Diana Rowland - Fury of the Demon

“That would be Zack Garner and Ryan Kristoff, right?” he asked. At my nod, he continued, “According to Paul, I owe them as well. I’m sorry we got you involved in our mess.”

“We all did what was needed in the moment.” This was my first opportunity to really speak to Bryce, and I was grateful for the opportunity. Paul obviously revered him, but for all I knew he could be a bona fide asshole in other areas.

“There were so many things I should’ve done differently that day,” he said, shaking his head. “But that guard. He should never have been carrying a gun.”

“No shit!” I made a disgusted face. “Probably a wannabe cop who spent too much time watching action movies.” Then I sobered. “You heard what I told Mzatal about my encounter with Farouche?”

Bryce’s expression tightened. “Yes. And that he . . . affected you.” He blew out his breath. “Lord Mzatal explained to Paul and me how Mr. Farouche’s influence works. If I hadn’t lived it, no way would I believe it.”

I proceeded to give him the full story, including the mandate to call Farouche when he and Paul returned. I watched him as I spoke, noted a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and a tremor in the hand that held his fork. When I finished, I busied myself with eating in order to give him time to compose himself. Even though Mzatal had fixed him up, I figured it would take some time for Bryce to shed the residual effects of being influenced for so long.

After about a minute Bryce set his fork down. “The one with the MAC-10 is Mr. Farouche’s personal bodyguard, Angus McDunn. He’s been with Farouche for over twenty years. Ruthless. The other two were Charles Clancy and Sonny Hernandez. Mr. Farouche made a personal appearance in order to get you under his influence. He wouldn’t trouble himself otherwise.” Bryce exhaled. “He’ll want me back dead or alive. He’ll want Paul back alive.”

“We won’t let that happen” I said firmly.

“It can’t happen to Paul. He deserves better.”

I smiled. “I like him. Crap, this sounds insulting, but it’s not meant to be at all: He’s adorable.”

Bryce laughed. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

I grinned. “I’m sure he wouldn’t take it well.” I pushed back from the table. “Is there anything you need or want that will help you settle in? Anything Paul needs?”

Bryce exhaled, shook his head. “I honestly don’t know yet. I feel like I’m in a different world. Naked in a different world.”

My brow furrowed as I tried to figure that one out. “Naked?”

Bryce gave a weak laugh. “Figuratively speaking. I haven’t been without my weapons in over a decade.”

I blinked. “Oh! Hang on.” I quickly retrieved the box containing his cleaned gear and clothing from where I’d stashed it, returned to the kitchen, and placed it on the table. “There’s .40 ammo in the cabinet over the dryer,” I said as I unloaded his stuff from the box. “I cleaned the gun and got the blood off the rest, though I tossed your shirt since it was pretty trashed. Hope you weren’t too attached to it.”

Utterly shocked, Bryce looked from the plethora of lethality on the table to me and then back at his gear. “You’re serious?”

“If you were a threat to us, Mzatal would know about it,” I replied. “I want you as an ally, and you’re more useful as such if you have your stuff.”

“I understand,” he said, face reflecting relief. “Thanks.” He checked his guns and knives, then slipped various holsters and sheaths on and tucked his weapons away with smooth and practiced efficiency.

“Feel better?” I asked.

He made adjustments, straightened. “Do I ever.” He smiled, shoulders and back relaxing as tension slipped away. “Any house rules I should know about?”

“Don’t pee on the toilet seat.”

He snorted. “Anything else?”

I shrugged. “Common sense. Um, you and Paul probably shouldn’t leave the property or go to near the property edge for that matter.” I abruptly realized how that sounded and hurried to clarify. “I mean, you’re not prisoners or anything, but—”

Bryce salvaged my faux pas. “I get it. Even if Mr. Farouche knows we’re here, it’s better if we’re not seen.”

“Exactly,” I said, relieved that he understood. “The fed boys have a game console in the living room that you’re welcome to use.”

“Excellent!” A grin split his face. “Paul set me up with one in our unit at Farouche’s plantation. Helped keep me from going stir crazy while he did his computer stuff.”

“You’ll probably have some time on your hands here,” I said with a slight grimace. “Sorry.”

“No worries, Ms. Gillian. I have a master’s degree in killing time.”

“You stayed with Paul at the plantation? I gather he gets pretty deeply involved in what he does.”

“Yep. Sinks right into it,” he said. “I have to remind him to eat. He set up a number for Sonny and me to text if we need his attention. Anything else makes him lose his train of thought.”

“I know he’s valuable to Farouche and does computer stuff, but what exactly does he do ?”

Bryce pursed his lips, tipped his head back in consideration. “He’s a computer security expert and can do all sorts of white, grey, and black hat work,” he explained. “He can get into just about anything—system, network, database, whatever’s out there—but don’t ask me to tell you exactly what he does or how he does it. It’s beyond me.” A corner of his mouth lifted in a fond smile. “I say ‘work,’ but for him it isn’t. When Paul’s in deep, he’s having a blast exploring and uncovering information.”

I straightened. “What kind of information?”

“Pretty much anything you could possibly think of. He knows how to delve, and he’s fearless when it comes to infrastructure.”

Somehow I managed to hold back the delighted chortle. “I have a project for him, if he’s up for it.”

“The bigger the challenge, the more he likes it.”

Paul chose that moment to enter the kitchen, tablet tucked under one arm, empty plate in the other hand, and eyes red despite his smile. “Good lunch. Thanks. What’s up?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Bryce said, frowning. “What’s bothering you?”

Paul scrubbed his free hand over his face and looked a little embarrassed. “I, uh, was listening in on a conversation.”

Bryce folded his arms across his chest, narrowed his eyes. “Whose conversation upset you?”

“Sonny,” Paul confessed. “I probably shouldn’t have tapped in, but I was worried about him and wanted to make sure he was okay.”

Sonny. One of the gunmen at the encounter with Farouche.

“Well, was he?” Bryce asked.

“He sounded a little stressed, but otherwise all right,” Paul replied. “I was worried something bad might happen to him since he was my handler too.”

There was no mistaking the relief on Bryce’s face. “You did good, kid.”

“Yeah? Thanks.” He smiled. “Hearing him made me miss him more, that’s all.”

Bryce patted his shoulder. “I totally get it. Who was he talking to?”

“His sister. About how he’d be there for Christmas this year.” Paul winced. “She didn’t believe him, yelled at him, and hung up.”

Surprise and disbelief flashed over Bryce’s face. “Sonny called his sister?”

I frowned at the exchange. “Something wrong with that?”

“Not wrong exactly,” Bryce said. “But it means he’s on edge with Paul and me gone.” Bryce rubbed the back of his neck, grimaced. “He hasn’t talked to his family in over a decade. I mean, you don’t do that around Mr. Farouche.”