The Becoming: Revelations (26 page)

“I think I really don’t like this,” Remy admitted. Her eyes narrowed as she, too, examined their surroundings. She already had her bolo knife in her right hand, its tip pointed at the pavement.

“Me either,” Gray added. “It’s too
quiet
. Like the last time we came into Atlanta. That shit gave me the willies then, and it’s giving me double that this time.”

Remy smirked. “The willies?” she repeated, biting back a laugh. “Really, Gray?”

Gray gave the woman a sidelong look of annoyance. “
Yes,
the willies,” he said emphatically.

“My
mam
è
re
would say this place gives me the
fremeers.
”

“
Mam
è
re? Fremeers?
” Gray repeated.

“Oh, I forgot, you’re from Bumfuck, Mississippi,” Remy retorted, much to both Brandt and Gray’s amusement. “My grandmother. She still used all sorts of Cajun slang, right up to her death. I always liked some of it.
Fremeers
is basically when something makes you feel grossed—”

“Can we save the family stories for some other time?” Brandt interrupted. “I don’t think this is the time or place for a discussion on regional slang.”

Remy smirked at him. “So, fearless leader, what do you propose we do?”

“I
propose
we look for any sign that Cade has been here,” Brandt said. He took a step toward the jumbled mess of cars. “She might be somewhere out here, and she could be hurt. We have to act as if she is until we know otherwise.”

Remy gave Brandt a mock salute and split off from the two men, heading toward the right into the maze of cars. Brandt followed, cutting left, as Gray took the area around the center of the highway. Brandt focused on the cars before him, searching inside and under them one by one, hoping Cade had taken refuge inside one of them.

Brandt was so focused on his methodical search that he almost missed the sound of a nearby struggle. He’d leaned partially into a vehicle—a bad position to be in, really, but he’d spotted a knife inside and had wanted to get his hands on it—and nearly struck his head on the doorframe as Gray’s voice met his ears. Gray’s tone was hard and belligerent, not unlike the tone he used to take with Ethan. But this time, it had something more underneath it, a harder layer of anger more serious than anything he’d thrown at their deceased friend.

“Let
go
of her, you stupid bastard!” Gray shouted. Brandt heard the sound of a fist striking flesh, and Remy yelped in alarm. Brandt ducked lower, shielding himself behind the car, and taking a knee to get a glimpse of what was going on through the car’s dirty windows.

Brandt could just make out Gray as the younger man was grabbed by the back of his shirt and hauled off of a Hispanic man Brandt had never seen before; though Brandt couldn’t see Gray’s assailant, he had a clear look at the Hispanic man in question, who had his hands wrapped around Remy’s upper arms. Brandt gritted his teeth and clenched his fists as a surge of anger rushed through him at the sight of the infuriated yet helpless look on Remy’s face as she struggled to break free from the man’s clutches.

Remy growled wordlessly and thrashed in the man’s grip so violently she lifted herself off the ground. She braced her boots against a nearby car and pushed back hard, trying to throw the man off balance. He laughed, and another man came into view, his jet-black hair shining in the failing sunlight as he grabbed Remy’s legs. The two men swung her around and slammed her down onto the trunk of a car.

“We’ve got a fucking wildcat, guys!” the Hispanic man called over the steady stream of profanity coming from Gray’s mouth. Fist met flesh again, and Gray’s swearing ceased. “Alicia’s going to have a blast interrogating this one!”

At the mention of Alicia’s name, Brandt’s anger flared to a crescendo. But he remained still, gripping the car’s door handle with one hand; the other started to ease the barrel of his M-4 over the edge of the car. He had to stay calm. He had to bide his time, had to collect whatever information might be useful, and then had to get them out of there. And he’d have to do it with his mind steady and focused. There was no room for mistakes.

Remy lashed out with a foot and caught the black-haired man across the head with her boot. The man fell to the pavement, dazed. Remy lunged forward, trying to break free from her captors. The Hispanic man grabbed her by the shoulders and slung her to her knees on the pavement before striking her across the face with the back of his hand. Remy fell forward onto her hands with a groan of pain.

That was enough for Brandt. He couldn’t take any more.

Brandt lifted his rife and, in one smooth movement, rose from his hiding place and aimed it directly at the Hispanic man’s head. “Let them go,” he ordered, his voice steely. As the man turned to face him, Brandt adjusted his aim to point the barrel between the man’s eyes.

“I
told
you there was another one around here!” the man pinning Gray down barked out. “I
told
you I saw him!”

“I get the point, Craig!” the Hispanic man snapped. He put his own foot against Remy’s back, pushing her down on the ground, and then lifted his own gun to point it at Brandt in return. “And if I don’t let them go?” he asked, addressing Brandt. “What are you going to do?”

“Pull the fucking trigger.” A slight smirk tweaked at the corner of Brandt’s mouth. “And I
don’t
miss.”

“Yeah? What a coincidence, because neither do I,” the man replied.

A cool, round metal object pressed against the back of Brandt’s neck, right at the base of his skull. Brandt stiffened as he realized what it was. The object nudged firmly at his skin, and a woman’s voice, cold and hard, spoke up behind him.

“Put the rifle down.”

Brandt sucked in a slow breath and hesitated, his palms sweating against the rifle. He raised his eyes, and they met Remy’s. The young woman, pinned as she was against the pavement, looked infuriated, but Brandt could see the uncertainty and fear in her gaze. It churned up a sick feeling in his gut. He shifted his eyes to Gray, but the other man’s face was mashed into the pavement by the man who practically stood on his back, so Brandt couldn’t glimpse his expression and assess his feelings on the situation. He was sure they weren’t very good ones.

Brandt hesitated and glanced at Remy once more. Then he slowly lowered the M-4, letting it hang loosely in his hand. The woman behind him snatched the weapon from his grasp and slammed it onto the trunk of a car. She dislodged the Beretta from the holster at his hip and tossed it down to join the rifle before shoving at the back of his head with her own gun again.

“Move it,” she barked. “Now.” Brandt scowled and started forward to join Remy and Gray. “On your knees,” the woman ordered. Brandt sank to obey, gritting his teeth and looking to Remy again as she was dragged up to her own knees. As the woman behind him searched his belt for more weapons, removing whatever she found, Brandt’s mind scrambled to come up with a plan to get them out of the trouble in which they’d landed.

As the man on Gray’s back hauled him onto his knees, the woman circled around Brandt, and he finally got a look at his assailant. He took in her red hair and pale skin, and his eyes narrowed. “You,” he breathed, anger flooding into him again.

Alicia Day narrowed her eyes back at him and pointed her weapon at his head once more. “Hands on your head,” she said. Brandt grimaced and, seeing no alternative, obeyed. Alicia paced in front of him, her combat boots thumping the pavement; then she stopped and crossed her arms, pistol dangling from her fingers. Her posture was infuriatingly casual, and Brandt clenched his teeth in a vain attempt to suppress his anger. “Do you have
any
idea how fucking hard it is to find you?” she asked, almost snarling the words.

“Obviously not hard enough,” Brandt retorted. “Where is Cade?”

“I would think Cade Alton should be the
least
of your worries right now,” Alicia said.

Brandt gave her his best shit-eating grin. “She kicked your ass, didn’t she?” he asked knowingly.

“I hardly think that’s relevant.”

Brandt nearly laughed, but for the sake of Remy and Gray’s safety, he bit it back. “That means she did,” he said. “And judging by the size of the bruise on your face, she kicked your ass good.” Before Alicia could respond, Brandt shifted gears, hoping to throw her off track. “So what do you want with me? What’s so fucking important that you feel the need to antagonize my friends, threaten their lives, and kidnap Cade?”

Alicia ignored his question and looked to Remy, raising an eyebrow. Remy, for her part, shot Alicia the dirtiest look Brandt had ever seen on a person’s face. He was, admittedly, rather proud. “I thought we killed you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m like a fucking cat,” Remy snapped. “Nine lives, and I’m still on my first one.”

“More like a cockroach,” Alicia replied. “Disease-ridden and impossible to kill.”

The sound of a scuffle met Brandt’s ears. His eyes flickered from Alicia long enough to look past her. Gray had lunged toward Alicia at her words, and the man who’d guarded him dropped his gun as he grabbed Gray’s biceps and hauled backward, wrenching his arms back. The Hispanic man behind Remy swung his pistol around to point it at Gray, but Gray only had eyes for Alicia.

“You bitch!” Gray snarled. His voice was a harsh, angry growl. “Don’t you fucking
dare
talk about her like that!”

“I’ll talk about her however I damn well please,” Alicia said sharply. “And if I hear another word out of you, I’ll cut your fucking tongue out myself.”

Brandt’s eyes slid to Remy. She stared back at him. All four of their captors had their eyes on Gray, who, despite Alicia’s threat, was still calling the woman every unpleasant name he could think of and some Brandt had never even heard before. It was the perfect opening, Brandt realized. With Alicia’s attention diverted elsewhere, he could easily go for his KA-BAR knife, left forgotten in its sheath on his boot. He could try to take care of the redheaded problem standing with her back half-turned to him once and for all.

Knife at a gunfight. This wasn’t going to turn out well.

Remy’s eyes darted from Brandt’s to her breasts and then back, as if she were trying to tell him something. Brandt frowned. He didn’t think it was a great time to stare at Remy’s chest; he was sure under normal circumstances, he’d end up in severe pain if he were caught doing so. He scanned their captors again and tried to work Remy’s cryptic message out in his head. A flash of memory flipped through his mind. A slow smirk spread across his face, and he gave Remy a barely perceptible nod.

Brandt began easing his hand off his head, inching it toward the knife strapped to the outside of his boot. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks that he’d habitually kept it on his boot during the past year; it was much easier for Alicia and her people to overlook, as they had in this case.

Before Brandt moved his hand far enough to get the knife, however, Gray wrenched free of Craig’s grasp. The younger man lurched forward and snatched up Craig’s fallen pistol from the pavement. He brought it to bear, pointing it at the woman standing between him and Brandt.

“Gray, no!” Brandt shouted. He dropped his hands from his head and snatched at his knife.

He wasn’t fast enough.

A burst of gunfire erupted, both from Gray’s newly acquired gun and from Alicia’s.

Gray’s shot missed.

Alicia’s didn’t.

Gray was thrown onto his back by the force of the bullet that slammed into his torso.

“No!” Brandt cried again. He flipped the knife in his hand and lunged to his feet. He flung the weapon in Alicia’s direction as a desperate bid for distraction as he ran. The woman danced to the side to evade the blade. As she did so, Brandt tackled Remy, knocked her roughly to the pavement, and shoved his hand up her shirt. His fingers found the grip of the Ruger she’d stashed in her bra, and he ripped it free.

Still lying on top of Remy, shielding her with his body, Brandt lifted the gun. He squeezed off three shots in rapid succession. Two shots struck their marks; two of the men fell to the ground with bullet holes in their foreheads. The third round hit the Hispanic man’s shoulder, spinning him around and sending him staggering.

Brandt didn’t wait to see if the man was down. He swung the Ruger in Alicia’s direction, aimed it, and squeezed the trigger. The gun clicked. He swore and slammed the weapon to the pavement before hauling himself to his feet. He started after the woman, intent on killing her with his bare hands if he had to.

At the infuriated expression on Brandt’s face, Alicia turned on her heel and ran into the jumble of cars, disappearing from his sight.

“Brandt! Look out!” Remy shouted as Brandt took a step after Alicia.

Before Brandt could turn, an arm hooked around his neck and dragged him backward with almost throat-crushing force. A knife slammed into his left shoulder, its blade biting deeply into the muscle. Brandt grunted and slammed his right elbow back. It struck a skull, and as his attacker staggered back, Brandt ripped the knife free from his shoulder and spun. He lashed out with it, swinging his arm with all his strength and embedding the knife into the man’s chest. He heard the crunch of bone with the force of the impact. The man let out a shocked gasp and stumbled back. Brandt didn’t let him go far. He jerked the knife free from the man’s chest, pulled him close, and spun him around. Then, with a vicious swipe of his wrist, he tore the man’s throat out with the blade. Blood poured out across his hands. Brandt let the man go, and he fell to the pavement with a sickening gurgle.