Poison Promise

26

Just before noon, I strolled down the street that led up to Beauregard Benson’s mansion.

Forget the sidewalks. I walked right down the center of the street between the two faded double yellow lines, just like I had been doing for the last several blocks.

I’d started my journey at the community college, where the whole shebang had begun a few days ago. It seemed ironic and rather fitting. I’d parked my car in the lot there, gotten out, and headed into Southtown on foot. I’d been walking ever since.

At first, everything had been normal. People moved on the streets, flowing in and out of restaurants, grocery stores, and other businesses. Conversation floated through the air, along with the rumble of cars and the smells of exhaust and fried foods. But the deeper I headed into Southtown, the more storefronts were boarded up, the more rune graffiti covered the buildings, and the more people ducked their heads and scurried away from one another as fast as they could.

It wasn’t all that far from the college to Benson’s mansion, maybe ten blocks, but eyes had been on me the whole time.

Gangbangers had already gathered on the street corners, smoking, drinking, and selling their daily allotment of weed, pills, and other drugs. A few vampire hookers had already started trolling for clients, slowly sashaying back and forth on the sidewalks, while their pimps dozed on the stoops or in their cars, knowing that the real action wouldn’t start until sunset. The bums had begun their daily trash rounds, digging in the Dumpsters for whatever they could salvage, while the working-class folks hurried along the sidewalks or zoomed by in their cars. But everyone peered at me, wondering what the crazy chick was doing and how many more blocks I would make it before someone started hassling me.

Good. For once, I wanted everyone to notice me. I wanted everyone to see the Spider and exactly what she was capable of.

That wasn’t to say that there weren’t a few problems with my march. There was still traffic on the street, and drivers beeped their horns as they approached me, wondering what I was doing strolling down the pavement like I owned it.

I was wearing my usual ensemble of dark jeans, black boots, a long-sleeved black T-shirt, and my black silverstone vest. With my hair pulled back into a ponytail, I looked like some college student who’d gotten lost in the bad part of town. I didn’t seem particularly threatening, but one look at my hard face and cold eyes had most drivers putting their feet on the gas and steering away from me as fast as they could. A few of the gangbangers whistled and catcalled in my direction, but I gave them the same flat stares that I gave the drivers, and their jeers and laughter soon quieted down. Given the mood I was in, I was killing anyone who got between me and Benson, stepping over their bodies, and walking on. The folks on the street didn’t have his Air power and the precognition that went along with it, but it was easy to tell that I was up to no good.

As I walked, I whistled out a cheery tune. I was actually looking forward to what was coming. For months now, my anger and frustration about everyone targeting me had been slowly building. All I’d wanted was to be left alone, but the underworld bosses hadn’t gotten the message. Well, Benson was going to be the perfect outlet for all my rage, and he was going to help me drive my point home—right before I shoved my knife through his heart and out the other side.

But something curious and most unexpected happened: the farther I went, the more people appeared on the sidewalks. The gangbangers, the hookers, the pimps, even some of the homeless bums, started following me. Someone must have recognized me, because it wasn’t long before the whispers began.

“Hey, isn’t that the Spider?’

“You mean the assassin chick?”

“I thought she was dead, that Benson killed her.”

“Apparently not. Looks like she’s here for payback.”

I grinned. And then some.

The whispers continued, and the crowd followed me block after block, until I finally reached my destination.

The street I was on led straight into the one that fronted Benson’s estate, which spread out before me like the palace of a king. I’d been too woozy from the sedative yesterday to really appreciate the beauty of the prewar gray stone mansion with its elegant crenellation and soaring columns. It used to be an apartment building, from the information that Silvio had given me, before Benson had it converted into his own private residence and drug-cooking factory. The mansion butted right up against the street, and I’d seen the lush green grounds and the river beyond it for myself yesterday, when Bria rescued me.

To my left, a familiar sedan rolled down the street and stopped at the corner. Bria and Xavier got out of the car, along with Owen. The three of them stayed next to the sedan and drew their guns, just like we’d planned.

I walked right up to the low stone wall that cordoned off the mansion from the street, raised my fingers to my lips, and let out a loud, ear-splitting whistle, the way Sophia had taught me years ago. The sharp shriek caught the attention of the guards patrolling the lawn between the wall and the mansion, and their heads snapped around in my direction. One of them yanked his phone out of his jacket pocket and started texting frantically on it, no doubt alerting his boss that I was here, out in the open for everyone to see.

When I was sure that I had the guards’ attention, I turned to face the people who had gathered on the sidewalks behind me. A few of them ducked down behind mailboxes or pressed their backs up against the sides of buildings. Nobody liked the wide, crazy smile on my face but me.

“I’m glad that y’all could make it,” I called out in a loud, booming voice. “Because the show’s about to begin.”

I swept my hand out to the side and gave them all a low, gallant bow, something I’d seen Finn do more than once. Then I straightened up and focused on my first target: Benson’s baby-blue Bentley.

It was parked by itself on the street in its usual spot, to the right of the open gate that led to the mansion. The pale blue paint gleamed under the noon sun, the silver trim and accents shimmered, and the glass in the windshield was so clear and perfect that it looked like it wasn’t even really there. It truly was a beautiful machine, a work of art in its own mechanical right. I paused a moment, admiring the sleek lines, gleaming glass, and flawless paint.

Then I grinned and stepped over to the car.

As I walked, I casually swung the tool in my right hand back and forth, like the pendulum of doom that it was. I’d come into Southtown with my usual assortment of knives, but I’d also brought along one more weapon for this particular purpose: one of Owen’s blacksmith hammers. A long, hard length of silverstone that had been blackened from the countless hours he’d used it in his forge. The perfect weapon for caving in lots of things. Giant skulls, dwarven kneecaps, elemental rib cages.

Fancy cars.

I approached the Bentley and started twirling the hammer around and around, moving it from one of my hands to the other and back again, limbering up my shoulders, the way I’d seen Owen do in fights. I liked the solid, substantial weight of the hammer in my hands, although I would always prefer the sharp, slender sheaths of my knives.

The crowd behind me pressed forward a little, tiptoeing to the edges of the sidewalks, although all the folks made sure to stay on the opposite side of the street, well away from me and my insanity. Everyone sucked in a collective breath as I walked around and around the car, looking for the best place to make my first strike.

“Don’t do it, lady,” someone in the crowd called out.

“Doesn’t she know whose car that is?”

“Crazy assassin bitch must have a suicide wish.”

I grinned at that last muttered comment. If they only knew.

I stopped next to the driver’s-side door, hoisting the hammer up and over my shoulder. Everyone behind me sucked in another breath. Then I brought the weapon down as hard as I could onto the front windshield.

The hammer punched into the glass with a loud, satisfying crack, the jagged tears zigzagging out like the silken strings of a spider’s web—my web of destruction.

That first swing got me going, and I smashed the hammer into the car over and over again. Each crack of glass and crunch of metal satisfied the primal need I had deep down inside to hurt Benson as badly as he had wounded me, to take something away from him just like he had taken from me, to destroy a part of him the way he had done to me.

Oh, yes. All the rage, all the frustration, all the fear and helplessness I’d felt when Benson had drugged me. I took it all out on his car. I slammed the hammer into all of the windows, the roof, the sides. I even palmed one of my knives and slashed all four tires. I let it all out, using the car as a substitute for Benson. Because I would need to keep my emotions in check when I faced the vampire, lest he try to feed on my feelings, and I was working all the rage out of my system now, leaving nothing behind but the cold determination to end him.

Bria, Xavier, and Owen kept their eyes and guns on the guards, but none of them made a move toward me. Neither did anyone in the crowd. They were all too shocked by my actions.

Finally, after about three minutes of whaling on the car, I lowered the hammer and stepped back, breathing hard, although I felt much calmer, my earlier tension wiped away by the energizing exertion.

“Oh, man,” Finn groaned through the receiver hidden in my ear. “Really, Gin, did you have to smash up the car? I’m starting to think that’s some sort of fetish of yours.”

“Maybe,” I agreed in a cheery voice. “I do quite enjoy it.”

I twirled the hammer around again and slammed it into the hood, adding another dent to the dozen already there.

“Great,” someone muttered in the crowd. “Crazy assassin bitch is talking to herself now.”

“Is it my imagination, or are your admirers making snide comments about your sanity?” This time, Phillip’s voice sounded in my ear.

I couldn’t see him, but Phillip was ensconced with Finn on the rooftop closest to Benson’s mansion. He, Finn, Bria, Xavier, Owen, and I were all wearing earpieces so that we could communicate with one another.

“Apparently, you agree with them,” I murmured back.

“If the hammer fits . . .” Phillip trailed off.

“Says the man who likes to throw people off his riverboat,” Owen cut in.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Philly,” I chimed in again, using Eva’s nickname for him. “That sounds like fun.”

“See?” Phillip said in a smug voice. “Your crazy woman agrees with me, Owen.”

“Whatever,” Owen rumbled back.

“Enough talk,” Bria cut in.

“Yeah.” Xavier joined the conversation. “You’ve finally got some guards headed your way, Gin—a lot of them.”

I glanced toward the mansion. Sure enough, about a dozen vamps were marching in my direction, all of them clutching guns. Several were murmuring into their phones, trying to coordinate with one another, but I looked past them. Waiting—just waiting for the king himself to make his appearance.

A few seconds later, the front doors opened, and Beauregard Benson came striding out of the mansion, wearing his usual white pants and sneakers, along with a baby-blue bow tie and a matching button-up shirt, complete with his pocket protector full of pens. And he wasn’t alone. Silvio shuffled along behind his former boss, two vamps holding on to his arms.

The last knot of tension in my chest loosened. I was glad to see that Benson hadn’t killed Silvio outright for his betrayal. As long as he was still breathing, Jo-Jo could heal the damage that had been done to him—on the outside anyway. As for the inside, well, Silvio would have to deal with that in his own way and his own time, just like the rest of us did.

“All right, guys,” I murmured. “It’s go time. Just keep the guards off my back, and I’ll handle Benson.”

“Are you sure?” Finn asked. “I’d be happy to put a couple of bullets in his skull.”

“And he might send them spinning away into the crowd with his vampiric Air magic,” I countered. “No, Benson’s mine.”

Nobody said anything. They all knew why that was so important to me.

Benson was still about two hundred feet away from me, so I leaned down and propped Owen’s hammer up against the side of the smashed-up Bentley. Then I looked over my shoulder at the crowd milling around behind me.

“Anybody who steals that hammer will have to answer to me,” I called out.

Mutters rippled through the crowd, and everyone scuttled back a few steps.

“No way, man.”

“Not me.”

“Uh-uh. I ain’t touching that stupid hammer.”

I stepped away from the hammer and the car and backed up so that I was standing in the middle of the street, just behind the center lines. Through my earpiece, I could hear the others murmuring as they checked everything a final time. Finn and Phillip readied their rifles, taking aim at the guards, while Bria, Xavier, and Owen remained clustered around her sedan, weapons in hand, ready to support me however they could. I didn’t anticipate needing them to help me kill Benson, though. I wanted to do it myself.

I needed to do it myself.

Benson pushed through his guards, snarling at them to get out of his way, before storming through the open gate, crossing the sidewalk, and stepping out into the street in front of me. His cold blue gaze flicked over to his smashed car, and a spark of anger flashed in his eyes before he was able to hide it. Looked like I’d finally gotten under his skin. The vamp might feed on other people’s emotions, but he had some of his own too, mixed in with the cruelty pumping through his veins. Still, he kept his features calm as he faced me.

“Gin,” he said. “What a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon. And looking so well. Why, your recovery is quite remarkable, considering how much you were screaming only yesterday.”

Snide snickers rippled through the ranks of the guards, but I shut out the sound of their mockery. Benson was trying to make me angry so that he could more easily feed on my emotions and make himself stronger. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. I’d spent most of my life pushing aside my feelings, hardening my emotions, and letting ice run through my veins instead of anything else, and I saw no reason to stop now.

Not until after I’d stopped him—for good.

“I am feeling much more like myself today,” I drawled right back at him. “It’s a wonder what a good night’s sleep will do for you. Well, that and not being strapped down to a chair and force-fed your nasty drugs. Kind of cowardly of you, Beau. Filling me full of sedatives and that Burn pill instead of facing me head-on, villain to villain. Mab Monroe certainly never would have done anything like that. Say want you want to about her, Mab had style and power to spare. You? All you have are your sick little experiments and the emotions you rip out of other people.”

Murmurs swept through the crowd behind me, and even a few of Benson’s own guards nodded their heads in agreement. The vampire kingpin’s smile tightened, as though he were grinding his teeth together to hold the expression in place.

“Yes, well, Mab had her way of doing things, and I have mine,” he said, straightening his silver glasses a tiny bit. “I’d say that it’s been working out pretty well for me so far. Since I have all of this.”

He swept his hand out wide, as if to encompass his mansion, his men, and all of Southtown.

“You’re right. Pushing your poison on people has worked out pretty well for you, if not for your car.”

This time, the laughter was on my side of the street, as one person and then another in the crowd snorted in agreement. Benson’s lips puckered with displeasure. That spark of anger shimmered in his gaze again, and a muscle ticked in his jaw before he was able to smooth out his features.

“Why are you here, Gin?” he asked in a voice that was as mocking as mine. “Desperate for another hit of Burn already?”

“Sorry to disappoint, but once was more than enough for me.”

“Too bad,” he purred. “Your reaction to the drug was quite . . . interesting.”

Benson peered at me through his glasses, but I kept my gaze steady and level with his. The vamp puckered his mouth again, disappointed that he hadn’t gotten a rise out of me.

“Well, then, let me guess,” he said. “You’re here to get your traitor back.”

He snapped his fingers, and the guards holding on to Silvio dragged him forward, stopping on the sidewalk behind Benson.

Silvio wasn’t a pretty sight. He was wearing the same gray suit he’d had on yesterday, but now it was rumpled, ripped, torn, and dirty, with the ends of his filthy white shirt hanging down like two broken, jagged teeth. Blood dotted the sleeves of his jacket, with larger crimson smears and spatter streaked down his pant legs. His head was bowed, letting me see the crazy cowlicks that marred his normally smooth gray locks.

Benson snapped his fingers again, and one of the guards dug his hands into Silvio’s hair, jerking his head up.

And I finally saw the full extent of how Benson had tortured him.

Silvio’s face was a smushed shell. His nose had been broken repeatedly, judging from all the odd bits of bone jutting out against his skin. Bruises blackened the rest of his features, and puncture marks dotted his neck, several sets of them, as red and angry as wasp stings. Someone had been feeding on Silvio. Benson, most likely.

But the more I stared at Silvio, the more I realized that the physical injuries were nothing compared with the other trauma he’d experienced.

Sunken cheeks, waxy skin, dull gray eyes with barely a flicker of light left in them. Silvio looked pale and extremely, pitifully, painfully thin, as if his naturally slender body had been reduced to the point of starvation overnight. I wondered if Benson had fed him some Burn pills or if he’d just used his Air magic to suck out Silvio’s emotions and most of his life along with them. Either way, the vamp was a beaten, brittle, broken husk of a man. I’d never seen someone look that close to death and still be standing upright, although the two guards propping him up were helping Silvio with that.

I was a bad guy, I was an assassin, and I killed people, but at least I didn’t torture them before I sent them off this mortal coil.

I might make an exception for Benson, though.

Through my earpiece, I heard Xavier let out a low whistle. “They worked him over good, didn’t they?”

I gave no indication that I’d heard him. Instead, I focused my attention on Benson again.

“Actually, you’re right,” I said, finally answering his question. “I am here to get Silvio back. So if you will be so kind as to send him over to my friends.”

I pointed at the two guards holding Silvio, then over at Bria, Xavier, and Owen. The men shifted on their feet, their eyes flicking back and forth between me and their boss. They didn’t want to disobey Benson, but they didn’t want to tangle with me either.

When it became apparent that they weren’t going to release Silvio, I grinned at them. “Or I can always come get him myself,” I said, flexing my hands into fists. “I haven’t killed anyone yet today, and it’s almost noon. Time to rectify that, don’t you think?”

Benson laughed. “Oh, I’m not giving you Silvio. He’s going to die for betraying me. But I will offer you a deal.”

“And what would that be?”

“Silvio has already admitted that he gave you something of mine. A ledger. Give it back to me, and I’ll make the rest of his death quick and painless. I’ll also let you and your friends leave here alive.”

“Oh?” I said. “You mean that ledger?”

I pointed at Bria, who reached through the open window of her sedan and pulled out the black leather-bound book.

Benson blinked like an owl, but he didn’t say anything.

“Fascinating stuff you have in that little recipe book of yours,” I said. “Although I have to admit that I skimmed over all the drug formulas. Science isn’t really my thing. What I found the most interesting were the names of all your dealers, suppliers, and top-tier clients. Kind of sloppy of you to write all that info down in one place. I imagine your clients would be plenty pissed if all those damning details got out about them.”

“What are you proposing?” Benson snapped, a sharp edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before.

“It’s simple. You turn yourself over to my sister, Detective Coolidge. I’m sure you remember her.”

Bria gave Benson a toothy smile, then tossed the ledger back through the open window and into the sedan.

“You go along with Bria peacefully, since she has more than enough evidence to arrest you now. And when she drags your sorry ass into the police station, you admit to everything—and I do mean everything—involving your drug empire, including Troy’s murder. Max’s too.”

He arched his black eyebrows. “You don’t really expect that to happen, do you?”

I let out a pleased laugh. “Of course not. But I had to give you the chance, which is more than you gave Catalina.”

Benson swept his hand out again. “And why would I agree to any such deal when I can just order my men to kill you where you stand and take what I want?”

The vamps raised their guns. Half of them aimed their weapons at me, while the other half targeted Bria, Xavier, and Owen, still standing by the sedan. Instead of taking cover, I held my hand up and snapped my fingers.

Crack!

A bullet punched through the front windshield of the Bentley and sent the rearview mirror flying. Benson flinched before he could stop himself, while his guards and the crowd ducked and screamed.

“Show-off,” I muttered.

Finn laughed in my ear.

“I wouldn’t suggest a firefight, unless you want your brains painting the street,” I said in a pleasant tone. “I have two very good snipers just itching to kill as many of your men as they can. Before they put a bullet through your skull too.”

All of the guards snapped up their weapons and scanned the surrounding rooftops, but I knew that they wouldn’t spot Finn or Phillip in their snipers’ nest.

After several seconds, Benson made another sweeping motion with his hand, and his men slowly lowered their guns.

“What’s your proposal?” he finally asked.

“Why, Beau, isn’t it obvious? The Grim Reaper has come knocking on your door, and I’m here to make sure that he doesn’t go away disappointed.”