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From Bestselling & Award-Winning author Ammar Habib comes this brutal tale of redemption!
Men Die. Legends Don’t.
Decades ago, Grayson Wolf locked away the demons inside him. Once a legendary assassin named after Mors, the Roman embodiment of death, Grayson is now a shadow of the man he was before. He suffers every waking hour, haunted by his past as he begs for death to end his torment.
However, Grayson is pulled back into the shadowy world of espionage when an old comrade shows up at his front door with a young girl he is trying to rescue from sinister men. Suddenly hunted by an army of deadly mercenaries, Grayson is left with no choice but to protect the girl. But deep inside, something happens. He finds a light in the darkness, a light he thought was dead. The demons Grayson chained up–the legendary Mors–will be unleashed. And anyone standing in his way will have hell to pay.
Most people create their own demons. But for monsters like me…our demons live inside us.
I let the demons inside take control years ago. They stripped me of my humanity, stripped me of everythin’ good inside. I don’t deserve to live. However, I don’t deserve the peace of death either.
My name is Grayson Wolf, and what I deserve is a lifetime of torment.
“The men upstairs made two mistakes. One: they thought they could beat me. Two: they tried to. Don’t make the same mistakes.”
Hearing my words, the three punks glance down at the bodies lyin’ at my feet. My knuckles are bloodied as I tower over the fallen men. These remaining guards are mercenaries, but so were the others. I know why they’re hesitating, and it’s not just because of the beating they saw me deliver. They know who I am. More importantly, they know what I am. And after the firefight upstairs and the mountain of corpses I left behind, they know the stories they’ve heard are true. All of them.
Most of this bare hallway is shrouded in darkness, and the walls are riddled with bullets. A dead silence washes over everything. The three men look away from the bodies and back at me. I’ve got a few inches on all of them, forcin’ them to turn their heads upward.
The corridor’s dim ceiling lights reflect off of my face. I know what the men are thinking. It’s written in their eyes. Their comrades went down in a matter of seconds. Now they’re calculating their odds. They’ve got the numbers, but it won’t matter here.
I stare directly at the leader. He’s a big guy, taller than the average man, but he’s still got nothin’ on me. Then again, few men do. The leader is wearing a dark suit just like his two subordinates. His finger is twitching. He’s figuring out whether to go for his gun or dagger. I’ve got a silenced P99 strapped to my side and an empty SIG 550 hanging from my back. However, I won’t be using ‘em.
“I wasted your boss upstairs.” My menacing words mirror my stare. “Along with all your friends. I’ll give you all one chance to walk.”
Sometimes they listen. Tonight they don’t. The leader goes for his gun. Bad move in a narrow hallway like this one. But the punk doesn’t know better. He’s acting on instinct. Lunging at him, I duck and stay low to the ground. His gun goes off right above my head, shaking the very walls. The bullet flies right over the top of my skull.
Disarm him and even out the odds.
Springin’ up, I throw myself into him like a battering ram. It’s enough to knock his senses out for a moment. Grabbing his wrist, I force him to aim away from me as his gun thunders twice more. One bullet buries itself in the wall. The other ricochets off it and hits the second hostile in the knee. As the man’s scream echoes, I slam the leader’s wrist into the wall. Then again. And once more, forcing him to drop his gun.
I focus my energy just like I’ve been trained to do. My fist slams into the man’s face. A jolt shoots up my arm, but it ain’t nothin’ compared to what he feels. His skull fractures beneath the blow before he goes straight down.
The third hostile charges me. He ignores his pistol and attacks with his long dagger. Smart. The man uses the blade as an extension of his arm. I sidestep the first assault. His next one cuts some of my jacket, but it doesn’t draw any blood. He knows how to handle the weapon and is using it to offset my longer reach.
The man with the wounded knee starts to stagger to his feet as he draws out his pistol. I see his clenched jaw and the anger in his eyes; it outweighs any fear or hesitation he possesses.
No prize for second place, Grayson. Take one out quick before they overwhelm you.
The third hostile lunges at me again. He drives his blade straight at my chest. Evading his attack, I step up into him. My elbow powerfully cross-faces his jaw, making him spit out blood. Crashing my fist against his face, I force him back between me and the gunman’s line-of-sight. My bruised knuckle strikes him again. His skull snaps back with the blow.
Grabbing him by his hair, my free hand rips the dagger from his hand. I don’t hesitate, don’t give him a chance to defend himself. With a forceful move, I plunge the blade into the base of his skull and drive it straight up. It rips right through his jaw and roughly cuts through the bone. Blood seeps out, but it doesn’t bother me. It never does.
Distract the shooter. Then take him down.
The corpse shields me as it catches two quick bullets. Holding the dagger by its hilt as the blade stays embedded in the skull, I chunk the corpse at the wounded shooter. He sidesteps the body. But he doesn’t get a chance to again take aim before I’m on him.
Kickin’ him square in the chest, I watch him collapse on his back. His wind is knocked out of him. The handgun leaves his hand, skidding across the floor. He looks up, the anger in his eyes now replaced with terror. My pistol is aimed square at his forehead.
He raises his hands up to signal surrender. This punk must know it won’t do him any good. He’s heard the stories of the legendary Mors. Maybe surrendering is just instinctive for him. However, there’s no pause on my end, no final words for the man.
I pull the trigger.
Mors: the bringer of death. That’s what they call me. And nothing can kill me…except myself.
About the Author
Ammar Habib is a bestselling and award-winning author who was born in Lake Jackson, Texas in 1993. Ammar enjoys crafting stories that are not only entertaining but will also stay with the reader for a long time. Ammar presently resides in his hometown with his family, all of whom are his biggest fans. He draws his inspiration from his family, imagination, and the world around him.
One winner will receive a signed copy of Habib’s national award-winning novel, Memories of My Future (US only). Memories of My Future is an historical/inspirational novel that was published in 2016. It received several accolades after its release, including the Independent Press Award in May 2017.
Ends September 4, 2019
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