Sharpest Sting
Copyright © 2019 by Jennifer Estep
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual or fictional characters or actual or fictional events, locales, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The fictional characters, events, locales, business establishments, or persons in this story have no relation to any other fictional characters, events, locales, business establishments, or persons, except those in works by this author.
All rights reserved by the author.
ISBN: 978-1-950076-01-7
Cover Art © 2019 by Tony Mauro
Interior Formatting by Author E.M.S.
Published in the United States of America
Table of Contents
Copyright
The Elemental Assassin series
SHARPEST STING
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
About the Author
Other Books by Jennifer Estep
The Elemental Assassin series
featuring Gin Blanco
Books
Spider’s Bite
Web of Lies
Venom
Tangled Threads
Spider’s Revenge
By a Thread
Widow’s Web
Deadly Sting
Heart of Venom
The Spider
Poison Promise
Black Widow
Spider’s Trap
Bitter Bite
Unraveled
Snared
Venom in the Veins
Sharpest Sting
E-novellas
Thread of Death
Parlor Tricks (from the Carniepunk anthology)
Kiss of Venom
Unwanted
Nice Guys Bite
Winter’s Web
SHARPEST STING
by
Jennifer Estep
An Elemental Assassin Book
To all the fans of the Elemental Assassin series who wanted more stories, this one is for you.
To my mom, my grandma, and Andre—for everything.
Chapter One
“I didn’t think our date night would end up here.”
I looked over at Owen Grayson, my significant other. “I thought you were looking forward to our quiet time,” I said. “You, me, together in the dark, having a nice romantic interlude.”
“Oh, you and me together in the dark is one of my favorite things.” Owen’s voice took on a low, husky note that sent chills racing down my spine, and a sexy grin slowly curved his lips.
The moonlight streaming in through the windshield frosted the tips of Owen’s black hair, bringing out the blue sheen in the thick locks, and added a soft, silvery tint to his face, as though he was made of polished marble instead of flesh and blood. Violet eyes, a slightly crooked nose, a white scar that cut across his chin. The small imperfections gave Owen a rough, rugged vibe that only made him that much more handsome to me.
Even better, his minor flaws, both physical and otherwise, fit together perfectly with my own many sins and much deeper faults. Sometimes I thought we were like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that had snapped together, despite the small odds of us ever finding each other.
“Oh, yeah. You and me together in the dark is always great.” His grin slowly faded away. “It’s the location that concerns me.”
Several minutes ago, Owen had pulled his car over to the side of the twisty mountain road. In the distance, a large sign gleamed in the moonlight, the letters spelling out a familiar name: Blue Ridge Cemetery.
“Don’t get me wrong. I always love spending time with you, Gin.”
I arched an eyebrow. “But?”
“But when you suggested a date night, I was hoping for something warm and cozy. You, me, a roaring fire, some good food, maybe a nice bottle of wine.”
“We already had some good food,” I said. “Or have you forgotten about the rehearsal dinner already?”
We had spent the last three hours at the Five Oaks Country Club. Our friends Mallory Parker and Stuart Mosley were getting married in a few days, and Owen was a groomsman, while I was a bridesmaid. After running through the ceremony, Mallory and Stuart had treated the wedding party to a private dinner at the club.
Grilled chicken kebabs served with a warm fig dipping sauce. Filet mignon sliders slathered with tangy blue-cheese mayonnaise. Crispy spring rolls filled with sweet-and-sour carrots, cabbage, and other veggies. And those had just been the appetizers. The main course had been roasted, apricot-glazed turkey with apple-sage dressing and mashed potatoes. For dessert, we had enjoyed a decadent pear bread pudding drizzled with warm caramel sauce and topped with vanilla-bean ice cream. The food had been absolutely delicious, and the company of our friends even better.
“The rehearsal dinner was great.” Another sly grin curved Owen’s lips. “But I was looking forward to having a nightcap at your place.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’ve been hanging around Finn too long. That cheesy line sounds like something he would say.”
Finnegan Lane was my foster brother and had been a shameless flirt until he’d gotten involved with Detective Bria Coolidge, my baby sister. Finn still liked to flirt, but everyone knew his heart belonged to Bria.
“You can’t blame a guy for trying,” Owen replied. “Either way, I was hoping for something a little less…”
“Dark, dirty, and dangerous?”
“Yeah.”
I didn’t begrudge Owen his dreams of a more typical date night. I would much rather have been curled up somewhere warm and cozy with him, instead of sitting in his car, slowly freezing in the dark.
But I was Gin Blanco, the supposed queen of the Ashland underworld, and this was my life, like it or not.
“What do you think?” Owen asked, looking through the windshield. “Are we clear?”
I checked the time on my phone. Ten minutes had passed since we’d stopped and Owen had stuck a plastic bag in the driver’s-side window, as though we were having engine trouble. Owen and I had been waiting to see if we were being followed, but not a single vehicle had zoomed by. Most people didn’t like visiting cemeteries in the daylight, much less on a cold winter’s night.
I peered into the woods that flanked both sides of the road, but nothing moved in the shadows, and I didn’t see any human-size shapes lurking farther back in the trees. “We’re clear.”
We got out of the car. Owen popped the trunk, and we each grabbed a thin black vest, along with a pair of heavy-duty black coveralls. Owen put his vest and coveralls on over his navy suit. I ditched my heels, zipped my vest and then the coveralls up over my royal-blue pantsuit, and shoved my feet into a pair of socks and then boots. We both pulled black toboggans down over our hair, completing our transformation from normal folks out for a night on the town to a couple of cat burglars up to no good.
Then again, as
the assassin the Spider, I was almost always up to no good.
“You ready?” Owen also grabbed two shovels out of the trunk.
“Yeah. But why are you suddenly so eager to get on with our mission?”
Owen grinned, his eyes glimmering like amethysts in the moonlight. “Because I still have hopes for that fire, food, and wine tonight.”
I snorted. “I’m starting to think fire, food, and wine is code for sexy times.”
“Sexy times? Now you sound like Eva.” His grin widened. “Although my sister does have a way with words.”
I crinkled my nose. “You are totally ruining your attempt at suave, seductive charm by bringing up your baby sister.”
“Well, then, I’ll have to try harder and make it up to you later.”
“Promise?” I teased.
“Promise.” His low, husky voice sent more chills down my spine.
Owen reached out, grabbed my hand, and pressed a kiss to my knuckles. The heat of his skin soaked into mine, and those chills pleasantly zipping through my body settled in my stomach and spread out, turning into warm waves of anticipation.
Owen released my hand and straightened. “After all,” he murmured, another mischievous grin spreading across his face, “this humble blacksmith does so love to please his pirate queen assassin.”
I groaned. “Don’t remind me about the renaissance faire.”
A couple of weeks ago, Owen and I had attended the Winter’s Web Renaissance Faire in Riverfront Park. What had started as a fun, innocent event had quickly spiraled into a dangerous confrontation, with Owen getting kidnapped and both of us almost dying at the hands of Darrell Kline, a greedy, disgruntled accountant who had wanted to steal everything from Owen.
“Look on the bright side,” he rumbled. “At least we won’t run into any costumed characters with swords tonight.”
“No, but we might run into Hugh Tucker and some Circle goons instead.”
The muttered words slipped out before I could stop them. Owen’s grin vanished, and a troubled look filled his face.
I grimaced. Way to kill the mood, Gin.
Hugh Tucker was my personal nemesis, a smart, cunning vampire who worked for the Circle, a secret society responsible for much of the crime and corruption in Ashland. For the last few months, I had been investigating and slowly killing my way through the Circle ranks, trying to find the group’s leader, the person who had sent Fire elemental Mab Monroe to murder my mother and my older sister. A few weeks ago, I’d finally found that leader, the head of the monstrous hydra, as it were.
My uncle Mason.
The revelation had come as an absolute shock, like lightning striking my head, a knife plunging into my back, and a bomb exploding underneath my feet all at once. I’d known that my mother, Eira Snow, had been a member of the Circle, but I hadn’t realized that my father, Tristan, had also been part of the group. My father had supposedly died in a car accident when I was a kid, so I didn’t remember much about him, and I knew nothing about his family.
I had certainly never dreamed that his brother, my uncle, was the root cause of so much pain, misery, and suffering in my life. But now that I’d found out about Uncle Mason, I was determined to kill him.
“Gin? Are you okay?”
Owen kept staring at me, that troubled look still on his face, so I forced myself to smile as though nothing was wrong.
“You’re right. We won’t run into any costumed characters tonight, which is a definite plus after what happened at the ren faire. So let’s go.”
“Why the sudden hurry?” he asked.
I leaned over and kissed his cheek. I breathed in his rich, metallic scent, then drew back. “You’re not the only one looking forward to fire, food, and wine tonight. The sooner we leave here, the sooner we can get there.”
“Work first, nightcap later?” Owen teased me again. “That could be your new motto as the Spider.”
“When it comes to you and me?” This time, my smile was completely genuine. “Definitely.”
* * *
I shut the trunk, while Owen hefted the two shovels up onto his shoulder. Together, we left the car and headed into the trees.
I took the lead, slipping through the shadows and scanning the surrounding woods, with Owen creeping along behind me. It was just after nine o’clock on this clear February night, and the luminous full moon and pinprick stars brightened the landscape, as did the crusty patches of snow and ice that still dappled the ground from the most recent winter storm. The woods were utterly still and quiet, and not so much as a breeze rattled the tree branches.
The silence should have reassured me, but a frosty finger of unease slid down my spine, even colder than the night air, and I palmed one of the knives hidden up my sleeves. The mark stamped in the silverstone hilt pressed into the larger, matching scar embedded in my palm—each of them a small circle surrounded by eight thin rays. A spider rune, the symbol for patience.
A pendant shaped like a spider rune hung from a chain around my neck, and the symbol was also stamped into the ring on my right index finger. My Ice magic rippled through both pieces of silverstone jewelry.
Normally, the cool touch of the jewelry on my skin and the solid strength of my knife in my hand would have comforted me but not right now. Or perhaps my continued unease was caused by our destination, along with our mission. I scanned the landscape again, but I only saw the same trees, ice, and shadows as before. The woods seemed to be completely empty, and even the owls, squirrels, and other animals had vanished for the night.
A few minutes later, we reached the edge of the woods. Owen stopped beside me, and we peered out at the area before us.
Blue Ridge Cemetery.
The moon- and starlight clearly illuminated the cemetery, which spread out for acres. An uneven carpet of dull brown winter grass rose and fell with the hills and ridges that creased the land like wrinkles grooved into an elderly dwarf’s face. Tombstones of all shapes and sizes dotted the ground, from square slabs to Celtic crosses to tall, elegant spires topped with wings and other symbols. A few trees rose up here and there, their bare branches hanging over and casting long, bony, fingerlike shadows onto the tombstones below. The shadows filled in many of the names and dates carved into the markers, making the old weathered letters and numbers look like they had just been stamped on the stones in thick, wet black ink.
Most people would have been creeped out to be in the cemetery at night, but I had an extra reason to be uncomfortable: I could hear the tombstones’ wails.
Love, hate, anger, grief, rage, despair. Over time, people’s feelings sink into whatever stone is around them, and few places conjured up more deep, wild, varying emotions than a cemetery. As a Stone elemental, my magic let me hear the soft sobs and bitter, plaintive wails of everyone who had grieved for loved ones, as well as the sly, smug murmurs of happiness from those who had been delighted to see the deceased go into the ground. The sorrow and the satisfaction made for an odd, disturbing, disparate chorus, and the incessant screeching between the two factions caused a dull headache to bloom in the back of my skull.
“Gin?” Owen asked. “Are you okay?”
I blocked out the stones’ cries as best I could and scanned the grounds again, but I didn’t see anyone lurking behind a tree or crouched beside a tombstone. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
We left the woods and went over to a gray stone path that curled through the grass like a dull, tattered ribbon. Owen and I followed the winding walkway for about three hundred feet before stepping off the path and climbing up one of the hills. We stopped atop a ridge that featured a massive maple looming over five graves, each one marked with its own separate tombstone. Another, much larger stone statue shaped like a snowflake was set into the ground above and behind the tombstones, denoting this as a family plot.
The tombstones represented the five members of the Snow family—my mother, Eira; my older sister, Annabella; my younger sister, Bria; and myself, Genevieve Snow. Of course, Bria and
I were still alive, although, sadly, the rest of our family was very much dead, thanks to Mab Monroe and Uncle Mason.
Owen rested his hand on my shoulder, letting me know he was there if I wanted to talk. I flashed him a grateful smile and squeezed his hand. Then I moved over to the fifth and final marker—the one for my father, Tristan.
His tombstone was the oldest and most weather-worn, and I crouched down and yanked off the dead kudzu vines that had snaked across the stone. It didn’t take me long to get rid of the frozen, brittle tendrils and reveal the writing underneath.
Tristan. Beloved Husband and Father.
The words flowed across the stone in a simple script, along with the dates of his birth, June 2, and death, March 24, and the corresponding years. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and snapped some photos of the tombstone, zooming in and focusing on the dates. Then I texted the photos to Bria, and also to Silvio Sanchez, my personal assistant.
My sister had left the rehearsal dinner early to work a shift at the police station, so she didn’t respond, although my phone chimed with a new text from my trusty assistant less than a minute later.
Got them. Starting work right now!
“Silvio?” Owen asked in an amused voice.
I tucked my phone back into my pocket. “Yep. There is something seriously wrong with that man. No one should be that eager to work, especially not this late.”
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