The treasure hunter swallowed. She knew about people with no limits. She used to be one. Maybe still was.
Shay knelt and found a large rock. She pulled out her knife and scratched Leeroy’s name, the current year, and “You will be avenged” underneath. She wished she knew what year the dog had been born so she could add it to the stone. Maybe she’d ask Brownstone the next time she saw him, if he’d not gotten himself killed already.
“Damn it.” Shay stood and walked back toward her Spider. Leeroy’s death had nothing to do with her, but that didn’t mean she was going to let Brownstone get himself killed. She had a pretty good idea where he would be partying that night.
A sick smirk grew on her face. The good thing about the Harriken being such arrogant douchebags was that they didn’t hide much. They didn’t think they had anything to fear. Anyone in Los Angeles with an ounce of street knowledge knew the location of their headquarters.
“Am I really going to do this?” Shay muttered to herself. She started the car. “Fuck it. I was bored anyway.” She slammed down the accelerator and peeled out.
Shay’s initial plan had been to do a quick recon of the house; just a simple drive-by to check out the number of guards out front. That plan ended the second she spotted the two downed Harriken guards near the front of the house. The broken and cracked front door lying on the lawn made it clear that Brownstone had already begun his revenge assault.
“Subtle,” Shay muttered.
Still, she could admire the direct approach. Killing someone should be an up-close and personal affair. If you didn’t get a little blood on you, you were being a pussy.
Of course, charging in the front door was its own special form of moronic. A smarter play would have been to go around the back or climb up the side for a second-story entry. Strolling in the entrance went past moronic to downright insane.
At least for most men. Brownstone had proven once again that he wasn’t like most men. Not even close.
During the entire drive over, Shay had kept trying to tell herself that it wasn’t her business. It had nothing to do with field archaeology. Nothing to do with her.
Still, somehow she’d convinced herself to drive halfway across town to attack Harriken headquarters and help avenge the murder of the dog of a guy she didn’t even like that much.
Plus, the man didn’t give her a second look.
You better damn well be gay, Brownstone. Frustrating didn’t even begin to describe the situation. Idiotically frustrating, maybe.
“What the hell am I doing?” Shay ran her hands through her dark hair and sighed.
Brownstone was already inside, and the angry fool might need her help. If she didn’t help him out, the next person who ended up in a shallow grave might be her. The Harriken might go after all the bounty hunter’s associates.
The assholes had murdered a dog. It wasn’t like she could be assured that there was no photo of her standing beside her recent partner. The Harriken were thorough when they felt they had been disrespected.
Self-preservation served as a nice excuse for Shay to help. It was time to get involved.
Shay parked along the street and rolled her window down. She waited for thirty seconds, listening for the sounds of closing sirens. She didn’t want to tangle with a deploying SWAT team. Shooting at criminal scum was one thing, pissing off the authorities quite another.
The last thing she needed was for anyone to go digging into her past. She’d worked too hard to escape it.
Not even a hint of approaching cops reached her ears. Even the nearest cars sounded far away.
It was just a nice, quiet little neighborhood street where a man was engaged in the bloody revenge-fueled massacre of a ruthless criminal gang.
If that didn’t scream AMERICA!, nothing did.
The neighbors probably knew not to get involved in Harriken business, and the cops might have been paid to look the other way. In either event, the circumstances granted her what she needed most. Time to check things out.
Taking a look inside didn’t mean she was committing to dying in order to pull Brownstone out of his own shit.
After a quick pat of her holster and sheath, Shay threw the car door open and stepped outside.
“I’m as stupid as Brownstone,” she muttered to herself, drawing her gun. “Not even gonna make any money off this shit.”
Shay rushed toward the house in a zigzag pattern. Assuming the entire enemy force had been completely devastated might get her killed. For all she knew, Brownstone was bleeding out inside, and a Harriken sniper was aiming down his sights and waiting for reinforcements to pick off. Helpful reinforcements like her.
The frustrated field archaeologist’s arrival at the front door remained uncontested. No sniper blew her head off.
Nice night so far.
The front door more closely resembled a front hole. Two Harriken enforcers lay on the ground. One man’s head hung at an unnatural angle, and his head and face were smashed in from what looked like extreme blunt-force trauma.
Shay eyed the body with clinical detachment, wondering if Brownstone’s punches could do that kind of damage. Whether or not they could, the even and wide bruising patterns didn’t support that theory. Something else had killed the man.
What kind of weapon did you use, Brownstone? Did you show up with a shovel or something?
Killing the men with the shovel he had used to bury his dog would be poetic. And badass.
Her gaze traveled to the hole and to the cracked and bloodstained door lying on the lawn. Her eyes widened.
No, not a shovel.
“What the fuck?” Shay whispered.
Did you seriously use a guy as a battering ram, Brownstone? I don’t know if I’m impressed or fucking terrified. Must be a little of both.
The
