“How about you propose the best plan to adequately cover the property, and we’ll work from there.”
His brow creased. “You sure you’re okay with me working on this?”
“If you meant us any harm at all, I’d know by now,” I reassured him. “It’s cool.”
“Yeah,” he said, smiling wryly. “Can’t keep secrets around here, not with the lord.”
I glanced out the window to where Mzatal ceaselessly traced sigils and worked the flows of the mini-nexus in his search for Idris. “Not a chance,” I said with a low snort. “This will be a big help to us. Thanks. We need this place secure as possible.”
Bryce cleared his throat, took a breath as if to say something, then didn’t.
I frowned. “Something on your mind?”
“Yeah,” he said. “There is. You have a minute?”
“Sure. How about we leave the luxury of the utility room and go out on the back porch.” I headed for the door. “I have chairs there, plus I can keep an eye on Jill’s new place in case she or the workers need anything.” I could also intercept anyone who headed toward Mzatal, though I suspected he had aversion wards set. To those without the ability to see arcane flows, Mzatal would appear to be engaged in graceful movement akin to T’ai Chi.
Bryce followed me out, and we settled in the rocking chairs Ryan and Zack had assembled in my absence—after three years of the chairs’ remaining boxed and untouched in my shed. The heat and humidity were already rising, but for now it was still bearable enough to be outside.
When I looked over at him, he seemed distant, troubled. “Hey, you okay?”
“Nope,” he said, his face a grim mask. “Paul tracked what happened this morning. Did the body you find have prominent ligature marks on all limbs and neck, or only deep ones on wrists?”
I frowned. “Wrists only.”
He nodded. “Probably heavy bruising along the ribs under the arms on both sides and, if they were serious, flaying.” He delivered the description in an expressionless voice, eyes flat.
I regarded him. “You know who did this. I mean, specifically which one of Farouche’s people.”
“I’ve eaten lunch with him a hundred times.”
I controlled a shiver of ick. Bryce met my eyes. “Kara, before any more time passes, I need to make sure you know exactly who you have in your house.”
My brows lifted. “Did I miss a memo?”
He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Yesterday, before the lightning show, I was in there talking to Jill, watched a movie with her and got a chance to feel her baby kick. Then it hit me.” His throat worked. “She’s a cop. If she knew what I am, she wouldn’t be anywhere near me, especially with the baby. And Ryan, Zack, you. All cops. You did right by me, and you deserve to know who . . . what I am.”
I shifted to face him more. Mzatal had been with him for two days in the demon realm, and I knew Bryce wouldn’t be here now if he was any sort of a threat to us. But it was clear he needed to come clean, and I could totally respect that. “All right. Tell me who I have in my house.”
He took a deep breath. “About fifteen years ago I started in security and bodyguard duty with StarFire. Three years of clean work. Nothing that crossed any lines.” He looked away, then back to me, kept steady eye contact. “Twelve years ago I was . . . promoted. I’ve been over the line ever since.”
I noted that he left out the leap from Veterinary Medicine to security. “You’ve killed people?” I asked, purposefully keeping my face as expressionless as his and my tone even.
Bryce gave a micro nod worthy of Zack.
“How many?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“Any of them in self-defense or defense of another?” Though the number shocked me, I kept my voice neutral.
“Yes.” He shifted his weight in the chair.
“Any of them straight up murder?”
He drew a breath and reverted from speech to the micro nod.
“Any of them outside of Farouche’s orders?”
He blinked then answered with a strong, “No.” Pain swept over his face, and he shook his head. “Shit. Yes. The first. An accidental shooting.”
I gave a neutral nod of acknowledgement. The roommate and friend, the one with the rottweiler. “Tell me about this promotion of yours.”
His eyes went barren, empty. “I went from StarFire to Mr. Farouche’s inner circle. The rules changed. I never looked back. Couldn’t look back.”
I gave my head a slight shake. “No. Tell me about it. Tell me how you were brought into his inner circle.” I held his eyes. “Tell me how you went from bodyguard to hit man.”
“I—” he began then stopped, drew back. His expression grew haunted as though recalling a nightmare.
Leaning closer, I softened my voice. “Bryce, take a deep breath and tell me.”
He took a deep breath. “Kara, it was ugly, but it doesn’t change anything.”
“Tell me.”
Bryce clenched and unclenched his hands, fell silent for several seconds, then nodded, as if encouraging himself to go on. “Mr. Farouche called three of us out to the plantation for a promotion interview,” he began. “Me, Sonny—who wasn’t much older than Paul is now—and Owen, a friend who I’d worked with on lots of assignments. We went to a room where Mr. Farouche and McDunn—the one with the MAC-10 on the road—waited. They had a coworker, Ben Freeman, strung up by the wrists and in bad shape. Farouche said Ben had screwed up in a big way, and it was the perfect opportunity for us to demonstrate our loyalty and take care of him.”
I pygahed to remain impassive.
“The deal was for each of us to stab him, with me delivering the killing blow to the heart. McDunn held a knife out for Owen.” Bryce paused and drew a shaky breath. “Owen went white as a sheet, said he didn’t want a promotion. Before the rest of us could even blink, McDunn drew a Beretta 96 and shot him point blank in the forehead.”
“Jesus,” I breathed. I tried to imagine being a street cop called in to the chief’s office along with some buddies and having one shot dead for refusing to murder a detective.
“Owen had barely hit the floor when McDunn turned to Sonny and offered the knife to him,” Bryce continued, voice growing more strained. “Sonny was about to bolt. I could feel it. And I knew he was dead if he did. I put my hand on his shoulder.” He looked away. “Damn it. I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“Go on,” I said softly. I had a feeling he’d never told this to anyone before.
After a moment, he gave himself another nod, looked back to me. “I knew that no matter what we did, Ben wasn’t walking out of there alive and, if we refused, neither were we. So I told Sonny to do it. I fucking told him to do it.”
“And then you took your turn?”
“Yeah.” His voice was bleak, and he didn’t elaborate.
I sat back, regarding him, absolutely dying inside for what he’d gone through.
“In the space of about a minute,” he continued, “I’d not only killed a man—a friend and co-worker—without even knowing why, but I’d also set Sonny up for an ugly life. I still wake up at night wondering if it would’ve been better for him to take a bullet quick and easy that day.” He exhaled, shook his head. “But that’s hindsight. In the moment, I thought we’d do what they wanted then find a way to get the hell away from Farouche. I had no idea that wasn’t going to be a possibility.”
“Because of his influence, the fear and compulsion,” I said with an understanding nod. “I got a taste of that and was lucky enough to have friends to help clear it.”
“Right. I didn’t understand it either, not until Elofir and Mzatal fixed it,” he said. “You felt it. Farouche has a way about him. He knows things he shouldn’t, couldn’t. Once he brings someone into the inner circle, any thought of crossing him in any way brings up unnatural, paralyzing fear. That’s mainly the people who do or know about his wet work and other illicit activities. It’s not like that for the rest of his employees and associates. Most of them absolutely fucking love the guy. I mean, totally devoted.”