Venom

by Estep, Jennifer

  So I looked and listened and waited, counting the seconds off in my head. Ten, twenty, thirty… forty-five… sixty… I didn’t hear anything until the ninety-second mark, when another small rustle drifted to my ears. Dead leaves scraping together in the underbrush. Finn pretending that he was trying to be quiet when he was really hoping to attract attention. But the guards on the patio didn’t move, still didn’t take the bait that Finn was teasing them with.

  So I stayed where I was, quiet and hidden in the shadows. Nobody ever got dead by waiting. That’s what Fletcher Lane always said, when he was teaching me how to be patient enough to wait out whatever enemy or danger I was facing. The old man’s advice had kept me alive over the years—no reason to doubt it now.

  I did, however, palm a pair of my silverstone knives. Always better to be armed while you waited out the enemy.

  Another minute passed before I spotted a flash of silver light through the dense trees. Just a little glint, but it was more than enough to give away Finn’s position. And now I saw him, a shadowy figure easing from tree to tree, creeping forward. The glint came from the gun in his hand. Finn kept up the charade of moving cautiously, not rushing to put his feet down, even though he was purposefully making even more rustling and cracking noises now.

  I glanced back down at the patio. The two giants guards stayed at their posts on the patio, unwilling to investigate or unconcerned about the noise. I frowned. Something about their nonchalant stance bothered me. But since I couldn’t put my finger on it or do anything about it, I turned my attention back to Finn, who reached the edge of the tree line. A moment later, he broke free of the clutching branches—

  The sharp whine of a bullet caught me by surprise.

  And then it was on.

  25

  The bullet slammed into the tree trunk next to Finn’s ear. He dived back behind the tree and returned fire, his muzzle flash giving away his exact location. My head snapped down to the patio. The two guards stood in the same spot as before, only this time they clutched guns in their beefy fists. Guns that were pointed up at the tree line. Guns that they were firing at will. And I finally realized what had bothered me about them a few seconds ago—the fact that I couldn’t see the third man anywhere.

  The guard dropping his cigarette must have been some sort of signal to the man inside, who’d slipped off and sounded the alarm, while the two men on the patio had pulled weapons from some hidden spot on their bodies and started shooting. Who knew how many more men Elliot Slater had inside his mountain mansion? However many were inside, in seconds they’d be crawling up the mountainside, closing in on Finn.

  And I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

  Click-click-click.

  The giants on the patio ran out of bullets. One of the men stopped to reload, while the other charged up the hill, fighting up the steep slope to get to Finn.

  “Move, damn it,” I whispered through clenched teeth. “Move, Finn.”

  Finn couldn’t have possibly have heard me, so his own sense of self preservation must have kicked in. He reloaded his gun, threw down some cover fire, and scurried into the trees, heading back down the mountain. I knew Finn could run fast. Real fast when he put his mind to it. Like when his pants were down, and he was faced with an angry husband. Maybe he’d be able to slip away without getting captured. Then at least he would be safe when I went inside after Roslyn.

  The giant who’d been on the patio surged over the top of the hill and crashed into the trees. I glanced down the slope, but his buddy with the gun wasn’t making any move to follow him. Instead, he stood against the patio door, out of sight of Finn’s original position, although not mine. Smart, not sending all your men into the woods. Exactly the sort of thing I’d expect from Slater.

  I waited a few more seconds, but the guard made no move to struggle up the slope like his predecessor had done. But instead of slipping down the hillside and coming up behind him, I palmed another knife and went after the giant who was chasing Finn. It might have been Finn’s plan to lure out the giants so I could kill them up here, but I would have followed him anyway. Because despite what I’d told him before, I wasn’t going to leave Finn twisting in the wind by himself. Finnegan Lane wasn’t dying out here in the woods, even if he was supposed to be a bloody distraction. Not if I could help it.

  The giant made no effort to be quiet or conceal his trail, instead crashing through the leaves with as much force as he could muster. He probably thought the louder he sounded running after Finn, the more intimidated and scared Finn would be. He never considered the possibility that all the noise would make it that much easier for someone else, someone like me, to creep up behind him and stab him in the back. Which was exactly what I was going to do when he stopped long enough to catch his breath. Hopefully, Finn would just keep on running, instead of trying to trick more of the giants into coming into the woods.

  Up ahead of me, the giant slowed, as if he’d lost Finn’s trail. Wouldn’t be hard to do in the darkness. I stopped, slid behind a tree, and watched him. After a few seconds of studying the ground with a small flashlight, the giant pulled a walkie-talkie off a clip on his belt and pressed a red button on the side.

  “He’s heading in your direction.”

  “Roger that,” came the reply.

  So the giant had come after Finn to drive him in the direction that the giant wanted Finn to go—and straight into some kind of trap—

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  Up ahead, three shots rang out and echoed around the mountaintop. The giant rushed forward. I slipped about fifteen feet off to the left and followed him parallel through the woods. Thirty seconds later, the giant stepped into a large clearing ringed with rocks.

  Crack!

  A bullet slammed into the giant’s chest, and he staggered back.

  Crack! Crack!

  Two more wounds blossomed—one in his shoulder, another one in his right knee. Not enough to kill him, but enough to hurt. The giant screamed and went down on his one good knee. I stayed where I was, searching the shadows for Finn. Ten seconds later, Finn stepped out from behind one of the rocks. Gun out, he headed for the giant.

  “Where’s your boss?” he demanded. “And where’s Roslyn Phillips?”

  The giant spat at him. Finn coldcocked him with the gun, then slammed his boot into the man’s blown-out knee. The giant screamed with pain.

  “Where is Elliot Slater?” Finn snarled again.

  A grim smile curved my lips. Finnegan Lane was never lacking for style, if nothing else—

  “Right here, you son of a bitch.”

  Click.

  Finn knew that sound as well as I did—the hammer being thumbed back on a revolver. He froze and slowly turned around.

  Elliot Slater stepped out from the shadows, flanked by two more giants. A large revolver glinted pale silver in Slater’s hand. The long barrel was exactly even with the bridge of Finn’s nose. Finn had lowered his gun to his side when he’d kicked the injured giant. No way he could raise it up in time to get a shot off before the giant pulled the trigger on his own weapon and killed him. Finn knew it as well as I did.

  “Drop it, pal,” Slater rumbled. “Or I’ll kill you where you stand.”

  Finn’s face tightened with rage, keeping up his act, and he slowly leaned forward and put the gun down on the leaf-strewn ground. Slater jerked his head, and one of the other two men rushed forward to pick it up. The fourth man lay moaning on the ground, clutching his shattered knee.

  Slater stepped forward, still keeping his gun up. “Well, well, Finnegan Lane. Didn’t expect you to show up here tonight.”

  Finn shrugged. “I love surprises, don’t you?”

  Slater eyed him. “I’m not going to ask you what the hell you’re doing on my mountain in the middle of the night. Not just yet. We’ll save that for when we get back to the mansion. You know, I’d already exhausted my previous entertainment for the evening. But you—you’ll do just fine as a replacement.”


  Replacement? My stomach tightened. Had the giant already killed Roslyn Phillips? Were we already too late? Had Finn put himself in danger for nothing? I didn’t know, and I didn’t have time to puzzle it out. Because Elliot Slater stepped forward and slammed his fist into Finn’s face. My foster brother crumpled to the ground and was still.

  Elliot Slater stood over Finn’s body a few seconds to make sure that he wasn’t faking his unconscious state. When he was satisfied that Finn was out, Slater crooked a finger at one of his giants.

  “Bob, you carry that son of a bitch back down to the mansion and chain him up in the main room. Phil, you stay here and help Henry,” he said. “Did you guys see anyone with Lane? Any kind of backup?”

  “No, sir,” the one named Phil replied. “We watched to make sure, but it looks like he’s alone.”

  They hadn’t watched quite well enough because they hadn’t seen me skulking through the woods. Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy of them. Then again, most folks only looked ahead for danger, not behind them.

  The first giant, Bob, moved over to Finn, picked him up by his hair, and slung Finn over his shoulder like he was a wet dish towel. Then Bob set off through the far side of the clearing. Elliot Slater tucked his revolver into the waistband of his pants and followed him. Phil, the second uninjured giant, dropped next to Henry, the man that Finn had shot three times.

  Part of me wanted to throw caution to the wind and go charging after Finn. To take Slater down like a wolf would a deer and rescue my foster brother. But the part of me that was the Spider, the cold, hard part that would always be the Spider, knew that was a risky plan at best. Slater and his man would be sure to make some noise, and I didn’t know how many more giants were out there waiting for them to return. Besides, Finn had sacrificed himself for me so I could see whether Roslyn was still alive. I wasn’t going to ignore his gift.

  But that didn’t mean I couldn’t take care of Phil and Henry, in front of me right now.

  Better to pick them off one a time rather than find myself in a situation where I could easily be overrun. As much as it made me want to vomit, I had to leave Finn in Slater’s hands for a few minutes.

  I scanned the surrounding woods, looking for any sign or sound that indicated that Slater had sent more men into the forest. But I heard nothing but the low groans of Henry, the giant that Finn had shot, as his buddy Phil hoisted him upright and put his arm under the injured man’s shoulder, taking the weight off his blown-out knee.

  It took Phil a few seconds to turn Henry around and point him back in the direction that the ambush had come from. Which gave me plenty of time to get a better grip on my silverstone knives and slip ahead of them. I waited behind a tree on the far end of the clearing. Once again, I looked and listened, but Slater seemed to be satisfied with his capture of Finn. No more giants came crashing through the underbrush, and all sounds of Slater and Bob, his other man, had vanished, swallowed up by the cold trees. Time for me to get into the game, even if it might already be too late to save Roslyn.

  “Come on, buddy,” Phil said to the injured man. “It’s not so bad. I’ll drive you back into the city, and we’ll get you fixed up with an Air elemental healer. A couple hours from now, you’ll be good as new.”

  Henry just moaned. No surprise there. A blown-out knee hurt like nothing else, especially when you had to walk on it.

  “Come on now,” Phil said again. “Keep it down. You know how Mr. Slater hates whiners.”

  At Phil’s urging, Henry made some attempt to tone down his whimpering. Too bad. He should have groaned while he had the chance.

  The giants’ progress was slow, but soon their heavy footsteps approached my hiding place. My hands tightened around the hilt of my knives, and I prepared myself for what was to come. I pushed away all thoughts of Roslyn and Finn and Elliot Slater. All that mattered was the here and now, and taking care of business.

  Phil stepped out of the clearing, dragging his buddy alongside him, and walked past me. I let the giants get a couple feet in front of me before I fell in step behind them. Phil was too busy murmuring encouraging words to Henry to hear the whisper of my footsteps on the forest floor. I closed the gap between us. Phil must have seen me move out of the corner of his eye, because his head started to turn in my direction.

  And that’s when I struck.

  My first knife punched into the giant’s back, scraping his thick ribs, before I thrust the blade up and into his heart. Sticky, black blood coated my hand like I’d just squeezed a ketchup bottle with all my might. Phil jerked and arched back at the sudden, wrenching pain, opening his mouth to bellow out his anguish. But before he could do that, I drove my foot into the back of his knee as hard as I could. The giant lost his grip on his buddy, who stumbled forward and slammed headfirst into a tree trunk. The already injured Henry let out another low groan of pain and misery.

  But I focused my attention on Phil, who’d done his own header into a pile of leaves. He thrashed around, trying to get to his feet even as his body started to shut down from the massive injury that it had just received. By this point, Phil was screaming, but the leaves under his face muffled the sharp sound. Since I wanted to keep it that way, I straddled the fallen giant and put my knees on his back, pinning him on the cold, mossy ground. I dug one hand into his hair, pulling back his head. Phil gulped in a grateful breath, getting ready to scream again.

  Too little, too late.

  With my other hand, I sliced my silverstone knife across his exposed throat, slashing open his thick neck. Phil moaned and gurgled. With one hand, he flailed back, trying to dislodge me. His other hand went to his throat, trying to stem the steady pump of blood. I paused a second, listening. But Phil’s cries didn’t appear to have been loud enough to attract immediate attention.

  So I climbed off the dying giant’s back and went over to Henry, his fallen comrade, who wasn’t in much better shape. The giant writhed back and forth, softly moaning in pain. I kicked him over so that he lay on his back, dropped to one knee, and slit his throat, putting him out of his misery. He didn’t even try to fight back.

  In less than a minute, it was over. Gin 2, giants 0. Just the way I liked it.

  But my job wasn’t done yet. While the giants bled out, I slid over into the shadows, watching and waiting. But no footsteps sounded, and I didn’t hear anyone rustling through the underbrush. I’d taken care of them quietly enough not to attract attention. Good.

  I pulled my knife out of Phil’s back and made sure both giants were dead before I slipped off into the woods back the way that I’d come. The looking and listening were over. It was time to get on with things—and take care of Elliot Slater once and for all.

  26

  I walked back through the woods to my previous spot and grabbed my duffel bag. I slipped the scabbard that I’d taken from Owen Grayson’s house over my shoulders. The black leather straps crisscrossed over my chest, and I slid the two long swords into their anointed slots. Once that was done, I grabbed a few more small supplies and left the bag where it was.

  I headed to the left, keeping inside the tree line and circling to the far, opposite side of the patio until I faced the very back of the mansion. Only one giant guard remained outside next to the pool, since the others had been pulled away to take care of Finn. Like it or not, Finn’s plan had worked.

  Since it looked like the shooting was over, the guard had once again lit up a cigarette. He faced away from me, out toward the woods where Finn had been, and I watched while he tucked his gun into the small of his back. The other man that had been sitting just inside the glass doors was nowhere to be found. He was probably somewhere farther inside the mountain mansion, helping Elliot Slater secure Finn for the torture that lay ahead. I wouldn’t get a better chance than this.

  So I took it.

  I hopscotched my way down the slope, skipping from one tree to another. The landscape hadn’t been as well cleared on the back side of the house as it had on the front, which gave me plenty of cover to
work with. I moved quicker than I had before, but I took care to make as little noise as possible. I still needed every bit of surprise that I could muster. Because now Finn’s life depended on it, along with Roslyn’s.

  Two minutes later, I’d worked my way to the edge of the stone patio, which was set about four feet off the ground. I eased up, letting my head rise just above the surface of the rim. All around me, the stones whispered of wind and water. They also reverberated faintly with the sharp crack of gunshots that had just been fired. But those notes of alarm had already started to fade away. That bit of violence had been too brief and the majority of it too far away for the action to permanently sink into the patio. As for what I was about to do to the man in front of me, well, that kind of violence would probably linger in the stone for quite some time to come.

  The guard stubbed out one cigarette with his foot and reached into his suit jacket for another. I wouldn’t get a better opportunity—so I took it.

  I pulled myself up, rolled over, and came up into a crouch behind some heavy, wrought-iron patio furniture. The guard drew a lighter out of his pocket and clicked it a couple of times, trying to get more than mere sparks out of the cheap plastic. I rose to my feet and tiptoed forward, a silverstone knife in either hand.

  The lighter flared, illuminating the guard’s profile. He turned to face me, one hand pressing down on the lighter tab to keep the flame going.

  “Finally,” he muttered.

  Last word he ever said. The giant never even saw me step out from behind the furniture and creep forward so that I was directly in front of him. He lit his cigarette and lifted his head, smoke streaming from his nostrils like he was a mythical dragon. My first knife ripped into his stomach, spilling his guts all over the stone patio. The second knife slammed into his windpipe, cutting off any sound he might make. The poor guy never knew what hit him. He choked on his own blood, even as his body spasmed from the shock of the two vicious, fatal wounds. He went down on his knees, halfway to dead, but I held him up and cut his throat, just to be sure.