Kane- Tooth & Nail
Page 7
Luna wrinkled her brow. “Who?”
“The three Hebrew children,” Kane explained. “King Nebuchadnezzar, the fiery furnace?”
“No clue what you’re talking about, cowboy.”
“It’s a famous Bible story.”
“I’m not much of a Bible reader.”
“Neither am I, but I still know the story.”
“So tell me.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
Kane lifted his Jack and Coke. “Because sitting around a fire drinking whiskey and telling Bible stories just doesn’t seem right.”
Luna laughed. “You may have a point there.” She took a drink from her red plastic cup. She had skipped the Coke, drinking her Jack on the rocks. Of course, the bag of ice Kane had picked up at Baldy’s had been half-melted by the time they got back to camp, so it was more like Jack on the pebbles.
She caught one between her teeth and crunched down on it. The noise was surprisingly loud in the quiet of the woods. “You a God-fearing man, cowboy?”
Kane shrugged. He had told her his name, including the “Reaper” tag, but she insisted on calling him “cowboy.”
“A shrug?” she teased. “Really? That’s the best you can do? Come on, it’s an easy question to answer.”
Kane said, “Been my experience that there aren’t any easy answers when it comes to God.”
Luna stared at him for several long moments, while off in the distance, perhaps gazing at the silver sickle of the moon, a coyote cut loose with a long, mournful howl. Then she looked down at her cup, shook it so the ice rattled against the sides, and said, “Whoa, that’s some deep shit there, cowboy. I think you’re ruining my buzz.”
Kane knocked back the rest of his drink. “You asked, I answered.”
“Okay,” she said, “no more religious stuff. Let’s try something lighter, something with fewer landmines to navigate.”
“Fire away.”
“What brings you all the way out here?”
That sobered Kane up pretty damn quick. Yeah, he thought. Something lighter, with fewer landmines. Let’s talk about shooting a fourteen-year-old kid in the chest.
Instead, he replied, “Just looking for some peace and quiet.”
Luna scooted her chair closer to his and leaned in. Not close enough to invade his personal space or be misconstrued as making a move, but close enough that he felt the electricity of her nearness. “Bullshit,” she said, smiling to take off any harsh edges.
Kane looked at her. She’d been pretty under the lights of the bar, but the flickering firelight infused her with an otherworldly beauty, like a forest nymph emerged from the shadow realm to spend a few fleeting moments in the world of broken men.
“Bullshit, huh? What makes you say that?”
“Because that’s what it is,” she replied. “Peace and quiet, my ass, cowboy. When I look at you, I don’t see a man looking for peace and quiet.”
“Yeah? What do you see?”
“I see a man running from something.”
Damn, Kane thought. This girl was pretty and perceptive. Aloud, he said, “It’s not what you think.”
“Here’s the part where you tell me you’re not an outlaw.”
“I’m not an outlaw.”
“Well, like I said, cowboy, it’s pretty clear that you’re running from something. It’s all over your face.” She paused for a moment and then shook her head. “No, not your face. Your eyes. They’re haunted. They give you away.”
Feeling self-conscious, Kane turned away from her, as if to hide his secrets and sins. He stared into the fire, pensive and brooding.
She let him have his silence for a while, then lightly touched his shoulder. “Hey, cowboy, sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
Kane shook his head. “It’s not you. It’s…” His voice trailed off.
“The thing you’re running from,” Luna finished for him.
He sighed. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
Her hand rose from his shoulder to his cheek, as gentle as the brush of an angel’s wing. “Want to tell me about it?”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
He turned and discovered she had moved even closer. The air grew hot with an energy that had nothing to do with the fire. “Shouldn’t,” he answered.
Her lips brushed his, not so much a kiss as a ghost of one. “Tell me anyway,” she said softly. “Confess your sins, cowboy.”
Kane stared into her eyes, the reflection of the firelight in her pupils intoxicating. “What happens after that?”
She kissed him then, deep, slow, and lingering. When they parted, she whispered, “Redemption.”
Maybe it was the booze. Maybe it was his troubled spirit needing to unburden itself. Maybe it was the isolation. Maybe it was the carnality and desire burgeoning between them. Or maybe it was a combination of all those things that worked in tandem to batter down his defenses.
In the darkness, as the fire burned and the moon glowed and the coyotes howled, he told her everything. He left out names and locations and national security protocols, but other than that, he held nothing back. The woods were his church, the fireside was his confessional, and Luna was the angelic priestess to whom he bared his soul.
She said nothing as he spoke, letting his words bleed into the night as if they were hallowed and sacred, when in fact, he knew them to be profane and cursed by the endless violence behind them. He expected her to flinch when he talked about his kills, the body count, the stacked corpses of his warrior life. But she remained still and quiet, listening, letting him talk, letting him lance the poison with no hint of judgment or condemnation.
He finished by telling her about the boy, about putting a bullet through the kid’s chest. “Not sure I can kill again after that,” he said. “Maybe it’s time for me to hang up my guns.”
She looked into his eyes as if peering into his soul, and he wondered what she would find there. Honor, sure, and a warrior’s sense of right and wrong…but also so much darkness, so many scars.
She slowly uncoiled from her chair and stood in front of him, silhouetted against the bonfire behind her. Still staring deep into his eyes, she began unbuttoning her shirt.
Kane started to protest. “Luna…”
“Hush.” She let the shirt slide off her shoulders and fall to the ground. The firelight caressed her skin and cast her breasts into pools of shadow.
She stepped out of her jeans and came to him, a naked angel offering salvation. Almost involuntarily, his hands reached for her as she straddled him in the chair. She slid her hand between their bodies, working his belt buckle and zipper to free his arousal.
“I’m not sure we should do this,” Kane said, but the huskiness in his voice betrayed his desire.
“You need this, Kane.” It was the first time Luna had called him by his name. “You’ve spent too long walking with Death.”
“That’s why they call me Reaper.”
She leaned forward and kissed him with hunger and passion. “And they always will,” she said when their lips parted. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t also live.”
“It’s not fair to you,” Kane said. “Pretty soon, I’ll ride out of town, and you’ll never see me again.”
“Let tomorrow worry about itself,” she replied. “I’m not asking you to be with me forever. Just be with me right now. You need this, Kane. We need this.”
He knew she was right. To hell with the Reaper. Tonight he just wanted to be John Kane.
He crushed her mouth in another hot, reckless kiss as he pulled her fully onto his lap. A groan vibrated in his throat as she lowered herself onto him, enveloping him in silken heat as their desire surged.
He surrendered fully to the moment, to the primal rhythm, as they moved together in synchronicity with the heartbeat of the night. The flames threw shadows over their entwined bodies as they abandoned all control.
Luna cried out as he made love to he
r with something close to desperation, reaching for the briefest fragment of life, of living, of snatching something good and alive and vibrant from the cold jaws of death. He had confessed his weaknesses to her, his sins and transgressions, and now her needs to her, his weaknesses, his transgressions, and now her trembling body granted him absolution.
Afterward, she laid with him in the chair, curled up in his arms.
Kane stroked her hair. “Thanks for that.”
“It wasn’t just a one-night stand, you know.”
“No,” he agreed. “It was more than that.”
“You’re surrounded by death, Kane, but that doesn’t mean it has to define you. Your job might be to kill, but your life can be about more than just blood.”
“I know. Thanks for reminding me.”
She smiled. “It was my pleasure.”
“Trust me, the pleasure wasn’t all yours.”
They stayed like that for a while, content to simply share the moment, to hold each other in the darkness while the fire popped and crackled.
Eventually, Luna said, “You know you have to go back, right, Kane? The world needs men like you.”
“What do you mean, ‘men like me?’”
“Good men.”
“I told you what I’ve done, Luna. I’m not a good man.”
“You’re a good man who has to do bad things to protect innocent people.”
“Maybe I don’t want to do those bad things anymore.” Kane mentally pictured the young boy going down with a bloody hole drilled in his chest. “Maybe I’ll just stay here and never go back.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to stay here. Vesper Lake is an evil town.”
“Evil?” Kane echoed. “You mean, like vampires and werewolves?”
“No, when I say evil, I’m talking about the manmade kind. Drugs and guns and corruption. You dig below the surface of this town, it’s blacker than the devil’s soul.”
“Sounds like my kind of game. Maybe I should call in my team.”
Luna clutched his arm. “No, you can’t.”
“Why not? That’s what we do,” Kane said. “My team would roll into town, kick some ass, kill whoever needed killing”—If you can actually pull the trigger again, he silently added—“and set things right.”
Luna shook her head. “Nazareno has kill squads planted in the town. At the first sign that he’s been crossed, they’ll go on the warpath, and it’ll be a slaughter. They’ll burn Vesper Lake to the ground.”
“Who the hell is Nazareno?”
“The puppet master,” Luna said. “The mastermind behind it all.”
“The name sounds familiar for some reason.”
“Nazareno Pedregon. The Nazarene Dragon, famous for crucifying his victims and burning them alive.”
Kane nodded. “That’s right. Cartel boss, caught up in Canada running narcotics over the border.”
“That’s him,” Luna confirmed. She waved a hand in a westward direction. “He’s down there in Black Bog Federal Prison, but he’s got a crushing grip on this town.”
“His operation is still running?”
“Meth and heroin, mostly, from what I hear. They cook the meth locally, but the H comes from a supplier in Quebec, supposedly with ties to the Rizzuto crime family.”
“Mafia.” Kane muttered the word with the same distaste he might have used if he was talking about dog shit. “I miss the days when the Mob didn’t mess with drugs.”
“Times change,” Luna said.
“And not always for the better.” The autumn air started to cool the sweat on Kane’s skin. They would need to head inside soon or move closer to the fire, but for now, Luna seemed content to curl up against his chest, and he was content to let her stay there. “Any idea how they move the drugs across the border?” he asked.
“Logging trucks.”
Kane recalled the logging company at the end of the lake. “Cammeaux Logging Company?”
Luna nodded. “They’re based out of Ontario, and if you dig deep enough, you’ll find that Nazareno owns them, although naturally there are several layers of separation. They transport the heroin in hollowed-out logs, crossing the border north of Plattsburgh and then picking up Route 3 to come down here, where they add the meth to the load before heading south. Not sure where it ends up after that, but Albany and New York City are the most likely destinations.”
“Who runs the operation? Nazareno might pull the strings, but he’s in prison, so he needs someone with boots on the ground to run things for him.”
“Remember I told you Sheriff Dunkirk is the king of this town?”
“He works for Nazareno.” Kane didn’t phrase it as a question.
“Exactly. Dunkirk and his two dickhead sons oversee the pipeline. They’ve also branched out on their own, and have a side business running guns.”
“Where do they get the guns?”
“They’re military weapons. Fort Drum is about a hundred miles west of here. One of the soldiers on base cooks the books and hooks up the Dunkirks.”
“Sounds like this town is one big shithole.”
“The town is full of good people,” Luna said. “They’re just scared. When Nazareno’s goon squads first rolled into town, they tortured and killed several people to make examples out of them, as a warning about what would happen if we stepped out of line.”
“There are more of you than there are of them,” Kane pointed out. “Sometimes, you just have to stand up to the bastards of the world.”
“Sheep don’t stand up to wolves,” Luna said. “The folks in Vesper Lake are good people, but they’re not fighters.”
“Those who act like sheep will be slaughtered like sheep. That’s the way of the world.” Kane felt a chill run through him at the grimness of his words. Or maybe it was just the night air finally getting to him. Either way, it was time to retire to the cabin. “We should probably go inside.”
She climbed off him and gathered up her clothes as he kicked dirt onto the fire. He hooked an arm around her naked shoulders as they walked back to the lodge. Inside, she put on her shirt but nothing more, and even that, she only closed with one button. Kane wondered if she knew how alluring it made her look.
He fired up the woodstove with a mix of pine logs and hardwood, and it chased away the chill in no time. He turned to Luna, who was sitting on the bunk with her bare legs tucked beneath her. “Want something to eat? I could rustle us up some sandwiches.”
“What, no filet mignon and lobster tails?”
“Sorry, fresh out.”
She faked a sigh of disappointment. “I guess a sandwich will have to suffice, then.”
Kane whipped together some processed ham and provolone cheese on whole wheat. Before he sat down, he pulled the SIG M17 from the small of his back and set it on the table next to his paper plate.
As Luna climbed off the bunk and sat in the chair across from him, she gestured at the pistol and asked, “Did you have that thing on while we were…you know…”
He nodded. “I always have a weapon within arm’s reach.”
She shook her head. “I know I said the world needs men like you, but that’s kind of sad.”
He shrugged. “It is what it is.”
She took a bite of her sandwich, chewed thoughtfully, and asked, “Do you think you could clean up this town?”
His answer was simple, direct, and matter-of-fact. “Yes.”
She set down her sandwich and reached across the table to lay a warm hand on his forearm. “Would you do it if I asked you to?”
He answered honestly. “I don’t know.” He locked eyes with her. She didn’t look away. “Is that what you’re asking me to do?”
“I don’t want you to pull the trigger again because of me,” she said. “But if you decide on your own that you’re still going to fight the good fight against the evils of this miserable world, then maybe you could start right here.”
“Thought you didn’t want my team rolling into your town?”
“What you’re suggesting will get good people killed.”
“Good people are already getting killed,” Luna countered. “Ten minutes ago, you said the people in town need to stand up to Nazareno and his goons.”
“Stand up for themselves. Not have me do it for them.”
“You want them to take the war to the bastards who control the town.”
“Exactly.”
She said, “Every army needs a general.”
“You want me to teach the sheep how to fight?”
“Something like that.”
Kane set aside his sandwich, no longer hungry, but craving another shot of whiskey. “I killed a kid last week,” he said. “That fucked with my head, and I came up here to see if I can un-fuck it. I’m not sure the best way for me to make peace with what I did—”
“What you had to do,” Luna interjected.
“Is to kill some more,” Kane finished, ignoring her interjection, even while his brain acknowledged its truth.
He expected more pushback, but instead, she replied, “You’re right, Kane, and I’m sorry for putting this pressure on you.”
“I just hope you understand where I’m coming from.”
“I do,” she said, and he could hear the sincerity in her voice. “Let’s leave it like this—you take the week to do all the reflecting and soul-searching you came up here to do. If you decide your guns are still in the game, all I ask is that you consider helping us. If you decide to lay down your guns for good, then…” She smiled. “Well, then maybe you’ll think about staying up here longer than just a week.”
“Fair enough.”
Her hand had remained on his arm, and now her fingers moved, softly caressing his skin. “I’ve had enough talk about death and killing.” She stood up, and the single button holding her shirt closed somehow came undone. It fell open, the warm light of the gas lamps spilling down the smooth slopes of her breasts. In a soft voice, she said, “Come to bed, and let’s celebrate life.”
She crawled onto the bunk, the shirt falling to the floor along the way, allowing him to gaze upon all the passion—all the life—she had to offer.