The final button was free, and he let the shirt drop to the ground, revealing the maze of scars covering his chest. There was a myriad of shrapnel wounds, bullet wounds, burns, and a very compelling knife gash twelve inches long. Not one of his scars had been cleaned up or mitigated with plastic surgery; he wore them like badges of honor. Rys had not had the time, or the luxury to be concerned with cosmetics. There was always another battle waiting to be fought, and not enough soldiers to fight it. His focus was centered on healing as quickly as possible, and be ready to defend his world again, shoulder to shoulder with his brother soldiers. He considered dealing with the aftermath of his wounds as trivial, and a waste of valuable resources.
That attitude served him well in this moment. Seth and Dustin took a long look at the scars on his chest, their definition heightened by the car’s headlights. They both took a hasty step back in unison, horrified by what they had seen. All of the blood drained from their faces, leaving them looking like a pair of twin specters. Greg looked aghast as if he were going to be sick, his eyes vacillating. They kept darting away, and then turning back again, both fascinated and repulsed in their turn.
Brandon just looked stunned, as if unable to comprehend what his eyes were telling him.
Rys’s voice emerged quiet, firm, and barely loud enough to reach them. Even to his own ears he sounded sinister, like a harbinger of doom. “I have stood squarely in the mouth of hell, Brandon Bloch. Moreover, I made the conscious decision to march straight into that fiery inferno and fight with the devil himself. Do you honestly believe that a bat, a crowbar, and two unarmed teenagers can even muster my attention?”
Brandon paused for a moment, and then reached inside the waistband of his pants, drawing a compact military-issued pistol. Rys knew he’d been concealing something under that baggy sports jersey, his gut clenched at the confirmation of what that something was. “Whatever you are, you aren’t bullet proof,” Brandon rasped. He aimed the weapon directly at Rys’s head, but his hand shook, and his knuckles were bone white on the grip.
Rys accessed the zoom function in his right eye, examining the gun in closer detail than Brandon could with a magnifying glass. When he found what he was looking for, he nearly laughed out loud in relief. As it was, he did let out a short derisive snort. “You’re no killer, Brandon Bloch.”
“You want me to prove it?!” Brandon screamed, on the verge of hysteria. His other hand came up to the handle of the gun, in a vain attempt to steady it.
“Not with that gun, you won’t. The safety is still on.”
Brandon froze in shock, and then yanked the gun close to his own face to see for himself. Rys just watched him, like some class B formula sit com…and waited.
“Guardians,” Brandon whispered, shaking his head in visible confusion. “You’re right, why in the world would you tell me that?!”
“I told you because you are not a killer. I could have easily taken that gun away from you, snapped off the safety, and killed you where you stood. I would have been justified, since you were an imminent threat to my life. I will only kill to defend those I love. Killing a man in cold blood, for no other reason than petty jealousy or vengeance, requires more evil than you will ever possess.” Rys inclined his head to the three teenagers that were growing rapidly more agitated and nervous at the unexpected turn of events. “Beating me to a pulp is one thing. Killing me? I don’t think either you or your friends are ready for the consequences of that action.”
“We’d hide your body,” Brandon blurted out defensively, unwilling to let victory slip from his grasp. With his back to his friends, he couldn’t see the alarmed looks that statement earned him.
“That might fool your father, but I sincerely doubt it, he’s a very bright man. Even if you get past him, you’ll never escape my Strike Team. Are you prepared to be hunted like animals for the rest of your—very short—lives?” Rys shook his head, abruptly tired of this whole conversation. He reached down and picked up his shirt, shrugging it back on, but left it unbuttoned for the moment. “Just be absolutely clear on this single fact, Brandon. It takes more than one bullet to stop me. You have seen the evidence with your own eyes, there is no brag or exaggeration. Be prepared, if you pull that trigger, to pull it again, and keep pulling until the magazine is empty. Even that may not be enough to save you. Nothing less than that will keep me from coming for you.”
Without pausing to see how this graphic scenario was being received, he simply turned on his heel and started walking back toward the main road.
The absolute silence behind him was so thick it was almost tangible.
Despite his cool manner, and his confident words, Rys didn’t feel any real connection to what was going on behind him. For a moment, it felt as if he were divorced from his own emotions, as if he were on the outside of his head and looking at the events of some third party. But he shook off the sensation and forced himself to walk slowly and steadily, one foot in front of the other, refusing to look back. If he showed any doubt or hesitation, his bluff would be blown, and Brandon really would shoot.
If he does not buy my well executed chess move, then I guess I get shot. Hopefully not near my right eye, Doc would dig me up and kill me again. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea I have ever come up with, but it was the only one I could think of that didn’t involve killing Brandon outright.
Rys didn’t breathe normally until he was on the pavement again, well out of range of those four pathetic punks. With nothing but empty countryside around him, his mind returned from that strange pre-battle state it sometimes went into. Only then did he begin to realize exactly what had just happened. He had to resist the urge to throw his head back and let out a primordial scream, or rant until he was blue, or throw heavy objects. Something, anything.
What crime had he committed, in his short sojourn with the Bloch family that was terrible enough to trigger this? Brandon must have some very serious self-esteem issues, to come out of his skin like that. His soul must have been so consumed with jealousy that he was willing to blow his entire future to make that noise in his head disappear.
His father has praise for me, but never for his son. Granted, Brandon never did anything that was praise worthy, but…that was still wrong. Very wrong.
Rys was undecided if he should call anyone now or not. He snorted, amused at himself. None of my training manuals covered this situation, that’s for sure. His teammates would come on the run in an instant, of course, with no questions asked. But Jeremy…what on earth could he possibly say to Jeremy about tonight?
The truth usually works! a sarcastic voice accused in the back of his head. That kid has some dangerous problems that need to be addressed.
He tried to ignore that responsible side of his nature. He was sure that Brandon would never try to pull a stunt like this with him again.
Not with me, no. He wouldn’t dare, but he might try it with someone else. Brandon is a loose cannon, with plenty of ammo and a short fuse. Do I have the right to put someone else at risk, knowing what he could be capable of?
He hated being logical at times; it could be a real nuisance.
Headlights washed over him, ending his revelry. He glanced back, just to make certain the car wasn’t aimed at him. He wanted to be sure that Brandon had not had a latent boost of false courage, and was going to try running him over instead.
The car, a small coupe that he knew very well, swerved to the far shoulder and screeched to an abrupt stop. Rys stopped as well, staring in amazement as Anne’s head popped into view above the roof of her car.
“Rys! What on earth are you doing out here so late? And why are you walking? You’re miles from town!”
“Anne,” he sighed in open relief. Surely she was a gift dispatched from heaven itself. In this complex, and often contradictory culture, Anne had always been a solid source of advice and counsel. Surely she would be able advise him on the best way to handle this dilemma.
“Stop standing there like a statue and get in!” s
he barked.
Rys did just that, hastily buttoning up his shirt as he headed for the car. It would have prompted a whole new line of questions he was not prepared to answer, if she caught a glimpse of his chest.
He sank into the seat and buckled in immediately. Buckling up was always a good move when Anne Dorian was at the wheel. Lead foot didn’t do the woman justice. He could probably locate the impressions of her toes in the carburetor, if he popped the hood.
She surprised him tonight, not taking off with her trademark squeal of tires, just a slow and steady acceleration. He realized why after a moment. She was so intent looking at him, that she wasn’t paying any attention to the road.
“Are you…all right?” she asked hesitantly, searching his face for clues. “I’ve seen road kill with better color.”
Rys considered how to answer her truthfully, without giving too much away. “I’m still alive and in one piece. That’s…better than what I probably had a right to expect, after what almost went down.”
Anne’s eyes were huge with alarm. “What nearly happened?”
“I came close to being shot.”
“WHAT?!” That lone hyper accentuated word was still reverberating in the confines of the small car when she hit the brakes and demanded, “You weren’t really hit? You’re not hurt, right?! Say something!”
“There are no holes, I wasn’t hit, I’m not hurt,” Rys assured her quickly. “I managed to talk my way out of a tight situation. But, wow it was a close one, Anne. It could have gone either way.” He let his head slump back against the headrest, eyes shut against a wave of weariness as the adrenaline finally ebbed out of his system.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when she unexpectedly grabbed his hand, fingers interlocking with his, as if she were determined to hang on to him at all costs. He realized he was still far too keyed up, if her touch alone triggered that kind of reaction in him. He had never ever felt threatened by Anne, or even uncomfortable in her company. She met his eyes, looking frightened, worried, and grimly determined all at the same time. That expression was almost as reassuring as her firm grip on his hand.
“Tell me what happened,” she commanded in a lower voice, putting the car back into motion, while his ears were still rings from her initial response.
“It was an ambush,” he began, then frowning at his regrettable choice of words. He hadn’t meant to start out that way and hastily regrouped, trying to organize his thoughts on the fly. “I had a suspicion it might be, when someone unexpectedly invited me to go out with him. I wanted very much to be proven wrong. I hoped it was some odd cultural bonding tradition with guys in this society. But when I stepped out of the car, and saw the other three guys waiting for us, armed with a baseball bat and a crowbar, I knew my instincts were still trustworthy. They were all for handing me a good beating, and hoping I would crawl off into the bushes to die.”
He swallowed hard, muscles tensing as he relived the moment. “I broke it down for them in terms they could understand. I let them know that there was no way that they could best me, either alone or as a group. I am a creation of war, born in conflict, tempered and honed to a razor’s edge in the forges of the battle field. They would have had no chance of surviving a conflict with me. They were standing down, when one of them pulled a gun.”
Anne’s breath hissed in between her teeth.
“I knew that I only had one chance to convince him of what a poor idea that gun was.” Rys suddenly realized with a start that he was holding onto Anne’s hand with a death grip. Taking a deep breath he consciously relaxed his hold before he accidentally broke her fingers. From the look on her face, he doubted she noticed. “I let him know that if he pulled that trigger, he had to be prepared to keep pulling it. It would take more than a single bullet to stop me. He also needed to be sure he was prepared to die; because I would come at him with everything I had, holding nothing back.”
“And then…?” she prompted, encouraging him to go on when he faltered.
“And then I turned my back on him and walked away.”
A long silent moment ensued. Rys slowly turned his head to look at her, wondering why she hadn’t said something. She was staring at him, stunned and shaken; it looked like the steering wheel might be taking the brunt of her emotions, judging from the white knuckles on her left hand.
“That’s it?” she demanded in a hoarse croak. “You just walked away? With a gun pointed at your back?”
“Yes.”
“He could have shot you!”
“Yes,” Rys agreed, with a soul cleansing sigh. “There was that possibility. I did not believe he would, however.”
The pressure from her grip on his hand increased until it was almost painful. Startled, he searched her face closely trying to divine what she was thinking. Great Guardians, was she actually crying? Appalled, and definitely out of his league, he hesitantly reached over and brushed the tears from the corners of her eyes. “Why are you crying?” he whispered, fighting for a chance to understand.
“Because you would have let him shoot you!” she managed to choke out the words, the tears coming faster now; faster than he could dispatch them. “Because I could have lost my best friend tonight, and I might never have known what happened. Rys, what were you thinking?”
“I’m not sure I was,” he admitted slowly, “I believe I was in a purely reactive posture.” In the aftermath, with perfect 20/20 hindsight, he analyzed all of his assumptions and actions. “I believe I’ve faced death too many times, Anne. It has ceased to scare me anymore.”
“Well, it scares the life out of me!” Anne pulled over and grabbed his face with both hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. “Don’t you ever, ever do that again, do you understand me? Your life is extremely precious, to me, if not to you! I will not allow you to die, and leave me all alone to mourn your passing. ARE WE CLEAR?!”
He stared back into her eyes with awe, visibly taken back by the dawning realization that she meant every word. She actually cared about what happened to him. It was important to her. That opened up a world of feelings and possibilities he did not even suspect existed. Standing in that now wide open spill gate, he was inundated with unimagined emotions so intense that he felt like he was in danger of being helplessly swept away. So this is what it feels like to be truly alive? It was pure, undiluted happiness, and it was strolling hand in hand with incredible responsibility. Great Guardians, he wasn’t sure if he was cut out for this degree of…intensity.
“Rys, I need a straight answer, now!” Anne had grown impatient with his silence. She had a burning expression in her eyes that left no doubt she would gladly race into the jaws of the eternal pit itself to retrieve him. “You will not die on me, promise me that!”
“Yes ma’am,” he managed to whisper past his constricted throat.
“Good, I am going to hold you to that.” She released her grip on his face, only to throw her arms around his shoulders, holding him tightly.
Rys returned her embrace, burying his face into her neck, breathing in the heady aroma of her hair. How had he failed to realize just what his life meant to her?
And for that matter, what about the other people in his life? Gremlin, Snails, Erksome, his brother Captains, Jeremy and Sara, his new siblings….in the heat and intensity of the moment, what had he almost done?
Dear merciful Guardians, what fit of madness nearly ran me to ground? I was taught to survive at all costs! You can’t continue the fight, if you don’t survive. A shiver of cold realization spread through his body, like a stone tossed into a still pond. What if Brandon had actually shot him? His arms tightened instinctively around her, refusing to let the flood take him.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her long hair.
“You’d better be,” she whispered back. “You deducted five years off of my life with that stunt. You better give me a good reason to get them back.” Pulling away slightly, she focused on his face. “Are you going to tell me who ambushed you tonight?”
Rys blinked, remembering he was so focused on telling Anne the whole tale, he failed to mention any names. “It was Brandon and his friends.”
“Brandon…” she repeated dumbfounded. “Brandon Bloch?”
“Affirmative.”
Words seemed to fail her completely, as the impossible weight of his words reached her. “That’s…really not…good.”
“You have nailed the target. I have no idea what I am going to say to Sara and Jeremy,” he sighed.
“So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted hopelessly. “I need to think about how to approach this. This is well beyond of my field of expertise.”
“We’ll put our heads together and come up with something,” she promised him.
She let him go after a few moments, mopping her face with the sleeve of her shirt, wiping away the remaining traces of her tears. “I need some serious chocolate, and lots of it.”
“Chocolate?” he repeated, surprised at this random pronouncement out of the blue.
“Rule number three in the cannon code for dealing with women successfully, Rys. We always require chocolate when upset or tired.”
Rys pondered this unexpected gem of information. “How odd, I have experienced that exact phenomenon when training with my men. I never attempt to take them to the limit when they exhibit signs of low blood sugar.”
She rewarded him with that crooked smile, the one that said she wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, or how to respond. “Are you up for some insanely good ice cream?”
He needed more of her right now, her sanity, her calmness, her comforting attachment to him. If ice cream was the way to keep her with him for a while longer, he would eat it until he was sick. “Always. Are there any ice cream shops open this late?”
“There’s one, and one is all we need.”
Chapter Thirteen
Anne ordered a complicated concoction with an obscene amount of chocolate in it. Rys went with something a little tamer, a sherbet blend that was sweet on the tongue, and a welcome relief to his overheated body.
Special Forces 01 Page 19
