“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.”
Brownstone 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?”
“Funny how that works.” Shay 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 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. He must wipe out large gangs on a schedule.
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 played for the other team. 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 sutured 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. Each one drew her in as 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. 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.
Her stomach rumbled. A meal might be nice.
“’Pork Gods?’” Shay snickered. “They think pretty highly of themselves. But, yeah, sure, whatever.”
Chapter Nine
The sun started to rise on Shay’s drive to Warehouse Two. A new day for another new change in her life. She was less annoyed with having to move than having to do it so quickly.
This time she could genuinely say she didn’t have it coming. She just happened
