Books Like The Gray Man Novels & Stories

I waited, just for fun, then let the silence draw out. Jack squirmed, like he thought I was about to say no. I was about to say yes when my eyes caught on a movement at the corner table by the emergency exit. A man sat there, alone, reading a book with a matte black cover. He was tall even while seated, with sharp cheekbones and hands too elegant for anyone under forty. His hair was dark and perfect. His jacket—expensive, probably custom-tailored—was so out of place in The Morgue it felt like he’d been CGI’d into the scene.

A tall figure emerged through the darkness. He wore a long gray coat covered with faded ink stains. His hair was silver. His face looked calm. Ordinary. Yet something about him felt deeply unsettling. Around his neck hung dozens of broken keys tied together with a black thread. He smiled as if greeting old friends. "So..." "The White Book finally found its way back." His eyes rested on Adrian. "You've changed." Adrian tightened his grip on the pen. "Do I know you?" The man laughed quietly. "You did." "Before you chose to forget."

I walked straight to the East Gate, needing to breathe, needing to get away from the suffocating pressure of the "Blackout." I reached the stone wall near the perimeter and sat down, burying my face in my hands. "He’s a liar," I whispered to the empty air. "He’s just like his father." "You shouldn't be out here alone." I jumped, spinning around. It wasn't Zane. It wasn't Roman. It was a man in a plain gray suit, holding a leather-bound notebook. He looked unremarkable—the kind of man you’d pass on the street a thousand times and never remember. But his eyes were sharp, scanning me with a clinical, detached intensity that made my blood run cold.

But in a room this still it landed like a door closing. The London men looked at each other. Then at the blade still buried in the table between them. Then away. The gray man from the banks folded his papers slowly and put them in his jacket pocket. One by one the rifles went the rest of the way down. Syris hadn't moved. Still white. just staring at me from across the felt with the dead cigarette on the floor beside his chair. For the first time since I'd met him that dry patient smile was completely gone. What was underneath it was something smaller and older and much less controlled.

- He's not alone, - I muttered, looking for a folder in the car, which Ibragimov gave me, - but with pistols. “That will comfort him,” Gray chuckled. - There are a lot of things in the house that you can shoot at, and Grishka loves to shoot. “That's right,” I agreed. The door on the driver's side was, as they say, soft-boiled, and I went to the passenger side. Gray got ahead of me and, taking out a folder, handed it to me, glancing with his creepy gaze at Grisha's phone, which I held in my hand.

Maybe love do moves in the most unexpected ways possible. Celebrating my birthday is no different from my other normal days. It did not matter whether I celebrated it, but somehow, it felt like it does. It do matter. I never thought being with someone in this exceptional day would be this amazing and magnificent. And I’m thankful for Shaun for making this day the happiest day of my existence. Upon arriving at my pad and opening my bag, I saw the book Grey gave. The First Born. Why would he even give me a book about lycanthropes? I mean, I do appreciate such gestures. I really love it but somehow it feels a little... off? Why now?

I'm still not saying that it's right to harm or kill anyone, but I feel slightly less disgusted by it now. "Why does Gray lend money to people like that then?" I ask after a moment. "Business. He has high interest rates, so it's either pay or get dealt with. It's funny...they never think Gray is serious about hunting them down for his money until I show up on their doorstep." Before I can ask him anything else, his soft chuckle fills the air. "Get some sleep. You're asking too many questions." I snort. "Well, thanks for answering them. You guys have always been so secretive about everything."

Mile’s POV We stepped out of the library and stood across the street to wait for a cab. Graham wouldn’t stop staring at the book in my possession so I handed it over to him without uttering a word. As soon as he got it, Grayham began to open the book and then fiddle with the pages. A few moments later, there was an unsatisfactory look on his face. Then he finally turned to me. “All I can see here are lists of infectious diseases and plaques that affected the city years ago.” He looked at me. “I’m not even sure if this book will help.” He sighed.

That made no sense to me, yet I felt that there was truth to her statement. I was deep in thought when the sound of a man clearing his throat brought me back to reality. My breath caught in my chest as my eyes climbed the tall, well-built figure of a man until they reached the smiling face of the very handsome Caleb Smythe. I found myself immediately comparing his good looking, all-American-boy-next-door- let-me-model-your-Armani-suit-for-GQ look to that of Noah’s rugged, sexy bad-boy-I’ll-sport-your-Calvin-Klein-jeans-for-the-camera-while-bare-chested-and-wearing-an-open-leather-jacket look. It was just my luck that I preferred the bad boy look.

And with that, his lamp was off too. But just because the lights were off doesn't mean I could sleep, I kept tossing and turning in bad. It was one of those cases where my mind just wouldn't shut off. How did I get here? What was supposed to be a vacation turned into a hostage situation? Was this a hostage situation anymore, I kind of agreed to stay here. With the man who was shot, the man whose life is saved. The man that was shot. The man that was shot. MAN.....SHOT.