arrive shortly.

I will say that seems to be the best part of doing jobs for the Brethren.

They do all the heavy lifting. I don’t need to stake out or hunt people down.

They hand deliver them to me on a platter, I do what I do best, then I walk away with my bank account significantly padded.

Even more so for this job. I wonder what the kid did to deserve such a high price on his head.

A shadow catches my attention from outside, and I stand at attention, adrenaline pumping in my veins.

It’s like a drug; one I will never tire of.

The high that comes when you’re on that edge of life and death is unlike anything else in the world, and when two people walk in and only one walks out, you can’t help but feel like the ultimate victor.

I’ve grown accustomed to seeing clearly in the dark, but it’s very clear that Griggs is taking a moment to adjust as he slips inside the warehouse, staying well within the shadows. Apparently he thinks he beat his target here. That’s cute.

He clutches the duffle filled, no doubt, with his toys for the “job” he was sent on as he cases the place. I can’t help but have a little fun with him. It would be a shame to see someone with so much potential go down before they even realized it.

I push the door to my right closed, allowing the soft snick to echo through the warehouse.

Griggs’s head whips up, but he clearly is still struggling to see me.

Grinning, I reach into my pocket and pull out a throwing star.

The smooth metal feels like silk between my fingers before I wind my arm back and let it sail through the room.

I throw it a hair high, and it embeds itself in the wall beside his head.

He drops into a roll before popping up again as my heart begins to thunder in my chest. The hunt is on.

I pull more stars out and begin throwing them, one by one, each narrowly missing him, then drop down to the first level, landing almost silently as I throw my last star.

I can tell Griggs is becoming frustrated that he can’t see me, a knife on his hip and gun in his hand at the ready, but you can’t kill what you don’t see.

I pull out the gun from behind me, flick off the safety and fire a shot. The silencer keeps it quiet enough, only a soft whirr echoing through the warehouse. Griggs somehow expertly dodges it, impressing even me. I can’t help but giggle as the euphoria of the kill is right at the tip of my finger.

Deciding someone with his skills deserves an honorable death, I do him a favor and step into the light. The instant he sees me, confusion clouds his face.

“Graves?”

I nod. Though he can’t see the smile I’m giving him behind my mask, I know he can hear it in my words.

“You aren’t too bad, Griggs. Better than your parents were, I’d say.”

“Thanks,” he practically spits. “Any particular reason you’re trying to kill me?” he asks as I reach for my favorite knife, then swipe my hand out to plunge it inside him.

He lunges backward, his fist driving into my face before I return the favor. He’s within arm’s reach now. If I wanted to be quick about it, he’d be bleeding out on the floor already, but I’m having too much fun playing. It’s been a while since I’ve crossed paths with a worthy opponent.

Griggs’s mind appears to be spinning, as if he’s just put together that my target for the night is him.

I take the opportunity to swing my knife out, catching his arm and slicing him open.

The familiar feeling of blade tearing flesh runs through my knife and into my body like an electric zap I feel through every inch of my body.

He grunts in pain as I deliver similar treatment to his other arm, forcing him to the floor.

The kid doesn’t go down easy, though, kicking his leg out and knocking me down with him.

Holy shit, I won’t lie, that surprised me, and I can’t help but bust up laughing at the thought that he just got me onto my ass.

My head throbs from the impact, and I touch the back of it. My fingers come back wet and red.

“Nice one! You’re a tough little fucker. Want a job?” I chuckle.