The Immortal Doc Holliday: Ruthless: (The Immortal Doc Holliday Series Book 3) Read online

  Copyright © M.M. Crumley 2021

  Excerpt from THE LAST DOOR Copyright © M.M. Boulder 2020

  Excerpt from DEATH SONG Copyright © M.M. Crumley 2019

  All rights reserved. Published by Lone Ghost Publishing LLC,

  associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of

  Lone Ghost Publishing LLC.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted (vigorously).

  No part or parts of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, stored in a retrieval systems, or transmitted in any form or by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (including via carrier pigeon),

  without written permission of the author and publisher.

  Author: Crumley, M.M.

  Title: THE IMMORTAL DOC HOLLIDAY, RUTHLESS.

  ISBN: 9798528545981

  Target Audience: Adult

  Also available in this series

  THE IMMORTAL DOC HOLLIDAY: HIDDEN (Book 1)

  THE IMMORTAL DOC HOLLIDAY: COUP D'ÉTAT (Book 2)

  THE IMMORTAL DOC HOLLIDAY: INSTINCT (Book 4)

  THE IMMORTAL DOC HOLLIDAY: ROUGES (Book 5)

  Subjects:

  Urban Fantasy/ Horror Comedy

  This is a work of fiction, which means it’s made up. Names, characters, peoples, locales, and incidents (stuff that happens in the story) are either gifts of the ether, products of the author’s resplendent imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or dying, businesses or companies in operation or defunct, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Also by M.M. Crumley

  Urban Fantasy

  THE IMMORTAL DOC HOLLIDAY SERIES

  BOOK 1: HIDDEN

  BOOK 2: COUP D'ÉTAT

  BOOK 3: RUTHLESS

  BOOK 4: INSTINCT

  BOOK 5: ROGUES

  THE LEGEND OF ANDREW RUFUS SERIES

  BOOK 1: DARK AWAKENING

  BOOK 2: BONE DEEP

  BOOK 3: BLOOD STAINED

  BOOK 4: BURIAL GROUND

  BOOK 5: DEATH SONG

  BOOK 6: FUNERAL MARCH

  BOOK 7: WARPATH

  Writing as M.M. Boulder

  Psychological Thrillers

  THE LAST DOOR

  MY BETTER HALF

  THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT

  MY ONE AND ONLY

  WE ALL FALL DOWN

  FB

  https://www.loneghostpublishing.com/

  Book 3:

  RUTHLESS

  M.M. Crumley

  For my awesome peeps who've been with me since the beginning: Edwin, Ang, & Nessa.

  You guys are the best.

  Chapter 1

  Doc Holliday flattened himself against his closet wall and whispered desperately into his phone, "Jury, you have to help me."

  "Nah," Jury laughed.

  "Are you in here, Sir John?" Mrs. Jury trilled. She was inside his bedroom now, just inches from the closet door. "You can't hide from me," she said, voice filled with laughter.

  For a moment she was silent, then she murmured, "Oh my, what an absolutely luxurious bed."

  It was a luxurious bed. It was perfect for making love to beautiful women; just not Mrs. Jury.

  Sweat poured down Doc's back, and he tried to sink into the closet's paneling. "Jury!" he hissed. "Seriously!"

  "I can't," Jury giggled. "I'm busy."

  "Are you drunk?!" Doc demanded.

  "Drunk? No."

  "Come back to bed, Tommy," a woman's muffled voice said poutily,

  "You were shot!" Doc hissed. "When I left, you had seven bullet holes, and you were half dead."

  "I have an excellent doctor."

  "That's not what you said!"

  "You'll be fine," Jury said carelessly. "Just handle it."

  "Handle it?! Handle your mother?!"

  "Yeah."

  The line went dead, and Doc stared at his phone furiously. Jury had specifically said, no demanded, that Doc not handle her, and now he was saying to handle her.

  He closed his eyes with a sigh. He'd just wanted to take a goddamn nap. Was that too much to ask?

  "I can hear you breathing in there," Mrs. Jury said seductively as she opened the closet door and stepped inside. Doc jumped forward and hastily grabbed a pair of pants, wishing he'd thought to do it sooner.

  "My, my," she said throatily, gliding across the floor until she was right in front of him. "There's really no need to put those on, Sir John."

  "There is," he stuttered, class and sophistication jetting out the window, replaced with a very strong sense of self-preservation. "I have an errand that can't be put off."

  "I'm sure it can wait." She traced the edges of his tattoo with a warm, glowing finger. He could feel her magic sparkling over his skin, and he fought to keep his body from moving towards her and his hands from reaching for her.

  "The infamous Holliday tattoo," she murmured. "It's quite charming. Really accentuates your... muscles." She leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the very center of his chest, and Doc jerked backwards.

  "Mrs. Jury..." he stammered.

  "Abigail," she purred.

  "Abigail. This is a conversation we'll have to have another day. My errand can't be put off."

  Her eyes narrowed. "It's barely morning. You wouldn't be trying to run away from me, would you?"

  "No!" he gasped. He could not think of a worse position to be in. On one hand, he stood to bring down the anger of the entire Jury clan on his head. On the other, he stood to offend a very powerful witch. And the only thing worse than a scorned woman, was a scorned woman who was also a witch.

  He took a deep breath. There had to be a way to get out of this without getting killed. "Abigail," he said, trying to move past her towards the closet door. "There is nothing I'd love more than... spending more time with you right now." His cleverness and quick wit had utterly deserted him; he could barely form words let alone complete sentences.

  "I can see that," she murmured, eyes dropping to his fully erect manhood.

  "Goddamn it," he growled, struggling to get his uncooperative legs into his pants. "Yes, well, I mean..."

  "It's all right, John," she said, placing her hand on his arm. Heat shot down his arm to his groin, and he swallowed a groan. "You don't have to be scared," she murmured. "We both want this."

  Oh holy hell. He did have to be scared. He had to be very, very scared. He was going to have to move to Tibet and become a monk if he didn't handle this well. He yanked his pants up the rest of the way, grimacing as he pulled them closed.

  "But I really... And Jury said, and I..." He trailed off. He sounded like an idiot, and he was still no closer to the door.

  "I'm over four hundred years old," she laughed, clever fingers trailing over his hips. "I don't need my whelp of a son looking after me."

  She really did though, because despite her age she was hopelessly naive. Bosch had played her like a violin, and Doc still wasn't sure if she realized it. But that wasn't the point. The point was that he needed to get out of this room before he did something he couldn't undo.

  He grabbed a shirt off a hanger, thrust his arms through the sleeves, and started to button it. Her silky fingers unbuttoned it. He closed his eyes, trying desperately not to grab her or push her away.

  "Mrs... Abigail," he hissed, attempting to close off the part of his mind that felt pleasure. "I can't..." Her hand slid down his chest. "Not right now!" he gasped.

  "I think you can," she breathed.

&
nbsp; He could. He really, really could. No one ever needed to know.

  The doorbell rang, and Doc jerked away from her, relief and disappointment warring within him.

  "Errand," he said dumbly, hoping it wasn't just Rosa, his maid.

  He rushed from the closet, buttoning his shirt as he went, and threw open his front door before she could tackle him and pull him into his bed.

  He stared at the four figures standing in his doorway, confusion chasing away all remnants of lust.

  "What the hell're you doing here?" he demanded.

  "Um... I'm sorry, Mr. Holliday, I know it's early, and we didn't call first, but Johnny said..." Frankie trailed off, cheeks red with embarrassment.

  Johnny Baker stepped forward boldly. "I said that you've gotten into so much trouble lately we'd better cash in our favors before you're arrested."

  Doc stared at the four children in utter shock. He'd just wanted a nap. And a bottle or two of whiskey. And an interesting book. And a woman... Mrs. Jury. In his bedroom. Probably naked and in his bed.

  He swallowed a groan. God, he actually wanted her. Who wouldn't want her? She was gorgeous, and he could nearly taste the power oozing from her. Making love to her would be... spectacular.

  He nearly closed the door in their faces, but instead he grinned widely and said, "Actually, your timing couldn't be more perfect."

  "It couldn't?" Frankie asked in confusion.

  "Not at all. Come in." He opened the door, gesturing for them to enter. "Whiskey? Sorry, not used to underaged visitors. Water?"

  "No, thank you," Frankie said tightly. "And I'm not sure we should come in..."

  "It's fine. Mrs. Jury is here."

  "Which Mrs. Jury?" Jules demanded.

  "Abigail Jury," Doc replied.

  "Abigail Jury?" Jules stuttered. "As in the most powerful female witch on the continent?"

  That was more than a little concerning.

  "I hope not," Doc said with a short laugh. "Abigail, please come meet my errand." He was finding it difficult to call her Abigail. He'd been calling her "your mother" or "Mrs. Jury" for a hundred years now, and Abigail didn't exactly roll off the tongue.

  She must not have been lying naked in his bed, which was too bad, he'd kind of enjoyed envisioning her there, because she walked out immediately, brow furrowed.

  "Oh my god!" Jules exclaimed. "It is her!"

  "Who are these children, Sir John?" Abigail asked carefully.

  "These are my errand, the Baker children. They did a favor for me a week or so ago, and I owe them a favor in return. This is Frankie, witch babysitter, Jules and Johnny, witch twins, and Addison, witch unicorn."

  "I'm not a unicorn," Addison giggled.

  "You're not? Then how come you have a horn growing out of your forehead?" Doc pretended to inspect it. "It's quite colorful. Purple and fuchsia, if I'm not mistaken."

  Addison clapped her hands to her head. "I don't feel anything!" she exclaimed.

  "It's magical, my dear. Of course you don't," Doc said dismissively.

  Abigail was watching him with a guarded expression, and he wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

  "Will you be heading home now, Abigail?" he asked, taking her elbow and moving her towards the door.

  "Oh no," she said with a throaty laugh. "I'm staying at Dulcis for a little while."

  All of Doc's training and discipline deserted him. "You're what?!" he exclaimed.

  "Staying here," she murmured. "I'll be waiting for you this evening," she added, tracing a finger down his cheek. She surveyed him slowly. "I do believe I prefer you naked and ready."

  He gulped, trying very hard not to imagine her naked. "Jury!" he exclaimed. "I have a thing tonight. Jury needs me..."

  "My son can wait his turn," she said. She smiled, and Doc held back a shudder. She looked like a cat who'd just caught the fattest mouse in the house. Something terrible was going to have to happen to him between now and tonight if he didn't want to do something very stupid.

  The door closed behind her, and Doc stared at it dumbly.

  "You can't sleep with Abigail Jury," Jules said sternly. "She's married."

  "Doesn't matter," Doc said distractedly.

  "It does too matter," Jules gasped. "You can't go around sleeping with married women."

  "I can if they're available," Doc muttered. "Why am I discussing this with you? You're what, ten?"

  "Eleven," Jules said stiffly. "Abigail Jury is married to Phillip Jury. He's the first son of a third son, and he's seventh in line for a dukedom."

  "What?" Doc asked. "How do you even know that?"

  "Witch pedigree one oh one, duh."

  "Witch pedigree?"

  "They attend a special Hidden academy for witches," Frankie cut in. "Look, I'm sorry we barged in on you, Mr. Holliday. I... I..."

  "They blackmailed you because you're a norm, but their parents don't know it, so they hold it over your head to get you to do things for them, which you do because you want to keep your job," Doc surmised.

  "Exactly," Frankie said wearily. "I should just tell them, I suppose."

  "Where's the fun in that?" Doc laughed. "I'll order breakfast. Which reminds me, how exactly did you get up here?"

  "Jervis let us up," Johnny said.

  "Of course he did."

  Doc picked up his phone and called Jervis.

  "Sir?"

  "Am I not paying you enough?"

  "Sir?"

  "I've had two unwanted visitors this morning."

  "Mrs. Jury found her own way up. She is a witch after all."

  "You could've warned me."

  "I... Well, I..."

  "Is that a hint of amusement I hear in your voice?"

  "Certainly not, sir!"

  "Certainly," Doc sighed. "I don't suppose there's any way to keep her out?"

  "I don't suppose. She's rather beautiful."

  "Not the point, Jervis. What about the Baker children?"

  "They said you owed them a favor, and I know how seriously you take favors, sir."

  Doc sighed heavily. "Fine. Give yourself a raise then."

  "I did just this morning."

  "Good. And send up breakfast for five."

  "Yes, sir."

  "And Jervis?"

  "Yes?"

  "If the Jurys come by, you will let me know?"

  "Certainly, sir."

  "And provide a distraction so I can get the hell out?"

  "I have a trained monkey just for such an occasion, sir."

  "Keep it up, and I'll think you have a sense of humor."

  "We wouldn't want that, sir. Breakfast will be right up."

  Doc disconnected and turned to study the children. They were standing awkwardly in Doc's entryway, just staring at him with wide, uncertain eyes; and he could tell Frankie was deeply regretting her decision to bring them.

  "Sit," Doc said, gesturing through an archway towards his dining room table. "Breakfast will be up soon, and I don't bite; I swear."

  Addison giggled and walked past him, crawling onto one of his dining room chairs. "I like it here; the top is big," she said, pointing towards the high ceiling.

  The other children followed her and sat down as well, apprehension making them wary.

  "You're all very silent now," Doc said as he poured himself a cup of whiskey.

  "Is that alcohol?" Jules asked. "It's not even eight yet."

  "So?"

  "You shouldn't be drinking so early, should you?"

  "Why not?"

  "Well... Because!"

  "You have an awful lot of rules for an eleven year old," Doc said casually as he sat across from her.

  "They're not my rules," she said. "They're THE rules."

  "Oh." Doc took a large drink. "So who made them up?"

  "Nobody made them up. They just are." Her little brow was furrowed with agitation.

  "No," he countered. "Somebody made them up. Rules don't exist for deer or birds. Just people. So some person, somewhere,
made up the first rule and told everyone else to follow it."

  They all stared at him in dazed silence.

  "Too early for philosophizing?" he asked cheerfully.

  They didn't respond, so Doc went on. "The way I figure it, life is a great big game board and we're pieces in play, all of us, but somebody got to the board before we did, before there were rules, and this somebody made up the rules, and then told us that's how the game is played. But in reality, there are no rules."

  "That's... But... What're you saying?" Frankie demanded. "There're rules for a reason. You can't just go around stealing or murdering."

  "Why not?"

  "Because it's not right!!" she said emphatically.

  "Maybe," Doc said, tossing back the rest of his whiskey. He was too tired to go through the effort of explaining to them why they were wrong.

  His front door opened, and Doc watched as Jervis pushed in a cart loaded with covered platters. Jervis wheeled it into the dining room and set a platter in front of each of them, removing the lids as he went.

  "Will there be anything else, sir?" he asked politely after he'd laid down the silverware and filled glasses with water and milk.

  "Bring in Thaddeus, will you? I feel rude not including him when I have company."

  "Certainly." Jervis gave a slight nod before exiting the dining room.

  "Eat up," Doc said cheerfully. The Baker children and their babysitter were out of their league, and he had a feeling they were just beginning to realize it. None of them had regained their general enthusiasm and chatter from the other day, which was fine with him. He wasn't really up to mindless chatter. He just hoped their favor was an easy one.

  Abigail and her warm fingers danced through his mind. Never mind. He hoped their favor involved Canada or Russia or Australia. Anywhere but here.

  "Here you are, sir," Jervis intoned as he set Thaddeus's pot on a high stool beside Frankie.

  "Thank you, Jervis. Just remember what I said about the Jurys."

  "Of course."

  Jervis left, and Doc dug into his food. Just twelve hours ago, he hadn't been sure he'd ever eat another breakfast or make love to another woman. He stopped himself from following that particularly lovely train of thought and focused on his plate.

  After several bites, Doc cast a glance at Thaddeus and said, "You're awfully quiet, Thaddy, old boy."