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)

by Michael Anderle

  Shay looked down for a second. “That’s one way to look at it.”

  “You can still back out.”

  She shook her head. “Nah. Besides, if I don’t do this kind of thing every now and again I might get rusty, and you won’t always be there to beat up warlocks for me, Brownstone.” She put her phone down and looked back out the window. “So let’s go find your warehouse.”

  Shay took several deep breaths to center herself. Maybe her past would define her forever.

  James pulled the truck into the parking lot of Angels Elite Indoor Long-Term Storage.

  Shay eyed the buildings with faint disdain.

  The bounty hunter knew exactly what she was focusing on: the cracked and fading paint, the overgrown bushes; even the way the “A” in the neon sign over the place was out. The place looked like shit, and not somewhere that you’d want to keep anything. That was exactly why he liked it.

  James reached into his glove box and pulled out a keyring he’d stuck in there before leaving. Thirty-seven very similar-looking keys were on the ring.

  Shay laughed. “Got enough keys, Brownstone?”

  “No, always need more. Stay in the truck. I’ll be right back.”

  James stepped out of the truck and headed for the door. He unlocked it and headed into the chilly overly air-conditioned interior, and a walk down a hallway lined with heavily-reinforced doors brought him to his target. He needed three keys to unlock the three heavy-assed deadbolts, after which he stepped into a room filled with printout-filled boxes.

  A close examination of most of the papers would have revealed nothing more than copies of posts from now-defunct social networks. They’d already been in the unit when James first rented the room. Why someone had carefully archived posts about three particular pop singers from 2010 through 2022 was a mystery for the ages. Probably some secret Oriceran shit.

  James placed his hand on the smooth white back wall and slid it sideways until it felt warmer to the touch. The area around his hand glowed for a second, then with a click a door opened. He sometimes wondered if the people who owned the place would ever realize he’d put in a false wall. Then again, he’d paid his rent for the next ten years, and one of the reasons he’d selected Angels Elite was a tip from a certain unfortunate bounty about their discretion.

  There was a dusty shelving unit behind the false wall with several suitcases piled in front of it. Small- and medium-sized boxes occupied its shelves. A safe rested at the other end of the secret space.

  James knelt in front of the safe and placed his thumb on a small pad. He held his face steady as his thumb burned. Thirty seconds later, the DNA lock clicked and the safe popped open.

  Like a Russian doll, there was a smaller safe inside. A good minute passed as he tapped in a sixty-digit code. His photographic memory relegated idiocy like using ‘1234’ as a passcode to the garbage. The other safe clicked open.

  A silver necklace connected to a circular gold and silver amulet rested inside. Three crystals—azure, crimson, and jade—were inlaid into it.

  James ran his fingers over the cool crystals. He’d had the necklace on during his first confrontation with the Harriken by a freak chance. When Alison had contacted him, he had been getting ready to take it back to the warehouse.

  Oni. Bakemono. Yokai. I don’t know what you are, but you’re a monster.

  James shook his head at the memory of the Harriken’s words. The bastard was probably right. If he’d found the necklace on a job it’d be different, but it was something he’d owned since he was a child.

  The priest who had taken care of him at first had stored the necklace, thinking it was an important family heirloom that needed to be protected until James came of age. It was only after that man’s death that James had gotten the necklace back and realized its power.

  “The Granite Ghost.” He’d publicized the nickname to intimidate bounties, but it was far closer to the truth than most people realized. Every time he put it on, he couldn’t help but feel inhuman.

  It had to be all twisted and complicated Oriceran crap. The damn thing’s very touch burned until it finished joining with him. James sucked in a breath, not looking forward to having to smell and hear his own flesh sizzling. None of that seemed normal or acceptable, even by Oriceran standards.

  Apparently, no one knew why he had the necklace. His parents had died or abandoned him, and then the only man he’d ever thought of as a father had died as well. That suggested there was dark magic behind the item, maybe even a curse.

  If magic was real, curses could be real too. Since the necklace might be cursed, James couldn’t take the chance of it hurting anyone else.

  It was his burden, and his weapon.

  The bounty hunter sighed and slipped the necklace into a jacket pocket. He grabbed a small box from the shelf and stuffed it into his other jacket pocket before grabbing two suitcases. He closed the two safes and the secret door before heading out of the unit and locking it again.

  It was time to leave the warehouse.

  Shay drummed her finger on her leg. She wondered what Brownstone was retrieving from his “warehouse.” The man already maintained a sealed secret basement she presumed was filled with a lovely assortment of killing implements.

  Movement inside caught her attention. James turned the corner, pulling two suitcases. He pulled a necklace out of his pocket, then removed his jacket and shirt.

  Shay took a second to appreciate Brownstone’s body and the ink on his arms. She couldn’t complain about the view, but the man’s decision to suddenly strip confused her. He slipped the amulet around his neck.

  Brownstone grimaced as the necklace sank into his flesh until it was fully embedded, then slipped his shirt back on and grabbed the suitcases.

  Shay blinked several times. I knew you had some sort of magical shit…or is that like some super-secret tech?

  She whispered, her voice floating inside the cab of the truck, “Just who or what the hell are you, James Brownstone?”

  The F-350 headed east on the I-10, and they arrived at their destination about thirty minutes later. Traffic was light, which helped—every minute they were delayed meant a greater chance of meeting additional reinforcements. James wasn’t that worried, but he couldn’t be certain the Harriken didn’t have secret weapons themselves.

  Shay sat quietly staring out the window. James didn’t understand the woman completely, but now that he knew her background at least some of her behavior made sense. They’d gone through danger together in Peru, and now they’d both be putting their lives on the line in a situation guaranteed to be bloody. It sure beat falling backward into waiting hands as a trust-building exercise.

  James glanced her way. It was rare that someone was quieter than him in most situations. He didn’t mind not talking, but a lot of people let their nerves mess with their concentration. A little chatter might loosen Shay up and help her kick more ass.

  “I’m surprised they didn’t try to suppress the address somehow,” he offered.

  Shay gave him a shallow nod. “I think they were banking on people not knowing why the place is important. It’s too far from town for someone to just randomly wander into it.” She grinned. “Of course, God bless the internet, and all that.”

  “Maybe we should send a little prayer up to Saint Isidore of Seville.”

  “Huh? I’m not really up on my saints, unless it’s, you know, Saint Kitts or Saint Thomas.”

  “He’s the patron saint of the internet.”

  She eyed him. “No shit? There’s a patron saint of the internet?”

  James nodded. “Yep. Since 1997, as designated by Pope John Paul II.”

  “Learn something new every day.” Shay glanced over her shoulder to the backseat. “What’s in the suitcases?”

  “Everything we’ll need,” James replied. “I call them my go-bags. They are for when I need to kick ass and don’t have time to pack everything separately.” He frowned. “I’m assuming you know how to use s
omething other than a pistol and a knife?”

  Shay chuckled darkly. “If it will shoot or stab someone, I’ve probably used it at least once. Not a demolitions expert, though.”

  “Can you use grenades?”

  “Yeah, I can use grenades.” Shay shook her head. “But remember, this is supposed to be a rescue mission, Brownstone. We can’t level the entire place without risking killing the mom.”

  He nodded. “I know. That’s why I didn’t bring the rocket launchers.”

  Shay laughed. “Why am I not surprised you have rocket launchers?”

  James pulled into the left lane to pass some family in a sedan who seemed to think that the speed limit was a suggested maximum.

  He grunted. “It’s just good to have options.”

  A thin dirt road split off from the highway about fifteen minutes from Belmont House. After about ten minutes on the road, James turned off and drove into a dense cluster of pines.

  “We’ll hoof it from here,” James told her, shutting off the engine. “Otherwise, they may open up with an RPG or something as we drive up.”

  “Worried about dying right off the bat?” Shay teased.

  “Nope, worried about losing this truck.” He patted the dash. “I love this thing.”

  “Ah, yes…priorities. I’ll try to make sure, as we lay dying from getting shot a hundred times, that the Harriken promise not to fuck your truck up.”

  James grinned. “That would be handy.”

  They hopped out of the truck, and James pulled the suitcases from the back and unzipped them both. One contained boxes of ammo, along with guns and knives. The other contained various types of electronics, as well as with a few tactical harnesses and holsters.

  Shay leaned over to grab a harness, and spent a few moments tightening it while James fiddled with a black wristband.

  “Jammer?” she asked.

  James nodded. “Yeah. Long-range, but doesn’t last all that long. I just want to make sure they don’t sneak up on us with tactical drones. Too far from the city not to think they might have some of the heavier-duty shit. I prefer fighting people, not machines.”

  Finished with her harness, Shay eyed the weapons choices before grabbing a couple of semi-automatic pistols and a Steyr machine pistol. She spent the next few moments stuffing her harness with magazines. Efficiency in murder was always a good thing, but for a proper killing, a lady prepared herself for all eventualities.

  The next few minutes passed in dead silence as they strapped on their weapons and knives. Each ended up also with a handful of grenades, both incendiary and frag.

  James pulled out the small box he’d placed in his jacket pocket and opened it. It contained the energy and healing potions he’d picked up from Zoe.

  Shay eyed the potions as James slipped them into a pouch on his harness. “For a guy who doesn’t like magic, you sure use a lot.”

  Her eyes held a question. James knew she’d seen him put on the necklace. He’d intended for her to see it. For now, though, he didn’t feel like explaining. She’d find out soon enough what the necklace did.

  “I don’t like magic,” James explained, “but this is a rescue mission so I have to be a little more careful. I hope it doesn’t come down to using more magic than necessary, but I want to be prepared.”

  Shay slammed a magazine into her Steyr. “I think I’ll just stick to shooting and stabbing people.”

  James chuckled as he seated several throwing knives. “Dead is dead. Don’t care how.” He stood, taking a final moment to check his load-out. “Just so you know, this is about rescuing the woman. I don’t need anyone alive to spread rumors about me this time.”

  “Got it. Kill ‘em all and let God sort ‘em out.”

  I’m sorry, Father McCartney. I got caught up in something bigger than me. If I don’t take them down now, it’ll only cause trouble later.

  James grunted. “Let’s go say hello to the Harriken.”

  She grunted back, trying to force her voice down an octave. “And goodbye.”

  He led off with a smile playing on his lips.

  18

  Shay trailed after Brownstone as they jogged toward Belmont House, her heart pounding. People talked about how important it was to remain calm in dangerous situations.

  She’d always thought that was bullshit.

  A little fear got her heart and adrenalin pumping, which translated to her being faster and stronger. The smallest edge in battle could mean the difference between life and death. It could be difficult to ride the line between fight or flight, but for her it was almost always worth it.

  Ahead of them, a two-story wooden building nestled comfortably among tall pines. From their check on the internet, Belmont House also contained a basement level. They assumed Nicole Anderson was being kept below.

  Cars, SUVs, and trucks lined the paved circle drive leading up to the chalet, from luxury models to junkers.

  The pair pushed closer to the target.

  Over twenty men lingered outside in the circle drive. Half of them appeared to be Harriken, judging by the swords on their sides. The others were a mixed group of non-Japanese men wearing suits, tactical uniforms, or street clothes with obvious gang colors.

  It was like a United Nations of scumbags.

  Most of the thugs had pistols or submachine guns in their hands. A few carried assault rifles or shotguns. They were ready to play.

  Several drones hovered overhead, their rotors lightly whirring, but from a distance, it was hard to tell if they were armed.

  “Looks like they know we’re here,” Shay muttered. “Some drone probably spotted the truck before we pulled off the road. I would have liked a little more surprise. Not a bunch, but at least some.”

  Brownstone tapped his jammer band. “If they didn’t know before, they’ll know now. And sometimes it’s better for them to know you’re coming and be afraid. They’ll make more mistakes that way.”

  “If you say so.”

  The drones all halted, hovering in place.

  One of the suited men yelled something, and the men in the circle drive spread out.

  “Remember,” Brownstone rumbled. “We don’t need survivors. Do what you need to do. Just don’t die.”

  “Good.” Shay flipped her Steyr’s safety off. “That makes things easier.”

  “Let’s get closer, and then you lay down suppressive fire,” James ordered. “And I’ll close and finish them off.”

  Shay gave him a mock salute. “Aye, aye, sir! And Brownstone?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t get killed by being stupid. Remember, we’re here for a reason.”

  Brownstone grinned. “I haven’t been killed yet, and I do dangerous shit all the time.”

  Shay rolled her eyes. “It only takes one time, dumbass.”

  They sprinted through the cover of thick tree trunks in a zigzag pattern. One of the thugs shouted.

  Time for the fun.

  A fusillade of bullets blasted through the woods. Shay offered a burst in return, taking down a poor gangbanger with a pistol. He’d picked a bad day to make an extra buck.

  A quick roll brought Shay behind some douchebag’s Lexus. Brownstone kept running. Bullets pelted the car and the tomb raider grinned, satisfied that not only did she have decent cover, but some asshole’s car was getting shot up. Even if she died, she’d have her revenge from the grave.

  Shay popped up and squeezed off a few quick shots. A Harriken with a rifle dropped to the ground, his neck spewing blood. The thugs began to rush toward the other cars for cover, firing wildly.

  Brownstone continuing along the circular drive, following the parked vehicles. Bullet after bullet whizzed by him, throwing up dirt and shattering a windshield here or there.

  A thug’s submachine gun suddenly flew out of his hand, and Shay blinked. The man hadn’t let go. It was as if some invisible force had yanked it from his grip. To the man’s credit, he dropped his hand to pull out his pistol without any hesitat
ion.

  Shay took the opportunity to fire a burst into his chest, and he fell with a scream. She continued sweeping back and forth until she ran out of bullets. No bastards died, but they also didn’t risk anymore shots at Brownstone.

  Her failure to continue shooting finally sank in, and the thugs opened up on her. The car window next to her shattered, showering her with safety glass fragments.

  “Damn it,” Shay muttered. “Should have worn a mask.” She shook her head to try to get some of the fragments out of her hair.

  Now close to several of the men, Brownstone opened fire, his .45 hurling forth its angry contents. Shay took the opportunity to crouch and swap out her empty magazine.

  The remaining thugs had bought a clue by this point, and tried to tighten up their formation while continuing to lay down covering fire.

  A bullet ripped into the back of Shay’s Lexus shield, and her head jerked up. Three men stood on the balcony, firing down at her and Brownstone.

  If those guys were better shots we’d probably be dead. Too damn rusty at this.

  The old killer instincts now subsumed the field archaeologist. She raised her gun and held down the Steyr’s trigger, pelting the three men with bullets.

  Two collapsed where they stood and the third bullet-riddled body fell to the ground, landing with a sickening thud. She ejected and replaced the mag.

  Brownstone charged from his latest cover position, a bright-red Lamborghini. Four men dropped in the blink of an eye, throwing knives stuck in their throats or hearts. The bounty hunter’s .45 delivered quick deaths to several others directly after that.

  Their screams overlapped.

  Shay fired several bursts off to Brownstone’s sides, doing her best to pin the thugs down. The concealed enemies stayed down after one man in desert-pattern camouflage took three bullets in the head for his bravery. He didn’t even have time to scream before he died.

  The sounds of yelling and footsteps from Shay’s opposite side forced her to redirect her attention. Reinforcements from the other side of the chalet had arrived, so she needed to distract them before they flanked both her and the bounty hunter.