Heart of Venom (Elemental Assassin #9)

Heart of Venom (Elemental Assassin #9) Page 22

Behind me, the three men with the guns shifted on their feet, making the floorboards creak and groan under their weight. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the two men on my right exchange a nervous glance. They seemed much more concerned by my threat than Grimes did.

Then again, I'd already killed a passel of their buddies, and the day was still young.

But Grimes had a different reaction from his flunkies.

He ignored me completely. Instead, he swiveled around in his chair and reached for a decanter of clear liquid on a table behind his desk. Grimes unstoppered the bottle, and caustic fumes from whatever was inside assaulted my nose. Some of his mountain moonshine, I guessed, gussied up in fancy crystal. Mountain strychnine, from the harsh scent of it. That wouldn't just put hair on your chest; it would burn it clean off. And probably take a good portion of your esophagus along with it.

Grimes poured himself a couple of fingers' worth of moonshine into a crystal tumbler, then swiveled back around to face me again. Once he'd had a few sips of the foul brew, he set the tumbler aside and picked up a silver picture frame perched on the right side of his desk. He studied the photo for a moment, then set the frame down at an angle. The same sullen photo of Sophia that I'd seen earlier on the wall by the stairs peeked at out me.

"I knew that Sophia was mine from the first moment that I saw her," Grimes said. "Hazel and I were out getting supplies at this little country store down the mountain a ways. Sophia was there with her sister."

A jolt went through me. country Daze - he had to be talking about country Daze, Warren's store. No wonder the old coot had been so insistent on coming with Owen and me. Warren probably felt guilty that Grimes had first laid eyes on Sophia in his store, as guilty as I felt for Jo-Jo's picture being in the newspaper and leading Grimes back to her and Sophia all these years later. And especially for letting Sophia dispose of so many bodies for me over the years.

"Of course, I tried to do the right thing and court her proper," Grimes continued, still staring at the picture of Sophia, his eyes distant and dreamy with memories. "But Ms. Deveraux wouldn't have any of that. She thought that I was a bad influence on Sophia. She should have kept out of things that didn't concern her. But that won't be a problem now, will it?"

I thought of how casually Grimes had shot Jo-Jo in the salon and how cold, pale, and lifeless she had looked lying on cooper's kitchen table. She could have taken a turn for the worse. She could have needed more healing magic than cooper had to give.

She could have died in the time that I'd been up here on the mountain.

My heart squeezed at the thought, aching worse than any of my injuries, but I kept my face calm, as though we were talking about the weather, instead of a brutal attack on someone I loved.

"Oh, I don't know," I replied. "Jo-Jo is stronger than you think. She's a tough old bird. She might just surprise you - again."

"What do you mean by again ?" Hazel asked.

My gaze cut to her. "Who do you think hired Fletcher in the first place? Jo-Jo wanted her sister back, and she decided to do whatever was necessary to make it happen."

"Yes, let's get back to Mr. Lane," Grimes said, leaning back in his chair and interlacing his fingers again. "I'm interested in why you said that he sent you, since I know that he's been dead for months now."

His voice and words were casual, but once again, a bit of unease pinched his face. Whatever Fletcher had done to Grimes all those years ago, however badly the old man had hurt him, however close the old man had come to killing him, it had left a lasting impression. Good. I wanted Grimes to be afraid. I wanted him to sweat and worry and wonder. But most of all, I wanted him to suffer for as long as possible before I ended him.

Even if I had no idea how I was going to accomplish that right now.

"Oh, you're right," I agreed. "Fletcher was killed last fall."

My gaze dropped to the floor, but I wasn't seeing the gleaming, pristine wood. Instead, blue and pink pig tracks spattered with blood filled my vision, along with a crumpled, ruined figure that had had the flesh peeled from his bones with Air magic. Fletcher. More memories rose in my mind of that horrible, horrible night when

I'd realized that the job that I'd been sent out on was a trap and that I was too late to save Fletcher from being tortured to death inside the Pork Pit.

But I pushed the memories and the emotions back down into the bottom of my black heart and smothered them with a cold, icy layer of rage, just like I had done with the pain of my injuries. Because now was not the time to show any sort of weakness.

"If Lane is dead, then why are you here?" Hazel asked.

"Because he trained me," I answered in a voice that was even snider than hers.

"And who are you?" Grimes asked.

"My name is Gin, like the liquor."

They both gave me blank looks, apparently not getting the joke. Nobody appreciated irony these days.

I sighed. "My name is Gin Blanco," I replied. "But y'all probably know me by another one: the Spider."

The three men behind me sucked in a collective breath.

They shifted on their feet again, backing away from me and making the floorboards creak-creak-creak-creak with their jerky, hurried movements. Well, it was good that my reputation had preceded me. Perhaps when it came time for me to kill Grimes and Hazel, these fools would cringe and cower instead of getting in my way. A nice thought, but I wasn't going to pin my hopes and dreams on it.

But once again, the brother and sister seemed completely unconcerned by my moniker.

"The Spider?" Hazel sneered. "Really? You're the big, bad bitch who took out Mab Monroe? I don't believe it."

I shrugged. "Believe it or not. Doesn't much matter to me."

"You're lying," Grimes said. "The Spider would never come here. She would never waste her time on some ill-advised rescue mission."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that it was so ill-advised, seeing as how I'm standing here and Sophia isn't." I grinned. "Y'all didn't catch her, did you?"

A muscle twitched in Grimes's cheek, but he returned my shrug with one of his own, as though the fact that

I'd stolen Sophia right out from under his nose was of no consequence. "This isn't the first time that Sophia has escaped. She'll be back here where she belongs soon enough."

Hazel let out a derisive snort, then rolled her eyes. "All you've done for the past several months is talk and talk about Sophia Deveraux. I don't see what you find so fascinating about her. She's just a dwarf. Not even a very pretty one at that. Did you see those tacky clothes she had on? Not to mention that horrid spiked collar that she was wearing. You could do better, Harley. So much better. At the very least, we can find you a college girl who will clean up much nicer than Sophia Deveraux ever could."

From the evil glint in her eye, what she really meant was some poor girl whom Hazel would have an easier time torturing, an easier time breaking. It wouldn't surprise me if Hazel got even more enjoyment out of using her Fire magic on their victims than Grimes did. Sadistic bitch.

Grimes studied her a moment, as though he were considering her words, and a hopeful smile curved her crimson lips. Grimes stood up and walked around his desk, and Hazel turned to meet him. She held her hands out, reaching for his -

Grimes slapped her across the face for her trouble.

Hazel stumbled away, hitting the doors at the back of the office hard enough to make the glass rattle in the panes. She whirled around, her mouth open wide in surprise, a hand pressing against her cheek as if she couldn't believe the growing red welt there - and the fact that

Grimes had hit her, his own sister, as casually as he would hit anyone else.

"Sophia is mine ," Grimes growled, his brown eyes darkening with fury, as though the answer to Hazel's question should be obvious. "She's the only woman I've ever met who's strong enough to be mine. She's the only one who's never been cowed by me or backed down from me. All the others who have come through here over the years have been weak, foolish creatures, crying to go home, cringing at the smallest little thing, begging for mercy until I give them to my men just to be rid of their incessant whining. Every single one of them has displeased me, disappointed me with her weakness. But Sophia never has."

Fletcher had said in his file that Grimes was sick and twisted, but I was beginning to realize exactly how warped he really was. Harley Grimes imagined himself to be the king of this little mountain, and he took whatever and whomever he wanted, brought them here, and expected them to serve him in any way that he deemed fit. And when someone displeased him, when she cried, screamed, and sobbed at the terrible torture that he inflicted on her, then the fault was hers, and off to his men she were sent, to suffer that much more.

"You're right," I said. "Sophia is strong. She's certainly stronger than you, you sick son of a bitch. And as long as I'm alive, you will never lay one hand on her again, not so much as one fucking finger ."

Grimes took a menacing step toward me. I clenched my hands into fists, bracing myself for what was to come.

Because as soon as he was within arm's reach, I was going to lunge forward, grab the revolver out of the holster on his waist, and shoot him point-blank in the chest with it - even though I knew that I'd die in the attempt.

Either the men behind me would put a couple of bullets in my skull, or Hazel would scorch me to death with her Fire magic. And of course, there was always the possibility that Grimes's gun was empty of bullets, the way it had been when Sophia had tried to shoot him with it. But

I didn't care. I'd bludgeon him to death with the thing if I had to. All that mattered was making sure that Sophia and Jo-Jo were safe from Harley Grimes forever. And if I had to sacrifice my life to save theirs, well, it was a trade that I was happy to make. For them and for Fletcher too.

But Grimes thwarted me without even realizing it, because he stopped and smoothed down his suit jacket, obviously trying to rein in his temper. His hands went to one cuff, then the other, pulling them down. As a final touch, he fingered the brim of his baby-blue hat and then the matching feather stuck there, as though making sure the fedora was still securely perched on his head, his peacock's plume perfectly on display. When he raised his eyes to mine again, he was cool, calm, and in control once more.

Grimes gave me a pleasant smile, the sort a shark would give a guppie before it snapped the smaller creature in two with its many teeth. "Well, then, Ms. Blanco, or whoever the hell you really are, it's a good thing that you won't be alive much longer, isn't it?"

I opened my mouth to tell him exactly what I thought about him, hoping to distract him long enough to surge forward, grab his gun, and end him. But Grimes snapped his fingers, and two of the men behind me stepped forward and clamped their hands on my arms, while the third shoved his gun into my back again.

"Take her outside to the usual spot," he ordered. "And call the men together. We all might as well have a little fun before we go back down to Ashland to find Sophia and bring her back here where she belongs."

Chapter Twenty-one

Grimes turned his back on me, dismissing me from his thoughts, at least for the moment, and strode around behind his desk, putting himself well out of range of any desperate lunge that I might make at him.

Hazel moved over to Grimes and laid a possessive hand on his shoulder. She smirked at me. "Don't worry, now, sugar ," she drawled, using the same mocking tone that I had used earlier. "We'll be with you in a few minutes."

There was nothing that I could do but grit my teeth in frustration as the three men forced me out of the office.

All the while, though, I was thinking about distances and angles and how I could kill the men and then take on

Grimes and Hazel.

But the three men didn't give me any opportunity to cause trouble. The first two guards kept their hands clamped on my arms, their eyes on me at all times, while the third guy hung back, his gun up and ready to pump me full of bullets if I so much as twitched funny.

They marched me down the long hallway, out the front door, down the porch steps, and across the yard.

I thought that they might turn and head toward the pit, so I could join the other poor souls rotting there, but instead, they forced me to walk straight ahead. When we reached the middle of the clearing, they stopped. The two men holding on to my arms yanked me back and forth for a minute, until I was standing on a particular patch of dirt that had been worn smooth by the tread of so many feet on it over the years. Then those two and the third guy did a most curious thing: they slowly backed away from me.

The last guy with the gun raised his weapon high into the air and fired off nine shots, three bursts of three in rapid succession. That must have been Grimes's signal to gather 'round again, because more men started streaming out of the barracks, kitchen, and other buildings.

And they all had weapons.

Most carried guns, long, sleek rifles that could take down an enemy at a hundred paces, and the wooden stocks gleamed like polished bronze in the afternoon sun. Others held big old-fashioned revolvers, which they slowly twirled around and around on their fingers, as though they were cowboys right out of the old West, getting ready for a showdown at high noon. A few clutched knives, while some had crude, simple weapons like the spiked stakes that I'd seen earlier in the forest.

My gaze went from one man's face to another. They all grinned, their eyes lighting up at the thought of my impending torture, whatever it was going to be. No one looked away, and no one had any spark of compassion, uncertainty, or unease in his face. No surprise there, given how many of their buddies I'd killed already. I was mildly surprised that they hadn't brought out the tar, feathers, and pitchforks, along with their other weapons. That seemed like something that Grimes would enjoy, given his seeming fascination with the past.