They all drained their beers.
“She’s going to stalk us,” Nigel finally said.
“Blaine!” She sounded pissed now.
He did a quick scan of the living room. There was no stainless steel for her to possess. He leaned back in his chair. “I’m thinking of remodeling the kitchen,” he said loudly. “I find the stainless steel a bit austere for my tastes.”
Nigel grinned. “I was thinking the same thing about my place.”
“Blaine!” she yelled. “Christian’s not dead!”
His hand clenched around the bottle, and his teammates went still. No one said a word.
“But he’s suffering horribly,” she shouted.
The bottle shattered beneath Blaine’s grip, and glass sliced his palm. The witch knew suffering.
“If you bring your team in, I’ll give Christian back to you,” she called out. “Nigel can heal him.”
Blaine shoved back from the table and walked over to the window. The sun was setting, and the city was beautiful. Miles and miles of world for him to explore, whenever he wanted. Total freedom. The witch was lying to get him back. Christian was dead. He’d failed him. No more to discuss.
“Fine. Talk to him yourself,” she snapped. “I just don’t understand why you refuse to trust me. When have I ever lied to you? How come men constantly confuse torture and lying?” she muttered. “They’re just not the same thing.”
Blaine deliberately turned around. He could see into the kitchen from this angle, and the witch’s high cheekbones and long eyelashes were clearly visible. She looked aggravated, and the veins on her neck were popping out as she struggled with something.
Jarvis and Nigel edged their seats over so they could see the show.
The estrogenized dictator made a grunting sound that made Jarvis wince, and suddenly, Christian’s face was next to hers in the fridge. He was ashen and fuzzy, his eyes closed and swollen. “See?” she said. “This poor sweet boy is going to pay for your escape until you three get back here.” She patted Christian’s cheek. “Tell them, my child. Tell them to come save you.”
Christian’s eyes flickered open. He was alive! Blaine sprinted into the kitchen and crouched in front of the fridge. “Hey, man, how are you doing?”
The sky-blue eyes were hazy, and he looked past Blaine. “Nice digs,” he mumbled.
“The best.” Blaine set his hand on the fridge, then swore when it seared his palm. It hadn’t burnt him when he’d used it before. The witch had twisted the stainless steel to her control already. “You’d like it. Got a sixty-five-inch flat screen.”
Christian nodded. “You keep my room open. I’ll be there soon.”
“Hello? There will be no off-site visitation.” The witch dug her fingernails into the side of Christian’s neck, and the warrior’s eyes rolled back in his head. “Tell them to come home, darling. You know you all belong to me.”
“Trio, if you come back for me, I’ll kick your ass for all eternity.” Christian opened his eyes, and his gaze was unfocused. “You’d never let me give up my freedom for you, and the same rules apply.” He raised his hand, and Blaine set his palm against Christian’s. The stainless was cool, and he knew Christian was easing the sting of the steel between them.
Which told him it wasn’t a delusion.
Christian was really alive, and he was in Angelica’s clutches.
Blaine didn’t give a shit what Christian wanted him to do. He was going find a way to bring him home, no matter what the cost. He didn’t care that it was an impossible task. He’d find a way.
Unlike his parents, Blaine didn’t leave people behind. Ever.
***
The moment Trinity’s finger touched the blue icon on Augustus’s iPhone, the restaurant disappeared into a world of blinding white. No contrast, no color, just a juiced up blizzard of nothingness.
Reina’s fingers dug into her wrist. “This looks like heaven. I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
“Augustus is involved, so there’s no chance of pearly gates.” But what was it? Trinity had no clue, but it was kind of unnerving her, given the close proximity of the whole bubble gum dust and murdering incidents and all. “I’m thinking this was a bad choice.” She hit the blue icon again, in case that would, oh, you know, reverse the process and spit them out into a spa or something equally delightful.
No such luck, as there was a sudden din of large bells, and then they were in a cold, dank cave. It was so dark, they could barely see beyond the outline of rocks and the sound of rushing water.
“I agree. Not heaven.” Reina relaxed her grip. “Gateway to Hell? River Styx, maybe?”
Trinity’s stomach tightened. “Not funny, Rei. I’m a little sensitive about Hell these days.”
“I wasn’t making a joke, sweetie.”
“Oh—” A dim light filled the cave, and Trinity quickly looked around. Stalactites hung down from the ceiling, and water dripped into a small pool of shimmering aquamarine water. Exotic pink, yellow, and blue flowers surrounded the pool, and an inviting stone bench sat beneath a palm tree on a patch of tempting white sand. A rainbow colored fish did a double flip before disappearing into the sparkly depths. The sound of bubbling water filled the air, soothing and quiet.
Or not so much. “Oh, man,” Trinity said. “It’s the lobby of the Triumvirate’s headquarters.”
“How fantastic!” Reina pulled out a digital camera shaped like a dagger and began snapping pictures. “What a great opportunity. Death will be so interested in this report. He’s never been invited here.” She walked closer to the sandy oasis. “I could definitely get some points for reporting this—”
“Ms. Harpswell.” A tall, elegant woman in a gold gown stepped out of the wall (um, hello? Solid stone, anyone?). She was wearing black stilettos, a diamond necklace large enough to put her in the next weight class, and her platinum hair was coiffed in a perfect bun.
Trinity had no idea who the woman was, but Reina instantly did a fan-girl squeal. “It’s Felicia Maguire,” she whispered. “The greatest assassin ever to walk the planet. She’s been so good for business. She comes for dinner all the time, but I’ve never been permitted to meet her.”
Okay, yeah, so that was not looking like a good sign that Oh, Shit, It’s Augustus had taken her dad and then sent her off to meet with a premiere assassin.
Reina held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Reina. I’m one of Death’s assistants. It’s really a great pleasure to meet you, Ms. Maguire.”
Felicia gave Reina her fingertips. “Lovely to meet you, my dear.”
Reina took a picture of Felicia. “Can you drop me a hint about your next assignment? I’d love to be there to see you in action. I can turn into vapor, so no one would know if I was observing.”
A soft chuckle escaped Felicia. “My dear, I’m afraid that’s classified material.” She winked. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
“Done.” Reina bared her neck and gestured to her throat. “It would be a huge honor to have you kill me.”
Felicia raised her brow. “You’re immortal,” she said dryly.
Reina waved her hand. “Semantics. I’ll pretend to die.”
Felicia’s smile warmed. “I like your attitude. Maybe another time.” Then her smile faded and she turned to Trinity. “Today is about you.”
Trinity winced. “Yeah, I’m not really surprised to hear that.”
Felicia strode powerfully across the cave, ditching the elegant walk she’d sauntered in with. She vaulted over a pile of stones, then plunked herself down on the bench. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her splayed knees. If her dress wasn’t so long, she’d be exposing all her girly parts for viewing. Interesting pose. “Here’s the deal, Trinity. There’s a beast running around Boston getting his jollies out of killing too many people. We’ve all tried to take him out. No success.”
Trinity eased down onto a rock. “Um, okay.”
Felicia grabbed the collar of her dress and pulled it down. There was a chunk of
flesh several inches long missing. “It thought I was sexy and this was its way of asking me on a date.” She paused to smile for Reina’s camera. “Took me three days to recover, and it wasn’t even trying to kill me.” She let the neckline return to its place. “No one can figure out how to stop it, or even what it is. It changes form and none of us have seen the same image.”
“Oh…” Trinity had a bad feeling where this was heading. One of the gifts of the black widow was the ability to know how to kill any living creature, not simply the ones she was in love with. Of course, the only ones she had to kill were the ones she loved. Such a lovely twist. “My dad wasn’t taken by accident, was he?” Had the Triumvirate set up the entire situation so they could force Trinity to help them? If so, that was damned impressive. A little creepy and Big Brotherish as well, but impressive nonetheless.
Felicia smiled. “My, what a smart girl.” She handed Trinity a black kitchen timer set for six days, twenty-two hours, five minutes, and eight seconds. “Your dad’s execution is scheduled for seven o’clock on Sunday night. This clock tracks the official countdown.”
Trinity reluctantly accepted the timer and set it beside her. Her dad’s death was scheduled for three minutes before her curse would expire, assuming she managed not to kill anyone else, of course.
“If you kill our resident psychopath,” Felicia said, “Elijah will be pardoned.”
Reina sank down next to Trinity. “Tough call, girlfriend. That would totally cut into our girls’ retreat in Minnesota.”
Trinity’s throat tightened. “I can’t kill again.”
“Then Daddy dies.” Felicia handed Trinity a sheaf of papers. “Here is the limited information we have on the creature, as well as a contract for your services. Payment for the kill is your dad’s freedom.” She held out a pen. “Here you go.”
Trinity scanned the papers. I, Trinity Harpswell, do hereby swear that I am a black widow, and I will use my black widow talents to kill the target—Her stomach lurched and she looked up. “I can’t do it.”
“Isn’t there another option?” Reina asked. “I mean—”
“These were the terms we decided on when we sent Augustus after Elijah. You trade the heart of one beast for your father. Nothing less will do.” Her voice became reverent. “Augustus is extremely inflexible in the administration of his duties. Once he’s set into motion, he simply can’t be stopped. He’s as formidable as he is handsome.”
“Handsome?” Reina echoed. “Hunchbacks and rashes are hot? He smells like rotting bananas.”
Felicia laughed. “Oh, my dear, you have so much to learn.” She fluttered her hand over her chest as if trying to dissipate sudden heat. “Well, Trinity. Are you going to sign it?”
Reina put her arm around Trinity’s shoulder and squeezed. “You don’t have to do this,” she said. “Your dad would understand.”
“He’d be furious if I kill someone to save him.” Trinity could already hear him yelling that if she loved him, she would let him die and take her freedom as his gift to her. But she couldn’t let her dad die, not on her behalf. If she allowed others to suffer for her weakness, what was the point of living? She was more than that. She knew she was. There had to be a way, and she had seven days to find it.
Martin hadn’t been the real test.
The real test was now, and her dad’s life and her own soul were at stake.
“Trin?”
She took the pen and signed the contract.
***
The kitchen fell silent as the fridge went blank.
Blaine was stunned. Christian was alive. And he was being tortured by a gal with quite the penchant for it. If they hightailed it back there, he’d be free.
No. Not free. Spared.
Big difference.
Nigel spoke first. “If we return, she’ll hand him over to us, but all that shit will start right back up.” He held up his hand. “Granted, I appreciate the man I’ve become as a result of life’s little challenges, but I’m really done with the prisoner/torture/emasculation crap.”
Blaine swore and stood up. “No way are we turning ourselves in.”
“I can’t believe you guys don’t want to go back and party with a psychotic she-demon with questionable ethics. You two are a couple of pansies.” Jarvis yanked open the fridge to get another beer, using a pot holder to grab the steel handle. “You know she’s fixed all the weaknesses in her system. We go in, and we’re not getting out. Ever.”
“No. Not acceptable.” The skull and crossbones on Blaine’s pec was burning. “But we’re not leaving Christian there.”
Jarvis retrieved a beer, then scowled at it. “Warm. The bitch heated it up.” He tossed the beer back in the fridge and slammed it shut. “How is it that women are so damn good at knowing exactly what little things annoy men? Is it in their genes? Do they teach it in little study groups? A cold beer. That’s all I want, and she knew it.”
“She has to die.” Nigel wove a paintbrush between his fingers, a thoughtful look on his face. “It’s the only way for this to end.”
“Yeah, and good luck with that.” Jarvis pulled open a cabinet and grabbed a bag of beef jerky. Even the simple act of eating whenever they wanted was a gift. “Because she’s such a delicate little thing.”
“There’s a way to kill everything,” Nigel said. “We just need to figure out what it is.”
“Hell, it’d be my biggest wet dream to end her existence. I’m game.” Jarvis tore open the plastic and pulled out a large hunk of dried beef. “I’m not going back in there on her invite, though. We take one step inside, and it’s curling irons and mani/pedis again. Been there, done that. Had enough.” He took a bite of the smoked cow and rolled his eyes. “This is incredible. So much better than arugula and beet salad, light on the dressing. I can feel my chest hair growing already.”
“So we lure her out. Take her that way.” Nigel picked up another brush and began weaving it through the fingers on his other hand.
“And kill her how?” Jarvis ripped another hunk off. “Don’t think I was listening when you mentioned that part of the plan.”
“We’re standing here, aren’t we? Free? There’s always a way.” Nigel held up his hands. The brushes were moving so quickly it was a blur, the frosted handle nothing but a glittery prism of light flashing between his fingers. “It’s like art. Opening your mind to the great possibilities. Releasing resistance.”
Jarvis snorted. “I think you got out too late, dude. There’s no recovery for you. Your one-eyed-snake is gonna fall off if you don’t find some testosterone soon.”
“See the magic,” Nigel said, holding up the fluttering brushes so they caught the light. “See the beauty.”
Blaine narrowed his eyes, focusing on the prism. Watched it flicker faster and faster until it seemed alive. A person. Running through Nigel’s fingertips. Fleeing. Running. Like a hologram of a real person. Prisms. “Wait.” He stared more closely at the brushes. “Nigel’s onto something.”
“Yeah, insanity.”
“No. It’s the light refraction—” It finally clicked in the back of Blaine’s mind and he slammed his fist into his palm. “Son of a bitch. A black widow would know how to kill her.”
The paintbrushes stilled. “Nice, Trio. You’re right. She would.”
Jarvis froze, a large chunk of jerky halfway to his mouth. His eyes were glittering in anticipation. “Hot damn,” he whispered. “That would do it.” He tossed the bag on the counter, grabbed a linen napkin, then scowled at it. He tossed it on the floor and wiped his hands on his jeans instead. “I’m in. Where do we find one?”
“Her files.” Blaine was already striding toward his computer. Before he’d left Angelica’s lair, he’d set up a back door in her system so he could access her notes. They’d been hoping for a way to figure out how to destroy the Den of Womanly Pursuits, or get an idea of when she was scheduling new kidnappings, but he hadn’t found that information yet. “I remember seeing something about a black widow
in here…” He logged onto her files, and then followed the path he’d searched before. “Here.” He went six layers deep in a set of folders. “These are all the creatures she’s unleashed on the mortal world—” He clicked on a folder called Girl Power and opened the first file.
It was a photo of a young woman with raven black hair, green eyes, and a smile that would make any mortal man’s heart stop.
“Look at those emerald beauties.” Nigel peered at the screen. “I’d love to paint her. I’ve never seen such innocence juxtaposed with the hardness of death. It’s as if there are two different people looking out from those eyes.”
“Her eyes?” Jarvis snorted. “How about her—”
“Trinity Harpswell,” Blaine read from the file. “Honored guest from age four months to ten months.” He felt a flash of regret for the baby who’d been victimized by the delusional blonde tyrant. At least he’d been four by the time he’d arrived. “Infected by the black widow curse seventeen times.” He snapped his fingers. “Bingo. We found her.”
“Created by the great inventor herself.” Jarvis grinned. “Poetic justice. I love it.”
Blaine shoved the chair back from the desk. “I’ll go check it out. You guys keep looking through her files and see if you can find anything else. I want all our options open.”
“On it.” Jarvis took over the seat.
Nigel propped himself up against the desk and folded his arms. “Yo, Trio, watch yourself. If this chick really is a black widow, it’ll be a piece of cake for her to finish you off.” He raised his brows. “And you are quite the looker. If she falls in love with you, you’re toast, big guy.”
“Love? Keeping dreaming, artist boy.” Blaine snorted. “Besides, if I was that easy to kill, I’d be dead already.” He let a single flame dance at the end of his index finger. Just a reminder of exactly what he was: a fire warrior (okay, yeah, he’d self-titled, but he figured it was better than cross-stitching girly man). “I’m really not worried about some almost human chick who’s been out in the mortal world her whole life—”
“Uh, fellas?” Jarvis raised his hand. “We’ve got a slight complication.”
Kiss at Your Own Risk Page 6
