Chapter 8 You’re Allergic to Friends
You’re Allergic to Friends
PREACHER
The first swing is ferocious, the way they always have to be if you’re hoping to make it out of a place like this alive.
I manage to step to the side just in time, dropping the bag of mismatched Chad-parts on the floor, but the crowbar still half-connects with my head, pain crashing into me like last night’s storm.
I lurch back, trying my best to ready myself as another swing comes in, this one smashing into my outstretched arm.
It’s just as vicious as the first, but I know it’s coming, letting me move with the strike and get right up next to my attacker.
There’s fear in their eyes.
Her eyes.
Fear, along with a frantic, murderous intent that may as well be all she’s got out here, in the middle of nowhere.
In a killer’s cellar.
My cellar.
I slam her against the wall and the two of us grapple for her makeshift weapon.
She got me good twice, but I don’t want to kill her, just subdue her; you can’t interrogate a corpse, no matter how good a listener one might be. Problem is, she’s got a surprising amount of strength for someone I have at least a whole foot of height on.
She jams her elbow hard into my ribs, managing to break away and swinging the crowbar again, forcing me backward. There was a moment or two where I was worried, especially after that first hit, but without the element of surprise, every moment that goes by tips things further into my favor.
Because as powerful as her attacks are, she’s also panicked.
Afraid.
And that means mistakes.
She lunges at me again taking her biggest swing yet, but she’s tired, not used to this kind of thing, and her weapon slips ever so slightly.
I pivot, snatching her wrist and twisting it back until I feel something start to tear.
She cries out in pain, crumpling forward as the thick piece of steel tumbles from her grip.
And for a second, everything is calm again.
That is, until she starts kicking behind her, trying to take out my goddamn knees.
“I’m gonna rip your heart out, you psycho!” She roars.
It’s a battle cry that sends a jolt of lightning shooting through me, excitement I haven’t felt in quite a long while, but now that she’s seen me, there’s no way in hell I can let her go.
I get her in a headlock, squeezing just hard enough to cut off the blood flow to her brain. It won’t do permanent damage, she just needs to pass out so I can get a fucking moment to think.
It takes nearly 30 seconds of thrashing and cursing before she finally slows down, but only another 10 before she’s limp like a ragdoll in my arms. I ease her onto the ground, slowly, carefully. She looks so peaceful– hell, even beautiful, despite the blood on her face.
Maybe because of it.
I let my eyes dance up and down her body as I figure out what to do next. She’s got a hell of a figure, and the t-shirt she’s wearing does little to hide her curves.
I can’t let my mind wander too far, she could be anyone.
I head over to a small crate in the corner, grabbing a long chain with an ankle cuff on the end.
When I first started killing, I tried to make it into a little game for myself.
I’d chain these assholes down here and leave the key right at the very edge of reach, just to give them some hope.
If they managed to dislocate their arm or something, got out and made a run for the road, I’d be waiting on the porch with a shotgun.
My brother said it was cruel, and maybe he was right, but I didn’t care.
I was having the time of my life.
I close the shackle around her ankle, securing the chain to a big steel loop next to her, and this time I double-check to make sure the padlock clicks shut.
“Raph’s gonna blow a gasket when he finds out about you,” I mutter.
I already know what he’s going to say.
Kill her. Fuck, kill her yesterday!
But I can’t, not just for self-preservation.
No women, no kids. That’s the line I’m not willing to cross.
I step back and fully take her in for the first time.
She’s covered in mud, battered and bruised with clotted blood in her hairline.
I crouch down to get a better look at the wound on her forehead, nasty and in need of stitches too.
I could do it myself, but she’s not going to be out forever, and I doubt she’ll let me anywhere near her without trying to take another swing.
As I continue my exploration I notice the bloodied gauze wrapped around one of her hands, and a little wretched stump where her pinky used to be. Jesus, that’s going to need to be cleaned and re-bandaged. Suppose I can do that, too.
“How did you end up here, little rabbit?”
That car in the ditch has got to be hers.
If she’s reported missing, there’s a damn good chance her vehicle can be traced back here, and there’s no way in hell I’m having a shootout with the RCMP.
I double-check her shackles before getting to my feet, tossing the bag of body parts into the freezer before heading outside and leaving her in the dark. How the hell she got here I’ll never know, but she’s here now.
I pull my cigarettes out of my pocket, slipping one between my lips. My brother says these things are gonna kill me one day, and he’s probably right, but that asshole drinks Diet Coke like it’s water. I bet his insides look like they’ve been preserved in formaldehyde.
Ten feet from the door to the house and my boys are already barking up a storm, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Hey, hey!” I chuckle, greeted by wagging tails and a hell of a lot of slobber. “Daddy’s home, don’t you worry. You want some breakfast?”
They’re always so well behaved until someone gets close enough, then they go absolutely ballistic, the results varying depending on how much they like whoever’s slipped past their little bubble.
For now though, they both bolt toward the kitchen, waiting expectantly while I grab their kibble, and top it with a little bit of Robert-brand jerky.
I did such a damn good job dehydrating that one, you wouldn’t even know the difference between human and beef.
I set the food down in front of the boys, and they stare at me, practically buzzing as they foam at the mouth for their meal.
“Wait…”
Both of them have their eyes fixed on their respective bowls and I chuckle.
“Wait…”
Charon almost lunges, but holds himself back at the last second and I smile, snapping my fingers.
“Go.”
The sound of claws on hardwood takes over the room as the two of them crash into each other, each one desperate to be the first to get to their bowls. They’ve been like this since the day I found them, everything’s always a competition.
I fix myself a cup of coffee as the boys gobble up their food, taking a minute to pull up Raph’s contact in my phone. I could put this off a little longer, but it’ll only make things harder in the end, so I take a couple deep breaths and hit call.
My brother’s got that quiet kind of anger, the type you swallow for years until one day, seemingly out of nowhere, it finally explodes. He’s punched me in the face for shit I’ve done decades ago, in the blink of an eye, and without a word.
Me? I prefer to deal with things more direct.
“Yeah?”
It felt like an eternity before he picked up, but I suddenly wish it had been longer.
“The fuck were you doin’?” I ask, starting strong with some pointless antagonism. “Too good to pick up when your brother calls?”
“Making sure the packages got to their destinations,” he grunts. “How’s the Devil’s work?”
“A hoot and a half as always.” I grab a bottle of whiskey and pour some into my mug. “I gotta talk to you about something.”
“You’re quitting murder to become a priest, I knew it.”
Sometimes this motherfucker is actually funny, and it’s made all the better by the driest delivery you’ve ever heard.
“Nothing so noble,” I chuckle. “Actually I came home today and discovered that the ranch has an… unexpected guest.”
It’s only a single beat of silence, but I find myself nearly choking on it.
“Guest? The fuck are you talking about? You’re allergic to friends.”
The edge in my brother’s voice would normally make me grin, it means I’m getting a rise out of him. Today, though? I’m defensive. Nervous, even.
“Found her in the storm cellar when I went down there this morning—”
“Her? Who the fuck is she?”
“Relax. She’s tied up, and she’s not going anywhere.”
“And you’re sure about that? Sounds like she got in there easy enough.”
I stare out the window as panic pulses through me. He’s not gonna like it.
“Preacher, how did she get into the cellar?”
I’m not afraid of my brother, but I am afraid of what he’ll do to the girl if he deems her a threat. I could tell him no a hundred times, and he’d just slip in while I was gone and get the job done. He’d do whatever it takes to keep this thing running smooth.
“No idea. Maybe the storm tore the door off. That, or I left it unlocked.”
I hear a loud bang followed quickly by a steady stream of curses. Sometimes, when my brother gets angry, he reminds me of our dad, and that’s a bit of a tough thing to reconcile. Over the years, when we’ve let things come to blows, I swear I could see the old man in him.
“I’m coming over.”
“Why?”
“Because when I get there, you’re gonna do your job, and then I can help clean up this mess.”
I don’t give a shit what Raphael says or what he wants, I ain’t doing it. Besides, there’s something about her that’s piqued my curiosity.
“I’ve told you before, I have rules.”
“This is a liability,” he snaps back, as if he anticipated exactly what I’d say.
“I’m pretty sure I saw her car in the ditch, I was gonna—”
“Alright, head over to it. I’ve pinged your location so I’ll meet you there.”
“Raph—”