Spider’s Revenge (Elemental Assassin #5)

Spider’s Revenge (Elemental Assassin #5) Page 6

"Ahem." Someone cleared his throat.

I raised my head and spotted Owen Grayson sitting in a rocking chair at the foot of the bed, an open book in his lap and a mug of coffee on the table beside him.

"I see that you're awake now," he rumbled in his deep voice.

I smiled at him. "Once more, it seems."

Instead of responding to my teasing, rueful smile, Owen put his book aside, crossed his muscled arms over his chest, and speared me with a hard stare. Uh-oh. Someone was not pleased, and I didn't have to guess why. I hadn't told Owen what I was doing last night-especially that I was going after Mab.

Early morning sunlight slanted in through the window, bathing Owen's chiseled features in a pale golden glow. Blue-black hair, violet eyes, slightly crooked nose, a white scar that slashed underneath his chin. Interesting enough features by themselves, but put them all together, and you had one hell of an attractive man.

And the rest of Owen was just as appealing. My gaze drifted over his solid, muscled body. In many ways, he had a dwarf's sturdy physique, although at six feet one, Owen was more than a foot taller than most dwarves. Unlike so many businessmen of his wealth and position, Owen didn't spend hours in the gym to keep his body lean and trim. No, he'd gotten his physique the old-fashioned way-through years of hard, physical labor. He'd started out as a blacksmith, turning one small shop into a vast business empire that had made him one of the wealthiest men in Ashland, even though he was only in his thirties.

Being a blacksmith had been a natural fit for Owen, who had what he considered to be a minor elemental talent for metal. He could manipulate it the same way that I could Stone, since metal was an offshoot of that element. But his talent was anything but small, given the exquisite sculptures and weapons that he created, including the matched set of five silverstone knives he'd given me as a Christmas present. The ones that had my spider rune stamped into their hilts.

But perhaps the thing that most appealed to me about Owen was his personality-and complete acceptance of me. Unlike a previous lover of mine, Owen didn't judge or condemn me for being the Spider. He knew exactly what kind of dark, violent city Ashland was, and he didn't look down on the things I'd done over the years to survive. Mainly, because he'd done some of them himself to protect his younger sister, Eva.

Strong, confident, capable, sexy, caring. Owen was everything that I'd ever wanted in a lover-everything that I'd ever wanted in my life. Too bad I was too much of an emotional coward to tell him so-or let him know exactly how much I cared about him.

I kept staring at Owen, and he looked right back at me, not saying anything. Up to me to get the ball rolling then.

I sighed. "Okay. Let me have it. I know you're angry. Your eyes are practically glowing with it. Jo-Jo called you, I take it, and told you about my little adventure?"

Owen gave me the hard stare a moment longer before nodding. "She did. What I really want to know is what the hell were you thinking, going after Mab by yourself? We've talked about this, Gin. We've all decided that it's too dangerous."

The we in question being myself, Owen, Finn, the Deveraux sisters, and my sister, Detective Bria Coolidge. All of us had a vested interest in seeing Mab dead. We just couldn't figure out how to make it happen without all of us going down in flames with her.

"I know," I snapped. "But I'm tired of hiding from Mab and her minions. I'm tired of worrying what she might do to Bria. I want the bitch dead."

Owen wasn't the only one who was angry. I felt it too, sinking its hot, gnashing teeth into my heart, along with the rest of the emotional termites. Most of it was directed at myself because I'd missed last night. But part of it was because I was scared too-scared of how much it had meant to wake up and see Owen sitting next to my bed. We'd been together for a few months now, but it always surprised me just how very much I cared about him, especially when I'd been so badly burned by a previous lover.

Owen was far more important to me than he realized-so important that it frightened me a little bit. Okay, a whole hell of a lot. Enough to make me want to keep him at arm's length, even though I knew it was too late for that. Too many people that I'd loved over the years had been murdered for me to easily open up my heart to others. My mother, my older sister, Fletcher. All dead and gone before their time-all because of me and my mistakes.

Somehow, Owen had stormed his way into my heart whether I'd wanted him there or not, and now I'd do anything to keep him safe-even sacrifice myself like I almost had last night on my self-imposed quest.

"I don't see why you care so much anyway," I muttered in a harsher, colder voice than I would have liked. "It was my ass on the line last night, not yours. I made sure of that."

Owen's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched, and his arms tightened across his chest. "Why? Why do I care so much, Gin? Because I-"

He bit off his words, but they hung in the air between us like a ghost, writhing and twisting, just like my heart was right now.

Because I love you. That's what he'd been about to say. The shock of his almost uttering the words drove the air from my lungs. Owen-loved me? Really? Truly? I didn't know what to make of it. I didn't know what to make of anything anymore-especially not the softness for him that had wormed its way down into the deepest, darkest, blackest part of my heart. Into my very soul, even. If I hadn't killed it long ago by being the Spider.

Owen looked away and drew in a breath. "Because I care about you, Gin. That's why. I don't want you going off on a suicide mission to try to kill Mab. I'd rather have you alive any day than her dead, even if she did murder your family and my parents."

I wasn't Mab's only victim. Far from it. Part of the reason Owen understood my obsession with killing the Fire elemental was that she'd murdered his parents when he'd been a teenager. Mab had burned Owen's house to the ground because of a gambling debt that his father owed, killing his parents in the process, and leaving him homeless and to fend for himself and his sister, Eva, who'd been little more than a baby then.

"Better me go by myself than drag the rest of you down with me," I pointed out in a quiet voice. "And you know that's what would have happened. Mab is too well protected at her estate for a full-frontal assault. You and Finn both know that. So do Jo-Jo, Sophia, and even Bria. I had to go in by myself. That was the only way I could even get close enough to Mab to take my shot."

I closed my eyes. The anger, melancholy, and frustration welled up in my chest again, until they coated my mouth and throat like bitter, burning acid. "Too bad I blew it and missed."

"I know," Owen said in a gentler tone. "Finn called me this morning. Seems that his phone started ringing last night and hasn't stopped since. All his contacts are buzzing with the news. He was a little upset about it himself. Said he'd catch up with you at the Pork Pit later today."

I groaned. "What Finn really means is that he'll lambaste me six ways from Sunday while he eats a free lunch at the counter."

Some of the anger softened in Owen's violet eyes, and a sly grin lifted up his lips. "Something like that, I imagine."

I groaned again and returned Owen's smile. More of the anger melted out of his gaze, and the tension between us lightened, like a dark cloud being blown away by a stiff gust of wind. For now, anyway.

"I'm sorry," I said. "You know I'm a little irrational where Mab's concerned. I saw an opportunity to take her out, and I couldn't pass it up."

"I know, Gin," Owen said. "I know."

He got up from his rocking chair and came over to the bed. He sat down and opened his arms to me, and I scooted into his embrace. The warmth from his body mixed with my own, and I breathed in, enjoying his rich, earthy scent, which always made me think of metal, if metal could ever have any real smell.

"I hate that she's after you," Owen murmured, his lips against my hair. "But what I hate more is that you went after her alone. That no one was backing you up. Promise me you won't do that again. Okay, Gin? Promise me that the next time you go after Mab, you'll take someone with you. Me, Finn, Sophia. Someone, anyone, to help you."

I could have lied to him. Maybe I should have. Because I had no intention of stopping until Mab was dead-even if she would probably take me down with her. But I didn't want to lie to Owen and ruin this fragile peace between us.

"All right," I said in a wry tone. "The next time I go after Mab, I'll take a buddy along to hold my knives. Happy?"

"For now," Owen rumbled, tucking me in even closer to his body. "For now."

We sat there on the bed for a long time, just holding each other.

Owen had to get to work, since his business empire didn't run itself, and I had a barbecue restaurant to run, so we made plans to hook up later. But Owen was quieter than usual as he left Jo-Jo's, and I couldn't think of what to say to him without the words coming out wrong. So we left things as they were, unspoken and unresolved, with neither one of us knowing how to deal with the other.

By the time I showered, threw on some spare clothes that I kept at Jo-Jo's, and made my way to the Pork Pit, it was after two o'clock.

The Pork Pit barbecue restaurant was located in downtown Ashland, close to the unofficial Southtown border. It wasn't much to look at, just another hole-in-the-wall, but it was mine-my gin joint. The sight of the multicolored neon sign of a pig holding a platter of food over the front door brought a smile to my face. The Pit was the only real home I'd known since Fletcher had taken me in off the streets when I was thirteen. The old man had started the restaurant years ago, and I'd inherited it after his murder last year.

As I walked toward the front door, I brushed my fingers against the battered brick of the restaurant and reached for my Stone magic. As always, slow, sonorous notes rippled through the brick, whispering of the clogged, contented hearts, arteries, and stomachs of so many diners after eating at the restaurant. The familiar whispers soothed away the rest of my frustration. I might have screwed up last night, but I was still alive. I'd plotted more than one murder inside the Pork Pit. I'd go inside and get started on Mab's lickety-split.

I scanned the interior of the Pit through the storefront windows. Clean, but well-worn blue and pink vinyl booths. Matching, faded, peeling pig tracks on the floor that led to the men's and women's restrooms. A counter running along the back wall with an old-fashioned cash register sitting at one end. A battered, blood-covered, framed copy of Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls hanging on the wall opposite the cash register, along with a faded photo of Fletcher in his younger years. Everything was as it should have been.

The lunch rush was over, and only one person sat at the long counter. I stepped inside, making the bell over the front door chime, and he swiveled around and fixed me with a cold glare.

"It's about time you showed up, Gin," Finn snapped.

Finnegan Lane was just as handsome as Owen, but in a more polished, classical way. Finn wore one of his many power suits, since as an investment banker, he spent most of his daylight hours swindling people out of their money. Today's color choice was royal blue with the faintest houndstooth check pattern running through the expensive cloth, topped off by a silver shirt and blue-and-silver striped tie. Finn's thick, walnut-colored hair was styled just so, and his eyes were as slick, shiny, and green in his ruddy face as the glass of a soda pop bottle.

Finn crossed his arms over his chest and glared at me, much the same way that Owen had done earlier. Time for round two of the Gin Blanco firing squad.

I sighed and walked over to my foster brother. "Let me guess. You want to have a little chat about what happened with Mab last night."

"Why, whatever gave you that idea?" Finn drawled in a deceptively light voice. "Perhaps it was because I was awakened at an unseemly hour this morning only to learn that someone tried to kill Mab last night while she was entertaining guests in the main dining room of her mansion. The very part of the mansion that I distinctly remember getting you the blueprints for just last week."

Behind the counter, Sophia Deveraux grunted her agreement with Finn's pointed, acidic tone. Today, the Goth dwarf wore a black T-shirt covered with curved, white vampire fangs dripping blood. The crimson color of the blood matched the silverstone-spiked leather collar around her neck, as well as the cuffs on both of her wrists. Her lipstick was a red slash in her pale face, although bits of silver glitter glinted in her black hair.

I sighed. "Look, I'm sorry that I went off the reservation without you, all of you. But we all know that my getting that close to Mab was strictly a solo job. I didn't want either of you to get hurt if I missed."

Sophia grunted again and shrugged her shoulders, while Finn's face softened just a bit. Then he sniffed, and I knew that there would be no sweet-talking him out of his snit. Finn had built up a good bit of righteous indignation, and he was determined to make me suffer through it.

"While we appreciate your concern for our safety, we're a team, Gin," Finn lectured me. "We always have been. You need to remember that because it's the only way that you're going to kill Mab-by all of us working together. Not by your taking off by yourself with no one to watch your back."

I gave my foster brother a noncommittal shrug. "Not much chance of that happening, since I missed her last night. I imagine that she's upped her security considerably since then."

"Mmm."

This time, Finn was the one who was noncommittal. He reached down and took a sip from the mug of chicory coffee sitting on the counter in front of him. The warm, fragrant aroma of the caffeine brew filled my nose, making me think of Finn's father, Fletcher. The old man had drunk the same coffee in the same copious amounts before his murder as his son did. Even now, almost six months later, I still missed Fletcher. Missed seeing the old man leaning behind the counter at the Pork Pit, reading his latest book and telling me about the newest job he'd booked for me as the Spider.