“I’m done here.” James spat on the ground and stomped toward his truck. “Should have brought some fucking burn cream,” he muttered.
As Shay made her way toward the club’s exit through the still-thick crowd, a huge musclebound man sauntered toward her. His face suggested he was young; probably in his early twenties at the oldest. She ignored him and continued toward the front door.
Captain Muscles fell in behind her, and she gritted her teeth. A few seconds later he pinched her ass.
Shay spun around and slapped his hand. “Keep your hands to yourself, asshole.”
Captain Muscles grinned. “Hey, babe, don’t get so upset. It’s a compliment, you know. You’re hot.” His words came out slow and slurred as he turned left, then right as he spoke. “You don’t see me touching any ugly chick’s ass.”
Several other men rushed over. Shay tensed, but then noticed the apologetic looks on their faces.
“You’re an idiot, Xander,” one of the new arrivals told the kid. “Remember what coach said about getting in trouble?” He turned to Shay. “I’m sorry. He’s just had one too many tonight. Please, we’ll take him and sit him down. It doesn’t have to be a big thing.”
Shay considered if she wanted to make it a big thing or not, despite Mr. Reasonable seeming embarrassed over his friend. The size of all the men suggested athletes, as did the reference to their coach. Judging by the ages and builds, she suspected they were college football players.
That didn’t make them dangerous, at least not to her. They were trained in a very stylized and sanitized form of violence, one with rules and restraint.
I don’t need this shit right before heading to Mexico. Guess it’s your lucky day, asshole.
“Whatever,” Shay muttered, and turned to leave.
“Probably a fucking lesbian anyway,” Captain Muscles snarled. “What she needs is a serious deep dicking, so she knows what a real man feels like.”
Shay spun on her heel. She didn’t look at Captain Muscles. Instead, she shot a murderous glare at his friends.
They all moved to the side. They could sense the true predator in the room.
“You’re on your own, man,” Mr. Reasonable told Xander, his hands in front of him.
“What?” Captain Muscles sneered. “You think this little bitch is gonna do anything about it?”
“I think she’s gonna kick your ass, and I think you have it coming.”
A little admiration flowed through Shay for the other men. Recognizing lethal potential was a rare skill. They might have made good killers or bounty hunters.
Captain Muscles laughed. “Just because I’m a little drunk doesn’t mean I’m scared of some little w—”
After a loud crunch, his head snapped back. Shay’s roundhouse had been so fast it took the other men a few seconds to realize what had happened.
Captain Muscles fell to the floor moaning, and Shay grabbed his arm and prepared to bend it backward.
“Don’t do it!” Mr. Reasonable yelled.
Shay narrowed her eyes. “Give me one good fucking reason.”
“Because he’s our star quarterback, and we have a good shot this season. The rest of us shouldn’t suffer because of him.” Mr. Reasonable scrubbed a hand over his face. “I know he’s a douchebag, but you’re already taught him a lesson, right? Shit, if you want, I’ll promise to tell everyone he got beat down by a woman half his size. It’ll humiliate him, but he’ll still be able to play.”
Shay glared at the downed football player in disgust before leaning in to speak to him. “You’re lucky Brownstone isn’t here.” She waited for a few seconds, then yanked on his arm, dislocating it.
Captain Muscles screamed.
“Damn!” the other players yelled in unison.
Shay stood and dusted her hands on her pants. “You can pop it right back in. He’ll still be able to play for the rest of the season.”
She stormed toward the exit. A bouncer walked toward her, then looked between her and the moaning football player and stepped out of the way.
Officer Santos watched as paramedics loaded King Pyro onto a stretcher. The AET had fitted him with a stun collar, but given the state he was in, a meter maid could probably handle him.
He went over to the stretcher and leaned over the moaning man. “You’re one lucky motherfucker, Adams.”
King Pyro turned his head toward the officer. His battered face and swollen eyes made it hard to tell if he even knew who was talking to him. He mumbled something, but with his broken jaw it was hard to understand.
“Brownstone is not the kind of heat you want to bring down on yourself. Ask the local Harriken. We used to have a lot of them. Now we don’t. You know why? Rumor is that they killed Brownstone’s dog to make a point, so he killed all of them to make a point back.”
A groan escaped the wounded criminal’s mouth. It sounded like something approaching the word “family.”
“What’s that?” Officer Santos asked. He furrowed his brow trying to figure out what the other man was getting at. “Oh no, I don’t think Brownstone has a family, really. But the guy could have a fucking Barbie doll, and I’d leave the doll alone if I wanted to keep breathing.” He shook his head and waved a hand. “Just keep this in mind, Adams—if LAPD hadn’t been here, your ass would be dead. Never say cops didn’t do something for you.”
King Pyro moaned some more.
12
The world around James blurred at the edges. Buildings stood too far away or close compared to where he knew they should.
This shit wasn’t real.
It was fake reality; a dream, nothing more than an expression of his own mind. Even though James knew that, he still couldn’t seem to control himself. His body moved of its own accord.
James raised the necklace over his head and slid it over his neck. Burning pain shot from the point of contact and spread. The sizzle of his flesh reached his ears and nostrils, and he clenched his teeth as the pain burrowed through his body until he could have sworn every cell was on fire.
Something whispered in the recesses of his mind: cold, distant, inhuman, but all too familiar. He didn’t understand what it was trying to say, but there was intelligence behind the communication.
The bounty hunter’s eyes snapped open and he jerked upright in his bed, his heart pounding. He shouldn’t care.
It was just another damned dream.
James scrubbed his face with his hand. Problem was, the dream was a reflection of his memories. When he wore the necklace, something whispered to him. He’d tried to ignore it, thinking he was just psyching himself out, but there was no denying that whatever was calling him to him was getting stronger. The whispers had been louder, especially this last year.
His free ride with the necklace was coming to an end, and whatever dark magic powered it would want its due sooner rather than later.
Could something good come from something evil? He was pretty sure that necklace was evil.
Still, the bounty hunter was about to go to a place embroiled in a conflict that was one small step down from a civil war; a foreign country where he didn’t have the contacts and reputation he did in Los Angeles. He couldn’t be sure someone or something more powerful than him didn’t lurk in Baja California Sur waiting to tear his head off.
James didn’t fear death, not really. He feared letting some monstrous piece of shit get away because he wasn’t strong enough; scum like King Pyro or bastards like the Harriken who were ready to torture a woman to death.
Darkness threatened to swallow the world. Maybe his efforts were pointless, only delaying the inevitable, but he wanted to at least try.
Father McCartney had always told him that he was meant to be a force for good; a soldier serving God. James often wondered if he was some sort of demon who had been kicked out of Hell and just had his memories wiped.
That might explain the necklace.
Whatever its source, the power of the necklace could make sure James was the guy breathi
ng at the end of the day. He’d handled the power for years, so maybe one more job wouldn’t be too much. He’d packed plenty of weapons, but he hadn’t grabbed the necklace from the warehouse the night before when he’d visited.
“No.” James shook his head. “Can’t keep relying on that thing.”
Stopping an addiction had to start somewhere, and the current job was as good a place as any. If the necklace truly was evil, then every use threatened something much more important than his life. He didn’t want to be seduced by the power and end up being the asshole murdering a family someday.
“King Ghost,” he muttered, then snickered.
What bullshit.
The bounty hunter had taken down a level-four bounty without using the necklace. A few scorch marks here and there weren’t a big thing. He could handle a few arrogant sicarios in Mexico. If he stayed away from level-six bounties, he shouldn’t have much trouble.
On top of that, Shay was supposed to have contacts that would keep him from having too much trouble with the cartel hitmen and soldiers anyway. It wasn’t like he was going to Mexico to mess with them.
James slid out of bed, now more comfortable. It was time to clean up and head out for the airport.
Fuck the necklace. Fuck whatever curse or demon or ghost of a top-hat-wearing ferret that lives inside it. Fuck the past.
Shay eyed Brownstone as he lugged his two huge cases. One of them was obviously a go-case filled with weapons and other dangerous implements of his trade. She’d made her own arrangements to get her equipment past security and customs, and it didn’t involve strolling to the front desk with contraband.
She couldn’t decide if that meant Brownstone was brave or stupid. Given everything she knew about him, she figured it was a little Column A and some Column B.
Their last flight in and out of country had been on chartered planes so it hadn’t been as big of an issue, but this time the idiot was going to get them arrested before they even left the country.
She couldn’t risk a fight in an airport.
Shay frowned. For that matter, that sort of risk didn’t seem like Brownstone. The guy might be cavalier about his own safety, but she’d never seen him put innocent people in danger. She was missing something, and that realization only irritated her more.
Brownstone nodded to the woman working the desk and placed his hand on the palm scanner on the counter.
She looked down at her computer and up at him. “Hello, Mr. Brownstone. I’m sorry to have to ask you to do this, but I’m going to need you to show me additional proof of your level-six status. Federal regulations, you know.” She gave him a sheepish smile, as if she expected him to explode.
“No problem.”
The bounty hunter reached into his jacket and pulled out a chip-embedded card with his picture on it, which he handed to the woman. She quickly typed something into the computer in front of her and slid the card into a reader to the side of her computer.
James’ movement revealed a shoulder holster, so he likely had a case filled with guns—several of which probably weren’t legal—and was getting ready to march through airport security with a loaded weapon.
Fuck, Brownstone. How about a little more subtlety? Did you hit your head last night? Are you drunk?
The woman glanced to her side. A police officer pulled away from the corner and headed their way.
Shay swallowed and her gaze shot around the room, seeking exits not near any obvious police.
The cop neither went for his gun or Taser nor pulled out his radio to request backup. Instead, he walked to the wrong desk and placed his hand on the palm scanner.
“Please give the verbal verification for the record,” the woman requested.
“Officer Tom Johns,” the cop said. “Verifying special transport exceptions for James Brownstone.” He rattled off the time and date, then nodded to the bounty hunter. “You going for work or pleasure?”
“Work, though I do take a lot of pleasure in my work.”
The cop chuckled. “Be careful down there, then. You get away from the cities and things can get real dicey.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Brownstone nodded, and the cop strolled away.
Another airline employee, a large man, came over to grab Brownstone’s suitcases. Rather than placing them on the conveyor running behind the desk, he opened a door and pulled them into a back room.
“Well, don’t they treat you special?” Shay muttered under her breath.
She shook her head at the spectacle and stepped up to the counter to finish checking in herself.
And here I am just smuggling things the old-fashioned way.
As they walked toward their boarding gate twenty minutes later, Shay’s curiosity finally won its battle against her desire not to show any weakness in front of Brownstone—especially since he’d basically been allowed to walk through the later security checkpoint without even going through the metal detector.
“What was all that about?” Shay asked. “They just let you bring all that stuff on, no questions asked? Not to mention…” She gestured toward the general location of his now-concealed holster.
James shrugged. “You’ve been on the other side for too long. You forget it doesn’t have to be that way.”
“Huh?”
“The other side of the law. When you’re on the right side, a lot of allowances and exceptions are made to help you take out bad guys easier, especially when you’ve got an established track record. It also helps that we have a bunch of law enforcement treaties with Mexico, which is one of the reasons I like to stick close to home and not go wandering off to places like China where the rules are tighter.”
Shay sighed. “I think I’ll stay with my own methods. I don’t want to be too far up cop butts. I’m a shady character, you know.” She grinned.
“Suit yourself, but nothing you’ve been doing lately has helped the bad guys.”
“Nor was it always strictly legal.”
Brownstone chuckled. “Yeah, guess so.”
They closed on their gate, and Shay took a deep breath. This job wouldn’t be like Peru. She’d have to deal with a lot of dangerous people before she got anywhere near the Green Dragon Crescent Blade.
She glanced at Brownstone, unsure if he’d be an asset or a liability in the end. If she needed to kill every single asshole in Baja California Sur that was one thing, but the bounty hunter also had a way of attracting a lot of undue attention.
Shay also didn’t like the idea of becoming too reliant on him. That path led to sloppiness. She’d spent years working without a partner; it made things less complicated. In the last few weeks, she’d involved herself in a lot of things she probably shouldn’t have.
“Yeah!” a man shouted, jerking Shay out of her reflections.
A group of college dude-bros in rather garish t-shirts that announced in pictorial form their preferences in women lingered near the gate. From the sound of it, the men were already drunk.
“Cabo, bro!” yelled one of them. “Fuck, yeah!”
“Yeah, dude,” another agreed, slapping him on the back. “This is gonna be so badass.”
The gate attendant rolled her eyes, as did Shay. Just what Mexico needed: imported dude-bros.
After grabbing their luggage, Shay and James picked up their rental truck and headed to their hotel, a nice if low-key place Shay had stayed at before. The pair exchanged few words until they stood in her hotel room.
“Yours is across the way,” Shay told him, handing him a keycard. She then fished a small silver cylinder from her luggage.
“Frequency scanner?”
“Yeah.”
James eyed the room. “Had trouble here with bugs?”
Shay shook her head. “Nope, but never hurts to be too careful, especially with all the friends I might have made recently helping you out.” She winked.
James slapped one of this suitcases on the bed and opened it. He pulled a shabby coat out of his lugg
age, a long ugly brown puffy-sleeved mess.
“Where did you buy that?” Shay asked, eyeing the coat with disdain. “The thrift store?”
“Yeah, actually. Got a good deal on it.”
Shay sighed. “And here I thought you had good fashion sense, though I guess with what I’ve seen you wear before, I shouldn’t have been surprised at this point.”
The bounty hunter stared at her for a moment. “Huh?” He shrugged, a bit confused by her weird statement about fashion sense.
James opened the case and started pulling out pistol and knife holsters, along with several different pistols, with a marked preference for .45-caliber fare.
“You’re not gonna do this in your room?” Shay wondered.
“I want to be ready right away.”
“And one gun isn’t enough?”
James grinned. “No.”
The next few minutes involved a lot of clicking and slapping as the bounty hunter loaded magazines into his weapons and slipped them into different holsters, along with extra magazines for his weapons. Knives, both stabbing and throwing, followed.
“That’s a lot of guns,” Shay exclaimed. “I’m impressed—and not much impresses me about guns—but we’re not raiding the cartel, Brownstone. You remember that, right?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Also, these guys might be scum, but they haven’t done shit to you as far as I know. I thought you liked to keep it to bounties or revenge.”
James nodded. “I do, and they haven’t messed with me.”
“Then what’s with the arsenal?”
“Finding a new gun is more complicated than just pulling a new one off you. Simple enough. And this isn’t my home turf, so I want to be prepared.”
Shay snickered. “Okay, makes sense, I guess. Just don’t go causing unnecessary trouble for me.”
“Sure. I won’t go causing any unnecessary trouble.”
By the time the bounty hunter finished arming up, he carried enough pistols, knives, and ammo to lay waste to hundreds of people if necessary. People said that luck was where opportunity met preparation, and he was ready for some damn good luck.
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