Naming Day (Jake Underwood Book 1) by Michael Ruger Page A

scar on your arm.”
    “Hunting accident”, I offered.
    “Uh-huh. Well, I don’t like to pry, but whatever you’re into might just be coming back to bite you in the ass. If you need my help, I’ll give it, but only if you spill whatever is you’re keeping hidden. I can’t help if I don’t know what is going on.”
    “Marty, I just can’t. It’s not that I don’t trust you, I do. But this isn’t something you can really help with and if you knew it would put you at risk.” I came as close as I ever had to telling him. But in the end, I just couldn’t. I couldn’t think of single time when bringing a normal person into my world did anything but make it more complicated for me and for them. Hell, it had even proved fatal to them on occasion.
    “Well, you know best about your own work. But don’t take this lightly. That second team ain’t kidding. They’ve got that lean and hungry look like sharks circling a swimmer. Be careful. If you need a place to crash or if you need help, you know how to reach me.” He finished his beer and got up.
    “I appreciate it Marty. I’ll keep it in mind.” I took another swig of beer. “Oh Marty? Could you lock up on you’re way out? Just use your picks.”
    He smiled a big grin and disappeared into the hall.

Chapter Seven
     
    I had hoped that the next morning would bring clarity to my increasingly crowded plate. It didn’t. I seldom have dreams and very few hang in mind until I wake. When I do, it’s significant. Actually, for the Fey, even half Fey like me, dreams can be very important. They are often used as a form of communication or even a teaching device. At the Court of Twilight, there is even a whole House that specializes in Dreaming and providing dreams to their patrons.
                  In my case, it can be difficult to tell the difference between a sending, as a dream message is often called, and a bit of undigested gristle or gravy that didn’t sit well.
                  My nightmares started with a litany of old scars that have never fully healed. There were dreams of people that I had failed in the past, mistakes in judgment that had cost those around me too much. Even things I thought I had dealt with came back to trouble me. I had once been involved in a missing person case. The trouble was that I wasn’t the only person looking. A couple of heavy hitters showed up and wanted to share facts of the case or rather, they wanted me to share and they would listen. I declined and the conversation went downhill from there. They felt that they could be more “persuasive”.  So they began to persuade me. Forcefully.
                  I have heard people talk about how after a while you can only experience so much pain and then your body begins to block it out. That may be true in a trauma or a fight, but when a professional decides to administer pain, they know exactly how much pain to inflict and how to make it last. They can walk that fine line between doing just enough damage to give you agony but not so much that you are damaged beyond repair. If they hurt you too much, you know there is no reason to tell them anyway because you will never recover, so to hell with them. The trick is to inflict just enough damage so that the victim thinks they can get over this, that they can survive this, if the torture stops.
                  These guys were masters of their craft. They took no enjoyment in what they did. In some ways that made it worse, like it was matter of complete indifference to them what they had done or could do. They just kept hitting. They would find a tender spot and work it until it had been sensitized and then they would move on.
                  After a while my world would get a little blurry and they would take a break and let me recover enough so that I could be sensible to realize exactly how much pain they were administering. I am sure that if I had known anything I would have