Chapter 4. Small-town girl

The car tore through the desert at top speed—faster than taking the road. Every bump made it groan in protest, the suspension was definitely shot. John just smiled.

[That’s the beauty of taking cars from sinners. No reason to feel bad about wrecking them.]

Some might think John took the killing of three men too lightly. Just a few hours ago, and now he was smiling, hands steady—as if he’d just taken a bathroom break, not ended lives.

There were two reasons for that.

First, he had Johnny’s memories—the man had been killing for years. At first, his hands had shaken, but that passed. Killing was just another job, and enough repetition made any job routine.

Second, Zarathos punished restraint with a deep, burning ache in the bones—but rewarded each act of vengeance. For every sinner sent to hell, warmth spread through John’s skeleton.

Both factors erased stress entirely.

So yeah, for John, killing was no different than taking a piss.

"Branding. Population: 450."

Old houses, a single store, a rickety church—it looked like every Wild West movie had been filmed here. There was nothing else. The entire "town" could be walked through in ten minutes.

[A real shithole,] he thought, eyeing the empty streets. [I’d hang myself from boredom here.]

From the informant, he already knew the arms dealers' camp was up on the hill. That alone was enough reason to burn them all, but he didn’t feel like leaving right away. Would be a waste to drive four hours just to finish everything in five minutes.

He needed a good meal, fresh supplies, and a proper bed—not just a car seat.

John pulled up next to a passing girl in her twenties and asked through the rolled-down window:

"Hey. Any place to stay around here?"

His question threw her off. She twirled a lock of hair around her finger for a few seconds.

"We’ve never had anything like that," she said, eyeing him suspiciously. "No tourists come to Branding. The last outsiders arrived two months ago."

[Sounds like the guys I’m here for.]

"Anyone renting out a room?" He studied her freckled face. "I’ll pay."

"How much?" she asked immediately.

[Like I’d know!] he grumbled internally. [Never rented a room from someone directly. Hotels are easier. Screw it.]

He pulled some bills from his wallet.

"I need a private room, a hot shower, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Just for one day." He showed her a hundred-dollar bill. "Is that enough?"

"Whoa!" Her eyes widened in surprise. "A hundred bucks for a night? You some undercover millionaire?"

John smirked at her small-town innocence. She had no idea that in a big city, a hundred dollars was nothing.

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"So, do you know where I can rent a room?" He rustled the bills for emphasis.

"Oh! Yeah!" She snapped back to reality. "My brother’s room is empty. I think you can stay there. Oh, by the way, my name’s Kim. What’s yours?"

"John Smith," he lied easily.

"Really?" She giggled. "Sounds like a secret agent name!"

He parked the car and followed her into a cozy country kitchen, where he happily dug into pancakes with strawberry jam. Kim could cook.

Over lunch, he also learned that Kim was a very lonely person. Only lonely people latched onto a stranger’s ears and dumped information on them, just to hold their attention for a little longer.

"Branding used to have a mine, but it ran dry five years ago," Kim chattered, watching him eat. It was a little awkward. "When the mine closed, there was no more work. Everyone moved to the nearest city, El Paso, or even farther. Only the old folks stayed—to wait for their graves."

"What about you?" He was full but grabbed another pancake. Tasty. "Why didn’t you leave?"

"I stayed with my dad. He can’t leave. Mom passed a long time ago, and there’s no one else to take care of him," she sighed. "But my brother moved out. He’s settling in El Paso, and once he’s ready, we’ll join him. Oh! I’m rambling! You probably want to talk about yourself, Mr. Smith!"

John ignored the obvious hint.

"I like listening to you," he said with a slight smile. "By the way, where’s your father?"

"He’s busy. He’ll be back by dinner," she waved it off. "If you’re done, come on, I’ll show you your room."

John left the empty plate and followed Kim upstairs. A typical young man’s room.

"My brother’s stuff is still here," she quickly shoved a box of magazines under the bed, "but I clean every day."

John gave the room a quick once-over. No bad smells. Bed was comfortable. That was all he needed. A half-hour nap, then it was time to hunt.

"Mr. Smith, I’m all alone in a town full of old people," Kim’s voice took on a playful edge. "No peers around, so I have to satisfy myself with my fingers. Think you could help a lady in distress?"

[Gotta love small-town girls,] John helped her out of her dress. [So refreshingly direct.]

///

John lay on the bed, holding Kim’s naked body against him. With a slight smile, he traced his fingers over her freckled shoulders. Cute.

"Mr. Smith," Kim whispered, resting her head on his chest. "Why did you come to Branding?"

"Heh, trying to loosen my tongue after an orgasm, little fox?" He gave her a light slap on the ass.

"I’m not a fox!" She pouted. "You’re just too secretive!"

"I told you, I’m here on business. Tomorrow, I’ll be gone," John stroked her back like a cat. "By the way, you mentioned some people showed up here two months ago. What do you know about them?"

"They’re deserters. Stole army vehicles loaded with weapons and set up camp on the hill. Making deals, selling guns."

"That’s criminal!" John felt his pulse quicken. "And you’re just casually talking about it?"

"So what? Everyone knows," she shrugged, completely unbothered. "Those guys come down from the hill every day—to buy groceries or shoot pool at the bar."

[Yeah. That’s why I hate small towns. Nowhere to hide from anyone.]

John stared at the ceiling, thinking. Go hunting now or stay in bed with Kim a little longer? Thanks to a simple protection spell, he wasn’t worried about knocking her up or catching anything.

His eyes wandered around the room until they landed on a framed photo. Kim and a tattooed guy... The same guy he had burned alive four hours ago.

His heart sank. He already knew the answer, but he asked anyway:

"Who’s that?"

"Hm?" She lazily turned her head and glanced at the photo. "That’s my brother."

Oh, shit…

[Slept with my enemy’s sister? Looks like I’ve unlocked a new level of villainy.]

"My brother was always trouble," Kim continued. "Fighting, stealing, in and out of jail. When those guys started building their camp, he snuck onto the hill at night. Came back with an army crate, tossed it in his truck, and left for El Paso."

John stayed silent. Not a muscle on his face moved, but his traitorous heart pounded faster.

"Wow, your heart’s racing!" She pressed her ear to his chest. "What’s wrong, Mr. Smith?"

"You do realize your brother stole a crate of weapons from deserters?" He tried to read her expression, but she turned away. "He’s probably dead by now."

"Oh," Kim hugged him tighter. "My dad says the same thing..."

"You said the deserters go to the bar," he quickly changed the subject. "What time?"

"There are always two or three of them near the pool table. Not much else to do in Branding."

"Got it," he carefully pulled out of her embrace and started getting dressed. "I’ll go shoot some pool."

"I’m coming with you!"

"No," he said firmly, locking eyes with her. "Better make dinner. I liked your pancakes."

"Really?" She beamed. "Dad says the same! Once I save up, I’ll move to El Paso and get a job as a chef!"

"Yeah," John mumbled, dressing faster.

[Living with Kim is like living with a radio. Not a second of silence.]