Jennifer Estep - Venom

“I’m not hungry,” Roslyn murmured, tapping her French manicured nails on top of the laminated menu.

“Me either,” Xavier rumbled.

“I don’t care whether you’re hungry or not,” I snapped. “You’re in my gin joint now, and you’re damn well going to eat something. So tell me what you want, or you’ll find yourself at my mercy.”

I might be a stone-cold killer, but no one could ever accuse me of lacking in the hostess department. Still, I gave them the hard stare to show them I was serious. Xavier ordered two barbecue pork sandwiches, coleslaw, baked beans, and a blackberry lemonade. Roslyn requested an ice water with lemon, a grilled cheese sandwich, and a fruit tray.

I cocked my hip to one side and looked at her. “Sweetheart, does this look like the kind of place that serves fruit trays?”

Roslyn’s dark eyes flicked over the barbecue restaurant. I didn’t have to look behind me to know exactly what she was seeing. Clean, but well-worn blue and pink vinyl booths. Matching faded pig tracks on the floor that led to the men’s and women’s bathrooms, respectively. A long counter lined with stools where people could watch their food being prepared on the opposite side. A framed, blood-covered copy of Where the Red Fern Grows on the wall next to the cash register, along with an old faded picture of two young men holding fishing rods. Cumin, red pepper, and other spices from the afternoon’s cooking flavored the air, along with a healthy dose of pure, heart-stopping grease.

The vampire’s wide mouth quirked. “No, I suppose not.”

“The only fruit I have in here is in the cherry pie. You can have some of that. With vanilla bean ice cream. Be back in a minute.”

I scribbled down their orders, tore off the paper, and took it over to Sophia Deveraux. The Goth dwarf had moved on from slicing cheese. Now she cut through a pile of tomatoes with a long, curved, serrated knife, making precise, neat little rounds for the rest of the day’s sandwiches.

“Another order,” I told her. “I’m going to flip the sign over to Closed for the next hour or so and lock the front door. And I’ll be sending Finn and Xavier your way in a few minutes. Keep them busy in the back while I talk to Roslyn.”

“Hmph.” Sophia gave me her usual noncommittal grunt.

This morning, I’d told Sophia that Roslyn and Xavier were coming by to talk about a problem they were having — a problem I was thinking about helping them with in my own special way. The Goth dwarf’s black eyes had actually sparkled a little bit at the thought of disposing of another body for me. Jo-Jo might take care of healing me, but Sophia was the cleanup crew. No matter how bloody a scene was, no matter how much tissue, brain matter, and other nasty bits were lying around, the dwarf could make the area look pristine. No blood, no hairs, no fibers, no DNA or fingerprints of any kind were ever left behind.

I’d often wondered if Sophia had the same sort of Air elemental magic that Jo-Jo had. Air magic was great for sandblasting things — like getting blood off a wall. But I’d never seen or felt Sophia do any magic. I didn’t even know what the dwarf did with all the bodies I’d sent her way over the years. Didn’t know where she took them or what she did with the remains. I didn’t even know why Sophia enjoyed getting rid of the bodies in the first place. I had a feeling it had something to do with her ruined voice, which rasped worse than a chain smoker with a collapsed lung.

I’d never come right out and asked the dwarf. Fletcher Lane had instilled a healthy dose of curiosity in me, but I valued Sophia’s and Jo-Jo’s services and friendship too much to pry. At least for now.

Sophia put her tomatoes aside and started working on the order. I fixed Roslyn’s water and Xavier’s lemonade and took the drinks back over to the booth.

“… and then I said, ‘Of course I didn’t sleep with your wife. She was too busy screwing your business partner to even notice me.’” Finn let out a laugh at his lame joke.

Xavier stared at him with a blank expression. Roslyn ran a fingernail back and forth across the tabletop.

I plunked the drinks down on the table. “Food’s coming up in a minute.”

By the time I locked the front door and walked back over to the counter, Sophia had dished up Xavier’s coleslaw and baked beans, and Roslyn’s cherry pie with ice cream. I fixed the vamp’s grilled cheese, while the dwarf worked on the two pork sandwiches. A few minutes later, I carried the plates of food to the table and set them down. Then I slid in on Finn’s side of the booth.

“Nothing for me?” Finn asked.

“You’ve had your lunch already. Don’t be greedy.”

Finn stuck out his lip and pouted. I rolled my eyes. Roslyn and Xavier dug into their food.

The four of us didn’t speak while they ate. Xavier hesitated, but after the first few bites, his claim of not being hungry vanished — along with all the food on his plate. Roslyn merely nibbled at her grilled cheese and only ate a few bites of her pie. A shame, really. Golden crust, warm filling, a perfect blend of sweet and sour. I’d made the cherry dessert fresh this morning. Cooking was one of my great loves and skills in life, along with being rather handy with my knives.

I waited until they’d both pushed their plates away before I got down to business. “Finn, Xavier, why don’t you boys go help Sophia? I think there were some boxes in the back she needed help unloading.”

Xavier frowned, and his dark eyes flicked to Sophia. The dwarf had gone back to slicing tomatoes, and the muscles in her arms bulged with her swift, precise movements.

“You’re kidding right?” the giant rumbled. “Sophia’s a dwarf, the strongest one I’ve ever seen. She could probably bench-press me if she wanted to.”

“Go help her, Xavier. Now.”

Finn opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. “You too, Finn.”

The two men grumbled, but they got to their feet and shuffled over to Sophia, who led them through the swinging doors and into the back of the restaurant. The dwarf would keep them occupied while I talked to Roslyn. Once I’d settled myself in the booth again, I stared at the vampire.

“Now that the boys are gone, you want to tell me what that little scene at Northern Aggression was about last night? And why Elliot Slater thinks that the two of you have some kind of relationship?”

Roslyn tapped her fingers on the tabletop. After a few seconds, her hand stilled. She drew in a breath and raised her dark eyes to mine. “Because the bastard’s stalking me.”

“Stalking you?” I asked.

The news wasn’t unexpected, given the creepy display of affection I’d seen last night, but I was mildly surprised that she came right out and said it. Roslyn Phillips wasn’t my biggest fan, especially since I’d threatened to kill her if she ever talked about me being an assassin to anyone ever again. The vampire must be more upset or desperate than I’d thought to spill her problems to me with so little provocation. I hadn’t even given her the hard stare yet.

Roslyn bit her lip and nodded. “Stalking, domination, possession, call it whatever you like. The bastard’s obsessed with me.”

“When did this happen?”

“It started a couple of weeks ago,” the vampire said. “When Elliot Slater came to question me about Mab Monroe’s party and how someone was able to get their hands on one of the invitations for my girls — and her heart-and-arrow rune necklace. After that, well, I guess you could say he took a liking to me.”

The beginnings of a migraine stirred behind my eyes. Elliot Slater had come to question Roslyn because she’d helped me get into Mab’s party so I could go after Tobias Dawson. Slater had seen, gotten close to, and become obsessed with the vampire because of me. All of which meant that Roslyn’s suffering was my fault. All my fault. The vamp had kept up her end of our deal — given me the help I’d needed and kept quiet about it after the fact — and now she was being stalked as a result.