We stared at each other for the better part of a minute before I finally smiled, lifted my hand, and waved at her, as though we were two casual friends who’d spotted each other across a crowded room instead of . . . well, I didn’t know what we were now. Estranged lovers sounded so formal, so doom-and-gloom, but I supposed that was the closest thing to the truth.
After a moment, Gin smiled and waved back, matching my friendly façade gesture for gesture. Bria turned her head to see whom she was waving at, and her mouth puckered with displeasure. Bria didn’t like me much these days, but I couldn’t blame her for that after the way I’d treated Gin.
Not after the horrible way I’d hurt her time and time again.
“You should go over there,” Phillip said. “Offer to buy her a drink. Another gin for Gin, as it were.” He snickered.
“Look at you,” I deadpanned. “Being all clever with your words.”
“You’re the one who said that she liked irony.”
I grinned at him. “She also likes sticking her knives into people who annoy her, something that you seem to excel at.”
Phillip shuddered. “Trust me, I remember. I thought she was going to slice me open that night in my office on the Delta Queen.”
That had been back at the beginning of this whole sordid story, when Salina had first returned to Ashland and had tried to kill Phillip before Gin stopped her. Back when I’d still wrongly thought that Phillip had tried to rape Salina, my ex-fiancée, when we were younger. But really, all Phillip had been doing was protecting Eva from being cruelly tortured by Salina’s water magic. I’d walked in on Phillip fighting with Salina and stupidly believed her claims, and I’d almost beaten him to death as a result. Even now, weeks after Salina’s death, the thought of how wrong I’d been about her made my stomach twist with guilt and self-loathing.
I don’t know why, but Phillip had forgiven me, even though I didn’t deserve it or his friendship. My gaze stayed steady on Gin. There were a lot of things that I didn’t deserve now.
Gin saluted me with her drink again, almost as if she were saying good-bye. I did the same, and then she turned and started talking to Bria, focusing on her sister instead of me. But I kept watching her. I couldn’t take my eyes off her—and neither could the other men in the club.
Over the next half hour, a couple of guys approached Gin, sidling up to her with smarmy smiles and offering to buy her a drink. But she ignored them all and kept slowly sipping her own gin. The men quickly turned their attention to Bria, but she sent them away too, since Bria was involved with Finnegan Lane, Gin’s foster brother.
But there was one guy who was more persistent than all the others. He was a giant, almost seven feet tall, with a lean, wiry body. His baby-blue T-shirt was so tight it looked like it would rip down the center if he drew in too deep a breath. His dirty-blond hair was spiked up over his forehead, then smoothed back and down over the rest of his skull. His tan skin made his pale eyes seem that much lighter, and his white teeth gleamed in the semidarkness of the club. Most women would have thought him attractive. In fact, I saw more than one give him an appraising look. I snorted. Pretty boy. Probably couldn’t take a punch in the face for fear of ruining his perfect smile.
He leaned down and said something to Gin. Instead of shooing him away, she actually smiled up at him, as though he’d amused her. He gestured at the dance floor. My gut twisted and my hand flattened out against the tabletop. After a moment, Gin shook her head.
He said something else and gestured at the dance floor again, obviously thinking that he could win her over if only he tried hard enough. My fingers started tapping out a quick pattern, but Gin shook her head again.
He kept talking, obviously not wanting to take no for an answer. My fingers stilled, then curled into a tight fist.
Apparently, Gin no longer found him amusing. She gave him a cold, flat look and started to say something, but Bria pulled her gold detective’s badge off her belt and flashed it at the guy. That was finally enough to get him to back off. He gave them both a sour look before storming off into the crowd.
“Somebody should punch that jackass in the face for bothering her,” I muttered.
Phillip chuckled. “You know what? I think that jealousy suits you.”
I turned my glare to him. “Maybe I should punch you in the face too.”
He kept right on laughing.
Apparently, every other man in the club saw the giant strike out with Gin and decided to try his luck, because it was like the proverbial floodgates opened. One after another, the preening peacocks—emphasis on cocks—separated themselves from the flock, walked over, and started hitting on her. Soon I couldn’t even see Gin through the cluster of the men.
Still, I kept shooting glances in that direction. I couldn’t help myself, just like I hadn’t been able to stop staring at Gin at the Briartop museum when I’d first noticed her in the rotunda. Gin probably thought that I’d come over to her because I’d mistaken her for someone else, but I could never do that. I’d know her anywhere. She’d looked so beautiful that night, her blood-red gown rippling out around her, her dark brown hair loose and slightly wavy, the skin of her arms and shoulders looking as smooth and flawless as marble.
But Gin had never looked so wonderful as at the moment she’d burst into the museum’s vault area and I’d realized she was still alive, ending the utter agony of thinking she had been murdered by Clementine and her men. Gin had been dirty, sweaty, and covered with giants’ blood, but I hadn’t cared. I’d grabbed her and kissed her, and I’d wanted to keep on kissing her forever—
The music stopped again for a moment, and the crowd quieted down enough for me to hear a soft, low laugh, Gin’s laugh. Something else that I would have known anywhere. She actually found one of the peacocks funny. I couldn’t see who it was, but she laughed again. What was he? A comedian?
Her laugh drifted over to me a third time, and I grabbed my glass and threw back the gin. But the slow, steady burn of the liquor in the pit of my stomach couldn’t ease the sharp, stinging ache in my chest. Because that should have been me at the bar with her. I should have been the one making her laugh tonight. Not some random stranger.
I would have been that man, if not for my own stupidity. And that’s what hurt and angered me more than anything else.
Gin laughed yet again, the sound punching into my gut. And I knew that I had to get out of here before I did something extremely stupid, like marching over to the bar and punching out every single guy who was ogling her.
“I need some air,” I growled.
Phillip gave me an amused look. “Sure you do.”
I grimaced, slid out of the booth, and walked away.
3
It was after ten now, and Northern Aggression was kicking into high gear. The dance floor was so packed that I couldn’t get to the other side without using blunt force. With the mood I was in, I wouldn’t have minded shoving a few dancers out of my way. Actually, I wouldn’t have minded being in the middle of a good, old-fashioned, knock-down, drag-out bar brawl, but there was no reason to take out my anger and frustration on folks who were just here to have a good time. So instead of going outside, I ended up retreating to the only other somewhat quiet haven in the club: the men’s room.
Like everything else at Northern Aggression, the men’s room was done in lavish style. The floor in the outer room was made of the same springy bamboo as the rest of the club, and several small red-velvet couches crouched in the wide space. Roslyn’s heart-and-arrow rune was embroidered in gold thread on each of the throw pillows propped up on the thick cushions.
I thought the little couches were an odd touch, since I’d never seen a man actually sit on any of them. But, apparently, they were great spots to sleep off hangovers. A dwarf was snoring up a storm on the couch in the corner right now. Since he was a few inches shy of five feet, he actually fit on the piec
e of furniture, although one of his legs was dangling off the side. It wouldn’t be too long before gravity took over and he slid off the slick velvet and ended up facedown on the floor, snoring into the wood.
I pushed through the inner door and into the actual bathroom. Two vampires were whispering to each other in front of the paper-towel dispenser. They stopped and gave me suspicious looks as I entered. I’d probably interrupted some sort of hush-hush deal for drugs, blood, sex, or all three. Since it looked like they wanted their privacy, I moved past them and entered the farthest stall. A few seconds later, the whispers resumed, and the door creaked open and then shut as the vamps left. Apparently, they’d concluded their business and gone on their way. Bully for them. Somebody here should have a good time tonight.
I stood in the stall and stared at the door in front of me. Maybe it was the way the light glinted off the metal, but suddenly, I was thinking back to another place, another time. The lawn of an elegant estate and the layer of glittering elemental Ice that covered everything, including the broken, frozen fountains planted in the grass . . .
Salina lying on the Ice, stretching out her hand, begging me to help her, to save her. A crazy light flashing in her eyes, one that I’d somehow never seen before. My sharp, sick, horrified realization that the crazy light had been there all along and that everyone else had seen it but me.
Gin staring solemnly at me, knowing what had to be done now and that I couldn’t do it. Phillip and Gin’s foster brother, Finn, clamping their hands on my arms, holding me back while I made a halfhearted effort to break loose, and all of us knowing that I didn’t really want to be free.
Gin leaning down and cutting Salina’s throat. And then the sick, sick relief that I wasn’t the one to actually kill her. But everything inside me still turning, twisting, and tearing apart at what had happened, at all that my friends, my family, had suffered because of Salina—because of my blind faith in her.
Turning away from Gin so she wouldn’t see my horror, my guilt, my complete and utter shame, at everything that had happened . . .
I shook my head, and the door was simply a door, not some weird window into the not-too-distant past. But once again, anger surged through me, the way it had so many times over the past several weeks. Why did every single thing have to remind me of that night? Of how I’d failed the people I loved? Eva had suffered so much because of Salina. So had Phillip, Gin, and Cooper Stills, the dwarven Air elemental who’d been my blacksmith mentor. And yet at the end, when it had to be done, when it had really mattered, I hadn’t been able to kill Salina. I’d seen her lying on the Ice, and I’d thought of the girl she’d once been, the one who’d lost her father so horribly, the one I’d loved so much—who had really been a monster the whole time.
I knew everything that Salina had done—abused Eva, lied about Phillip, attacked Cooper, tried to drown Gin—but I still hadn’t wanted to be the cause of her death. I’d wanted her just to . . . disappear, as if that would magically take all of the horror and heartache along with her.
But instead, I’d made everything that much worse by not killing Salina myself, by not trying to set right the wrongs that I’d unwittingly inflicted upon them.
And even though Salina was dead now, I still couldn’t escape the legacy of what she’d done. Cooper looked at me with sad, knowing, pitying eyes. Phillip measured everything that I said, no matter how innocent or unimportant, as though he didn’t really believe any of my words. Eva glared at me with such disgust sometimes that it took my breath away.
And then there was Gin, whom I’d wounded the worst. Because she’d saved us all from Salina’s twisted revenge scheme, and I’d turned my back on her like a fool. I’d lashed out at Gin, when I should have been blaming myself for not protecting her and the others from Salina in the first place.
But the really sad thing, the really pathetic thing, the truly unforgivable thing, was that I’d known exactly what kind of stupid ass I was being that night at the Dubois estate. I’d known it the day I’d gone to see Gin at the Pork Pit and told her that I needed some time to think about things. And again when we’d talked in the moonlit gardens outside the Briartop museum, and she’d finally let me see how sick, weary, and hurt she was because of how I’d reacted to Salina’s death. Gin had risked her life to rescue me at Salina’s estate and then again at Briartop, and all I had done was wound her time and time again.
Gin didn’t like folks to know it, and she especially didn’t like them to see it, but she would do anything for the people she loved, including taking their emotional garbage. And I’d heaped a ton of it onto her shoulders instead of manning up and dealing with things myself—instead of killing Salina myself.
I loved Gin, but I’d known that she had some serious trust issues after Detective Donovan Caine had so coldly rejected her for being an assassin. But I’d seen her, and I’d wanted her, so I’d pursued her. And as I got to know Gin, as I fell in love with her, I had vowed to myself that I would never treat her as thoughtlessly as Donovan had. I would never judge or reject her for doing what she thought was right, for using her skills as the Spider to protect others.
But I’d done it all anyway. I loved Gin, but I’d still hurt her, and I didn’t know if I could ever forgive myself for that.
Maybe Gin had made the wrong choice in Blue Marsh. Maybe she should have chosen Donovan instead of me. Maybe she should go home with one of the peacocks tonight and forget I ever existed.
Phillip was right. I was a fucking idiot. I’d had Gin’s love, and I had been stupid enough to throw it away. It was all my fault, and I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know how to fix myself, much less us.
I rubbed my hands over my face, trying to shake off the guilt. But that didn’t work, it never worked, so I growled and punched the metal. I put a bit of magic behind the blow, leaving a fist-shaped dent in the door. I had an elemental talent for metal, could bend it and shape it any way that I wanted to. Right now, I felt like ripping the door off its hinges and sending wave after wave of my magic into it until the metal was crumpled up like a smushed soda can between my fingers—
The bathroom door banged open, and the heavy tread of footsteps sounded.
“Did you see that bitch brush me off?” a low voice growled. “I used all of my best lines on her, and she looked at me like I was some sort of gnat that was bothering her.”
“Calm down, Stuart,” another voice chimed in. “We knew that the direct approach might not work.”
“I can have any woman in this club that I want, and she turns me down? Oh, hell, no,” Stuart snarled. “If we hadn’t been hired to kill her already, I would do it myself just because. She wouldn’t think she was so high and mighty when my hands were wrapped around her throat.”
Hired to kill her? I had a sinking feeling that I knew exactly who they were talking about: Gin.
Now that everyone in the underworld knew—or at least suspected—that she was the assassin the Spider, practically every crime boss in the city had tried to take Gin out and prove that they had the stones to be the new head of the Ashland crime scene. Of course, no one had succeeded yet, but that didn’t keep them from trying . . . and trying . . . and trying. . . .
“So the Spider brushed you off,” the second man said in a much calmer and colder voice. “It happens. She’s a woman, just like any other. Who knows what they’re really thinking? Most of them don’t even know, and I, for one, don’t care. But like you said, we were hired to kill her. Nothing else. So we’ll just watch and wait until we see a chance to get her alone.”
Well, not if I could help it. I’d already hurt Gin so much. I wasn’t about to let these two losers ruin her night. My hand curled into a fist again, but this time, I didn’t want to hit the door—I wanted to hit them.
But instead of giving in to my anger, I peered through the crack between the stall door and the frame to get a look at Gin’s would-be attackers.
One was the giant in the blue T-shirt whom I’d noticed hitting on her earlier. He took a comb out of his back pocket and ran it through his hair, making sure that every blond strand was greased back into place. Then he stared into the mirror and smiled, before cocking his head to the side and arching first one eyebrow, then the other, in a suggestive manner at his own reflection, as if he were trying to seduce himself. Did that lame come-hither look ever actually work for him? Arrogant, egotistical pretty boy. I was going to enjoy knocking his perfect teeth out of his mouth.
The other guy was a dwarf, but his chest and shoulders were even wider and more muscled than the giant’s. He wore a black button-up shirt, dark brown khakis, and black boots. The dwarf’s black hair was shaved close to his skull, more like stubble than anything else. A smile stretched across his mouth as he watched the giant groom himself. But there was something hollow in the dwarf’s expression, and his lips were firmly curved up, like his smile had been painted onto his face. His light brown eyes were even colder and emptier than his smile. The giant might be a loudmouthed hothead, but the dwarf—the dwarf was the real threat.
“Fine, Richie,” the giant, Stuart, snapped. He finished fixing his hair and slid his comb into his back pocket. “We’ll wait until the time is right to make our move. But that bitch is mine. You got it?”
“Sure,” Richie replied. “No problem. Better you get her blood on your clothes anyway.”
Stuart frowned and looked down at his blue T-shirt, then over at Richie, as if he wasn’t sure whether the dwarf was serious. “Do you think that I should go change real quick? I have some extra clothes in the car. This is my lucky T-shirt. Nobody says no to me in this T-shirt. It brings out the color of my eyes. All the ladies tell me so.”
Kiss of Venom Page 2
