The bounty hunter moved down the hallway, kicking in doors and sweeping the empty office suites. The slap of a magazine being slammed into a weapon echoed down the hallway, and he spotted a large sign.
“Cafeteria, huh?”
James crept down the darkened hallway holding his gun with both hands. He had a single grenade left, but he wanted to save it for someone who might need a little extra pain. He slowed as he approached the end of the hall. It opened into a wide cafeteria filled with round white tables.
A couple of red beams swept across the room before dropping.
Fancy sights too, huh?
He took a deep breath, raised his weapon, and charged into the room. Red beams converged on him, and a dozen Harriken popped up on either side of the room. The room erupted in gunfire and James leaped forward, sending round after round to one side of the room. Harriken dropped with cries of pain.
From the start of the battle, the amulet had whispered in his mind in its strange unintelligible language. Even if he didn’t understand the words, each kill seemed to excite whatever strange consciousness was responsible for the whispers.
Liking your sacrifices?
Bullet after bullet struck him, sending jolts of pain through his body but not penetrating his hardened skin. James rolled behind a table and kicked it over to form a makeshift shield. More bullets pierced the plastic table.
He loaded a new magazine and finished off the Harriken on one side of the room, with six more on the other side in need of lead therapy.
He popped up and nailed one of the men with his .45. Two others fired, and one bullet hit him. He grunted and dropped. Without the power of the amulet he would have already been dead, but he also wouldn’t have charged into the room.
The Harriken whispered something amongst themselves in Japanese.
Really got to learn Japanese if I’m gonna be fighting Japanese gangs. After today though, I hope none of them are stupid enough to go after me again.
He thought for a moment as he listened to the men. Shay better not drag my ass to Japan anytime soon.
The enemy started firing over James’ head. He wasn’t certain why they had done so until he saw the outline of the grenade coming at him.
“Shit.” James dove the opposite way, not eager to test whether his amulet would let him survive taking a grenade at point-blank range.
The grenade exploded a second later, knocking James against a wall. He slid down and clutched his stomach. Several bits of shrapnel had pierced his increasingly shabby coat, but he had only minor scratches and burns from the blast.
Not quite, fuckers.
His attackers, overconfident at their apparent win, charged from the other side of the room. Without standing, James aimed at them and emptied his magazine into the charging men.
He then pushed off the ground and reloaded. He suspected he’d have to borrow a few Harriken guns before the end of the assault, so he checked their weapons.
“Why can’t you guys use my preferred guns? It’d be way more convenient for me,” he muttered.
James confirmed that the men were all dead or dying. He wasn’t going to waste a bullet finishing off anyone who was already bleeding out.
Not a lot of guys on the first level, and this probably wasn’t their main force. Where were they, around the boss?
He let out a long sigh. It was time to hit the second floor.
James took the stairs two at a time, surprised when no Harriken showered bullets on him. He waited at the heavy metal door to the second floor for a moment before giving it a slight yank.
The darkened room lit up with muzzle flashes and the force of dozens of bullets hitting the door slammed it backward. James flattened himself against the wall of the stairwell as the men continued firing. The amulet strengthened him but didn’t make him invulnerable as far as he knew, and he had a whole building of men still left to kill.
The gunfire stopped, and James flipped around the corner, shooting. Three men dropped, but the remaining six returned fire with submachine guns. James kept running and slid through a doorway.
The room was mostly empty except for a few tables and chairs and his current hiding spot, which was made possible by a short wall, and a small alcove with a coffee machine, coffee packets, and creamer on a counter.
“Even gangsters need coffee breaks,” James muttered.
Bullets ripped through the partition.
“If they keep sending these assholes at me in these small groups this won’t even be any fu—”
A massive explosion flung James backward and he crashed into a wall and fell to the floor with a groan, aches all over his body. He shook his head.
What the fuck was that?
The footfalls of the advancing Harriken reclaimed his focus. The partition separating the alcove was mostly gone.
James snapped his gun up and took down five of the men. Most managed a single shot or bursts of return fire, but the bullets bounced off James’ amulet-enhanced skin. He gritted his teeth at the pain, but none of the bullets caused a serious wound.
The bounty hunter swept the room with his gaze, looking for the final man. A Harriken holding a crossbow jumped up behind a chair in a darkened corner.
James chuckled. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
The unusual weapon made James pause and he didn’t fire immediately, which turned out to be a mistake. The other man launched a bolt and a ghostly blue glow surrounded it as it flew.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Magic. Of course.”
The bounty hunter jerked his body to the side; the bolt missed him and embedded itself in the wall behind him.
A blue fireball bloomed from the wall a second later, sending him right toward the wide-eyed Harriken crossbowman. James put three rounds into his body before hitting the floor and rolling.
After a few deep breaths, he got to his feet and looked down at the dead man.
“A crossbow? Seriously? Even if it was a magical bow, I still have a fucking gun. Never bring a magical crossbow to a gunfight.”
James stared down at the crossbow for a second and then at the door opposite the one he had entered and slowly grinned. He picked up the crossbow and then searched the pockets of the dead man, finding a couple more bolts. He loaded the crossbow, aimed it at the wall, and fired.
The bolt passed through the wall and exploded in another blue fireball, showering the area with wood, metal, and drywall remnants. There were several muffled screams from the other side. James discarded the crossbow in favor of his gun and strode toward the now-huge hole, which revealed a broad hallway.
Shouts from one side of the hole revealed where the remaining men were.
You guys need to learn to keep your mouths shut.
James spun toward the sounds when he reached the hall, pulling the trigger again and again. Each bullet struck a man. His gun finally clicked empty and he charged toward the surviving Harriken.
The panicked men fired, some shots landing and others missing, but it didn’t matter. James reached the end of the hallway and sent one man into the wall with a punch and snapped the neck of the other, shoving his body to the ground.
Aches, burns, and a few lacerations covered his body, but they were nothing he couldn’t ignore. James reloaded and looked up and down the hallway. “Anyone else want to come out and play?”
The double doors at the end of the hallway flew off their hinges and a single Harriken with a violet aura and glowing red eyes charged through. He didn’t have a gun, and his signature wakizashi remained in its scabbard.
“Okay, that makes things easier.”
The Harriken glared at James.
“What’s your deal, asshole?” James asked. “Do you go by ‘Violet Glow,’ ‘the Master of Death,’ or some other stupid shit?”
“I am Akira Nakamura,” the man shouted. “And I have been honored by our leader with the power to kill you, oni.”
Despite the fact the man was literally glowing James couldn’t spot any obvious
artifact, so he decided to try to end the confrontation the easy way. He raised his gun.
James shrugged. “Glowing purple isn’t all that intimidating.”
“Your arrogance will be your downfall.”
“Maybe.” The bounty hunter put three rounds into Akira.
The man didn’t even twitch, just laughed. “Do you have any last words before I send you to hell, Brownstone?”
The bounty hunter holstered his weapon. “Is this some shit where the guy who made the artifact only wanted to punch people?”
As Akira charged James his scream echoed down the hallway. James sighed and met the man in a headlong rush.
The Harriken slammed his shoulder into James, sending him flying halfway down the hall. James landed rolling, and pushed up, rubbing his chest. Whatever Akira was using let him hit damn hard; even harder than Dmitri.
Akira chuckled. “The mighty James Brownstone. You’re nothing in the end. Shall I kill you slowly, or show you mercy and give you a quick death?”
“Fuck you, asshole.” James threw a knife at the Harriken, but it bounced off him harmlessly and clattered to the ground.
“Weak.” Akira swaggered toward the bounty hunter with a grin on his face. He was obviously convinced he would win.
“Don’t get too cocky, asshole,” James warned him. “I’m just warming up.” He sniffed and rubbed his nose with his arm. “And I’ve survived even though a lot of people have tried to blow me up over the last few days, so excuse me if I’m not impressed.”
“Do you deny your heart gallops in fear, oni?”
James shrugged. “Not fear. Mostly annoyance. Anger. Vengeance, maybe.” He scratched his cheek with his pistol’s barrel. “Guess that’s not really an emotion.”
Akira charged at James again and threw another punch, and James lifted his arm to block the blow. Pain spiked through his arm as he slammed his foot into the Harriken’s stomach. Akira stumbled back, grimacing.
James couldn’t help but be disappointed. Usually when he had kicked a man like that he’d ended up in a wall.
“Tell me one thing, Nakamura.” James requested as he shook out his aching arm. “I’ve heard that your big boss is in town. I just wanted to make sure he is here. Killing pawns gets boring after a while.”
“You will not live to see Mr. Ikeda.”
“I’m guessing you won’t either.” James lunged at him.
Akira brought up his fists but James dropped and slid at the last moment, slamming his fist into the man’s groin as he passed him. The Harriken cried out and dropped to his knees.
Hope nobody tries that shit on me.
James hopped to his feet, grabbed the other man’s head, and slammed his knee into it. Blood spurted from the man’s nose. Not giving the man any time to recover, he smashed his fist into the man’s face, knocking him flat.
He rained blow after blow on Akira and the floor beneath the Harriken cracked and caved in, along with the man’s face. The glow vanished.
James stood and wiped the Harriken’s blood off on his coat.
His hand hovered over his potions pouch, but he resisted the urge to grab the healing potion. He couldn’t be sure how many more artifacts the Harriken might have ready. A few cuts, bruises, and burns he could deal with, and as far as he could tell he wasn’t bleeding out.
Wonder if a healing potion would grow back my arm if it got cut off? He shook his head. Don’t have time to worry about that shit right now.
James searched Akira’s body to find the source of his power, but nothing obvious presented itself. Then he noticed a faint glow under the man’s shirt and ripped it open.
“Huh. That’s different. Nice ink.”
A huge tattoo decorated the man’s chest: an eight-headed, eight-tailed serpent. The tattoo glowed faintly violet but was fading quickly.
“Well, even I’m not so brutal as to skin a man,” James muttered, and stood.
The bounty hunter hurried back through the hole in the wall. He picked up the crossbow and broke it over his knee. The weapon was too unwieldy to carry around with him, and he didn’t want to risk someone shooting him in the back with an exploding magical quarrel.
He jogged back into the hallway and down toward the doorway Akira had redecorated. A cubicle farm filled the huge room, but the lack of reinforcements in the last fight suggested the room was empty. He stepped inside.
When he heard a whir, James managed to throw himself to the floor as a minigun blew a nearby cubicle into pieces. Wood and plastic shards flew into the air.
That’s what I fucking get for assuming.
James chuckled when he spotted the gunner’s feet. He ignored the bullet storm shredding the room, concentrated, and put two quick shots into the man’s feet.
The gunner yelled as he fell and the minigun’s fire ripped into the ceiling. James wondered if he was lucky enough for the man to have taken down any of his compatriots with friendly fire.
He pulled out his last grenade and tossed it toward the man. Charging a heavy machine gun, even with his amulet, seemed about as dumb as trying to attack a hundred Marines.
After the explosion, James took a deep breath and stood, dusting off his pants and coat.
“Now, he knew how to have a proper gunfight.”
23
About thirty minutes later, James made it to the stairwell leading to the sixth floor. He was out of the ammunition he’d brought with him, and all but one of his throwing knives were gone. He’d lost count of how many men he’d taken out, but he was pretty sure he’d already surpassed the combined total killed in his first two assaults against the Harriken. If the group didn’t just flee the United States after this, they’d need to hold a serious recruiting drive.
Learned your lesson yet, assholes? I know you’re slow learners, but come on! How fucking stupid can you be?
The bounty hunter had snagged a 9mm from a downed Harriken, but he didn’t like the weight or feel of the weapon compared to either his .45s or his own backup 9mms. Two more artifact-wielding assholes had left him with a couple of minor wounds.
He’d never look at folding fans the same way again…or laugh at them either.
One of the artifact users had ended up with a knife in his throat and the other with about ten bullets in his chest. Fair enough trade, in his mind.
The amulet’s whispers had become less excited and more measured, as if it were satisfied with his bloody progress. He didn’t give a damn if the cursed thing was happy he had killed so many people. These men weren’t exactly innocents. He’d confess his sins to Father McCartney later.
Right now, vengeance was his only concern.
James stepped into the stairwell with his pistol at the ready. He felt mild satisfaction with his progress, but mostly he was tired and annoyed. He was supposed to have been taking it easy the last few days, not having to kill half of Los Angeles because some stubborn assholes couldn’t take a hint.
A hiss and a roar from above ripped him out of his thoughts and he lifted his head to see a rocket flying toward him. He leaped back into the room he’d just left before the projectile exploded on the landing, but the resulting fireball scorched him and the blast knocked him to the floor.
He rolled several times to quench the fire burning his coat and sighed down at it. Between the burns, tears, bullet holes, sword slashes, and magical-fan beams it was more a rag than a coat at this point. He pulled it off and tossed it on the floor.
“Rest in peace, coat. I’ll buy your sibling soon enough.”
His pants remained intact, but his shirt had more holes than fabric at this point. Light burns and lacerations covered his skin, but after killing scores of men and taking on multiple magical artifacts and several explosions he was doing pretty well all things considered.
There were footsteps on the stairs leading up.
James whipped up his borrowed 9mm and emptied his clip into the three Harriken who rushed in to confirm his death, then reloaded the gun and dashed into the sta
irwell. He fired upward, but no more rockets or Harriken came toward him.
You assholes should have tried that shit earlier. You might have gotten lucky.
He bounded up the steps. He found a discarded rocket launcher on the sixth-floor landing in front of the door, but no rockets.
“And always pack a spare,” he muttered.
James glanced at the door. He assumed the final batch of Harriken enforcers lay beyond. If they had saved the best artifacts for their last line of defense, things might get a little dodgy.
A chuckle came out of his mouth as an idea popped into his head. He picked up the rocket launcher and set it on his shoulder.
James kicked the door open, and on the other side were thirty Harriken with their guns trained on the door. The room appeared to be a small auditorium.
“How about a little taste of a rocket, assholes?” he yelled as he charged them.
The men scattered like a cat afraid of a bath—none of them perceptive enough to realize the weapon wasn’t loaded—and James hurled the empty rocket launcher to one side. It hit one of the Harriken with a loud thud, caving in the poor bastard’s skull.
James whipped out his knife with his left hand and blazed away with the pilfered pistol in his right. By the time the Harriken realized he’d fooled them and tried to rally he was already in the middle of the room shooting, stabbing, and kicking.
James soon ran out of bullets and tossed the gun away. His knife, hands, and feet would be enough.
Dying men’s screams overlapped and echoed in the room. Only fifteen were left now, and a charge with his knife ended with three more dead.
James yanked a man up by his throat and tossed him toward some of his friends. Several tried to shoot him, and the bounty hunter charged after him to throw a fist into one man’s face and stab another in the throat.
Bullets bounced off his armored skin, their pain registering but their fatal purpose denied. He had to give the last Harriken some respect. None cut and ran, even as he pummeled and sliced each in turn.
The whole exchange was over in about two minutes. Thirty dead men lay on a floor freshly painted with their blood.
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 57