Poison Promise

25

I drifted off to sleep and woke up sometime before dawn. Owen was still holding me close with one arm, while the other was thrown up over his head. He must have grabbed the sheets sometime during the night and flipped them up onto us, because we were cocooned together in a warm web of silk. Not wanting to disturb him, I slid out of his embrace and out of bed.

I went into the bathroom, stepped into the shower, and turned it on as hot as I could stand it, letting the water beat against my body. Jo-Jo had healed my injuries last night, but my muscles still felt stiff and sore from all the fights of yesterday, so I stood under the scalding spray until everything felt loose and warm. A white, fluffy robe was hanging on the back of the door, so I grabbed it and put it on before going back out into the stateroom.

Owen was still asleep, soft snores rumbling out of his mouth, but I was too restless to lie back down, so I unlocked the door and went out into the hallway. The only sound was the soft, steady slosh-slosh-slosh of water against the riverboat. Jo-Jo had said that Phillip had everyone, except for a few of his most trusted workers, cleared off the boat when Owen and the others brought me on board. I climbed a set of stairs, which took me to the third level, then opened a door and stepped outside onto the main deck.

It was a beautiful September morning, cool and crisp, and I shivered with a delicious chill as a faint breeze danced over my face and gusted through my wet hair. The sun was just rising over the tops of the eastern mountains, streaking the sky with layers of red, orange, and yellow. The warm, vibrant colors reminded me of those in the heart-and-arrow sign outside Northern Aggression.

Despite the early hour, I wasn’t the only one out and about. Sophia was here too, sitting in a white cushioned deck chair next to the gangplank that led to the ground and watching a movie on her tablet. Probably one of those old westerns she loved so much, judging from the faint toot-toot of a train whistle and the soft crack-crack-cracks of gunfire that drifted out of the device. An open metal thermos sat on the deck next to her chair, the wisps of steam curling up out of the container bringing the rich scent of chicory coffee along with them. A shotgun lay next to the thermos on the deck, and a second, matching weapon was propped up against the railing.

Judging from the blanket that was draped over her shoulders like a serape, Sophia had been out here all night, screening movies, drinking coffee, and keeping a watch in case Benson and his men found us and decided to attack. Her devotion touched me, and more tears pricked my eyes. I told myself they were just there because the sun was already so bright.

Sophia glanced over at the sound of the door opening, then smiled and waved at me. I waved back. But she didn’t get up out of her chair and approach me, and I didn’t walk over and talk to her. I still needed a little more quiet time to think about things, and Sophia respected that. I went over to the far side of the deck, leaned my forearms on the railing, and watched the last bit of night give up its ghost to the dawn.

I hadn’t been at the railing long, maybe ten minutes, when one of the doors creaked open, and soft footsteps sounded. I glanced over my shoulder. Catalina stood in the middle of the deck, wrapped in a white robe, a hesitant look on her face, as if she wasn’t sure if she would be welcome. I waved her over, and she joined me. She mimicked my pose, and we stood there staring out at the rippling surface of the river.

“It’s so beautiful,” she said, skimming her hand along the brass railing. “Everything here is. I drive by the Delta Queen every day on my way to work at the Pork Pit, but I never thought that I’d get a chance to come on board, much less see the inside. It’s nice.”

I nodded, although nice was a bit of an understatement, since the Delta Queen was six levels of gleaming whitewashed wood trimmed with blue and red paint. A paddle wheel at the very back loomed up over the rest of the riverboat, casting a large shadow that cloaked Catalina and me, despite the early hour.

“I wanted to thank you,” she said. “For helping Bria and me. For saving us. What you did . . . how you got us off that bridge and away from Benson and his men . . . it was amazing. It was everything I’ve ever heard about you and more.”

I gave her a questioning, sidelong look, and a bit of a blush stained her bronze cheeks.

“I had heard all the rumors about you being an assassin, about you being the Spider.”

“But?”

Catalina drew in a breath. “But . . . I never really thought they were true. At least, not until I saw you handle Troy and those two vamps at the college. You seemed so nice, so . . . normal. I thought it was just some crazy story people were making up. An urban legend or something.”

“But weren’t you ever curious before then?” I asked, facing her. “About everything that happens at the restaurant? Especially about me and why I’m always so . . . disheveled?”

That was a nice way of saying bruised, beaten, and bloody.

She shrugged. “I was, but you were always so nice to me I figured that there was no way you could do what people said you did, that you could be what everyone said you were. Besides, even if I’d realized sooner that all the rumors were true, I wouldn’t have cared anyway.”

“Why not? Working for an assassin isn’t the sort of thing most people can overlook.”

She shrugged again. “With the way my life has been the past year, coming to the Pork Pit, working there, waiting tables, it was like a relief, you know? Because no matter how angry I was over my mom’s death, no matter how much I missed her, I knew that I could come to the restaurant and forget all about it, at least for a little while. During my shifts, I could just hang out, do my job, and pretend I wasn’t falling apart on the inside.”

“But you don’t need to work in the restaurant. Not with that trust fund Silvio set up for you.”

She nodded. “I know, and I’ve thought about quitting. But working at the restaurant, it was . . . an escape for me, you know? A place where I could feel like I was actually normal. Just a girl, just a waitress, just a college student. Instead of someone with a dead mom, an uncle who works for the biggest drug dealer in town, and a trust fund full of money made from other people’s misery.”

She closed her eyes, and her hands tightened around the railing, as if she were bracing herself for something. After a moment, she opened her eyes and looked at me again.

“I’m sorry about what happened yesterday,” she said, her voice dropping to a low, raspy, guilty whisper. “About what Benson . . . did to you. I heard Bria and the others talking about it. It’s horrible, and it’s all my fault. You were right. I never should have agreed to testify. I almost got you and Bria killed.”

I shook my head. “No, you were right, and I was wrong. You were just trying to get justice for Troy the best way you knew how. Don’t ever apologize for that. Not to me, not to anyone. What happened, what Benson did to me, it’s not your fault. I knew that you and Bria were in trouble, and I made the choice to help you, no matter the consequences. I would make the same choice again—and again.”

She nodded, then stared off into the distance, chewing her lip in worry. “What about Silvio? Bria told me that he helped rescue you, and that he went back into the mansion to lead the guards away. Do you think that he’s still . . . alive?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. I promise you this: if he is still alive, then I will do everything in my power to save him, the same as he did for me. Will that work for you?”

Catalina nodded, and some of the tension drained out of her body. “So what happens now?”

“You’re going to stay here and stay safe,” I said. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle the rest.”

Catalina and I both went back to our staterooms to try to get some more shut-eye. I crawled back into bed next to Owen, snuggling up against his warm, muscled body, and drifted off to sleep with no trouble.

Then again, I was never particularly troubled when I decided to kill someone.

I slept another two hours and woke up feeling refreshed and ready to get on with my inevitable confrontation with Benson. Owen had slipped out of bed while I was sleeping, although he’d left me a note propped up on the nightstand.

Buffet. Main deck. Phillip’s treat.

Well, that sounded promising. So I put on some clothes that Jo-Jo had brought to the riverboat for me and headed out to find the others.

At dawn, the main deck had been empty, except for Sophia and her shotguns, but now two tables had been set up in her place, each one covered with an impressive spread of food. Bacon, scrambled eggs, biscuits with sausage gravy, country-fried ham, stacks of toast with different kinds of fruit preserves. My stomach rumbled, and I realized how long it had been since I had eaten. I fixed myself a heaping plate of food, grabbed a tall glass of orange juice, and took everything over to a third table that had been positioned at the bow of the boat, close to the railing, so that the diners would have a view of the river.

Phillip was sitting at the table, his plate already clean, a mimosa in his hand, and a pitcher full of the same perched at his elbow. Owen was there too, talking softly to his best friend. So was Finn, who had not one, not two, but three plates of food in front of him, all of which he was eating from at the same time, taking first a bite of scrambled eggs and then one of biscuits and gravy and following that up with a crunch-crunch-crunch of bacon and toast slathered with strawberry preserves.

I sat down next to Finn, not so gently nudging his plethora of plates out of my way. “Where are the others?”

“Sophia, Jo-Jo, and Catalina are still sleeping below deck,” Owen rumbled, reaching across the table and squeezing my hand. “Xavier went to check on Roslyn. She still had to run things at Northern Aggression last night, so she got a hotel room under a different name instead of driving over here. Bria went with him.”

“And how is that going?” I asked. “Xavier and Bria?”

Owen shrugged. “As well as can be expected.”

I squeezed his hand back, then leaned over and kissed him.

Finn made a gagging noise. “Please. Some of us are eating.”

“I have to agree with Lane,” Phillip said, waggling his champagne flute at me. “It is far too early in the day for that sort of thing.”

I gave Owen another kiss, just to annoy them, then sat back in my chair and started eating. The biscuits were light, fluffy, and baked to golden perfection, while the sausage gravy was thick and creamy, with a nice, peppery bite. I cut my stack of toast into triangles, sampling the strawberry, blackberry, and apricot preserves in turn, enjoying the bright burst of sweet, sticky fruit that tickled my tongue.

Everything was good, and I didn’t mind eating someone else’s food, but it had become a tradition for me to fix the postbattle meal, and I was a little put out that I hadn’t been able to do that here. Maybe it was petty of me, but I wanted everyone to be oohing and aahing over the meal that I had fixed. Not some stranger’s.

“So what’s the verdict on the buffet?” Owen asked, his violet eyes twinkling a bit, knowing exactly what I was going to say.

“Serviceable.” I sniffed. “But I could do better.”

Phillip rolled his eyes. “I’ll be sure to give your regards to my chef, with all his many years in culinary school and time working in some of the finest restaurants on the East Coast.”

“Better watch out, Gin,” Owen said, teasing Phillip and me. “Gustav doesn’t take insults to his food too kindly, and he’s almost as good with knives as you are.”

“Oh,” I drawled. “I doubt that.”

Owen snickered, but Phillip rolled his eyes again and drained the rest of his mimosa in exaggerated annoyance.

I polished off two plates of food. So did Owen, and Finn was still going strong and well into his fourth one. While he finished eating, we sat there in companionable silence, listening to the rush of the river. A faint breeze ruffled my hair, bringing a rich, earthy smell along with it. I breathed in deeply, letting the taste of fall come in through my mouth and roll over my tongue before trickling down into my throat and lungs. Perhaps it was my imagination, but the air seemed tangier than ever before, with an almost metallic, coppery taste to it.

Or maybe that was just my anticipation of making Beauregard Benson bleed later on today.

“So what’s the plan?” Finn asked, shoving another strip of bacon into his mouth.

I shrugged. “I figured that we would have a nice, leisurely morning here on the riverboat, and then I would suit up, go over to Southtown, knock on Benson’s front door, and kill him when he answers. With y’all backing me up, of course. After that, who knows? Drinks at Northern Aggression all around?”

The three guys looked at one another, then at me.

“You’re not going to be a little more . . . circumspect about things?” Phillip asked. “You know, slip into his mansion late at night, kill him under the cover of darkness, and leave his bloody body for his men to find the next morning?”

Instead of answering him, I stared up into the sky. A bit of cloud cover had formed, making it seem as though rays were streaming out of the sun. The bloody streaks reminded me of Coral’s hair. Thanks to my dreams, I’d been thinking a lot about my time with her, especially how I’d hidden in the closet while her pimp beat her to death. And I’d realized that I’d been doing the same exact thing these past several months, hiding at the Pork Pit and waiting for the underworld bosses to try to take me out, when I should have been the one on the offensive, on the attack, instead.

It was time to do something about that, all of it, starting with Benson.

“Gin?” Owen asked.

“No,” I growled, answering them. “No sneak attacks. Not today. I’m tired of skulking around in the shadows, and there’s no point in it. Not anymore, when everyone in the underworld knows who I am. They’ve been messing with me for months now. Well, I think it’s finally time I showed them exactly who they are dealing with, starting with Benson.”

Owen, Finn, and Phillip exchanged glances at the cold violence echoing through my words, but they didn’t try to talk me out of my plan.

“Besides,” I said in a more normal voice, “Benson has to realize that I’ll be coming for Silvio, if nothing else.”

“And?” Owen asked.

I let out a breath. “And it’s personal too. I won’t deny it. That bastard strapped me down to a chair, pumped me full of drugs, and sat there and took notes like I was his own private lab rat. I can’t let that stand. Not as Gin, and definitely not as the Spider. I can already imagine what folks are saying about me.”

Finn winced. “Nothing good. The rumors are already flying around. Basically, most of them boil down to Benson making you scream like a girl.”

I stabbed my finger at him. “Exactly. Everyone knows that he got the upper hand on me and that you guys had to come and bust me out of his mansion. If I don’t take care of him now, it’ll only get worse. It’ll renew everyone’s interest in killing me.”

“Did that ever really wane?” Phillip asked in a snide voice.

I shot him a dirty look, but he merely arched a golden eyebrow in return before pouring himself another mimosa from the pitcher on the table.

“As I was saying, Benson’s probably been crowing all over town about how he so thoroughly humbled me,” I said. “Well, I plan to return the favor. Benson thinks that he’s the king of Southtown, and he’s put all his rivals in the ground for years now. I say it’s time to knock the king off his throne.”

Finn sighed, grabbed a final strip of bacon off his plate, and crunched down on it. “Why do I get the feeling that this is going to be some grand operation that will most likely involve me schlepping to some disgusting rooftop and getting my clothes dirty yet again?”

I grinned. “Funny you should mention that. I’ve already worked out some of the details with Bria. Here’s what we’re going to do.”