Chapter 3 Griffin Colson
~ Griffin Colson ~
I HESITATE. FOR THE briefest moment, I almost walk the other direction.
But instead, I fall quietly into step behind him, keeping a discreet distance.
Chris Hanes is a weaselly piece of shit with light brown hair and a dull complexion.
He’s on the run for murdering his girlfriend because she came home late.
If I didn’t have a contract to bring him in alive, I would think of some creative ways to make him regret it.
He’s one of my ‘by the book’ jobs, which means I can’t maim him before I deliver him, unfortunately.
The world around me narrows into a single pursuit, everything else fading into static.
The only thing breaking through my concentration is a nagging feeling of ‘what if?’ There’s an echo of laughter and a flash of ocean-colored eyes.
Should I have walked the other way? Should I have followed her?
I shake away the thoughts, trying to clear my mind.
Concentrate, Griffin. You’re pursuing a cold-blooded killer right now.
Any deviation will cost you and you won’t have the option to see her again.
We end up at a warehouse by the river. It’s old and dark.
The windows are boarded up. There are discarded crates and broken junk everywhere.
The perfect location for nefarious deals and illegal activities.
The crunch of tires over gravel draws my focus and prevents me from moving closer.
A number of cars pull up and park around the building.
Chris and his associates disappear inside.
Once I’m convinced they aren’t coming out any time soon, I jog a few blocks over where I parked my jeep.
Luckily, he hadn’t gone too far from where I stashed it.
It's black, heavily modified, and looks like it could survive an apocalypse.
I pull up close enough to stake the place out but not enough to be noticeable.
This is my least favorite part of the hunt.
The steady drag of time spent doing nothing but watching and waiting.
Instead of formulating a plan on extracting Chris without getting anyone else involved, I wonder what she could be doing right now.
I envision her curled up on a couch, reading a book, and sipping something hot.
She’s probably wrapped in a blanket. Peaceful.
Quiet. Safe. Nothing like my life and how I choose to live it, following bounties through the dregs of society.
I’m one of the best and with that it takes me all over the country, oftentimes out of it.
But it also comes with a shit ton of danger.
I’ve been shot at more times than I can count and I have the scars to prove it.
I have no business thinking about a life where I can come home to her.
Getting in after a hard day, I’d sit down next to her and haul her into my lap.
Where the fuck did that thought come from?
Settling down? Get it together, Griffin.
You know that’s not in your cards. I scowl at myself and get back to tracking.
I can't afford those kinds of entanglements. And she can’t handle the type of life I bring to the table.
Hours pass and they are still inside doing whatever illegal shit they do.
It’s not my business to worry about what laws they break.
It’s my job to nab the guy and bring him in.
The river laps at the shore in the distance and a streetlight buzzes overhead.
Shadows move around through the office glass window on the second floor.
The men inside are oblivious to the hunter lurking in wait.
After what seems like forever the cars leave one by one.
I stretch and climb out. The jeep door barely makes a sound when I shut it carefully behind me.
Keeping to the shadows, grass crunches under my feet as I approach the rear of the building.
I slide along the wall to the side entrance.
The striations in the brick snag the back of my shirt.
The door opens with a hiss of steel hinges.
There’s a creak on the steps leading up to the office and I dive into the alcove behind the staircase and wait for them to pass.
I lean out to make sure it’s not Chris. The last of his friends leave and I take that as my cue to climb the crate by the balcony overlooking the main area.
Dropping to the grated floor, I adjust my position so I have a clear line of sight on the room.
Chris is alone, counting his cut. It seems like the deal went off without a hitch.
He’s humming to himself and nodding like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
This is probably a great night for him. Little does he know, I’m about to ruin it.
Air fills my lungs as I steady myself before the take down.
This is what I’m good at. This is what I do.
Not idle chats in bookstores. Not wondering ‘what if?’ The paper bills ruffle against leather when he shoves them into his suitcase.
His shoes scrape on the floor as he begins to turn around.
You should never stand with your back to the door. In an instant, I’m on him.
“What the—” He lets out a yelp.
I ram him into the wall, my hand wraps around his throat. He drops the briefcase, money scatters across the floor.
“Easy way or the hard way,” I growl. “Up to you, Chris.”
His face turns purple, fingers digging into my forearm as he tries frantically to free himself.
But I’m stronger and immovable. He looks around the room, searching for a way out.
When he doesn’t find one he goes still. Opening his mouth, he tries to plead or argue but all that comes out is a strangled gasp.
“Don’t even think about callin’ for help. Understand?” I lean forward, daring him to try me.
He nods fervently, his Adam’s apple bobbing under my palm. I reach around behind him and pull his gun out of his waistband, shoving it in the back of mine instead. I relax my hold to let him speak.
“Please,” he wheezes, desperation making his voice tremble. “I-I can pay you.” His eyes dart to the cash spread out across the floor. “Take it. All of it. Just let me go.”
I make more than enough chasing down parasites like him and taking out worse.
I don’t need his bribe. His nostrils flare and his pulse races faster when he figures out I’m not interested in his offer.
For a second, I think he’s about to piss himself.
Normally I’m amused when these dickholes break but all I can think about is getting this over with.
“Nice try,” I say, smiling cruelly. “But I’m not here for that.”
Eyebrows hit his hairline and his mouth gapes like a fish out of water. He doesn’t know who I am, doesn’t know he’s just another shitbag bounty to me. I savor his anguish for a minute, letting the satisfaction of it drown out thoughts of rain-dripped bookstores and delicate laughter.
“Then what? What do you want?”
“Information,” I reply, my voice as hard as my grip. “You know a guy named Alexei Sokolov? Russian? Word is, he’s in town.”
“Sokolov?” He croaks, blinking in surprise. “Yeah, I’ve heard of him.”
I squeeze tighter, making sure I have his full attention.
I’m hauling him in but that doesn’t mean I can’t get information on the bigger payout I’m after in the process.
Alexei has been dodging me for months and I’m close.
I’m also fucking sick of the slick bastard slipping away from me. “I need to know where he’s stayin’.”
“Man, I don’t—I don’t know, really. I swear.” He swallows hard and shifts his gaze like he’s expecting Sokolov to walk out and shoot him where he stands.
“Don’t lie to me, Hanes. I’ve got no patience for bullshit.” I slam him again and his skull hits concrete, making a sharp thud.
“Fine, fine!” The words are hoarse and strained as he struggles to use his vocal cords under the pressure. “I’ll tell you! Just let go. You’re crushing my windpipe!”
Easing up a fraction and keeping him firmly pinned, I wait for him to start talking.
I let the silence do the threatening for me.
Experience has taught me that staying quiet is almost always the best interrogation method.
Most people can’t handle the wait, not knowing what’s going to happen next.
It’s that uncomfortable feeling of anticipation right before the inevitable pain you know is coming.
“Sokolov’s staying at the old Miller Hotel on Oak Drive.” He wheezes for a few seconds, talking in a rush. “Top floor, penthouse suite. Guy’s skittish as hell though. He’s got a group of armed guards with him at all times. You’re not getting in there, man. No fuckin’ way.”
I process the information, committing every word to memory.
This will be easy enough. I’ve dealt with worse situations than a paranoid target before.
I have ways of getting around mercs. And scared or not, Sokolov can’t stay inside forever.
I have patience and time. I’m willing to wait as long as necessary for him to show his face and fuck up.
When he does it’s game over because the bounty on his ass isn’t like the one on Chris.
No, the one I have on him is from the underground boards that pay real well.
The people he pissed off are Bratva and don’t care if I deliver him alive or dead—or in pieces for that matter.
“You’ve been helpful.” I rifle around in my pocket, digging for zip ties. “Time to go.”
“Wait, wait, wait! Are you gonna kill me?” he sputters.
I pause, tilting my head like I’m debating it. “Nah,” I say finally. “You’re not worth the mess.”
The ties cinch with a loud zip, securing his wrists behind him.
Pressing firmly on his shoulder, I push him toward the door and out onto the landing.
The metal whines beneath our combined weight, our footsteps clanking on the steel stairs.
Checking one more time to make sure no one is lurking outside, I guide him to the rear passenger door of my jeep across the street.
He must have resigned to his fate because he doesn’t say another word.
While getting in the front, I notice I don’t have the usual sense of gratification I normally do after I complete a job.
Instead, there’s this hollow feeling in my chest, an absence of something or more accurately, someone.
My mind drifts to long hair, supple lips, and a full figure.
I force those thoughts away. What the hell is wrong with me?
That woman is a distraction. One that could get me killed if I’m not careful.
She’s a weakness waiting to happen and I can’t afford vulnerability in my line of work.
Get it together, Griffin. That’s a dangerous road to start walking down, for me and for her.
It’s better to keep moving forward. Straight ahead. No turning back.