Page 65 of The Fallen
“What are you going to do?”
Bryn cupped Gil’s cheek and kissed him softly. “I’m afraid we won’t see each other again. You should go to a public place, somewhere a lot of people will see ye… somewhere ye’ll be remembered.”
“No. Wait.” Gil grabbed hold of Bryn’s shirt at the chest. “Let’s talk about this. Plan things out. I… I could go undercover, help the Coast Guard get to the big guys. We don’t have to do anything drastic.”
“Gil… go somewhere ye’ll be seen. Let me do this for you, and know ye deserve every bit of it. If ye care for me, ye’ll do as I ask.”
“No! I won’t let you?—”
In the next instant, Gil was left holding empty air as the massive black cat darted across the lawn and into the woods.
CHAPTER 8
Bryn wasn’t surprised to see Brother Wilfred hovering like an old garbage bag when he emerged from the woods behind the church.
“If you do this, you condemn yourself to many more years of the curse,” the old monk said in the tone of a parent telling a toddler that if he eats all that candy, he’s probably going to be sick.
Bryn responded as any toddler would. “Worth it.”
“Is it? Ye’ve waited so long to regain the full use of yer powers. Ye’ve spoken of little else. Take a moment to rein in your temper and consider yer actions.”
Ever since Bryn had met Gil, he’d burned with the desire to find the person who taught Gil to make himself small, to make himself quiet, to curl his big shoulders and hang his head. In another age, Gil would have been a warrior, led a clan…. Bryn had wanted to find the person who’d told Gil he wasn’t worth fighting for, that other people always mattered more. Well, he’d found at least one of them… and he has every intention of making Grady Leblanc bleed.
He hopped atop an old tombstone, sat on his haunches, licked his paw, and used it to smooth his glorious mane ofsmoke-colored fur. He took his time grooming, making sure to clean thoroughly between his toes, before he looked up at the old monk. “This… isn’t about me. It’s about giving a good man a chance at a life.”
“Ye’ll pay the price,” Brother Wilfred said.
“Then I’ll pay. Now do me a favor and fuck off.” Bryn leapt down into the high grass and picked his way to the sidewalk. It wasn’t hard to track Grady’s rancid stench, and Bryn stayed underneath cars and behind bushes until he saw his obnoxious red truck. The tailgate was down, and Grady sat with one of the men who’d rammed their boat into Gil’s little trawler. His partner came out of a store holding a brown paper bag, and Bryn crept through a boxwood hedge to eavesdrop on their conversation.
“My cousins will not believe this nonsense about the bad storm,” one of the men said in a heavy Russian accent. “They’re going to be angry about so much money lost.”
Grady shrugged. “I plan to tell them the dumbass stole the goods. Betrayed all of us. I figure it looks better to say Gil turned on us than that we were so stupid we entrusted the product to a moron who couldn’t make a simple delivery.”
The Russian nodded and scratched his bearded chin. “This is good thinking. The storm story sounds silly, but a thief…. This my cousins will believe.”
“This they know how to handle,” said the other man. “Of course, you might have to prove your loyalty by taking care of this thief yourself.”
“I’m prepared for that,” Grady said. “This asshole knows more than he should… stuff about me. It’ll be better for everybody when he’s gone.”
“This thing will not be pretty,” said the first man.
“It is what it is,” Grady said. “Now, your family’s driving up here, right?”
“Up from Long Island,” the second Russian said. “They should be here sometime late tonight.”
Fuck, Bryn thought. If they arrived after midnight, he’d be unable to change. He still had access to some of his magic, but the curse would make things much, much harder. Bugger that monk! Bryn wished he could drag that roaster off to hell for the tithe.
Now, though, he was on a hunt—his favorite thing on the green earth and the one he did best. If he focused on that, he wouldn’t be plagued with doubts or nasty thoughts about opportunities lost. He’d conclude this affair well before dark… but not too quickly. No, he intended to play with them.
“Let’s head up to my farm,” Grady said. “We’ll make sure to have a nice welcome ready for your cousins.”
The three men got into the truck’s cab, and as it started to pull away from the curb, Bryn shot from the bushes and launched himself into the bed. As he wriggled under a wet, smelly tarp, he hoped Gil had done as he’d asked and gone somewhere public. Bryn hadn’t known when he’d suggested it, but doing so would also keep him safe. Even Russian thugs were not likely to attack him in a diner or a movie theater.
Bryn hoped that for once, Gil’s hatred of causing any conflict would protect him.
The trip from town took about fifteen minutes. Grady lived farther up the coast in a cedar-shingled saltbox perched on a cliff overlooking the water. A red barn stood a couple hundred yards down the dirt path from the house, and a few acres of thick woods separated the property from the road. As they bumped along the narrow, rocky track through the pines and birches, Bryn’s heart soared. Nobody would hear the screams as he disemboweled these cretins and left them crawling through the dirt with their guts dragging behind them.
Beside, a handful of souls would get at least one nuisance off his back.
