by S T Branton
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CONTENTS
LMBPN Publishing
Dedication
Legal
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Epilogue
Notes CM Raymond
Notes LE Barbant
Also by Raymond & Barbant
Connect with Us
FORGOTTEN GODS
Forgotten Gods Book One
By ST Branton, CM Raymond, and LE Barbant
www.lmbpn.com
DEDICATION
To Michael Anderle, who has inspired a new generation
of independent authors and found it worth
his while to take a shot on us.
The FORGOTTEN GODS Team
JIT Beta Readers
John Ashmore
Micky Cocker
James Caplan
Sarah Weir
Kelly O’Donnell
Larry Omans
Thomas Ogden
If we missed anyone, please let us know!
FORGOTTEN GODS (this book) is a work of fiction.
All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2018 ST Branton, CM Raymond, and LE Barbant
Cover by http://www.bookcoverartistry.com/
Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing
LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
LMBPN Publishing
PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy
Las Vegas, NV 89109
First US edition, March 2018
CHAPTER ONE
Sitting in a shitty dive in Brooklyn Heights, I tried not to stick out like a sore thumb. The place was full of mobster lackeys swarming the dirty bar like locusts in a cornfield. Normally, a leggy, emerald-eyed brunette in knee-high boots wouldn’t stand a chance; they’d be on me the second I walked through the door.
Tonight, I was not in the mood to be mistaken for prey. Luckily, the lights were mercifully low.
The bar was so dark I could barely see the guy across the table, but I already knew what he looked like. All these guys were the same. Bulldog jowls, necks like a tree trunk, and a million rings squeezed onto their sausage fingers. Most of that fancy jewelry was of the costume variety, unless the man wearing it was the real deal and high up in the ranks.
This poor bastard was about as low-down as you could get.
He said his name was Frank, although I was sure he thought I didn’t remember.
The shot glasses lined up in front of me like drunken soldiers certainly spoke to a night that had gone far beyond the human power of recall. Little did he know I had bribed the man pouring the booze. Half water, half whatever the hell kind of jet fuel we were drinking. So, I was buzzed, but still ready to rumble.
It’s not a good idea to be three sheets to the wind when you’ve got a man to kill.
I put my elbows on the table, cupped my chin in my hands, and smiled at him. He smiled back, all undone tie and slightly crooked teeth. He probably pictured himself like De Niro in his prime—but he looked more like he had just eaten Joe Pesci. The shadow on his jaw made him look even grimier than he already did in the dim light.
I felt a little sick, but I hadn’t gotten as deep in this shit as I was by backing down. And I knew I had deeper yet to go. “Tell me something about yourself, Frankie.”
The trick was to make my voice as sugary-sweet as possible, the kind of tone that would rot the teeth straight out of your mouth if you let it. These guys ate that shit up, and Frank, bless his heart, was no exception.
His grin spread, and he leaned back in his chair. “I’m an open book, sweetheart. What do you wanna know?”
What I really wanted to know was exactly how much force it would take to shove an open book down his throat. But I had to play nice until he gave me what I needed. After that, all bets were off.
“Well.” I looked at my nails, which had been specially painted for this little charade. “I heard you’re pretty famous around here.”
He barked out a coarse, phlegmy laugh. He tried to play off the compliment like it didn’t faze him, but he couldn’t resist puffing out his chest. “I mean, I guess it depends on who you ask.”
“Aww, c’mon.” I batted my eyelashes. “You’re just playing modest.”
He downed his next shot and slapped another bill on the table. We were drinking for money, and from the looks of it, he had half his life savings piled up in front of him. A man his size, going against a woman like me—it was an easy bet.
One that he was about to lose spectacularly.
Joke’s on you, asshat, I thought. Never underestimate a girl in stilettos and a slinky dress. “You’re way up there with the big boss, aren’t you?” I asked, taking my shot and slapping a bill on the table. “No need to be shy about it.”
Maybe I was pressing my luck a little, but he was too sloshed to notice.
Frank hiccupped. “Ah, I ain’t nothing next to Rocco.” He gestured to the money. “This look like a lot to you? If Rocco dropped that kind of cash on the street, he wouldn’t even blink an eye.” The sleazy grin reappeared. “I’m flattered, though. Really.”
“And you should be.” I traced the edge of a shot glass seductively, watching his eyes follow the tip of my finger around the rim. “I think you sell yourself short, Frankie. Rocco Durant can’t be that big of a deal, can he?”
Again, he wheezed out a laugh. I wondered if he was going to have a heart
attack and die right there on the filthy floor. It would have spared me the displeasure of his company, but right then, I needed him alive. I chose my mark with precision. No one else in that hellhole was as likely to tell me what I needed to know.
“Doll face, you best not get caught talking like that. Rocco runs this town.” He made a loose fist and banged it clumsily on the table. The glasses jumped, clinking.
“Hey, Frankie!” someone shouted. “You break ‘em, you buy ‘em, dipshit!” This first-class quip was met by a chorus of guffaws. I caught a strong whiff of mean booze.
A crowd was forming around us, closing in.
I lowered my voice. “I’m sure he’s got people like you whispering in his ear left and right,” I prodded gently, trying to ignore Frank’s compatriots. I didn’t like their intent, hungry looks. “What’s it like to be the man behind the curtain?”
We were getting warmer. A few more minutes of this kind of talk, and I’d be home free.
Frank’s face fell a little bit. The corners of his mouth sagged. He looked down at his giant, meaty hands, and I braced myself for something unpleasant, such as alcohol-induced vomiting. But in the next instant, his expression cleared.
“It’s great,” he said. “Nobody messes with you if you’re with Rocco.”
There was a weird flatness in his tone. I brushed it off. Frank’s workplace woes weren’t my concern.
I shot him a skeptical look. “Don’t tell me he looks tougher than you.”
The guy smirked. “Now I know you’re putting me on, little lady. Maybe thirty years ago, I could’ve given him a run for his money, but nowadays…” He shook his head. “It takes a special kind of man to pull off that scar. Right across the face.” He drew three fingers down from temple to lip, hooked at the knuckles like claws.
I leaned forward coyly to disguise the fact that my interest had just skyrocketed. “Sounds dangerous.”
“Too dangerous for the likes of you,” Frank replied with a yellowed smile. It was a strange, almost kind thing for him to say. He glanced around the bar, peering through the low light. “You know, he’s here tonight. I could point him out if you really wanna see him.”
And there it was.
I dropped my hands beneath the edge of the table, upending it in one smooth motion. The shot glasses, not all of which were empty, smashed on the floor around our feet, sending glass shards and cheap liquor everywhere.
As I lunged toward Frank, I reached through the slit in my skirt and pulled the revolver free of its holster. The other flunkies stumbled backward, cheap suits and ties flapping, a flock of squawking vermin.
Someone screamed.
Frank’s chair clattered roughly to the floor beneath our combined weight. He stared up at me, bleary-eyed and stunned. I forced open his mouth with the barrel of the gun and shoved it down until I heard him gag. Then I shouted at the top of my lungs to be heard over the chaotic roar that had mounted in the room. “If anyone moves, I’ll blow his brains out!”
No one moved, but they didn’t stop talking. That was fine by me. I dropped my voice and jerked the revolver out of Frank’s craw.
He gasped. “What the hell are you doing? Are you crazy?!”
“Where’s Rocco?” I demanded. He blinked, too stunned or drunk to speak. Maybe I’d let our drinking game go on a little too long. I repeated myself more slowly. “Where is Rocco?”
No answer. So, I cocked the hammer with my thumb. The eyes bulged out of Frank’s head. I couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for the poor guy. I wasn’t going to kill him. Every bullet I had was strictly reserved for Rocco Durant.
Of course, I wasn’t about to tell Frank that. I let him gape on the floor. He’d stopped trying to fight me off, and I appreciated that. Maybe we could get along after all. Under different circumstances, anyway. At the moment, not a single asshole in that shitty dive was my friend.
The sound of a door opening caused a tense silence to fall in the bar. Frank’s popping eyes tracked to the left, and I followed his miserable gaze. A man built like a brick shithouse entered the bar flanked by four of his goons, two on each side. The scar on his sneering mug cut through one icy eye. It wasn’t white like scars were in the movies. It was red.
Our eyes locked across the room. His narrowed at me. The crowd between us cleared, as if the entire moment were orchestrated.
And who am I to give fate the middle finger?
I raised my revolver and pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER TWO
I’ll be the first to admit I’m not the world’s best sharpshooter.
I was never a cop or a soldier, my dad didn’t take me out on hunting trips, but I had a natural feel for guns—at least enough to make who I was shooting at take notice. The first bullet embedded itself in the wall just wide of Rocco Durant’s goons on the left, puffing out dust from the cheap plaster.
Time in the bar slowed down for a few seconds, but as soon as the shock had worn off, all hell broke loose. I had to scramble off of Frank to keep from being trampled to death by the herd of terrified patrons making for the door. I raised my arm and fired again.
“Shit!” a goon hollered. “Get him out of here! Go! Go!”
The bodyguards closed around Rocco and began to usher him toward a door in the far corner of the bar’s back wall. I got up on my knees, clamped both hands on the revolver’s grip, and took aim. My last shot zinged off the doorway just before the door slammed shut.
It was my turn to swear. “Shit.”
A moment later, I had the breath squeezed out of me by a lunkhead who thought it was a good idea to grab for my waist. “Gimme the gun, princess!”
Fat chance. There were still three bullets left in it, and I wasn’t going to waste them on him. My hand shot out along the ground and grabbed the first thing it found—a heavy pint glass that had somehow survived first contact with the floor.
Perfect.
I swung it up in a vicious arc, and it felt like it broke his jaw. He hunched over howling and staggered away from me. I bolted for the door. If I could get out fast enough, I might be able to intercept him.
Focused on catching Durant, I barely even noticed other people had started shooting. A bullet dug a gouge in the floor next to my heel.
My initial reaction was to frown in disgust, but there was no point in surprise. Of course, these people brought their guns. If I had a revolver, they had full-blown assault rifles hidden up their asses. Sure enough, the rattling report of an automatic shook the air.
All the more reason for me to get the hell out of Dodge.
I burst through the exit and into the cold night. My stiletto-heeled boots sounded like firecrackers on the sidewalk as I ran around the side of the building. Who cared if he heard me coming? I’d already taken three shots at his ass and missed every single one. Granted, I suspected I’d be in a lot more trouble if I had managed to kill Rocco then and there. But I was prepared to toss caution to the wind. I’d waited to long not to.
After five years of hunting his ass, I should have known better. But my mom always said I was stubborn as a mule.
She’d said it that morning, an hour before she was gunned down behind the counter of the check-cashing business she’d run with my dad for twenty years. The cops found her sprawled on her back, riddled with bullets, the flowers on her dress soaked in blood.
Daddy was half in the open safe. Glasses broken. A single shot in the head. These two wonderful, amazing people who had never hurt a fly, who took spiders outside instead of smashing them like I did, had been killed and left to rot. And the next night, the business they’d built from love and determination went up in a blaze of smoke.
Just because they wouldn’t fold to Rocco Durant’s boss.
No one ever said so, but I knew Rocco was the gunman, and I had no reason to believe he wasn’t the arsonist, too. I had seen him and his cronies lurking around the storefront at least three times a week, and sometimes, my dad would pick up the business phone, listen for a few m
inutes, and slam it down.
Rocco was like Frank back then, anonymous, just one of many lowlife thugs looking for a way to climb the ranks.
They threatened Daddy, they threatened my mom, and I was sure they threatened me, though the cowards never said it to my face. I had always been tough, even when I was young. So, they left me alone.
It wasn’t enough. Now, I was going to make them pay.
I rounded the corner of the alleyway and spotted Rocco’s posse running across the dilapidated lot. Usually, he traveled in a blacked-out SUV, but there was no sign of it. I guessed he hadn’t been expecting trouble tonight, and I allowed myself to feel the tiniest spark of pride for managing to get the drop on him. Sure, it had all gone south more or less immediately, but I had to take my accomplishments as they came. Leaning forward into my run, I pumped my legs furiously.
One of the goons looked over his shoulder. His eyes widened when he saw me charging across the pavement. His gun barked. I ducked as one bullet, then another, zinged over my shoulder. Two inches from my right foot, the broken asphalt exploded into a cloud of dust. I kept going.
Nice try, assface. I’m your worst nightmare.
The flicker of fear I saw in his expression fed something dark and ravenous inside me. If I had never been as compassionate as either of my parents, that warmth died with them. My only goal was to make Rocco Durant feel the same pain that had plagued my life in the years since he murdered the two people who’d loved me the most.
Jail was too good for him. He had to deal with me.
The alleyway opened on a side street that the mobsters clearly expected to be deserted, because they sprinted into the middle of the road, straight into the path of an oncoming car. Their wild, defensive gunfire faded, and the blare of the horn reverberated through my head. Another bullet sang past my ear. Their faces were pasty in the headlights.