The Archer

by Abigail Roux

“That would take a while, Trigger,” Brandt observed seriously. “And we

  already know how Dixie feels about blood on his floor. I say we just set fire to him.”

  “That wouldn’t help the state of the floor, either,” Gray observed with a

  small grin.

  Brandt looked at him for several long seconds and finally he pursed his lips

  and nodded. “True. Would be fun, though.”

  Gray smiled and walked up to stand beside Carl. “Really, Bernie, you’re

  gonna die either way,” he said as he looked down at the man. “Now, either I can do it and be nice and quick about it, or I can set one of these mad hatters on you. I hear they eat their wounded.”

  “Doesn’t have to be wounded,” Carl growled. “As long as it screams.”

  Bernard’s eyes widened and he swallowed again, but he clamped his jaw

  shut and looked at them stubbornly.

  “Come now, Freund, don’t make me watch them torture you,” Nikolaus

  pleaded.

  XXIV.

  BRANDT did feel a little sorry for Nikolaus. The man wasn’t accustomed to this sort of thing. Neither was Brandt, really, but he was enjoying it immensely. The prospect of setting the stranger on fire had Brandt supremely excited, especially after the

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  bastard had pilfered and desecrated his lighter.

  They were getting nowhere with threats and the small amount of physical

  damage Carl and Gray had inflicted, a process Brandt had found surprisingly

  entertaining. Maybe Gray wasn’t such a bad guy, after all. He seemed to enjoy

  inflicting pain, at any rate. That made him okay in Brandt’s book.

  They needed a more effective way of extracting information, though.

  Even as Brandt thought it, his eye was drawn to Remy as he made his way

  slowly down the stairs. Shawn trailed after him, and Brandt tensed as he saw the

  looks on both their faces. Shawn looked like a whipped puppy, and Remy looked,

  well, evil. Tired, beat up, and evil. Everyone in the room froze, as if they all sensed that Remy wasn’t in the mood to be jerked around. If someone could make Shawn

  look like that, then they meant business.

  Remy looked at them all for a second or two, then he turned to look at

  Bernard.

  “Who sent you?” Remy asked in a calm, soft voice.

  “Go to Hell,” the man responded calmly.

  Remy walked over to Gray with deliberate steps and held out his hand for

  the man’s gun. Gray looked at him warily for a brief, tense moment, then he handed the weapon over wordlessly. Remy didn’t say another word before he aimed at

  Bernard’s kneecap and pulled the trigger.

  The scream was deafening, and Brandt finally saw Nikolaus close his eyes

  and look away. No one else moved, and even Brandt was a little stunned.

  “You’ve only got two of them, would you care to lose the other?” Remy

  asked cordially.

  “The Organization sent me!” the man panted as the tears ran down his

  cheeks and he squirmed in pain. His kneecap was shattered.

  “And what is your purpose here?” Remy asked calmly as he knelt and looked

  at the Paint with interest.

  “Follow. Just to follow,” Bernard insisted readily. “I was painting them.”

  Brandt knew painting. You followed and made reports of the mark’s

  location. Then an agent would follow your directions and take out the mark. Painting was for agents who were either overloaded or incompetent. The overloaded ones were scary. It meant they were in high demand. And that meant they were good at what

  they did.

  “I see,” Remy said as he nodded understandingly. “Have you made your

  reports?”

  “No,” the man claimed with a vigorous shake of his head. “No, I report in at

  noon. I had to be sure they were stationary first.”

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  “Hmm. Wrong answer, man,” Remy said before he jerked his arm flippantly

  and fired again. The Paint cried out in anguish and screamed for mercy as he looked down at his other newly shattered knee.

  “You mad fuck!” he screamed. “Jesus fucking Christ!”

  “I don’t appreciate being lied to,” Remy informed him icily. Brandt saw

  Shawn squeeze his eyes closed, and Brandt frowned worriedly. Something was amiss.

  Brandt was so tired of the secrets he could have screamed.

  “I reported,” Bernard panted. “He’ll be here… at sixteen hundred…

  tomorrow,” he said as his body shivered with the beginnings of shock.

  “Who? Do you know his name?”

  “Just the Hunter.”

  “The Hunter?” Thiago echoed worriedly.

  Brandt glanced at him curiously, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw

  Shawn shift slightly.

  “Hunter,” the Paint said as he looked up at Remy. “Please,” he said pitifully.

  “Please, end it.” Remy stood up and looked around at the others inquiringly, his gaze lingering on Shawn.

  “What do you know about the Hunter?” Thiago asked as he stood for the

  first time and looked down at Bernard.

  But Brandt wasn’t watching the prisoner. He was watching Remy and

  Shawn. Remy stared the older man down, and Shawn shifted again and failed to meet Remy’s eyes.

  “They… please,” Bernard grunted weakly, and Remy lifted his hand and

  pulled the trigger one last time, his eyes never leaving Shawn’s as the bullet hit dead center between the Paint’s eyebrows.

  “Jesus!” Thiago yelled as Nikolaus recoiled completely and Carl and Gray

  gaped at Remy.

  “What the hell?” Gray growled angrily as he snatched the gun from Remy

  and glared at the younger man.

  “He was in pain,” Remy said with a shrug. “I need to speak with you,

  Kincaid,” he added menacingly, and he grabbed Gray’s arm and dragged him away

  into the kitchen.

  Brandt stood stunned, just like the rest of them, looking down at the body of

  the prisoner.

  Remy had cracked. And for Brandt to make that observation meant that the

  younger man was pretty far gone.

  “No more drugs for him,” Thiago said softly.

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  Carl and Brandt looked at him blankly and both nodded their heads, and

  Nikolaus clapped his hand over his mouth and mumbled, “I think I may be sick.”

  Shawn stood staring at the floor and looking fairly pale, and finally Thiago

  moved as if in slow motion and untied the body from the banister. “We’re going to have to get this cleaned up,” he said softly.

  Several moments later, Remy came back through the room. Gray was

  conspicuously absent, and Brandt found himself inexplicably worried about the man’s safety. Remy gave them all one last look and proceeded back up the steps. “We have a little over twenty-four hours, gentlemen,” he informed them all. “I suggest you all make the most of it. I’m going to bed.”

  “What if he was lying about the time?” Carl asked incredulously.

  “Then we’ll deal with the Hunter when he gets here,” Remy answered

  bitterly without stopping.

  XXV.

  REMY walked slowly back up the stairs, knowing that all eyes were on him and not

  caring. It wasn’t the first time he had killed someone in cold blood, and it wouldn’t be the last. He’d given Shawn’s secret a bit more time, and that was all that really mattered. Now he just wanted to curl up in bed and sleep for ten years.

  He barely had the ene
rgy to get to bed, though. He stood in the doorway and

  stared at the room for several seconds, guilt and anger and shame washing over him.

  He could feel the presence of someone else in the hallway and he knew instinctively that it was Shawn. He didn’t have the energy left to be angry with Shawn.

  He continued on into the room and stood by the bed, looking down at it as if

  it were about to open up and swallow him whole. Technically, he and Gray hadn’t

  fucked on the bed. But they’d been close enough to play hell with Remy’s conscience, all the same. The door closed softly behind him and Remy turned his head slightly as he fussed with the bedcovers.

  “That was risky, don’t you think?” Shawn asked softly.

  “So is being a traitor in this group, if you’ll remember,” Remy responded

  flatly.

  Shawn didn’t respond, and Remy wondered if the same memories he had

  were assaulting Shawn as well. Expecting a welcome only to be attacked and accused of being a traitor. Remy was beginning to grow angry once more as he thought of that night. How dare Shawn berate and threaten him for doing what Shawn had been

  doing all along! He shivered and looked down at the bed.

  “It’s funny, Shawn,” he said malevolently, the need to wound the other man

  so great that it was overwhelming. “I just shot a man and yet, the only thing I feel guilty for is fucking someone besides you in this room.”

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  He couldn’t see Shawn’s reaction, but he could hear it. The soft footsteps

  that neared him ceased and the sudden intake of breath made Remy feel slightly

  gratified. Gratified, but guiltier than ever.

  “We all have our cross to bear, I suppose,” Shawn responded with difficulty.

  “Am I your cross?” Remy asked as his throat constricted.

  “Never,” Shawn whispered. He was suddenly behind Remy, his hand

  snaking under Remy’s arm to wrap around his waist. Remy’s eyes closed against his will, and his head tilted to the side as Shawn kissed his neck gently.

  So many questions whirred through Remy’s head that he could hardly keep

  them straight, but the exhaustion and the pain were overwhelming. He let his head fall back to rest on Shawn’s shoulder, and Shawn tightened his grip.

  “I missed you,” Shawn whispered into his ear. “So fucking much it hurt to

  breathe, sometimes.”

  Remy knew how he felt.

  “I spent half my time cursing you,” he said as Shawn buried his face in

  Remy’s neck and breathed in deeply. “The other half I spent wishing you were there.”

  “I’m here now,” Shawn responded thickly. “When they find me out, they’ll

  kill me, Remy. You can’t protect me for long. But I’m here now,” he said just before Remy turned in his embrace and kissed him.

  Shawn moaned like a man dying of thirst who’d just been given water, and

  Remy wrapped his arms around Shawn’s neck despite the pain in his arm.

  “What’s with the duct tape?” Remy asked as an edge of the duct tape on

  Shawn’s shoulder caught his skin and pulled at it.

  “Brandt,” Shawn growled as he brought Remy to him for another kiss. “Pull

  it off,” he murmured into Remy’s mouth.

  “Hmm. Huh uh,” Remy said as he pushed away from Shawn and really

  examined the monstrosity for the first time.

  Shawn looked like he was in full body armor. The duct tape went over his

  shoulder and under his arm and across his chest to circle his torso, and then around again to hold his arm to his body. Remy recognized that it was well done– if it had been an Ace bandage or something. He winced at the mere thought of what it would

  take to get it off.

  “Why did you let him do this to you?” he asked with a little laugh.

  “I had just been shot, if you’ll recall,” Shawn responded wryly.

  “You shot me in the ass, but I didn’t let you roll me up in sparkly ribbon,”

  Remy pointed out.

  They both stared at the silver wrap, as best Shawn could stare at it, anyway,

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  and they looked at one another at almost the same moment and smiled.

  “Shower?” Remy suggested hopefully, and Shawn grinned and kissed him

  hungrily one last time before taking his hand and pulling him toward the bathroom.

  XXVI.

  THIAGO watched wearily as Carl and Brandt loaded Bernard’s body into the back of

  Shawn’s 4Runner.

  Bernard had been a first-class asshole and a second-rate agent, which

  probably explained why he’d been relegated to Paint duty in the first place, and

  Thiago wasn’t lamenting his death. He was, however, worried about Remy’s mental

  state. He was also concerned about Brandt’s exceedingly odd behavior toward him,

  and Gray’s sudden lack of smartass remarks.

  In fact, where was Gray? Thiago pushed away from the wall he had been

  leaning against and looked around in concern. If that little bastard had slipped away, Thiago was going to kill him. Find him, fuck him, then kill him.

  As he scanned the dark garage, he heard Gray’s voice and relaxed slightly.

  “Just, you know, breathe,” the American was saying in a soothing voice.

  “He just shot him,” Nikolaus’s horrified voice said as the footsteps got closer

  to Thiago. “Just like that.”

  “That’s his job, kiddo. It’s what he does. It’s what we all do,” Gray justified

  as they walked through the doorway.

  Gray turned to look at Thiago and shrugged, and Thiago raised an inquiring

  eyebrow. Nikolaus walked on to the car and Carl put a comforting arm around him in greeting.

  Gray stood beside Thiago and whispered, “Been sheltering him, have you?”

  “Maybe,” Thiago said in a low voice. It was true. Every time in the last five

  or so months that someone had needed killing, Nikolaus had never been present. To Thiago’s knowledge, even Remy had managed to shield Nikolaus from the brunt of

  the carnage he’d been forced to inflict during those three months the two of them were alone. Nikolaus was a scrapper, but there were some things a glorified computer tech just didn’t need to know. “What did Remy say to you earlier?”

  Gray shrugged and began fishing around in his pockets for something.

  “Just… you know… Remybabble… where the hell did my… ?” He trailed off as

  Brandt came to stand in front of them. The big Australian was obviously off kilter, and he seemed to have doubled in size for some reason. Even Thiago swallowed

  nervously. Brandt held out his hand and offered Gray a pack of cigarettes.

  “Left ’em on the counter,” Brandt said in a friendly voice. What passed for

  Brandt-friendly, anyway.

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  “Err… thanks,” Gray replied uncertainly as he took the pack from Brandt

  and continued to slowly pat himself down as he pulled one of the cigarettes out of the pack with his teeth. Brandt held out his other hand and flicked his silver lighter open.

  Gray blinked and looked at him warily, but allowed him to light the cigarette anyway and then nodded in thanks.

  Thiago watched suspiciously. Seeing Brandt be nice to anyone outside of

  their little group was an extreme novelty, and Thiago could smell something fishy burning somewhere.

  “Did you get the transmitter out of that thing?” Thiago asked Brandt

  carefully.

  “No. I was going to stay behind and do it now,” Brandt said cheerfully.

  �
�That is, of course, if Asshole here is willing to take my place,” Brandt added with a friendly clap on Gray’s shoulder.

  “Uhh… sure,” Gray said with a sideways glance at Thiago. Thiago shrugged

  and the three of them walked to the car together. Thiago strolled up to the driver’s side window and tapped Carl on the shoulder.

  “Gray is under my protection, got it?” he informed the man, feeling a bit

  stupid saying the words. Like he was some mob boss or something. It didn’t matter, though, it got the point across. “We need him,” he added as Carl looked at him

  strangely.

  “I won’t hurt him,” Carl insisted with a little smile.

  “No ‘he slipped into the river’ or any of that shit,” Thiago warned with a

  grin.

  “No worries, mate.”

  Thiago and Brandt walked back and stood by the door as Carl pulled out of

  the garage, and as soon as they were out of sight and the door had closed, Thiago turned to Brandt to ask if he wanted help with his lighter.

  Brandt grabbed him and threw him up against the wall, knocking the wind

  out of him and shaking him angrily.

  “Tired of your bullshit, bossman! I want answers and I want them now!”

  “What the… what are you talking about?”

  “Jesus, Zed! You really have been networking!” Brandt said in surprise as he let Thiago slide down the wall and touch his feet to the ground once more. “No

  wonder you haven’t been letting me in on the big secrets. You didn’t know I was

  working for you, did you?”

  “You… wait, what?” Thiago asked as Brandt’s words sank in.

  “Code name Pyre, at your service,” Brandt said with a cheeky little salute

  and a grin.

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  “Pyre?” Thiago gasped as he looked at Brandt closer. Brandt nodded

  happily. “Jesus fucking Christ, Everett! Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  Thiago yelled as he smacked Brandt on the arm. “Do you know how fucking insane

  I’ve been going?”

  “Yeah, I can see that,” Brandt said with a nod as he turned to head back to

  the kitchen. “Hey, what the hell kind of name is the Archer, anyway? It’s bloody