Jennifer Estep - Venom

I told Finn and Xavier what Roslyn and I had agreed to. To my surprise, the giant leaned down and enveloped me in a gentle hug.

“Thank you, Gin,” Xavier rumbled in my ear.

All these thank-yous and sentiment were making me uncomfortable. You’d think I’d just promised to lasso the moon or something the way Roslyn and Xavier were carrying on. Instead of just dragging out the deadly skill set I’d perfected over the years.

I stared at Finn, who grinned and shrugged. So I patted what I could reach of Xavier’s back, and the giant pulled away. We said our good-byes, I unlocked the front door, and Roslyn and Xavier left the restaurant.

I watched them walk down the street, and Finn moved to stand beside me.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“Nothing much,” I replied. “I’m just wondering how exactly I went from being the Spider to the Robin fucking Hood of the greater Ashland area. Three months ago, I was killing people for money. Lots of money. Buckets of it. Now, tell me a good sob story instead and I’ll take care of all your problems for free. Instead of stealing from the rich, I’m stabbing them to death for the poor.”

“Well, we are going to have to work on the pro bono part,” Finn admitted. “But there’s nothing wrong with helping people. Dad used to do it from time to time.”

I looked at Finn, with his walnut hair, ruddy skin, and green eyes that always reminded me so much of Fletcher. “Maybe, but the old man’s little hobby was something neither one of you ever shared with me.”

Finn shrugged. “Dad never told me much about it, either.”

“Probably because he knew you wouldn’t approve of the free part.”

Finn grimaced and clutched his chest. “Please, Gin. You know how the word free pains me.”

There was a reason Finnegan Lane was one of the best investment bankers in Ashland — he loved money. The feel of it, the smell, manipulating it, watching it grow, and, of course, all the pretty things he could buy with it.

“But as much as it hurts me to say it, I hardly think we can charge Roslyn for this job,” Finn said.

“You mean since I’m the one who brought Elliot Slater down on her to start with? That Roslyn’s situation is all my fault? That her pain and everything— everything —she’s had to endure is all my fault?”

Finn grimaced again. “I didn’t say that, Gin.”

“No, but we both know it’s true. So let’s get to work.”

Finn squeezed my shoulder and moved off to get a refill of his chicory coffee. I stood in front of one of the storefront windows. Roslyn and Xavier had long since disappeared, but I peered through the glass and brooded about my latest assignment.

Fucking pro bono work. Going to get me killed one day.

Maybe even today.

“Are you sure he’s in there?” I asked.

Finn grinned. “Baby, would I lie?”

I stared at him.

“Okay, frequently,” he admitted. “But you can trust me on this. Elliot Slater’s in that restaurant, along with Jonah McAllister and Mab Monroe. According to my sources, they’re having their weekly powwow. Talking business, counting their money, discussing the latest body count.”

“The usual, then,” I murmured.

I stared through the window of Finn’s silver Aston Martin. It was just after eleven, and we sat parked across and down the street from Underwood’s, Ashland’s most exclusive and expensive restaurant. Underwood’s was the kind of place where a glass of tap water cost ten bucks. More, if you wanted ice. The restaurant was located in one of the city’s older brick buildings, a classy, three-story affair in the financial district. Much of the stone had been stripped from the top floor and replaced with floor-to-ceiling windows that gave the restaurant’s patrons an impressive view of the Aneirin River that curved through this part of downtown. A crimson awning bearing the eatery’s name stretched out into the street, and valets hurried forward to open the doors on the steady stream of limos that pulled up to the curb.

Finn reached over and tapped the manila folder on my lap. “According to my info, the Three Musketeers should be ordering dessert about now. Tiramisu for Mab Monroe, pear cheesecake for Jonah McAllister, and a whole chocolate fudge pie for Elliot Slater.”

I opened the folder and flipped through the sheets of paper. As soon as Roslyn and Xavier had left the Pork Pit, Finn and I had gone to work. I’d left the restaurant in Sophia Deveraux’s capable hands for the rest of the afternoon, while Finn had fired up his laptop, reached out to his many sources, and started compiling all the information he could on Elliot Slater and the best and quickest way I could kill him.

Just like Fletcher Lane would have done, if the old man had still been alive. Finn even used the same type of plain-Jane folders that Fletcher had. Made me all nostalgic.

Nothing obvious had jumped out of the file, so we’d decided to tail the giant to see if we could spot any potential weaknesses. A bar he liked to frequent, a bookie he did business with, a mistress tucked away somewhere. It was one thing to just walk up to Slater and stab him to death. I could do that easily enough. It would be quite another to make his death look like a random bit of violence on the mean streets of Ashland and not have it traced back to me or Roslyn Phillips.

After Finn had worked his computer magic, we’d swung by Fletcher’s house to pick up some supplies for the evening. More silverstone knives for me, an extra laptop battery for Finn, and ski masks and dark, anonymous clothes for both of us. Normally I didn’t care if my targets saw my face before they died. It wasn’t like they were going to blab about my real identity where they were going. But I wasn’t taking any chances with Elliot Slater. Especially since he already knew me as Gin Blanco. It would be just my bad luck to get interrupted before he died and then have him point the finger back at me before he took his last, blood-soaked breath.

I closed the file, placed it on the floor, and leaned my head back against the seat.

“Speaking of files,” Finn said. “Did you ever look at that info on Bria that I compiled for you?”

“No.”

Finn stared at me with his bright green eyes. “Why not? I thought you’d be eager to see what your long-lost baby sister has been up to the past seventeen years.”

I sighed. “Part of me is. But part of me wonders if I should even bother.”

“Why?”

“Because Bria’s a cop, Finn,” I replied. “A real straight arrow, just like Donovan Caine was. I don’t think she’d be too thrilled to learn that her big sister has killed more people than the common cold.”

Finn looked at me for a moment. “Once again, you underestimate yourself. If Bria can’t understand why you’ve done the things you’ve done, then she doesn’t deserve to know you. Just like Donovan Caine didn’t deserve you.”

I tried to smile, but I don’t think it came off very well. “Sweet of you to say, but we both know that’s not true, don’t we? I can’t blame Donovan for leaving, not really. It’s one thing for a guy to want to sleep with me. But hanging around long-term with a former assassin? That’s not the kind of thing that makes a man rest easier at night, especially when he’s in bed next to me and I’ve got a knife tucked under my pillow and another one on top of the nightstand.”

Finn opened his mouth, probably to argue with me some more, but a movement across the street caught my eye. One of the valets hurried to open the door, and Mab Monroe strolled out into the dark night. The Fire elemental wore a stylish black trench coat, and her coppery hair glistened like wet blood against the dark fabric. Jonah McAllister exited next, followed by Elliot Slater. Both men wore suits, somber ties, and wingtips. I could see the gleam of their shoes even across the street.