Craved (Book 2)

-26-

Update: 10/31/20

Chapter Twenty-Six

Greyson

"FUCK!" Greyson cursed out loud as he studied the contents of her box. Inside was nearly a million in cash and all her essential documents. From the looks, she had planned to flee the country or move to the other side of the world.

He was determined to get rid of the sick fuck now more than ever. No way could he lose her for good this time.

Greyson pulled his phone out and dialed Brandon.

"Bossman on go!"

"We hit up all his spots at dusk. Work our way outside in. This bitch dies today!" If Greyson was a cartoon character his face would be red and steam would be spewing from his ears. He was beyond pissed and couldn't think straight. All he wanted to do was get Red out of there and by his side.

"Whoa! I thought we agreed to wait until tomorrow?" The amount of hatred that filled Greyson's voice was enough to raise alarms.

"We're out of time," he slammed the lid closed on the box nearly knocking it out of his hands. "I've let this nigga run the streets far too long."

Greyson made his way to the front door, snatching it open with so much force he could have ripped it from the frame. "He has something that belongs to me, and I intend to get it back," hanging up without further conversation, Greyson stomped down the steps heading back to his car. He put the key inside the box and carefully placed it underneath the passenger seat, finally making his way back to his house.

Anger brewed inside his chest like a hot pot ready to spill over. Dealing with Diggy had always been business, but now it was personal. Storming into his house, Greyson marched to his room pushing his clothes out of his way once he reached his closet.

On the right side of his closet, he made a secret compartment in the wall. Carefully remove the contents in the box, he grabbed an empty black satchel and placed everything inside. He then secured the bag deep in the wall out of eyesight.

Greyson stared at the black hole in the wall contemplating his next moves. Whatever he did had to be calculated and precise. They didn't have any room for error, not when Red's life was on the line. Taking a deep breath to clear his mind, he felt a warm breeze kiss his face. It was the faintest of touch, yet he knew it was his Grandmother's spirit trying to calm him.

"I love you, Granny," he whispered. "But tonight I can't be the man you want, but I promise to do better after this." Placing the wall covering back, he moved to his room and grabbed his black duffle from under the bed. Checking inside he made sure all his guns were accounted for as well as ammunition.

He stripped his clothes and took a quick shower sending a silent prayer for strength to get through this. Once he was out, he got dressed in his all-black attire, snatching his skeleton mask along with the duffle on his way out. The drive to the warehouse felt long and agonizing. In reality, it only took him ten minutes.

Each second that passed, anger flowed through his body like fish in a stream. With every heartbeat sent a fresh wave.

Greyson marched through the doors tossing his bag on the empty table nearby. He didn't stop until he reached the bar, grabbing the first bottle in sight. Gripping the slender neck of the cold bottle, he ripped the top off drinking heavily straight from the source. The clear liquid burned his throat as it warmed his chest.

"Damn nigga slow down before you drown." Brandon let out a laugh as he watched his best friend guzzle more of the liquid amber. The death glare Greyson shot him silenced his one-sided humor.