Assassin Read Online Free

one another. You have my
number if anything goes wrong, Mr. Grant. I genuinely appreciate your help.”
The blonde, city boy agent retreats to his car and takes off as fast as he can
down the dirt road. Troy watches his only escape option leave and wonders if
this is a good idea. The old man seems to be assessing him and thinking the
same thing when Troy turns around.
    “I’ll show you to your room.” With those horrifying words,
Troy follows the old man inside and gets a better look at him when they’re
roaming through the farmhouse. He gets the quick tour of where the kitchen is,
the bathroom, and the living room. There’s a room that he is not shown, and
Troy assumes that’s the old man’s room.
    “This is your room. There’s an attached bathroom, rather
small, but you’re a man so it’ll do. The day starts at five in the morning, so set
yer alarm clock on the stand there, and I’ll see you then.” The fuck it
does! Troy waits for the old man to leave and closes the door a little too
forcefully. He sits down on the bed with his head in his hands, and tries not to
laugh hysterically. If the crew he hung with could see him now, one of them might shoot him just to put him out of his own misery.
    He doubts this guy even has television.

Chapter Two
    At some point during the night, he actually fell asleep with
all his clothes still on and his hands behind his head on the bed. Troy didn’t
bother pulling the covers down, and his flesh is covered in goose bumps since
the temperature dropped low overnight. Therefore, he’s barely sleeping when Mr.
Grant bangs open his door at exactly five minutes after five in the morning
with a passive aggressive vengeance.
    “Get up, Troy Red! Or you’ll miss breakfast, and we don’t eat
until noon after breakfast!” The loud bellow has Troy sitting up in bed with
his fists at the ready, but when he spots the old man by the door, he lets out
a loud whoosh of air.
    “Are you trying to kill me? Because if you are, then you
might as well just get a gun and do it now. Don’t torture me in the process.” Mr.
Grant crosses his arms over his chest as his eyebrows come down low over his
eyes and furrow at the center. He looks as if he’s studying a sample of some
odd germ under a microscope, and strangely Troy feels violated by the look.
    “If I’d want you dead, boy, you’d be dead. Now get out of
bed and come downstairs for breakfast. If you’re not down in another five
minutes, the goat will get it. I’m not making anymore, and neither are you!”
With his point across, the old man’s arms uncross and he closes the door behind
him with as much force as Troy used yesterday.
    “Fucking farm boys,” Troy mumbles as he pulls on his boots
that slipped off sometime during the night. He runs a hand over his short, dark
brown hair and rolls his dark eyes up into his head as he stands and stretches.
He drops on the floor like he used to at home, and does thirty before he stands
again. Getting a workout here is going to be difficult without the equipment,
but maybe he needs to think about retiring the guns as well as his job.
    The clock reads nine after five when he appears in the
doorway to the kitchen. If it weren’t for the scent of coffee wafting out, he
might not have remembered how to get to the kitchen. Last night seems
like a bad dream to him, and pretty blurry at best. There’s an extra coffee cup
sitting beside the tiny coffee maker. It looks like it makes just one cup at a
time.
    “My daughter bought it for me for Christmas, one of those
fancy ones that make hundreds of different flavors. I told her I didn’t need
something like that, but she insisted. Told me it would ‘open my horizons’. Why
the hell would I need to do that?” Because if you had, you’d realize most
people don’t talk this much this early in the morning. Troy plasters on a
smile, but it falls flat when he sees the homemade hash browns and eggs in the
same pan.
    “Get your coffee, sit down