Page 87 of Swamp Kings 1

He got back to his phone as Kult stopped next to him, inspecting for signs of injury. “What did Quantum do to you?”

He put the phone to his ear then lifted his chin, revealing clear finger marks on his neck. “Damn near crushed important cartilage.”

“Fuck. How did you stop him?”

“Fin.”

Kult turned, finding those icy blues on him. “I strategically restricted blood flow to his brain and primary muscle groups, inducing unconsciousness and temporary paralysis.”

Kult aimed his holy fuck look at Harlow who grinned.

“He’s got some pretty impressive blood controlling powers.”

No shit. Kult regarded him again. “Nice work, Finisher.”

He gave him a single nod while Kult had the urge to dig into his gaze and figure out what was different about him. Something was. He turned his ear to Harlow’s quiet conversation on the phone now, gathering an affirmative to the immediate meet up.

He made his way to Fin who stood before he reached him. “Where are they? Are they awake?” Kult asked.

“They are.” He regarded Fetch and Fathom engaged in communication he couldn’t detect, indicating they didn’t want anybody hearing. Interesting. “I’ll take you to them.”

“I’m coming,” Harlow called as they headed for the door. “The Marsh King and Co. are leaving their little party to come join ours.”

“I’m coming too,” Pain said, following.

Kult shot a finger at Atlas. “You too.” He wanted his baby in earshot. “And you,” he said to Sync.

“We’re right behind you,” Fetch called out.

“You may as well ask them to bring food,” Kult said. “I damn near went just to have the gumbo.”

Harlow snorted.

“What? I’m serious.”

Harlow handed him his phone as they headed for the Sanctuary Hall. “You can ask.”

Kult took it, glancing back to make sure Atlas was right behind him. He found the recent calls and hit the button.

“Mon frere,” the Bishop answered.

“Evening Bishop. It’s Kult. How much money will it take for you to bring me some of that gumbo?”

His deep laugh filled his ear. “That hospitality is a free one. How many are we feeding?”

“Uh, how many is he feeding?” he asked Harlow.

“Ten men,” Atlas hurried, like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

“I heard,” Bishop said. “We’ll be there with supper within the hour.”

“Merci boo-coo,” Kult said, practicing his French.

“Luh pleh-zeer eh too ah mwah, mon frere.”

Kult chuckled. “Sounds like a love note.”

Bishop gave an easy laugh. “I said it’s all my pleasure my brother.”

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