Soldier of Death: Soldier of Death Series Book 1

207 pages

Chapter 2

After Gray left the bar, he felt restless and wasn’t ready to go home yet, so he walked around the neighborhood. A loner by nature, Gray didn’t have a lot of friends. His social circle was small, and he’d always preferred it that way.

Making friends and socializing had never been much of a priority for him when he was growing up. He got used to being alone and had come to like it.

Being around other people was uncomfortable for him.

The only exception to that rule of his life was the Corps. The guys he served with became his brothers. His family. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t have done for any one of them.

For Gray, the guys in his unit had been closer to him than blood. The bond they’d shared, tempered in the fires of battle, was unbreakable. He missed the boys.

Missed that camaraderie and missed the times they’d shared together— even the hairy ones that nearly cost them their lives.

A cool wind ruffled his hair, and his breath was coming out in thick, steamy plumes.

Gray pulled his jacket around himself a little tighter and stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. His stomach growled as he walked, and he thought about ordering a pizza but decided he didn’t want to wait that long for it to arrive. Instead, he figured he’d just go to the corner market near his place and grab a few things before heading home. They had a pretty decent hot case of food.

The bells over the door tinkled as he stepped in. Arturo, the owner of the store, gave him a friendly wave. The heater inside the store was on, which Gray was thankful for.

They weren’t even in the heart of winter yet but judging by the air outside, it was well on its way, and it was going to get cold as hell before long.

Arturo was a fifty-something man with dark hair, dark eyes, tawny skin, and an unusually soft, round babyface. If not for the silver flecks in his hair, he could have passed for fifteen years younger. He wasn’t a big man, 5’6” tall and slight of build, but Gray had seen him whoop somebody twice his size who’d tried to rob him one night.

Arturo wasn’t big, but he knew how to take care of himself.

“How’s it goin’ tonight, Gray?”

He spoke with the soft hints of his accent— he’d come to the US from El Salvador when he was a child.

“It’s goin’,” Gray replied.

“How are things with you?”

“Haven’t gotten robbed in a few weeks, so I guess I can’t complain.”

“At least you got that goin’ for you,” Gray said.

“Right?” Arturo replied with a chuckle.

“What’s in the hot case tonight?”

“Got some noodles, egg rolls, chimichangas, and corndogs.”

“How international of you.”

“I do my best.”

Gray chuckled to himself as he walked toward the back of the market where the hot case was. On his way, he stopped and grabbed some bags of Cheetos, then pulled a couple of Dr. Peppers out of the refrigerator. He set his things down on the counter and looked at what Arturo had in the hot case. Gray frowned as he tried to decide between the noodles and the chimichangas— or whether to just get them both.

“Screw it,” he muttered.

Gray finally reached in and pulled out a box of noodles and a chimichanga. As he gathered up his things, the bell above the front door chimed, and he glanced up at the large mirror that hung in the corner.

It was angled in a way that Arturo could keep an eye on anybody in the aisles to prevent shoplifting.

When Gray saw the man with the gun standing at the counter, the blood in his veins turned to ice.

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