Sharpest Sting

by Jennifer Estep

  Tucker moved to stand on Mason’s left, while Emery went around the desk to his other side, becoming his literal right-hand woman. The other giants lowered their guns and took up positions along both walls, still flanking Lorelei, Bria, and me.

  Mason rocked back in his chair, making it creak, and picked up his Scotch. He took a large swallow of the amber liquid before letting out an appreciative sigh and setting the glass aside. Then he leaned his elbows on the desk, steepled his hands together, and looked at me over the tops of his fingers.

  “You’re probably wondering why I invited your sister here and why my people brought you and Ms. Parker along for the ride.” He kept staring at me. “It’s because of you, Gin.”

  I’d figured as much. Snatching Bria—and Lorelei too—was a great way to get leverage over me. Mason had to know that I would do anything to protect them. Oh, yes. He definitely wanted something. I just wondered how much it would cost me in the end.

  Everything, most likely.

  Mason stared at me, clearly expecting an answer. I settled back a little deeper in my chair, as though I wasn’t intimidated by him—or by the invisible waves of magic pouring off his body with every breath he took.

  “And what did I do to finally merit your personal attention?” I asked.

  “You killed two of my men in Blue Ridge Cemetery. Clever, shooting them with their own guns instead of stabbing them with your knives like usual. But you made one mistake: you switched their weapons. I’m very thorough, Gin. You should have realized I would check something like that to find out what really happened.”

  Oh, I had definitely thought about that, which was one of the reasons I’d hired Liam Carter to protect the Pork Pit, among other things. But here I was anyway, a fly struggling to escape the web—the noose—Mason was slowly tightening around my heart.

  “What were you doing at the cemetery, Gin?” he asked.

  No way was I admitting that I’d been there to dig up my father’s grave to look for clues from Fletcher. I needed to change the conversation, so I decided to drop the biggest bombshell I had on him.

  “Oh, Owen and I were just out for a casual, romantic, late-night stroll…Uncle Mason,” I drawled in a light, easy voice.

  Mason tap-tap-tapped his fingertips together, and annoyance flickered across his face. He didn’t like me calling him that. Too damn bad. I didn’t like the fact that he was my uncle, that we were related, that we shared the same blood.

  He glanced up at Tucker, a silent question in his eyes, but Tucker shook his head.

  “Oh, don’t blame Tuck,” I said. “I figured out you were the leader of the Circle all on my own.”

  “How did you do that?” Mason asked.

  I shrugged. “After I drowned Alanna Eaton in her own lake, I turned the security cameras back on at the Eaton Estate. I figured when Alanna didn’t check in with Tucker, he would come to the estate to see what was wrong. Imagine my surprise and delight when the big boss man himself showed up.”

  Tucker stared at me. He was probably wondering why I hadn’t told Mason the whole truth—that Tucker had let me kill Alanna before saving me from freezing to death. Maybe I should have revealed that tidbit. Maybe I should have clued Mason in on the fact that his enforcer wasn’t quite as trustworthy as he pretended to be. But I had precious few advantages right now, and Tucker’s questionable loyalty was one of them. I was going to keep that card tucked up my sleeve until the time was right to play it.

  “And how did you know who I was?” Mason asked. “Your father died when you were young. I doubt you remember much about him.”

  I shrugged again. “You’re right. I didn’t really remember Tristan, but I didn’t have to. Remember that auction of Mab Monroe’s things at the Eaton Estate a few weeks ago? Well, she had a photo of my parents. That was the first time I’d seen Tristan’s face since the night Mab killed Eira and Annabella and burned our mansion to the ground. I’m sure you remember that, since you were the one who gave Mab her marching orders.”

  Mason didn’t respond.

  “Although I have to admit I was surprised when you showed up at the Eaton Estate. For a few seconds there, I actually thought you were my father. Believe me when I say that was a bit…unsettling.”

  Sickening was more like it, but I wasn’t about to confess that.

  “But then I compared the photos I took of you at the estate to the one I had of Tristan, and I realized that while the two of you look almost identical, you weren’t him. I’m ashamed I ever thought you were. I don’t remember much about my father, but I know he loved me and my sisters and my mother. He would never order someone to murder his family. But you don’t have such basic decency.”

  An amused smile curved the corners of Mason’s mouth. In that moment, he looked so much like my father that my heart stumbled inside my chest and plummeted down into my stomach. Beside me, Bria tensed, tears gleaming in her eyes. She’d never known our father, and I imagined it was even harder for her to see this twisted imitation of him than it was for me.

  “Decency?” Mason purred in his smooth, silky voice. “What a quaint little word. Who needs decency when you have power?”

  He casually waved his hand. An invisible gust of magic rippled out of his fingertips, making the polished gems and chunks of rock in the study rattle and vibrate again. Each soft shimmy-shimmy of the stones scraping across the tabletops was a clear, ominous warning. I felt like I was sitting in a room full of grenades, just waiting for them to explode and rip me to shreds.

  Mason waited until his magic faded away and the stones stopped rattling before he spoke again. “But you’re right about one thing. I’m not your father. Tristan was my brother, my twin, actually. I was born first, and he came into the world three minutes later.”

  Twins? Well, that explained his uncanny resemblance to Tristan. Although the knowledge made this even more bizarre, as though I was peering into a carnival fun-house mirror at the most distorted version of my father imaginable. Every word Mason said, every look, every small tilt of his head and sly flick of his fingers blotted out my hazy memories of my father and replaced them with this horror show of a man who had caused so much death and destruction in my life.

  “And you took him out of this world,” Bria accused in a harsh voice. “I found the police report of Tristan’s supposed car accident. I saw what you did to him. How could you do that to anyone? Especially your own brother? Your twin?”

  Mason raised his eyebrows. “You’re assuming Tristan and I had some warm, loving, close relationship. We did not. We might have been brothers, but we were as different as night and day. Rather like you and Gin.”

  Bria’s cheeks flushed with anger. “Gin is nothing like you.”

  Mason’s low, mocking laugh made more than a little guilt, shame, and embarrassment flare up in my chest. “Really? Think about it. How many people has Gin killed? Probably far more than me. I rarely get involved in such menial tasks these days. But Gin? She’s been killing people right and left for years, and nothing you do or say will ever change that fact, sweet, naive Bria.”

  My sister opened her mouth, probably to keep defending me, but I shook my head. There was no use arguing with Mason, not when he was right.

  And he was right.

  I had killed a lot of people, both as Genevieve Snow back when I was trying to survive on the mean streets of Ashland and especially later on, after Fletcher had taken me in and started training me to be the Spider. My hands were drenched in just as much blood as Mason’s, maybe even more.

  “Why did you send your men to kidnap Bria? Why did you bring us here?” I snapped. “What do you want?”

  More annoyance flickered across Mason’s face. He didn’t like my demanding answers, but he leaned forward and picked up a book lying on the corner of the desk. The black cover featured a single symbol done in raised silver foil—the Circle’s ring-of-swords rune.

  Surprise rippled through me, along with a good amount of wariness. The black book was
the same size and shape as the blue ledger my mother had used to record Circle secrets, the one Silvio was still trying to decode.

  Maybe this was all about the blue ledger. Maybe Mason had finally realized that I had the tome, and he wanted it back. Although if that were the case, why not show me a blue ledger instead of this black one?

  Beside me, Bria tensed, as did Lorelei. They too must have noticed how similar this black book was to the blue ledger.

  “What’s that?” I asked, playing dumb.

  Mason waggled the book back and forth. “This? It’s a ledger, of sorts.”

  Another ledger? An odd, unwelcome sense of déjà vu washed over me, and I bit back a groan. Alanna Eaton had almost killed me because she’d been searching for the blue ledger, and now here I was, faced with another one of the cursed books.

  My gaze flicked over to the bookcases along the wall. No black or blue ledgers there, just old, thick tomes on Ashland’s history. Mason’s little black book hadn’t come from those shelves.

  How many ledgers did the Circle have? What did the different colors mean? And where were the volumes kept? Whoever was responsible for the ledgers must not do a very good job of watching over them, given how many of the books seemed to be floating around Ashland.

  “I’m a bit old-fashioned,” Mason continued. “Especially when it comes to Circle business. Computers are too easily hacked, information too easily downloaded onto discs and drives.”

  “So you write everything down in books. How quaint,” I quipped. “Do you use feather pens too? Pots of ink? Wax seals? Or have the folks who work for the historical association taught you how to use carrier pigeons?”

  He ignored my sarcasm. “Some years ago, one of these black ledgers was stolen from my personal archives at another location. You’re going to find it, Gin.”

  I frowned in genuine confusion. “Why would I know where your ledger is? Especially if it’s been missing for years? I only learned about the Circle a few months ago.”

  Mason set the ledger on the desk and tapped his index finger on the cover. “Because it was stolen by Fletcher Lane.”

  And just like that, everything made sense, including why those two giants had dug up Fletcher’s final resting place the other night. They thought the old man had literally taken the ledger with him to his grave.

  Fletcher had left me several clues about the Circle, including some safety-deposit boxes filled with documents and photos at First Trust bank, but I’d never dreamed he’d stolen something directly from Mason. Still, Fletcher was nothing if not persistent. If he’d known that Mason was the leader of the Circle, then he would have done everything in his power to get an advantage over the other man. Stealing a ledger of Circle secrets might have taken him a while, but Fletcher would have eventually figured out how to do it. He was tenacious that way.

  So what was in the missing black ledger? The information must be extremely important for Mason to still be searching for it.

  “If Fletcher hid that book years ago, what makes you think I can find it now?” I asked, genuinely curious to know what his reasoning would be.

  Mason gave me another amused look, then casually flicked his fingers. An invisible wave of magic surged off him, and two of the sapphire paperweights on the desk exploded.

  I didn’t have time to move, react, or reach for my own magic to block his attack. One moment, the paperweights were whole and intact. The next, razor-sharp pieces were hurtling toward Bria and Lorelei. I didn’t even have time to scream, and even though I was sitting right between them, I couldn’t protect either one of them.

  The jeweled shards abruptly stopped—an inch away from Bria’s and Lorelei’s throats.

  They both froze, their eyes wide, their mouths gaping in fear and surprise, as they stared at the long, pointed bits of shrapnel hovering in midair. I froze too, my hands curled around my chair arms. All Mason had to do was wave his hand, and the shards would shoot into their necks like arrows, killing them.

  Hot, sweaty panic knifed through my heart, and my gaze darted back and forth between Bria and Lorelei. I might—might—be able to save one of them, but in doing so, I would doom the other to a sudden, gruesome death. It was an impossible choice and one I didn’t think I could make.

  My uncle flicked his fingers again, and the sapphire shards zipped across the study and embedded themselves in an old-fashioned dartboard hanging on the wall. Bria and Lorelei both sucked in ragged breaths and slumped back in their chairs. I did too.

  “Why do I think you can find my ledger, Gin? The proper motivation, of course,” Mason drawled, finally answering my question.

  More hot, sweaty panic filled me at his obvious threat, but I forced myself to try to reason with him. “All the motivation in the world doesn’t matter in this case. Fletcher never said anything about stealing a ledger from you.”

  “I find that very hard to believe,” Mason said, an angry note creeping into his voice. “Especially given all the trouble you’ve caused over the past few months.”

  His anger sparked my own, and I latched onto the emotion with both hands. Anger was always better than panic, and anything was better than the paralyzing fear still crashing through my body in hot, clammy waves.

  “If you didn’t want me to know about the Circle, then you shouldn’t have sent Deirdre Shaw to worm her way into Finn’s life. And you definitely shouldn’t have told Tucker to try to blackmail me into joining your little group,” I growled. “The way I see it, you’re the reason I’ve caused you so much trouble, Uncle Mason.”

  He shook his head. “I knew it was a mistake to let Fletcher walk away all those years ago.”

  Confusion filled me. “Fletcher? Walk away? What are you talking about?”

  Mason tilted his head to the side, studying me. “You really don’t know, do you? What any of this is truly about? What Fletcher did?”

  My hands gripped the chair arms even tighter, and my entire body tensed. “What do you know about Fletcher?”

  Mason kept staring at me, an amused smile crawling across his face. Emery eyed her boss with open curiosity. She wanted to know the answers to my questions too, as did the giants still flanking us.

  The only person who already seemed to know the answers was Hugh Tucker. The vampire sighed ever so softly and gave me a resigned, regretful look, almost as if he was sorry for what was going to happen next.

  “What do you know about Fletcher?” I repeated, my voice dropping to a low, strained whisper.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Mason leaned forward and stared me in the eyes. “Fletcher Lane worked for the Circle.”

  Chapter Eight

  Fletcher Lane worked for the Circle.

  Fletcher worked for…

  Fletcher…

  Mason’s words kept ringing in my mind, booming louder and louder, until all I could hear was his snide tone, and all I could feel was the ugly truth of those simple syllables stabbing into my heart over and over again.

  “No,” I choked out. “You’re lying. Fletcher didn’t—wouldn’t—do that. Not for the Circle. Not for you.”

  “Oh, yes, he did,” Mason purred. “Why, the Tin Man was the Circle’s go-to assassin for years, and Fletcher was a close personal friend of mine.”

  I stared at him, desperately searching for any sign of a lie, but no trace of deception flickered across his face, his gaze stayed rock-steady on mine, and his voice pealed with smug certainty. Mason was telling the truth, and he knew exactly how devastating it was.

  Fletcher had worked for the Circle.

  My mind spun around, my heart clenched tight, and my breath stuttered in my lungs, but the rest of my body felt stiff, numb, and frozen, as though someone had suddenly encased me in elemental Ice from head to toe. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t protest. All I could do was sit there and stare at Mason, dumbstruck, while sick shock flooded my veins. In an instant, the cold, inescapable tidal wave had drowned all my warm love for and unshakable trust in the old man.


  Bria reached over and grabbed my hand, tears gleaming in her eyes. Lorelei grabbed my other hand, squeezing it tight. My sister and my friend were trying to help, support, comfort me, but they seemed distant and far away, even though they were sitting right beside me, and the heat of their fingers didn’t even come close to penetrating the chills that kept crashing through my body.

  “I thought you might have a little trouble accepting the truth,” Mason continued, “so I had Tucker go through my personal archives and dig out some things.”

  He snapped his fingers, and Tucker grabbed a manila file folder from one of the bookshelves, stepped around the desk, and held it out to me. I stared dully at the folder. Whatever was inside would only wound me more, just like the info Bria had shown me on our father’s murder. But even now, when faced with this awful, awful truth, my curiosity won out the way it always did, and I took the folder from Tucker.

  The thin file seemed as heavy as an anvil, and it slipped through my numb fingers and dropped to my lap. With shaking hands, I slowly cracked it open. Bria and Lorelei leaned forward, and we all peered at the information inside.

  The first thing in the file was a photo of Fletcher and Mason.

  My heart clenched tight again, but I picked up the picture. The color photo had yellowed with age, but it clearly showed Fletcher leaning against the counter inside the Pork Pit and grinning at Mason, who was sitting on the stool closest to the cash register and eating a plate of barbecue.

  Part of me didn’t want to believe it, and I thought about throwing the photo down and screaming that it was a fake—but it wasn’t. In the background, I could see several old menus, along with some ancient napkin holders that had been inside the restaurant for years. Things no one would know about, except for me, Finn, and Sophia, and things you wouldn’t be able to find today, much less drop into a doctored photo.