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    An Assassin's Holiday
    An Assassin's Holiday
    An Assassin's Holiday
    Ebook75 pages1 hour

    An Assassin's Holiday

    By Dirk Greyson

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Brick Colton has been hired to kill Santa Claus—or at least the kindhearted accountant playing Santa for the kids in an orphanage. Brick grew up in an orphanage himself, but that isn’t the only thing bothering him about the contract on Robin Marvington’s life. The details don’t add up, and it’s looking more and more like someone has set Robin up. As Brick investigates, Robin brings some much-needed cheer into his life, the light in Robin’s soul reaching something in Brick’s dark one. But all of that will end if they can’t find the person who wants Robin dead.

    A story from the Dreamspinner Press 2015 Advent Calendar package "Sleigh Ride".

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDreamspinner Press
    Release dateDec 1, 2015
    ISBN9781634769389
    An Assassin's Holiday
    Author

    Dirk Greyson

    Dirk is very much an outside kind of man. He loves travel and seeing new things. Dirk worked in corporate America for way too long and now spends his days writing, gardening, and taking care of the home he shares with his partner of more than two decades. He has a master’s degree and all the other accessories that go with a corporate job. But he is most proud of the stories he tells and the life he’s built. Dirk lives in Pennsylvania in a century-old home and is blessed with an amazing circle of friends. Facebook: www.facebook.com/dirkgreyson Email: dirkgreyson@comcast.net

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    Reviews for An Assassin's Holiday

    3.5/5

    7 ratings2 reviews

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    • 4/5
      This has a gorgeous cover. I like the writing style and the length is probably just right, but I did have a problem with how quickly the relationship progressed. It didn't feel natural at all. They'd only known each other a few hours before they were in bed and sharing deep dark secrets. It felt a bit too rushed for my liking, though I did like the characters and their chemistry with each other; it just asked me to believe far more than I was willing to.

      I'm not normally a fan of 1st person, especially present tense, but it worked here. It didn't bother me and I didn't feel distanced from the story, like I usually do.

      The characterisation was good, though I wasn't sure the whole "ex-army" thing was necessary, as it came across as a little too much like ex-army = assassin. Despite that, I bought the emotional relationship, if not the physical.

      It was, overall, a really nice story.

      Favourite Quote = "He has a Greggy, just like I did."
    • 4/5
      Although this was the second release in Dreamspinner's Advent short-story series, I delayed reading this installment because I've been looking for more pleasant escapism than the promise of the provocative prompt - an assassin hired to kill "Santa." Despite the potentially dark premise, the author provides a thoughtful and generally engaging short exploring Christmas and a potential murder through the eyes of a stone-cold killer. It was dark and "realistic" enough to remain true to the dangerous theme while still being a pleasant, holiday-centered, and quick read.

      3.5 stars rounded up for a nicely sizzling little scene in the middle

    Book preview

    An Assassin's Holiday - Dirk Greyson

    dead.

    Chapter1

    I KILL people; it’s what I do. It’s all I know, and dammit, I’m very good at my job—and, in turn, my job has been good to me. The last thing on earth that I have is money worries. Unlike the guy who just passed me on the street, stinking of desperation and fear as he heads home to a tiny apartment filled with a wife and kids, wondering how he’s going to make the next rent payment. I could almost see him making calculations in his head to figure out if he’s going to have enough money to make ends meet for one more month.

    I never have worries like that. As I said, I’m good at what I do, and I’m paid highly for it. There will be no wondering if my imaginary children will have presents this Christmas, because I could afford any present I wanted without giving it a second thought. Which I don’t, because at this very moment, I’m close.

    My target is a block away, and my mind zeroes in on the task at hand. Slowly, I pat the pocket on the inside of my coat, making sure what I need is still there. I don’t feel the cold trying to lick its way through the fabric or up the sleeve of my coat. Minor distractions, like the few flakes of snow that began falling a few minutes ago and are now getting heavier and thicker, barely register in my mind. I know where everyone is around me, and yet I hardly see them. The old man with a cane and tiny dog a few steps behind me and falling farther back. The lady in her thirties rushing past me, arms filled with Christmassy department store bags. As she passes, my senses reach out for any sign of a threat. There is nothing.

    After all, I’m the threat. If you cross my path or end up on my list of targets, then hell, for all intents and purposes, I’m the fucking Grim Reaper. And I like it that way. No one messes with me, and I have everything I could possibly desire: a safe place to live, comfort most could only dream of, food, drink, heat in the winter, air-conditioning in the summer, and security. All the things I’d been without for large portions of my life. I have them all now. Every tick box on my proverbial Christmas list has been checked.

    Excuse me, a man says as he comes out of one of the stores, bumping me with a bag that he then proceeds to drop on the ground.

    Without thinking I pick it up and hand it to him.

    Merry Christmas.

    You too, I respond with a slight smile that lasts for just a few seconds before the training and goal creep back into my head, and I move on. A few steps later, I surprise myself and turn around to look after him, but the man is gone. I continue down the sidewalk.

    My quarry is just ahead. I can see him coming out of his office the same time tonight as he has for the last week. He’s a model of clockwork and predictability. I love guys like that—it makes my job so much easier. Know your target, get into his head, watch him, know his routine, and when the time comes, get in and out fast, cleanly, invisibly. Then disappear into the city with no one the wiser.

    He turns right, coming toward me, and for the first time with this guy, I’m surprised. I expected him to go left toward home, like he always did. Not this time.

    I’m careful not to make eye contact, focusing on a Christmas tree in the window of one of the buildings ahead of me, every window lit, bright and cheery, even as the wind and snow try their best to dampen that spirit.

    Do you have the time? I ask just as he passes me.

    He gets his phone out of his coat pocket. Twenty to seven. Crap, I’m going to be late. The quarry shoves his phone into his pocket, and with a mumbled, Merry Christmas, he races down the sidewalk as though he has fire licking the bottoms of his feet.

    I grin for a second and wait for him to turn the corner before following. It isn’t like he’s going to remember me, anyway. He’s too wrapped up in whatever has him so frazzled to register that he even talked to me. Just what I needed.

    I swear under my breath, a fucking blue streak, when I don’t see him at all. Fucking hell. I’m going to have to do this another fucking night. I can do that. It isn’t like I’m near my deadline to complete the contract I hold. But I’d been hoping to have this over and done with.

    Then I see him, running like a rabbit across the street, down by the other corner. I pick up my pace, determined not to lose him again. My heart races. You’d think it wouldn’t be a big deal any longer after all the men—and women, for that matter; I don’t discriminate; I’ll kill anyone if the money is right—whose lives have lethally crossed my path. But every time, the excitement builds and I can feel my heart hammering in my chest.

    My quarry yanks open the door to a building and rushes inside. Light spills from the huge windows out onto the sidewalk, making patterns on the pavement as well as on the falling snow.

    I approach and stop just outside the squares of light. The room is decorated for the holidays with paper snowflakes hanging from the ceiling. There’s a Christmas

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