Jennifer Estep - Spider's Revenge

Sure enough, Bria seemed impatient, tapping her hand on the Ice bar, turning the silverstone rings around on her finger, and continually scanning the crowd — all the obvious signs of a woman being stood up and getting angry about it. Then Bria’s hand stilled, and she frowned before reaching down and pulling her cell phone out of her jacket. She held the phone up to her ear, sticking her finger in her opposite one so she could hear the person on the other end. She said a few words, then hung up. Bria didn’t look in our direction; she was too smart for that, but a moment later, Finn’s cell phone lit up.

He peered at the text message on the screen. “Bria says that Jenkins just called her. He wants to meet outside in the west parking lot. She’s going to meet him right now.”

This time I frowned. Why would a small-time hood like Jenkins want to meet outside on a night as cold as this one? There was more than enough of a crowd to get lost in, here in the nightclub, where it was nice and warm with lots of booze to consume and eye candy to lust after. I was starting to get a bad, bad feeling about this. Finn looked at me and nodded. He was having the same nagging doubts that I was.

“Roslyn, it’s been a pleasure as always, but duty calls,” I said, sliding out of the booth and getting to my feet. “If you don’t mind, tell Xavier what’s up, okay?”

“You need some help?” Roslyn asked, concern tightening her beautiful features as she got to her feet as well.

I shook my head. “Nah. If Finn and I can’t handle a simple lowlife like Jenkins and whatever tricks he might have tucked up his crooked sleeves, then it’s time for us to find another line of work.”

Bria stood up, paid her tab, and headed for the front door. Instead of following her, Finn and I walked behind Roslyn, who opened a door set into the back wall of the club. The vampire madam led us through a series of narrow hallways that made up the outer wall of Northern Aggression — a hollow shell of space that wrapped all the way around the building. The passageways gave Roslyn, her hookers, and the giant bouncers who watched out for them peepholes and access to every part of the building without having to fight their way through the crowd. I’d taken advantage of them as well a few months back when I’d been stalking the people responsible for Fletcher’s murder.

Roslyn led us to the back side of the building and opened a door for us. The February cold stung my face, but I welcomed the chill after the overbearing heat of the club. Beside me, Finn shivered and tucked his chin down deeper into his jacket.

Roslyn pointed to the left. “If they’re meeting in the west lot, there are a couple of Dumpsters you can hide behind. There’s some cracked, broken pavement that needs to be fixed, so we moved the bins over there to keep folks from driving across it and blowing out their tires.”

I nodded. “Thanks, Roslyn. For everything.”

She nodded back. “I’ll go get Xavier,” the vampire said and disappeared inside.

Finn and I stayed where we were, both of us reaching into our coat pockets and pulling out black ski masks. Before I’d retired, I’d never worn a mask while working as the Spider. I didn’t need to — none of the people who saw my face were ever around to talk about it after the fact. But ever since I’d declared war on Mab, I’d taken to sporting a mask during my nocturnal activities. It was one more little thing that I did to protect my true identity as Gin Blanco — and the lives of everyone I cared about. If Mab found out who I was, the Fire elemental wouldn’t be content just hunting me down. She’d kill everyone she could get her hands on who might be close to me. Finn, Bria, the Deveraux sisters, Owen, even Roslyn and Xavier. I might be rather cavalier about my own life, but I wasn’t risking the others like that.

Once I pulled the mask down over my face, I turned to stare at Finn. “You ready to do this?”

“Just like Bonnie and Clyde.” He grinned, his teeth a gleaming white against the black fabric. “Although let’s try not to get shot to pieces tonight, okay? This coat is imported leather.”

I snorted, and the two of us moved off into the darkness.

The Dumpsters were crouched at the edge of the west parking lot, just where Roslyn had said they would be. Finn and I slipped behind the metal containers. The stench of sour beer, fried food, and vomit hung over the area like retched fog. I started breathing in through my mouth, even though the cold air burned my throat and lungs. That was still far preferable to the frontal assault on my nose.

“You know, Gin, this would be a perfect place for an ambush,” Finn murmured.

He was right. The Dumpsters cordoned this area off from the rest of Northern Aggression, and the parking lot in front of us was deserted. Someone had made an effort to clear away the snow, letting me see several deep, jagged cracks that zigzagged through the pavement. A cluster of snow-covered trees butted up against the far side of the lot. Next to them, a flat piece of land stretched out parallel to the ice-crusted street beyond. Two SUVs were parked out there off to the right. Their owners must have driven them to the club tonight because the tinted windows were clean and defrosted. The music of the club pulsed out here, but the thumping beat was softer than it had been inside. Still, it was more than loud enough to soak up a scream or two.

The bad feeling in my stomach arched up, gaining force, and I palmed one of my silverstone knives.

Footsteps sounded, along with the rustle of clothing, and Bria rounded the building and came into view, heading toward the parking lot. She looked left and right, scanning the scene just as Finn and I had. Bria didn’t like what she saw any better. Her mouth flattened into a hard line, and her hand slid into the pocket of her jacket, probably curling around the gun that she had tucked away in there.

From our position behind the Dumpsters, Bria couldn’t see us, but she would know that we were here somewhere, ready to back her up. She strolled to the center of the lot and stopped, peering into the gray shadows cast by the ice-crusted trees.

“Lincoln?” she called out. “Are you here?”

No answer.

Bria looked and listened, but nothing moved in the cold night, and only the steady thump-thump-thump of the nightclub’s music interrupted the frosty silence.

While we waited for Lincoln Jenkins to show, Finn trained his gaze on Bria, just as he’d been doing inside Northern Aggression. Supposedly, my foster brother had been keeping a watch out for anyone suspicious, anyone who might have an unhealthy interest in Bria or her source, just as Roslyn and I had been doing. But his eyes had rarely left Bria’s face inside the club, and he hadn’t so much as ogled any of the scantily clad women grooving on the dance floor the way he usually did.

I watched Finn stare at my sister as she paced back and forth across the parking lot. Maybe I should have been jealous. After all, Finn and I had once been an item, way back in the day when we were both teenagers and hadn’t known any better. He’d been nineteen, I’d been seventeen, and we’d spent a rather enjoyable summer getting to know each other before we both realized that we were better off as friends than lovers. Over the years, that bond had turned into a brother-sister connection, one that was very important to me. Probably more than Finn knew.

Still, despite my love for him, I wasn’t above yanking his chain, and this was definitely a prime moment if ever there was one. The great Finnegan Lane, infamous womanizer, lusting after my sister, who, so far, was giving him more of a chase than he’d ever imagined.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, you know,” I said in a soft tone, making sure my voice didn’t carry beyond our position behind the Dumpsters.