Smart choice.
Another abrupt change made James jerk the steering wheel. His tires squealed as the truck bounced into the parking lot of an abandoned home and garden warehouse store. He spotted Alison sitting against a wall next to a wooden fence.
James slammed on his brakes and put his truck into Park, then hopped out and jogged toward the teen.
Some middle-aged man with a mustache clumsily hopped the fence, almost landing face-first on the pavement. He reached down and yanked Alison up, while she batted and kicked at him.
The man slammed her against the wall, and she cried out. When she lowered her head, some of her white-tipped dark hair fell in front of her eyes.
James gritted his teeth and started sprinting, which brought him to the pair in seconds. Now that he was closer, he could see a vague family resemblance between the faces.
“Why don’t you get away from that girl?” James told the man, menace in his tone.
Alison’s dad looked James up and down. “I’m Walt Anderson, and this is my daughter. She’s trying to run away, so she can whore herself out. Not gonna let that happen.”
James snorted. At least the guy was creative.
“Alison called me and said she was in trouble,” James replied. “And the only person causing trouble here is you.”
Walt glared at his daughter. “In trouble? What the fuck?” He snapped his head toward James. “I don’t know who you are—maybe the guy who wants to pimp her out? Why don’t you get your ugly ass out of here before I call the cops on you for attempting kidnapping, asshole?”
James tilted his head back and forth, cracking his neck. “I’m gonna give you a chance to walk away, even though you really deserve to die. Hell, you probably deserve to die more than some of the other people I’ve killed this week.”
The other man’s eyes widened, and he paled. “What the hell?”
The bounty hunter took a step forward. “If you turn around and leave right now, I won’t kill your ass for being such a piece of shit that you sold your own wife to the Harriken and are planning to sell your daughter.”
Alison watched the two men in silence, her cheeks puffy from her tears.
Walt grinned, some of his confidence returning. “You don’t know shit, you ugly asshole. I was misled by my wife, so I took care of the situation.”
“Misled?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s not your business, but if you know about the Harriken, then you know you should get the hell out of here if you don’t want to end up chopped into little pieces and tossed into the ocean.”
Alison snickered. “Mr. Brownstone’s not afraid of the Harriken.”
Walt glared at her. “Then he’s as stupid as he is ugly.”
James grunted. Mr. Anderson there was really earning his beating.
“Come on, Alison,” the bounty hunter snapped. “We’re going.”
“She’s not going anywhere with you.” The other man shoved her back against the wall.
“Let me go, butthole,” Alison yelled, batting uselessly at his chest. “You’re a crappy dad and an awful husband.”
Walt backhanded Alison and she fell to the ground, holding her cheek.
“You’re not mine,” Alison’s dad shouted. “Not really. Just because I donated sperm doesn’t mean I’ll accept that some half-breed like you is my kid. You’re gonna grow up to look just like your mother. Shit, I wanted a daughter who’d look like—”
James silenced the man with a punch. The only thing that saved Walt Anderson’s life was that the bounty hunter directed him into the parking lot instead of against the cement wall. The man landed with a thud and rolled over the jagged rocks and glass scattered across the cracked pavement.
Walt groaned, holding his face.
The bounty hunter walked over and kicked him in the stomach, sending him flying into the air again.
“So here’s my dilemma,” James began, narrowing his eyes at Walt as he squatted beside the man. “You’re a worthless piece of shit and you don’t exhibit family loyalty, which makes you more of a worthless piece of shit than the average bounty I pull in. Fuck, the Harriken might be assholes, but they never sell out their family members.” He knelt by the groaning man. “So I have to ask myself, do I kill you or not?”
“You...can’t...do...this,” Walt gurgled, blood and a broken jaw making it hard to speak. “The...Harriken...will...kill...you.”
James snorted and rose. “The Harriken made a big mistake, so most of the local ones aren’t around anymore.”
Strangled sobs emerged from Walt. “I just...didn’t want…a half-breed. She tricked me.”
The bounty hunter lifted his foot. One good kick to the head would finish the man off.
A dark cloud descended on James’ heart. He’d lost two fathers, and he knew at least one of them had been a good man. This Walt Anderson deserved to be wiped off the face of the Earth. It’d be easy.
Very easy.
“You get to live, Walt,” James said. “But only because killing you would result in a lot of paperwork, and my life’s already too fucking complicated. I’d leave Los Angeles if I were you, motherfucker, because next time I see you I might not be in such a lenient mood.”
Walt continued sobbing.
James walked over to Alison and pulled her up. “Let’s go.”
The pair started toward the F-350.
When Alison glanced over her shoulder, the vile swirling black energy around her father looked denser and darker than before. Darkness had always haunted his soul, but now he’d been consumed by it.
She felt no pity. It would have probably been merciful for Mr. Brownstone to finish him off.
Mom, please be all right.
15
Neither spoke for the next five minutes. James checked a few times to make sure they weren’t being followed, but spotted nothing of concern. For all Walt’s bluster, he was a chickenshit who wanted to hurt a young girl, not some Harriken enforcer—and even the gangsters weren’t much of a threat now.
Alison stared out the side window. “What now, Mr. Brownstone?”
James blew out a long breath. “Not sure, but first things first: we know the Harriken are looking for you, which means I need you somewhere safe with someone I can trust until I can stabilize the situation.”
“What do you mean, ‘stabilize the situation?’”
“Let’s just say I’m gonna convince the Harriken it’s in their best interest to leave you the hell alone and give your mother back.”
Alison’s eyes widened with hope. James didn’t want to ruin what little innocence the girl had left by explaining that his form of persuasion would involve another F5 tornado of blood and lead.
And maybe a few grenades.
James cleared his throat. “Like I said, before I go I need to get you somewhere safe.”
“Like a secret hideout?” she asked.
The bounty hunter chuckled. “Something like that. My house. I have a new friend I trust enough to have watch you while I go check out some other things.”
Shay was the only real possibility. James had a lot of decent contacts, and even people he considered friends, but they all specialized in areas that were great for a bounty hunter but not so great for a bounty hunter who needed to stash a kid.
It wasn’t like Father O’Banion or Zoe had any business being around a teenage girl. Hell, James barely had any business being around Alison most of the time.
Taking her to the police would end up with her in the Child Protective Services’ custody, if not back with her worthless sonofabitch father.
The cops were honorable men for the most part, but they had to play by the rules—and James didn’t. Maybe someone at the church could help him out, but that didn’t solve the immediate problem.
James grabbed his phone from the console and dialed Shay.
She picked up the phone after the first ring. “Brownstone, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I need your help with someth
ing, and I was wondering if you had some time.”
“Does this involve killing houses full of gangsters again?”
“Not today, I don’t think.”
“I love the implied promise.” Shay chuckled. “What’s up?”
“This is related to the Harriken, just not killing them. Yet.”
“Okay, I’m listening.”
James slowed to turn onto a busy street. “I originally got the attention of the Harriken because I rescued a teenage girl from two guys trying to snatch her. She was looking for her mom.”
“Yeah, and? That sounds like every Tuesday in L.A.”
“Well, I’ve got that girl with me now. Turns out her dad was the one who sold her mom to the Harriken.”
“Huh, that’s different. Kidnapping a middle-aged mother to turn her into a prostitute or something seems tailor-made to bring down trouble on you, bounty hunter…or the law.”
James changed lanes. “There’s something more here. Not sure what, but first things first: I wanted to know if you could watch her for a bit while I talk to some people about taking care of her.”
“Why me?” Shay asked.
“You showed up because you were pissed about a dog. I don’t think you’d sell out a little girl, and I know you know how to use a gun. My other first-line choices include two hardcore drunks.”
“So it was me or a drunk?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
Shay snickered. “You need better friends, Brownstone.”
“We all get the friends we deserve.”
Shay muttered something under her breath. “Whatever. Okay, sure, I’ll help, if it isn’t for too long. I’m not a babysitter. I’m a field archaeologist.”
Relief and a feeling of appreciation spread through James, although gratitude toward anyone other than the police or the Church was rare for him.
“Thanks. Meet me at my place. You guys can stay there. I don’t think the Harriken will come sniffing around me directly for a while after my little demonstration.”
“Okay, Brownstone, I’ll do this, but you owe me one.”
“Sure.” James disconnected the call and tossed the phone back into the console.
Alison huffed. “I’m not a little girl, by the way. I’m fifteen years old.”
“Until you can defend yourself, you’re a little girl.”
The teen rolled her eyes.
Blood warlocks he could deal with. Surly teens were a far more unsettling foe.
After Shay knocked on Brownstone’s door, she crossed her arms and started tapping her foot. Everything about this was idiotic. She couldn’t figure out what weird hold Brownstone had over her that kept making her want to help him.
If she weren’t already in the Harriken’s sights for showing up at their house the night of the massacre, helping Brownstone protect one of their targets would put her square in the crosshairs.
Still, earning a little trust and a favor from the bounty hunter might be worth it. Plus, she suspected the local Harriken population would nosedive over the next few days.
The door finally opened, revealing the barbecue-loving bounty hunter. He wore his leather jacket on his body and a concerned look on his face.
Brownstone gestured her inside. “Alison’s on the couch.” He pulled a key out of his pocket. “No reason for you to go anywhere, but just in case.”
“Oh, giving me the key to your place already?” Shay winked.
Brownstone just stared at her until she shrugged and sighed. For a man who liked to talk a lot of shit, he could be boring at times.
“I’ll be back soon.” He headed out the door. “I know you don’t like spooky basements, but just so you know—the basement door is locked and sealed for a reason.”
Shay glanced that way. “Because it’s your Red Room of Pain?”
“It’s booby-trapped, too.” The bounty hunter shook his head and closed the door behind him.
“Well, at least it’s not fucking Inca zombies this time,” Shay muttered under her breath.
She continued deeper into the house, taking in the carefully arranged furniture and neatly piled stacks of papers. She spotted Alison on the couch, her hands folded in her lap.
The girl looked up and offered her a smile. She tilted her head, staring at Shay without saying anything. The girl’s eyes seemed unfocused, and something about her expression unsettled Shay.
Trauma maybe, from dealing with an asshole dad. Shay could understand that. It wasn’t like she’d grown up with the best parents. They hadn’t tried to sell her to gangsters, though—she had to give them that.
The field archaeologist reached up and brushed at her cheek. “What? Something on my face?”
“No. I mean, maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“It’s just that you kind of remind me of Mr. Brownstone.”
“How?”
“A beautiful soul covered in a lot of pain.”
Shay blinked several times, completely unsure how to respond to that. “Okay. Thanks for that, I guess. Whatever that means.”
The girl rose and offered her hand. “I’m Alison, by the way. Alison Anderson.” Her smile disappeared. “Though I think I should get my last name changed. I don’t honestly know my mom’s maiden name. I’ll have to ask her once Mr. Brownstone gets her back.”
“Yeah, I heard about your old man and your mom. Tough break.” Shay shook the girl’s hand. “I’m Shay. I’m a work associate of Brownstone’s.”
“You’re a bounty hunter?” Disbelief colored Alison’s voice.
Shay shook her head. “No, I specialize in freelance archaeology.”
Alison’s face scrunched in confusion. “Why would an archaeologist need to work with a bounty hunter?”
“You’d be surprised.” Shay winked. “I’m kind of like a mix of Indiana Jones, Lara Croft, and Caleb Rodriguez.”
“I’ve seen a few of the Ancestor’s Quest movies, but I don’t know who Indiana Jones and Lara Croft are.”
Shay winced. It was the first time in her life she’d ever felt old, and she was only twenty-seven. Admittedly, she did have a predilection for the classic field archaeologist stories.
“They are cooler than Caleb Rodriguez. I mean, he always uses so many drones and robots. It’s just not the same as running from a boulder, watching Nazis melt, or punching sharks.”
Alison shrugged. “If you say so.”
Innocence clung to the girl in a way that almost turned Shay’s stomach. The tomb raider had been around Alison’s age when she’d slid into a world of suffering and darkness. Maybe Brownstone could save the girl from a similar fate.
Shay returned her attention to the house. She ran her finger along a windowsill. No dust. The man dusted his windowsills. She didn’t even do that.
“So have you known Mr. Brownstone long?” Alison asked.
“Nope. Just met him recently on a job.”
“He’s a good guy, you know. He’s saved me twice from the Harriken.”
“Yeah, he’s okay for a guy.”
So much for you only being in it for the money, Brownstone. Helping out little damsels in distress? Where’s the profit in that?
A bookshelf caught Shay’s attention. Closer inspection revealed three rows of books, the top being cookbooks and the bottom two all being books related to barbecue: history, cooking, chefs, restaurants…that sort of thing.
“The Case Against Molecular Gastronomy as Applied to Barbeque,” Shay read. She shook her head. “Man, does this guy like his barbecue!”
Alison tilted her head to the side. “What?”
“Nothing, just… Brownstone’s real OCD. I didn’t expect that from a guy who... Well, a guy like him.”
Wonder if he gets OCD when he’s shooting six guys in the face?
Shay turned around and headed to the bathroom to peek inside. Three hand towels hung from a towel rock, all perfectly aligned. The toilet glistened, pristine. The light scent of pine hung in the air.
The
bathtub looked factory-new.
“The guy doesn’t even have hard-water stains,” she mumbled. “I scrub the damn thing, and I still have hard-water stains.”
Alison rose from the couch and walked over to the bathroom. “What are you doing?”
“We need to leave,” Shay told her. “Now.”
The teenager’s eyes widened. “Are the Harriken coming?”
“No.” Shay took a deep breath. “This place is just...too perfect. If we mess anything up, both of us may end up dead. I’m taking you to my place, where a little mess isn’t the end of the world.”
James knocked lightly on the door to Father McCartney’s office. He had no reason to confess more sins, since he’d already admitted he was going to kill a bunch of Harriken. Talking about killing more Harriken would just waste the priest’s time.
“Come in,” Father McCartney called.
James opened the door and stepped inside. The priest sat at a weathered oak desk. Other than a bookshelf and a painting of Jesus on the wall, the small brown-painted office lacked any real decoration.
The priest folded his hands in front of him. “I’m glad to see you’re...well.”
“You mean breathing?”
The priest chuckled. “That too. It’s hard for me, you know.”
“Hard?”
“I see you not as this powerful man, but as a sad, crying little boy. I don’t just fear for your soul. I fear for your life.”
James shrugged. “If I do my job, the only people you need to pray for are the victims of the criminals.” He sighed. “The situation has become more complicated.”
The priest raised an eyebrow. “Is this something I need to hear in the confessional?”
The bounty hunter shook his head. “Nope. I’m not here today to talk about killing people. I need your help.”
The priest eyed James for a moment. “I can’t be a party to violence, even against the wicked.”
James looked affronted. “I’d never ask that of you.”
“Then what did you need, James?”
“I rescued a girl from a bad situation. Teenager—only fifteen. She needs a place to stay.”
Father McCartney sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help.”
The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Boxed Set One (Books 1-3): Feared By Hell, Rejected By Heaven, Eye For An Eye (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Boxed Sets) Page 13