Bound (Grim and Sinister Delights Book 3) by Sean Azinsalt

Author:Sean Azinsalt [Azinsalt, Sean]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2020-09-08T00:00:00+00:00

Part Two

The Concrete Jungle

Two Years Later

Chapter Twelve

He doesn’t hear me coming. My footsteps are silent on the concrete, just as I was trained to be. I am silent, like a panther stalking her prey in the jungle. I am as stealthy as a snow leopard right before a kill, and I am as deadly as a viper, hidden in plain sight until I want to be seen.

I trained for two years with the world’s best killers, and now they have unleashed me upon the city I once dreamed of. I thought my life in the tower was hard. It was nothing compared to what I have survived in the Himalayas. Concealed from the world as I was taught to be deadly, to kill, or be killed. I somehow rose to the top. I excelled, and my teachers were pleased. My life of solitude and loneliness had prepared me for a life as a predator, and I had my prey in my sight.

He was not a good man.

When I was given the contract by my boss, I read everything I could about him. He thought he was at the top of the food chain, supplying bad drugs to his gang of street rats and sending them out to spread madness and chaos upon the innocent. All he cared about was the cash that lined his pockets. He and Benjamin were two of a kind, and he deserved what was coming to him. I wanted to make it slow and painful, but here was not the place for that.

I followed carefully behind him, tracked him through this concrete jungle of filth and piss, of dreams and despair, all the while tasting the fear that he would soon feel.

He deserved to die.

I hated Times Square. It was too crowded, and I realized quickly that I should have taken him when I had the chance in a less crowded part of town. It would have been easy here too. But then I wouldn’t get to play with my food, and I wanted to watch him beg.

People parted for me as I moved through them like they sensed the danger that stalked among them. A beautiful face and body whose strength and fortitude made them almost afraid to stare at me as if I gave off a scent that made them uncomfortable.

He turned off Seventh Avenue and walked through the square until he headed back down Broadway. I kept a good hundred paces behind him as he weaved in and out of the tourists and theatergoers. He picked up his pace when he passed the Winter Garden Theatre and turned right on Fifty-First.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw no one except for a Japanese tourist coming out of an overpriced coffee shop. I slid out from behind the doorway of The Gershwin Theatre, where a crowd of people was inside watching Wicked. The show would soon end, and this street would be filled with people standing in line to get an autograph from the show’s stars.

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