Trail of Lightning (The Sixth World #1)(14)

“That was what you called Tse Bonito last time you were here, wasn’t it? A shithole?” He grins, but there’s no humor in his voice. I can’t see his eyes past those damn sunglasses, but I know they’re small and mean.

Longarm’s real name is Chris Tsosie, but anyone who’s been on his bad side before calls him Longarm. He’s the head of Citizens’ Watch and Guard, shortened to CWAG, or more often, just Law Dogs. Longarm’s the top Dog in a pack of bullies with badges, and, lucky me, I’m pretty high on his shit list. If there was one person I wanted to avoid in Tse Bonito, Longarm was it.

“To be fair, when I said that, I was getting shot at,” I remind him.

He grunts. “Does seem that every time you come around, there’s somebody trying to kill you.”

“Not this time,” I point out, hopeful.

“Day’s still young,” he quips. He rolls up to me, swagger on eleven. My eyes flicker to the gun at his belt. His hand rests on the butt. I’ve got my shotgun back on the gun rack in the cab of the truck. No way to get to it now. But I’ve still got my throwing knives tucked in my leg wraps and the B?ker at my hip. And maybe Longarm’s just here to talk. Maybe not.

His partner leans against the hood of my truck, watching us. A few passersby look over out of curiosity, but nobody’s stopping to witness the impending police brutality. At least not yet.

“What are you doing here, Hoskie?” he drawls. “I thought I made it clear you weren’t welcome in Tse Bonito.”

“Just visiting a friend. Like I said, on my way out of town.”

He eyes the heap of stuff packed in the back of the truck. Motions to his partner. “Check the back.”

“Oh, come on!” I protest.

He snaps his fingers, inches from my face. “Close your mouth or I’ll take you in on a disorderly.”

I want to curse the petty little shit, but I keep my mouth shut. He’d love nothing more than an excuse to drag me to jail and hold me for a few days. I’d be stupid to give him a reason, so I mime zipping my lips shut. But I can’t quite keep the challenge out of my eyes.

Longarm’s hand flicks out and taps my shoulder, hard. It’s the same one the monster tried to take a bite out of, and it hurts enough to make me flinch. Longarm grins and narrows his eyes, like he’s found a weakness worth exploiting. Moves closer to me, pushing into my space. Forcing the unsaid threat.

My body stills, and I feel it. Feel K’aahanáanii rising to the surface. On cue, my senses sharpen and I see it. The quickest way to kill the Law Dogs.

It would go like this. A punch to the throat, and as he gasps and instinctively reaches for his neck, I unholster his pistol. Turn into his body, using him for cover as I raise the gun to take out his partner, whose reaction time is slow enough that he won’t even see the bullet coming for his forehead. Tap, tap and then the pistol’s at Longarm’s temple and I tap him, too. Four seconds, tops, and they’re both dead. The thought makes me smile.

Longarm must see something in my face, some light in my eyes that tells him he’s on thinner ice than he bargained for. There’s a moment where I can see the sweat break out on his upper lip, where I can watch in slow motion as he licks it away, suddenly hesitant.

And then his partner’s calling, “Holy shit, there’s a human head back here!”

Longarm stares at me, eyes wide. And then he grins, any fear evaporating in a surge of righteousness, and he takes two steps back from me, double-quick. “Come again?”

“A head!”

Eyes on me as he shuffles over to peer into the bag his partner’s holding open. Takes a moment, before he turns to me, his swagger back in place. “You better start talking, Hoskie.”

“It’s not human.”

“Bullshit,” he scoffs.

Longarm knows what I do for a living. Why he’s feeling the need to pretend like he doesn’t is beyond me. But he does, and now, with that head as evidence of my supposed wrongdoing, he’s right back up in my face. His breath is unpleasant, eggy and hot.

“Who’d you kill this time, huh? Some poor guy who had the bad judgment to try to buy you a drink? Hell, maybe that’s what happened to that hero partner of yours. He tried to score with you one night, so you cut his head off and now you carry it around in a bag.”

Score? Who says that? “I hunt monsters.” I keep my voice level. “I keep people safe when your Law Dogs can’t be bothered.”

He sneers, but I can tell I struck a nerve. “You keep feeding yourself that line, Hoskie, and maybe one day you’ll convince yourself it’s true. Everyone knows there’s something wrong with you. That you’re some kind of freak.” He leans in close, his whisper intimate. “Maybe you shouldn’t be hunting monsters. Maybe someone should be hunting you. Sooner you admit that to yourself, the sooner I can put you down and save someone else the trouble.”

I know better than to let him provoke me, but K’aahanáanii’s provoked, and my hand strays slowly, casually, toward my knife. I feel myself smile and I whisper back, my breath a lover’s caress against his ear.

“Why not today, Chris? Why not try today?”

I can hear his heart thudding in his chest. Smell the sour scent of his fear. Savor the feel of me, the predator, and him, the prey. I close my eyes and breathe it in, heady and thrilling.