Soldier of Death: Soldier of Death Series, #1

By Kevin Saito, Ron Ripley and Scare Street

He can see beyond the veil of death. And what he sees is terrifying…

Gray Brooks knows all about death. A retired Marine, he survived the horrors of war, only to waste his life in a series of drunken nights and misdemeanors. But all that changed the day he was shot in a robbery gone wrong. After being pronounced clinically dead, Gray returns to life in the hospital. And something inside him has changed…

Still tethered to the afterlife, Gray now sees the supernatural beings that stalk humanity. Demons, ghosts, and other creatures that defy logical explanation. And for once in his life, Gray is compelled to do the right thing—to defend innocent lives from the festering evil that plague them.

Joining forces with a practitioner of the occult, Gray sets out to fend off sinister beings. But sensing these hideous forces is one thing and killing them is quite another. And unless Gray can discover these creatures' weaknesses in time, he may find himself returned to the shadowy realm of death.

And this time, there will be no coming back…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scare Street
• Release date: Aug 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798224162161

Book preview

Prologue

Please, Evan whined. I’ll get the money. I swear it.

You’re more than two weeks late, Evan, Gray Brooks sneered, disgusted by the sniveling man in front of him.

Please—

The crack of flesh meeting flesh filled the alley, and Evan’s head snapped backward as Gray drove his fist into the man’s jaw. The blow drove Evan to his hands and knees, putting him down into the filth and stink of the puddles on the concrete. Sniffling and wiping at his face, Evan struggled to get back up.

Mr. Donovan doesn’t like people who are late with their payments, Gray growled. When he lends you money, he expects you to honor your word about payin’ it back.

Evan looked up at Gray, tears flowing down his ruddy cheeks as a rivulet of blood trickled out of his nose. Pure terror was etched upon the crying man’s features. The stink of fear wafting off him was almost as thick as the stench from the dumpsters that lined the alley behind the restaurants and bars. Gray saw people walking by the head of the alley. If anybody saw them, they didn’t give any indication. Of course, nobody seemed to notice him yanking Evan out of the bar either. People tended to mind their own business in Burnside.

I know and I mean to—I mean, I will, Evan pled. It’s just been a rough month. I’m going to get it back to him and—

Another backhanded smack cut him off and rocked his head to the side. Evan let out a yelp and cowered, putting his hands over his head to keep Gray from landing another blow. Gray chuckled to himself. If he’d intended to hit Evan again, holding his hands over his head wouldn’t have stopped him. But Gray had been in the game long enough to know he needed to space them out to maximize the effect. Gray was there in that alley to give Evan a message. Not a full-out beatdown. Not this time anyway—the full-out beatdown was the second message. And after that—well—that wasn’t his business.

Gray gave Evan a couple of moments to gather himself. The sound of car horns, music playing too loud, and people yelling louder than that—the normal soundtrack of the night in Burnside—echoed down the alley to him.

Mr. Donovan doesn’t want to hear your excuses, Evan. You owe the man twenty-five hundred—

I only borrowed two thousand—

Gray delivered another smack, this time with the other hand, rocking Evan’s head the other way. Blood flowed from his nose freely now, and the man sputtered and blubbered, his eyes shimmering with tears.

Did you forget about the interest you agreed to? Gray hissed. You owe him twenty-five hundred. You’re two weeks late, so tack on another two hundred and fifty to that. You now owe him twenty-seven fifty.

Evan shook his head miserably, a series of choked sobs passing his lips. He was a disgustingly weak man. As sickened by his weakness as Gray was, though, that wasn’t what he found most objectionable about the man. It was the fact that he’d made a commitment and seemed to be trying to find a way to weasel his way out of it. He was jumping through hoops to find a way to break his word.

Gray had always lived by a code. Maybe it was an antiquated idea, but his word was his bond. He never made a commitment unless he knew he could keep it. He didn’t make excuses or whine and blubber as he tried to break his word. No, he kept his promises. Always. It was probably the Corps that had drilled that into him, and Gray found it was the only honorable way to live.

That was why he found Evan’s behavior so nauseating. So… infuriating. The man had no intention of keeping his word. He was nothing but excuses and manipulative emotion. Evan didn’t live a life of honor, and Gray hated him for it. But then, Gray had to remind himself that was true of most of the people Donovan dealt with. Gray also knew many people said Donovan wasn’t honorable either—and Gray knew they weren’t entirely wrong. Donovan did some terrible things. But in the two years he’d been working for Donovan, the man had never broken his word to Gray. He’d never once made a promise to Gray that he hadn’t kept. That counted for something in his book.

I just need a little more time, Evan pled.

Of course, they would give him more time since the chances of collecting the money from a corpse weren’t very good. It was Gray’s job to scare the man enough that he’d pay just to keep him from showing up again—and Gray always made sure he put the fear of God into people like Evan. His job was to rough them up to ensure they got the message that not meeting their obligations and trying to get out of paying their debts wouldn’t be tolerated.

Gray had never taken things further than that. He wasn’t naïve, though, and knew Donovan had put plenty of people at the bottom of Lake Michigan for one offense or another. But when Gray had first come to work for him, he was clear in telling Donovan that he wouldn’t do the wet work. He had no issue with collecting money from people who owed it, but Gray had said up front that he wouldn’t kill for Donovan. Nor would he shake down honest people for protection money or whatever other tax Donovan dreamed up. He was an enforcer and a debt collector. Period. Donovan said he appreciated Gray’s moral compass and never asked him to cross those lines in the sand.

You’ve got a week, Evan, Gray said. One week to come up with the money you owe.

Evan looked ready to protest or beg for more time, but when he saw the look on Gray’s face, he swallowed down whatever he was about to say. Instead of speaking, he nodded weakly and lowered his gaze.

One week. Okay. Yeah, all right, Evan said. I can make that work.

For your sake, I certainly hope so, Evan. Because if I have to come back here again, you’re not going to like what happens. I promise you that.

Evan sniffed. I’ll get the money. I swear it.

You better. I don’t want to have to go through this again, Evan. You got me?

Evan nodded. Yeah, yeah, I got it.

Good, Gray said and squatted down so he was at eye level with the man. And don’t you even think about tryin’ to run. I don’t want to have to hunt you, Evan. But I will. And believe me when I tell you that I am a very good hunter. Tell me you understand.

I—I understand.

Good boy.

Gray got to his feet and headed out of the alley, leaving Evan sobbing in the puddles of muck and filth.

I need a drink, Gray muttered to himself.

Chapter One

Gray sat at the corner of the bar at Duke’s—his usual watering hole. It was a dimly lit, dingy place that had been in the neighborhood for a generation. It didn’t cater to the young, loud, obnoxious crowd. Duke’s was a place for serious people who wanted to have a drink in a quiet place.

It wasn’t a large place, and conversation was always quiet. The bar—a massive slab of wood that was nicked and scarred but had countless layers of shellac over it, ran the length of one wall, while booths ran along the opposite side. Four flatscreens hung on the wall above the bar, each of them tuned to a different game. Memorabilia from Chicago’s different sports teams hung on the walls—jerseys, pennants, posters, and photographs from bygone eras, and a wide array of bumper stickers as well.

The same family had owned Duke’s since it opened forty years back. They were sports fans, but this wasn’t a sports bar. This wasn’t the sort of place you came with your buddies to watch the Bears, Bulls, or Blackhawks. It was the sort of place where you came to sit in a dark room, have a drink, and contemplate your life’s choices. That was what Gray found himself doing after leaving a crying man kneeling in a pool of filth in an alley.

He hated what he did for a living. He hated himself for the things he did in the pursuit of the almighty dollar. But the fact was, he needed to earn. He needed to pay the bills, put food in his belly, and keep a roof over his head. And although he’d loved being a Marine, life in the Corps had only taught him how to kill and survive in a hostile environment. When it came to earning a living among civilians again—not so much.

Another beer, Gray?

He looked up to see the bartender, a heavyset fifty-something guy named AJ—also the owner of the place—standing in front of him.

Gray nodded. And a shot, please, he said. Jack. Neat.

You got it.

AJ came back with his drinks and set them down. Gray raised the shot glass to the bartender and nodded, then drained it. He looked up at the television. The Blackhawks were playing the LA Kings, and Gray lost himself in the game’s fast-paced action for a moment. He tried to push everything that happened with Evan out of his mind—and was only partially successful. His mind seemed to want to focus on how he’d even come to that point in his life in the first place.

Gray grew up in Burnside, one of the toughest neighborhoods in Chicago. It conditioned him to be a fighter and was probably why he spent eight years as a Marine after graduating from high school. Growing up, Gray was always looking for a fight, and the Corps gave him just that—and then some. He served in Afghanistan and saw plenty of action. Saw and did plenty of things that haunted him to this very day. The fighting overseas—the things the war did to him—had left an indelible stain on his soul.

After taking a discharge and rotating home, Gray had no idea what to do with the rest of his life. He didn’t know how to be a civilian, to live what most people considered a normal life. He wasn’t built for the nine-to-five, work in a cubicle, or do any of the things the so-called normal people did. Spending his formative years killing—and avoiding being killed—left a lasting mark on him. Gray knew he wasn’t like normal people. He’d seen and done far too much.

So, with nothing else for him out there in the world, he came back to the old neighborhood in Burnside and tried to readjust. It was tough to find his footing again, but he quickly took a construction job. It was tough, grueling work—especially in the summer—but the pay was all right. The problem was the hours were inconsistent, and Gray often found himself short at the end of the month. To make ends meet, Gray moonlighted as an enforcer and debt collector for the boss of a small, local crime family—Alfred Donovan.

For the most part, the mob was driven out of Chicago. By and large, the big, notorious crime families had withered and disappeared. Some had gone underground or transformed themselves into something different and unrecognizable. There were still elements that lingered, but the mob wasn’t like it was back in their heyday. And with the crime families receding, smaller criminal organizations started sprouting up to fill that power void.

But these organizations were proving to be savvy operators. Unlike their predecessors, these new crime families were smart enough to keep themselves small and avoid accumulating too much power. Gray liked to call them ‘Mob Lite’. They were also smart enough to know how to keep themselves off the federal radar for the most part. However, they still had issues with the local PD. Or at least, the local cops they didn’t have on their payroll.

Gray hated doing what he did. But it was really the only thing he could do with his skill set, and the money was better—and more consistent—than doing construction.

Gray turned when the door to the bar opened, to see who was coming in. Two men in suits entered first and looked around. The guy on the right nodded to somebody behind them, and they walked in. Gray recognized them both—Frederick and Junior. They were Donovan’s personal bodyguards, who tried really hard to look like a couple of wise guys from the mob’s golden era.

What’s up, Jarhead? Frederick asked as they walked by, but Junior remained silent.

Gray nodded to them both as Donovan came in behind them. Dressed in a natty, designer three-piece black pinstriped suit with a gray vest, black shirt, a blood-red tie, a matching pocket square, and with a felt fedora atop his head, the man embodied the image of a mob boss. He wasn’t a tall man—he was 5’8" at the most—with close-cropped black hair, dark eyes, and a dark goatee peppered with gray. He wore sunglasses and walked with a gold-tipped wooden cane, though Gray knew it was for fashion rather than any medical necessity.

Donovan slipped into the booth at the back of the bar, and his men leaned against the wall beside it. Gray took his beer, then slipped off the barstool and slid into the booth, across Donovan. AJ brought a beer and a scotch to the table, set them down in front of the crime boss, then disappeared without a word. Donovan had been doing his business out of that same booth in the back of Duke’s for as long as Gray could remember. It was where he’d first met the crime boss and had his ‘interview’ for the job he was doing.

Some people might think having a guy like Donovan a fixture in the place would be bad for business. But Gray thought that Donovan basically running his criminal empire from that booth lent the bar a certain mystique. It was kind of like Al Capone living in the old Lexington Hotel in downtown Chicago. Besides, AJ was too intimidated to tell Donovan to take his act elsewhere. The man was the neighborhood’s six-hundred-pound gorilla who did what he wanted, where he wanted.

So, how’d it go with Evan? Donovan asked.

Gray was always surprised by how high-pitched Donovan’s voice was. He wasn’t the biggest man in the world, but he carried himself like he was. His presence was larger than he was, and to Gray, he seemed like a guy who’d have a deep, gruff voice. The high-pitched voice coming out of the man’s jowly face never failed to amuse Gray.

About how I expected, Gray said. A lot of tears and begging for more time.

And you made sure you got the message across to him?

Yeah, the message was loud and clear. Says he’ll have the money next week.

He better.

Donovan downed his scotch then took a long swallow of beer as he sat back in his seat with a contemplative look on his face.

What is it? Gray asked.

Hearin’ people whisper that I’ve gone soft. That I give too many chances.

Since when have you let whispers dictate how you do business?

Can’t have people think I’m goin’ soft, Gray. You get that, right?

Yeah, sure. I get that, Gray replied. But you also don’t want people thinkin’ you’re a monster either. That’s the surest way to get people to rise up against you.

Do I look worried about that?

No. But you should, Gray said. Times have changed, Mr. Donovan. I know you know that. You go back to the old way of doing business, you’ll be as extinct as the guys you replaced.

Donovan pursed his lips. Maybe. But in this business, if you look weak, you’re just askin’ for somebody to come in and wipe you out to take what you have, he said. And if that happens, I’d be just as extinct as the guys I replaced anyway.

True. But if you spread a little goodwill in the neighborhood, the people would be more likely to stand up for you.

Nobody’s standin’ up for me, kid. It’s a nice thought, though.

A long moment of silence stretched out between them as they sipped their beers. He didn’t like Donovan’s train of thought. There would be more violence and bloodshed in the streets. If Donovan’s business model was changing, maybe it was time for Gray to pull the plug and find some other way to earn some cash. Perhaps it was time to write the next chapter in his life.

The trouble was, he had no idea what that was going to be.

Chapter Two

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