WHAM. WHAM. WHAM.

What a mess.

WHAM. CRACK.

Seems I cut through the bone that time.

WHAM.

She's in the middle of nowhere. A random forest where sunlight doesn't touch below the trees. There are no houses for miles, no cameras, no people. Even the wildlife feels far away from this place.

It was a good place for murder.

Usually, Grayson killed from a long distance. She was well-equipped to be a sniper, using that method to end a man hundreds of times. Lacing was also a good method. Long-range shooting is her primary method of murder. It's impersonal, unexpected, and the scene is easy to escape.

However, this was personal.

Grayson spent all morning digging a grave big enough to fit her body inside before driving four hours to a fancy hotel in another major city. Kidnapping John Bonyard, a famous actor, was surprisingly easy. Both his and the hotel's security were lax—her partner was able to dismantle the cameras easily.

He didn't try to run when he saw her gun. The man went quietly into her car and when they were twenty minutes down the road with tied hands and feet, he tried to bargain with money. Grayson didn't respond. She shoved him deeper into the forest with a gun to his head, listening to his begging while utterly silent.

Grayson toyed with him before putting him out of his misery. She recorded a video of him apologizing, snot running down his lips, a pasty face stained with tears, and his shoulders desperately heaving. What an ugly fuck. He was kneeling in the dirt, begging. She ended the video before picking up the axe she'd brought.

She didn't kill him with the first strike. WHAM. No. His left hand came first then the right. CRACK. She went for the ankle and moved to an arm. SLAM. CRACK. He screamed so loudly that she wanted it to end already. BAM. CRACK. WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM. Grayson didn't know how many times she had hacked into the man—He wasn't recognizable anymore, with blood and mangled body parts lying off to the side.

"Bastard." Wasn't the word for him. But it's all she could come up with, chest heaving and skin oiled with sweat.

Grayson didn't do personal kills. She hated when things got... personal. However, you have started to reach into that personal territory Grayson protects with her life.

She met you two months ago. The job was supposed to be quick and efficient. She couldn't get the man from far, so she broke in, tried to stab him up close. However, after the job was done, she found you—beaten, bruised, and dragged around in a sex trafficking ring.

It was two weeks ago that Grayson got information from her partners on you—and the men involved in that trafficking ring. Ever since, she's put her own vendetta on hold to kill any man that's ever thought to touch you. This man facilitated your kidnapping, one of your top "bidders". Disgusting.

Grayson shoves off her clothes. Absolutely covered in blood. She places the dirty clothes in a bag and burns them along with the body parts of the dead man in front of her. Grayson changes into civilian clothes and drives away.

First, she stops at her house. Checking the perimeter. Grayson takes a shower, washing away all the grime and blood beneath her nails. After, she cleans her weapons and looks for a job to take, getting distracted by the names, addresses, and new information on the people who hurt you. None of them is safe. She hopes they know it too—more fun that way.

Now, her thoughts are full of that woman.

Grayson brings a pistol and a knife with her when driving into the city. She owns two houses—one isolated from everyone else surrounded by trees with a bunker, her "hideout". And the second is a penthouse at a well-known condo—where you are currently staying. Coming up the elevator, she clicks on the highest floor using a retinal scanning device to confirm she's the owner.

When the door opens, Grayson runs a hand through her hair, but her eyes scan the large open space of the apartments downstairs. "You here?" She calls for you, voice raised slightly. In her hand is a bag of takeout food from a place you like, she picked it up on the way over.

Grayson doesn't really know what she's doing here. Or why she's picking up food for you when you're a grown woman who can leave this apartment at any time. This isn't like her at all.