Page 3 of Shephard

My brother’s voice did nothing but irritate me. I hadn’t talked to him in years, long enough I couldn’t remember the last time. Jagger was only two years younger, a man who reminded me of myself in drive and intensity. I’d picked up the unknown call out of the blue. It was something I never did. “I like it that way.”

“Yeah, well, I was hounded by our father for over a month to find you.”

“How did you?” I’d left an organization I’d spent a good part of my life serving after leaving the military, only to find myself floundering for answers.

They’d never come and I doubted they ever would.

“I have my sources. You of all people should know that. You are coming to this meeting. Right?”

A coerced family meeting. It was the last thing I wanted to do. All I wanted for my life was to be left alone. “Yeah, I’m coming.” Was my last minute decision out of a sense of loyalty to a family I wasn’t close to, or a need to find even the smallest part of who I used to be? I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I would attend and fade into the shadows once again. “I’m not staying long.” One day. Maximum.

“Just keep in mind there was a sense of urgency in his voice,” Jagger said. I could tell he was just as aggravated as I was. He’d lived a similar life, so much so our father didn’t know his three boys had gone on to become ghosts. We’d obviously craved the ability to pick and choose who lived or died.

Even if that was a farce since all we’d been doing was serving as puppets to various organizations who believed they were God.

“Whatever, Jagger. You found me. I’m headed that way. Don’t expect me to become anyone’s savior.” Our father didn’t need anyone, especially his family. Whatever he wanted to say was likely some ploy as usual.

“Trust me, brother. I would never do that.” His laugh was bitter as he ended the call.

He could infuriate me more than any human alive. I tossed my phone onto the seat, running my fingers through my thick beard. I was no longer recognizable, the kid at the last stop I’d made for gas pointing and calling me a mountain man. That was fine. I could hide behind facial hair and a blatant disregard for others.

I just needed to get this over with.

The road was full of curves, some sharp enough if you didn’t pay attention, you could easily drive off the side of the mountain. I shifted my gaze to my gas tank. Well, fuck. I needed gas too. That’s what happens when leaving in an enraged state.

All the idiots were out, pretending as if there were no driving hazards.

I’d also foregone getting gas at the last station I’d passed. Big mistake. It seemed I was making a lot of them lately.

At this rate, I’d be spending the night on the side of the road. I slammed my hand against the steering wheel. I hadn’t seen a commercial sign in two fucking hours. Turning back wasn’t an option. Well, I was used to roughing it. I was convinced sleeping in my truck seemed my only option until I rounded another corner.

I’d suffered worse. Much worse.

The lights were garish but welcome. It was a little oasis in the middle of a shitty location. A motel, a bar and grill, and a gas station. Halle-fucking-lujah. It took me four seconds to realize the gas station was closed. The choice was made. Another seedy motel it would be.

Maybe I could grab a bourbon or two. There. I’d looked at the bright side like my mother chastised me for not doing.

I pulled into the parking lot, eying the motel’s neon sign. Half the bulbs were out, which gave it an eerie appearance. It would be a perfect location to host a horror fest. After parking, I chuckled and grabbed my duffle bag, the drab olive-green canvas tote holding half my personal possessions. I didn’t need much. Possessions were for the greedy idiots of the world.

The rain was pounding the pavement, but at least it wasn’t coming down sideways any longer. Yet by the point I walked into the cramped motel office, I was pretty certain I appeared terrifying. Another good way to keep my identity private.

I had to ring the bell placed on the counter, the dude walking from the room with a blaring television set instantly stopping short. Maybe that was due to the fact I stood a solid foot taller and outweighed him by a hundred pounds. Even with his beer belly.

The guy swallowed hard and the quick flicker of his eyes under the counter meant he’d debated reaching for the weapon stored underneath. He had no idea that with my skills, I could have two bullets between his eyes before he was able to reach the shelf.

At least the boy was smart and thought better of it.

“What do you need, cowboy?”

Cowboy? I almost laughed. “A room. What do you think?”

“One night?”

“Yep.”

“Credit card,” the guy stated, already typing on his dated computer.

“Cash. Always.” In this day when cash was more of an annoyance than anything else, he gave me one of those looks indicating he was certain I was a bank robber or worse.

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