Eye For An Eye: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 3)

by Michael Anderle

  “Aunt Shay!” Alison shouted in the background.

  James laughed and waited for Alison to get back on the phone.

  Tyler gestured at the television. The news channel was running a story about the assault on the Harriken building and the chief of police was giving a prepared statement detailing the reasoning behind their obtaining of an extreme dead-or-alive organizational warrant.

  “Okay, people,” the bartender called. “We have official police confirmation of what went down and you’re all free to check for yourself, but my sources indicate the contract’s been withdrawn so I’m declaring all betting closed.”

  Half the bar groaned.

  “What the hell?” Ben exclaimed. “How could that fucker survive all that? And how the fuck does he have the Marines working for him?”

  Tyler shrugged. “He’s got the Devil’s own luck. What can I say? All I know is that Brownstone is alive and a lot of other guys are now dead.”

  Ben shoved up from the table at which he’d practically lived for the last couple of days. “Between all this shit and your side bet, you made tons of damned money.”

  “Like I said, hedging my happiness.” Tyler grinned. “And I don’t give a shit what they say. Money can buy happiness.”

  He didn’t want to admit he’d made several other private bets about Brownstone surviving. A lot of people were convinced the bounty hunter would ultimately die at the hands of the Harriken, but after the Camp Pendleton incident the bartender had become convinced of the opposite.

  “Fuck,” Ben muttered. “Maybe I should have thrown some money down on red.”

  Shay sipped her margarita. The Charlottesville bar she’d selected was a nice low-key place. Light country played in the background, but the crowd seemed more upscale than cowboy.

  The ambiance was secondary. A little booze after the last few stressful days was hitting the spot.

  Her gaze roamed the room. Two men at a table in the center caught her attention and made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, but she couldn’t figure out why.

  What am I missing?

  The men, both sipping beers, chatted quietly. There was nothing unusual about them, but something about the way they carried themselves insinuated itself into the back of her mind and wouldn’t go away.

  One of the men pulled out his phone and gestured to it and the other man leaned over and nodded.

  Go with instincts, but a little confirmation never hurts.

  Shay picked up her glass and walked toward the table, swaying and stumbling as if she were drunk. The men didn’t take any notice of her; they were intent on chatting about whatever was on the phone.

  She closed on their table and fake-tripped, letting out a yelp but keeping her drink upright. No reason to waste a perfectly good margarita. One of the men’s hands shot out and grabbed her arm to stabilize her.

  Good reflexes. Very good reflexes. Nice muscle tone. Not a good sign.

  “I’m so sorry,” Shay chirped in a higher-pitched voice than normal. “I guess I just can’t hold my liquor.” She giggled. “I got all turned around.”

  Kill me now if I have to keep this shit up for very long.

  “Maybe you should stick to sitting,” the man holding her arm told her. His gaze roamed her body and she resisted the urge to tell him off. She needed information, not sex.

  With the men distracted Shay took her chance and glanced at the phone—and maintained her self-control when she spotted a picture of Alison.

  The man holding the phone saw her looking his way and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

  Shay forced another fake giggle even though it hurt her soul. “I’m gonna head back to the bar. I didn’t realize how smashed I already am. Sorry, guys.” She gave them a little wave and swayed back to the bar.

  She took several deep breaths to try to slow her heart rate. There was no reason for the men to have a picture of Alison unless they were trying to get to Brownstone somehow. The contract had been canceled, so they wouldn’t gain anything by going after the girl.

  The ex-killer pulled out her own phone and held it up like she was going to take a selfie, but she made sure to angle the phone so the two men would be in the shot. After snapping the picture she forwarded it to Peyton and sent him a quick text.

  Need to know if these guys are trouble ASAP.

  Shay returned to sipping her drink and only occasionally glanced around the bar to verify the men were still there. A few minutes passed before Peyton texted her back.

  Both those guys are with Grayson PMC Services.

  Thanks, Peyton. That’s helpful.

  Shay sighed. The coincidence of two Grayson mercenaries being in a bar close to the School for Necessary Magic with a picture of Alison was far too great to ignore. She was going to have work a little to earn her magical sword after all.

  Jeeze. Almost feel bad taking that tachi from Brownstone. Honestly, the guy must not realize how much that thing is worth.

  Shay ordered another margarita and a glass of water. One trick she’d learned long ago was that if someone saw alcohol in front of a person they assumed they were drinking it. She needed the men—if they were aware of her at all—to just think she was another pretty drunk. That would be critical to the next part of her plan.

  About twenty minutes later the men got up to leave, and Shay rose and headed to the front while they were still standing over their table. She hurried out of the bar and peeked into a nearby alley. The security camera near the end might make things difficult for her.

  Shay stayed out of the camera’s view. She recognized the model; it transmitted its video wirelessly. She pulled a tiny signal jammer out of her pocket and activated it.

  “Can never be too paranoid.”

  “We doing this tonight or tomorrow, John?” a male voice asked. She recognized it as one of the Grayson men’s. She smiled to herself and turned toward the front of the bar.

  “You got something better to do?” the other mercenary wondered.

  Shay sauntered their way as they walked down the street, heading, she presumed, to one of the parked vehicles lining the road.

  “Hey, guys,” she called, fluttering her eyelashes and speaking in that higher pitch again. “I drank...a lot tonight.” She ran a hand up her side. “I’m Stephanie. What are your names?”

  “I’m John,” one of the men offered.

  “Kendrik,” the other chimed in.

  Shay leaned forward. A low-cut dress rather than a T-shirt and leather jacket might have been helpful right about then, but acting would have to make up for it.

  “Look, John, Kendrik,” she continued. “I’m so sorry about tripping. I could have spilled my drink on one of you handsome men.” She nodded toward the alley. “Maybe...I could make it up to you.” She licked her lips suggestively.

  The two men exchanged glances, lust flooding their eyes.

  “In the alley?” John asked.

  Shay bobbed her head. “I like it in the alley. It’s hotter that way.”

  Kendrik grinned. “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  He looked at John.

  The other man shrugged. “We can do the other thing tomorrow. Not like the girl’s going anywhere.”

  You’re damn right Alison’s not going anywhere.

  Shay sashayed into the alley and the two grinning men hurried after her.

  Once they’d stepped out of the view of the street, Shay reached into her back pocket and gestured for John and Kendrik to come closer.

  Both men stepped forward, eagerness on their faces.

  Shay pulled out a stiletto switchblade and pressed the button, and the blade extended with a click.

  “What was that?” John asked.

  Shay smiled. “Nothing. Just the thing that’s gonna kill you.” She slashed his throat in a lightning-fast strike.

  John fell to the ground with blood spraying from his throat.

  Kendrik blinked. “What the—”

  Shay di
dn’t let him finish the sentence. “Sorry, but not, boys.”

  After cleaning the blade and returning the knife to her pocket, Shay fished some gloves out of her jacket and retrieved the men’s wallets and phones. She could have Peyton deep-dive the phones later for information.

  She pulled their guns out of their shoulder holsters and tossed them on the ground. She removed their credit cards and cash and dumped those too, hoping the police would realize this wasn’t a simple robbery and pass the message on, even if indirectly.

  “Your bosses will leave my niece alone or Brownstone won’t be the only one with a vendetta.”

  The woman pulled out a small case and removed one of her cards, tapping it few times before putting it back.

  “No. They’ll just have to wonder.”

  25

  James leaned against the Humvee with his arms crossed and stared at the remains of his house. Now that the Harriken had been handled and the contract was over he could begin to move on with his life and try to recapture the simplicity that had defined it until recent events.

  A police siren blasted right behind him and he spun toward the source of the noise. The siren went silent, and James glared at the police car that had snuck up behind him somehow.

  Sergeant Mack stepped out of the car.

  “I knew you were there, dickhead,” James grumped. “I was just lost in thought.”

  Mack laughed. “Whatever, Brownstone.” He jerked his head at the house. “What’re you going to do? Since my main job is bounty processing, I know how much money you bring in. You could buy a nice house and not have to live in this shitty neighborhood.”

  “But I like this shitty neighborhood,” James mumbled. He stared at the house for a moment before continuing, “And I’m gonna rebuild. I’ve already got contractors and architects working on plans.”

  “Building a house? That’s going to take a while.”

  “Not really. Even with all those fines I made a lot of money on the Harriken bounties, and like you said, I’m not exactly poor. When you’ve got more money than God and can throw it at people, they work a lot faster. Big surprise.”

  Mack chuckled. “Unless they are Oricerans who can cast an ‘instant house’ spell, you’ll still have to live somewhere else for a while.”

  James shrugged. “There’s a motel nearby I can stay in.”

  “Bullshit. There’s no way I’m letting the city’s best bounty hunter crash in some shitty motel.”

  “You got a better solution?” James asked.

  The cop nodded. “Yeah, I do. Me and the missus own a studio apartment near our house that we rent out sometimes. It was supposed to be part of some grand real estate empire, but for now it’s just the apartment.” He shook a finger. “Don’t think this is some big favor, Brownstone. You’ll be paying me rent, and I’ll have someone to talk barbecue with. The missus gets tired of hearing me talk about it.”

  James grinned. “Okay, if you need me to help you, I guess I can do that.”

  Mack nodded at the bounty hunter. “I’ll see you around, Brownstone. I guess I’ll be seeing you around a lot.”

  The sergeant got back into his car and pulled away, and as soon as he turned the corner Trey’s F-350 burst around the opposite corner and sped toward James. The gang leader screeched to a halt and hopped out of his truck.

  “That was timely,” James remarked.

  Trey’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Huh?”

  “Oh, the cop leaves and you show up.”

  The gang leader laughed. “Oh. Motherfucker, I saw that 5-0 and I was not gonna be around him. I was just staying away, Big Man.” He looked up and down the street. “I’ve been hearing word that you’re not abandoning our fine hood.”

  James nodded. “Yep. Rebuilding. Right here.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “About four months.” The bounty hunter nodded toward the burned-out ruins. “Maybe faster, but only if the contractors can leave materials on the site.”

  Trey rubbed his chin. “Okay, I hear you, motherfucker. No bitch-ass thieves will be stealing from your new motherfucking house. It ain’t gonna be a good thing if anything goes missing, and if it does I’ll make sure it’s replaced by something better.”

  James stared at the gang leader in confusion for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay. Thanks, Trey.”

  “Welcome back, Mr. Brownstone. Welcome back.”

  Colonel Grayson narrowed his eyes at Major Tallmadge. “What do you mean they’re dead?”

  The major shrugged. “Both men were found dead in an alley, throats slit, wallets and phones gone.”

  “You’re telling me two of our men were killed in a simple mugging?” The colonel snorted and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t believe it.”

  “I don’t believe it either, Colonel.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Guns, credit cards, and cash were all left on scene. If it had been a robbery they wouldn’t have left all those valuables behind.”

  Colonel Grayson took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. “And we have absolute confirmation that Brownstone was in Los Angeles at the time?”

  “Unless he can be in two places at once, he wasn’t responsible for those men. There’s absolutely no indication that he was in Virginia either.”

  “This man killed dozens of men because of a fucking dog,” the colonel spat. “Our men just got caught in the crossfire. If those two men revealed they were with Grayson and Brownstone believes we’ve targeted his loved one he will come after us and finish us off.”

  Major Tallmadge shook his head. “But we don’t have any bounties on us. We’re a legal PMC services company.”

  Colonel Grayson slammed his fist on the desk. “There were no fucking bounties on the Harriken when he attacked them the first time and our men still ended up dead.”

  The major blinked and his face reddened, but he didn’t reply.

  The colonel took several deep breaths, his pulse still pounding in his ears. “Recall all of our men who are looking into the Brownstone matter. Let everyone know that Grayson will have nothing to do with James Brownstone, Class-Six bounty hunter. We won’t accept any work offers or contracts that involve attacking him or defending people from him.”

  “What about the Harriken offer? It’s a lot of money.”

  The colonel scoffed. “The Harriken are nothing in this city anymore, and probably nothing in this country. Let the fucking Harriken deal with Brownstone themselves. They’re the ones who started all this shit. For now, we’re going to keep out of Brownstone’s crosshairs.”

  “Stop looking at your damned truck,” Shay snapped, her tone sharp as a razor.

  James chuckled and tore his gaze away from his newly-refurbished F-350. It was sitting in the parking lot right outside the window.

  He focused on Shay and gestured around the dimly-lit restaurant. “Is this fancy enough for you? Even if it is a steakhouse, it’s in Beverly Hills.”

  The woman was more than satisfied with the restaurant. Even though James had suggested she pick she forced him to in the end…and he’d done well. Surprisingly well.

  “Maestro’s is fine,” Shay assured him, a smile creeping onto her face. “The waiters don’t have towels over their arms, but the tablecloths are white.” She gestured toward James. “And look at you, all fancy in your business casual. I like the sports coat, button-up, and slacks look on you, Brownstone. You clean up well.”

  James shrugged and looked down at his outfit. “I only had the clothes I was wearing at the time of the attack, and even those got shot up pretty badly, so I had to get a lot of new stuff.”

  “If you ever want fashion advice, I’ll be glad to offer it.”

  Shay couldn’t tell him right then and there how freaking delicious he looked in that outfit. She’d given up on trying to pretend to herself that she wasn’t into him, but she still wasn’t sure how he saw her, or even what kind of woman—or man for that matter—the bounty hunter mi
ght like.

  “There’s something I want to show you,” James told her, reaching into his jacket.

  Shay groaned and her eyes flicked around before she leaned towards him slightly and whispered, “You can’t pull a gun in here. This is a nice place, Brownstone. I don’t care what fancy new gun you bought.”

  James pulled out a small tubular authenticator device and placed it in front of her on the table. “Not being cultured isn’t the same thing as being stupid, Shay.” He pressed his thumb to the end. “It’s ready to key itself to your DNA.”

  Shay eyed the device. “And this unlocks...what, exactly?” She pressed her thumb against the end and a burning sensation signaled the removal of the top layer of her skin. The device beeped and she slipped it into an accessory she didn’t normally carry: a black clutch.

  “It’s the key to all your payments,” James explained, “courtesy of the Harriken, for you having to drop everything and fly to Virginia. I’ve got a few things in a safety deposit box for you. The Masamune and a couple other things. It turns out that some porcelain cups repaired with gold Ikeda had were artifacts. I was going to sell them, but I figured I owed you more than the sword.”

  “Kintsugi. That’s what it’s called. The repairing-cracks-with-precious-metals thing. Gold, silver, platinum; all were used.”

  “Yeah, well, these magical kintsugi cups filter poison and maybe do some other stuff; I don’t know. The Professor wasn’t sure when I asked him.”

  Shay sighed, thinking about the value of the Masamune tachi and the cups.

  It was too much.

  “I didn’t go to Virginia for a payday,” she murmured. “I…” She shook her head. She couldn’t tell him that she’d done it for him. “I did it for Alison.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m pretty sure the Harriken wanted you to have them.”

  Shay barked out a laugh, covering her mouth. “What?”

  James shrugged. “Well, at least I’m pretty sure they won’t mind. I didn’t get a chance to ask them before I killed them.”