Feared By Hell: The Revelations of Oriceran (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 1)

by Michael Anderle

  His survival told Shay that James must have pulled his punch. After everything she’d seen in Peru and in the house that night, she didn’t believe a normal human could survive such a blow. She wasn’t sure what Brownstone was—other than gay—but she refused to believe that he wasn’t relying on some sort of magic. Normal people just weren’t that strong.

  James kicked the pistol behind the last man.

  “I...apologize to the dog,” the Harriken wheezed. “Please spare me.”

  “He wasn’t just ‘the dog.’ He had a name.” Brownstone crossed his arms and glared down at the man. “His fucking name was Leeroy.”

  “Okay, okay.” The Harriken lifted his hand placatingly. “His name was Leeroy.”

  “You don’t get it. I want you to apologize to Leeroy using his name.”

  “But he’s dead.”

  “And you’re gonna join him soon.”

  The gangster managed to sit up, though one hand still rested on his stomach. A grimace seemed surgically attached to his face at this point. “But...you’re really here because you want to know where she is, right?”

  Brownstone crouched by the man. “I told you why I’m here. Because the Harriken murdered my dog.”

  “I told them not to do it. I told them we should leave you alone. I’d heard of you before.”

  “That’s an interesting story, but even if I believed it, I don’t fucking care.” Brownstone scratched at an eyebrow. “You were telling me how the Harriken would grow stronger, get their vengeance on me and come after everyone I love. Don’t you remember that?” He shrugged. “It wasn’t exactly ages ago. I know I hit you pretty hard, so maybe your memory is a little fuzzy. And I seem to remember a speech implying my dog wasn’t that important.” He stood again. “Makes me question your honesty, fuckface.”

  The spectacle transfixed Shay. Whether Brownstone was offering a casual discussion of barbecue or threatening to kill the Harriken over his dog, the feral menace never left his deep, growling voice. The man’s appetite for vengeance hadn’t been sated, despite killing almost everyone else in the house. The purity of the brutality was as fascinating as it was unsettling. To call him a killing machine would be insufficient.

  A force of nature, maybe.

  “I apologize to Leeroy,” the Harriken man said, now able to get his words out more steadily. “It was stupid of us to do what we did.”

  Brownstone snorted. “Stupid?”

  The Harriken prostrated himself. “It was wrong. We disrespected you. We disrespected Leeroy.” The man kept his forehead pressed against the floor. “But we know you want her, too. We know that’s why you’ve interfered with us.”

  Shay furrowed her brow. Brownstone hadn’t mentioned much about his previous work during their job together, though now that she thought about it, it made sense that the Harriken must have had some decent reason to come after him.

  Her first thoughts went to possible Harriken bounties, but the groveling gangster’s words suggested something more complicated. She doubted Brownstone was involved in any sort of Harriken scheme. The bounty hunter didn’t strike her as the type who would play too many sides against each other.

  Shay didn’t doubt his intelligence. It was more that she doubted his patience.

  “Interfered with you?” Brownstone repeated. “It’s more like when I go somewhere, you assholes show up and cause trouble for me.” He let out a weary sigh. “And that first time, I was just trying to pay a favor back for someone who helped me find my dog. You see how that works? You help me with my dog, I help you. You kill my dog, I kill you. Fucking simple, right?”

  The man on the ground swallowed, but didn’t respond.

  “Your first two guys could have turned around and left. Or you guys could have never come to my house. Or killed my dog.” Brownstone shrugged. “If you’d refrained from doing that I wouldn’t have gotten in your face. I wouldn’t have had to kill any of you, just like I didn’t kill those first two assholes. Fuck, I don’t give a shit about bounties on small fry like you. It’s not worth my time. Right now, I’m just trying to decide if I need two guys running around telling people why they shouldn’t go after me, or only one. ‘Cause I got one guy already upstairs still alive.”

  Shay nodded to herself. She’d been wrong about why Brownstone wanted the man alive, but she’d been smart not to kill him.

  The gangster raised his head, his mouth pressed into a thin line. It was a hard thing to stare death right in the face. The man was used to being on the other end of this kind of exchange.

  Some might call it karma in action.

  Shay wondered if Brownstone really cared that much about bounty money. His skills meant he could have easily made a lot of cash if he were willing to help the right kind of corrupt people. An enforcer who could tear apart a house filled with armed men would be a useful weapon for plenty of organized crime groups, let alone terrorist groups, rogue nations, and God knew what sort of weirdos from Oriceran. In the chaos of the current world, it was smart to collect all the weapons you could.

  Killing some blood-magic warlocks in a narrow tunnel was one thing, but the assault on the Harriken headquarters proved that Brownstone wasn’t remotely allergic to violence, and didn’t need self-defense as an excuse to kill.

  Money couldn’t be a big motivation for him, but then... The pieces didn’t fit together, and Shay felt like she was missing something.

  The tomb raider resisted a sigh. She didn’t want to alert Brownstone to her presence.

  She’d seen enough. The bounty hunter obviously didn’t need her help, and he could finish up with the remaining Harriken man without her spying on him. She stepped around the corner and crept back up the stairs, the sound of the conversation fading into the distance.

  James stood in silence for a good minute, glaring down at the Harriken and trying to decide if he would kill the man or let him live. Not out of mercy, of course, but so that the gangster could tell anyone who’d listen what happened when people fucked with James Brownstone or anything he loved.

  That was only part of his motivation for falling quiet. James had been so focused on watching the man that he almost missed it, but at last moment, he’d heard the faint footfalls of someone creeping down the stairs. Whoever it was probably hid down the hallway and listened to the exchange before they snuck back upstairs.

  James had been waiting for them to come around the corner the entire time.

  He chuckled. Some stupid Harriken, probably some idiot out buying cigarettes, had come back to the house and then chickened out after seeing the James’ redecoration. The distraction’s departure meant James was back to trying to decide the fate of the man kneeling in front of him.

  “I’m honestly stumped whether I should kill you,” he admitted.

  “I-I didn’t want to be involved with it,” the Harriken man said. “I’ll tell you where she is. You can get her then. Sell her. Right? Let me live, and I’ll tell you where. A man like you will know what to do with her.”

  James didn’t have the remotest clue who the Harriken man was babbling about, but more to the point, he didn’t care.

  “Are you seriously trying to fucking negotiate with me? You don’t get it, do you, asshole? Get it through your fucking head, already—you don’t have anything I want, other than your life.”

  The other man wiped some sweat from his brow and trembled. “Mount Baldy. There’s an old resort that’s been converted to a private chalet. The Belmont House. She’s there.”

  James scrubbed his face with a hand. “If it’s not a bounty or not personal, I don’t give a shit. And some Harriken shit on Mount Baldy is neither of those.”

  It was one thing to kill a man in battle, but he was having a hard time working up his bloodlust with this pathetic fool begging for his life and about to wet himself. Most of the house had been cleared.

  Maybe that was enough.

  The bounty hunter threw up a hand and turned to head down the hallway. “Guess it’s your
lucky day. You annoyed me into not killing you, and I think I made my point. Tell everyone you know what happened here and why. Make it fucking super-clear that if anyone even so much as sniffs around me without my permission, I will end them.”

  Even though the feeds from the security drones were likely being transmitted to a backup location, it wouldn’t be good enough to just see him. Leaving survivors was still useful. He needed to be sure that everyone knew who had taken out the base, and the exact reasons why.

  “I will,” the man called from behind him.

  James had made it halfway down the hall when he heard the scrape of metal on cement.

  Fucker. I gave you more than enough chances.

  He spun, his hand dropping to one of his backup pistols.

  The Harriken man held his pistol, but hadn’t stood yet. Maybe if he’d fired from a crouch, he would have had a chance.

  Three quick 9mm bullets exploded from the bounty hunter’s gun. The Harriken jerked with each shot before collapsing to the ground, groaning quietly. Blood leaked from his chest and mouth.

  James holstered his weapon and stared at the man for a few seconds. He’d given the bastard more than a few chances, and even demonstrated a little forgiveness and mercy.

  Father McCartney would be proud. He’d practically turned the other cheek. Well, only after killing a shit-ton of men, perhaps, but he had at least tried. Maybe he could count that as turning half a cheek. After all, he’d sworn to kill every last one of them and he hadn’t, right? Did two wrongs make a right?

  His shoulder and sides still burned. His coat might have been filled with the implements of death, but none of their opposites—not even a bandage. He kept more than a few first aid supplies in his truck, because he assumed that if he couldn’t make it back to his truck he was probably dead.

  The bounty hunter stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

  Wait. I feel like I’m forgetting something.

  James grunted. He’d almost forgotten the diamonds and jewelry.

  He would have liked more time to liberate some valuables from the men he’d defeated, but he knew that since the shooting had stopped, somebody would be on their way to investigate. There was only so long a neighbor would tolerate dead guys in front of the house across the street.

  Guess it’s time to grab and dash.

  13

  Shay leaned against her Spider with her arms crossed. She’d thought about leaving, but wanted Brownstone to know she’d at least bothered to show up. Even if she didn’t play well with others—especially men—that didn’t mean the tomb raider didn’t understand the importance of building trust.

  Brownstone emerged from the house and glanced down at the Harriken Shay had knocked out earlier before looking at her. She gave him a quick, casual wave and waited for him to walk over to her.

  “You’re about the last person I expected to see here,” Brownstone told her when he reached her. Weariness infused his voice, not unexpected after annihilating an entire house full of hardened killers.

  Shay shrugged. “I wanted to talk to you, so I stopped by your house.”

  “And?”

  “I got suspicious and poked around. I thought something had happened to you, and then I found Leeroy’s grave. I’m sorry, Brownstone. You got dealt a shit hand.”

  “And why did you come here?” he asked, blunt as usual.

  “You’re a useful guy to have on treasure hunts. If you’re gonna die, I’d prefer it be fighting off warlocks trying to steal zombie rods rather than random gangsters.”

  James grunted. “The only people who died tonight were Harriken.”

  Shay waved a hand dismissively. “Fair enough. Point is, I showed up and saw that everyone was dead inside. I figured you had it handled, and I didn’t want to poke around in some spooky basement.”

  “You’ll go into an Inca tomb, but a basement bothers you?” he wondered.

  “Funny how that works.” The tomb raider grinned.

  Lying came easily and naturally to Shay, but a twinge of guilt hit her. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want Brownstone to know she’d witnessed his encounter.

  The bounty hunter grunted and nodded at the house. “I killed everyone in there except one guy at the door, as you know. I was going to let one more guy go, but he tried to take a shot at me.”

  “That was dumb.”

  “Yeah.”

  Shay stared into his eyes for a moment, looking for any sign of remorse. Failing to find that, she sought pleasure. She didn’t find that either.

  Brownstone had done what he needed to do to avenge his dog. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Blood soaked his shirt on the side and on his shoulder. The man’s t-shirt was more a shredded rag than a piece of clothing at this point.

  Shay had spotted the stiffness in his movements when she was watching him in the basement. This close to him, the bullet wound was obvious.

  “Do I need to take you to the hospital?” She shrugged. “Or do you use some back-alley surgeon?”

  Brownstone shook his head and gingerly moved his arm. “Bullet went clean through. I have a first-aid kit in my truck. I can just sew it up.”

  Shay eyed him with open disbelief. “You’re tough, but you’re not gonna be able to sew up your own shoulder with one hand.” She sighed. “Fortunately for you, I’ve done this sort of thing before.”

  “Knew a bunch of lowlifes like me who wouldn’t go to the hospital?”

  “Something like that.”

  After shrugging the unwounded shoulder, the bounty hunter turned and started toward his truck. Shay followed him the few blocks, leaving her car where it was.

  When they got to his vehicle, Brownstone pulled the first aid kit out of the backseat and then a spare faded t-shirt out of the front seat.

  Shay almost laughed. It was like he’d expected to survive, but lose his shirt. That made her wonder how often he wiped out large gangs.

  Maybe it was Brownstone’s idea of a fun weekend.

  A quip came to her lips, but it never made it out. Instead, she found her attention locked on the man’s body. It wasn’t that she hadn’t noticed his muscles before, but with his shirt off, his rock-hard abs forced her attention despite the weeping slashes in his side and the bullet wound.

  The man was the captain of Ripped Town, USA. The savant of six-packs… No, the president of Rippedtopia. Even with the ridges on his face and the odd birthmarks, she could see how a woman could be into him.

  Frowning, Shay tried to push the thoughts out of her head. She wasn’t interested in Brownstone that way, and even if she were, it didn’t matter because the guy was gay. Sewing up wounds was more important than some stupid man’s abs and pecs.

  She forced her eyes up. “Got any topical anesthesia or anything?” After a few seconds, she added, “Maybe some magical shit?”

  Curiosity propelled the question, along with a desire to probe the mysterious bounty hunter’s life just a bit more. The more she learned about him, the better she’d be able to put together the puzzle of the truth behind the man.

  Brownstone grunted. “I don’t like magic much. I avoid it when possible.”

  “Oh?” Shay found the statement hard to believe, but pissing him off after he’d killed a houseful of Harriken didn’t have much upside for her.

  “Guns and bandages are more reliable,” he continued.

  “Not disagreeing, Brownstone.” Shay shrugged.

  His choice of words struck her as very deliberate. The man was comfortable enough around magical artifacts to help out on raids for Inca zombie wands, and he’d obviously done a lot of work for the Professor. He probably had a few artifacts stashed somewhere for difficult bounties.

  “Getting shot hurts a lot more than getting the wound stitched up,” Brownstone muttered.

  Shay pulled out some disinfectant gel, gut, and a needle from the first aid kit. Her skilled hands soon closed all the bounty hunter’s wounds. His face barely moved as she pierced his skin and su
tured it.

  “There. Can’t say you won’t scar, though.”

  “They can join the club. Thanks for the help.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Shay stopped her finger from instinctively tracing some of the other scars on his body. They drew her in: each a mark of the man’s life-and-death struggles. A person didn’t really know who they were until their life was on the line, so Brownstone must have had a hell of a good idea of exactly who he was.

  “Hey, you like barbecue?” the bounty hunter rumbled.

  “Seriously? You’re asking that now?”

  “Why not?” Brownstone shrugged. “I’m hungry, and I didn’t eat before coming here for my errand.” He slipped on the gray t-shirt. “We’re not that far from Pork Gods, and they are open late.”

  Shay stared at Brownstone, trying to process that the man wanted to go for some barbecue right after dishing out that bloodbath in the house.

  Then her stomach rumbled. A meal might be nice.

  “’Pork Gods?’” Shay snickered. “They think pretty highly of themselves. But, yeah, sure, whatever.”

  Thirty minutes later James sat across from Shay in a booth at Pork Gods, a gargantuan tray of ribs sitting between them. He’d not said much since placing the order, instead taking the time to polish off a good number of ribs. Killing criminals really did work up an appetite.

  James bit into a new rib, enjoying the interplay between the taste of the pork and sauce. He concentrated on verifying the sauce’s ingredients. Menus didn’t always tell the truth.

  Cumin, chili pepper, some black pepper, onions, and tomato, at least. A hint of a couple other ingredients touched his tongue, but he couldn’t figure them out. James sniffed the meat but still couldn’t identify the mystery components.

  An old flat-panel TV on the wall in the corner caught his attention. Some country station was playing a concert video. An Elf woman in a ruffled dress covered in shimmering translucent metallic scales sang, her voice ethereal yet comforting, while steel guitars and fiddles accompanied her. Waves of color pulsed through her dress. Magic or technology—it was hard to tell.