Sharpest Sting

by Jennifer Estep

  But I was moving way too slowly, as was Owen. Even as he lurched to the side, I could tell he wasn’t going to be fast enough to get out of the way. Emery was going to mow him down and win her game of chicken after all.

  Owen was going to die right in front of me, and there was nothing I could do to save him.

  * * *

  I tried to scramble to my feet, but one of my boots got tangled in the dead giant’s overcoat, and I couldn’t yank it free. So I reached for my Ice magic and snapped up my hand. Maybe I could fling some Ice daggers out at the SUV and knock it off course. I doubted it would work, but I had to try. I would do anything to save Owen—

  Crack!

  A shot rang out, and a hole appeared in the SUV’s windshield. I couldn’t tell if Emery had been wounded, but the vehicle careened to the right. Owen threw himself in the opposite direction, and the SUV whizzed by less than two feet away from his body.

  I expected Emery to slam on the brakes, whip the SUV around, and try again, but she hit the gas instead, and the vehicle zoomed out of sight. I waited, but the sound of the engine faded away, and it seemed as though she had left for good this time.

  “Owen!” I finally yanked my foot free, got up, and rushed over to him. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m all right. Just a little banged up.”

  I helped him to his feet, and we hobbled off the road and over to Silvio. I looked Owen over from head to toe. His clothes were torn and dirty, and cuts and scrapes dotted his hands and knees, but he was in one piece. A sob rose in my throat, but I choked it down, threw my arms around him, and hugged him tight.

  I had almost lost Owen. I would have lost him, if that shot hadn’t rung out.

  If someone hadn’t saved him for me.

  A flash of movement in the woods across the road caught my eye. My head snapped in that direction.

  Hugh Tucker stepped out of the trees.

  He was dressed in a gray overcoat and a matching suit, and a spiffy black fedora topped his head. My gaze locked on the rifle glinting in his hands. Of course. Only a few people in Ashland could make a high-pressure shot like that—Finn, Liam Carter, and Tucker.

  The vampire tipped his fedora to me, then vanished back into the trees.

  Hugh Tucker had shown up from out of nowhere and saved Owen from Emery the same way he had saved me from Alanna Eaton’s men a few weeks ago. And once again, I couldn’t help but wonder at the vampire’s motives.

  Had he followed Emery here? Had he hidden in the woods, hoping I would kill the giant like I had killed Alanna? And why save Owen? To guilt or leverage me into doing something for him in the future?

  More and more questions filled my mind, but I had no idea what game Tucker was playing. And right now, I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was that Owen was alive.

  I hugged Owen again, then drew back. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  He nodded. “I’m fine. Thanks to you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He gestured at the road. “Emery would have run me over if you hadn’t exploded that rock against her windshield and made her veer off course.”

  Silvio frowned at me. We both knew I’d done no such thing, but before I could tell Owen that, he leaned down and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back, drinking in his feel, taste, touch, and smell. Several seconds later, the kiss ended, although Owen pulled me closer and buried his face in my neck.

  I hugged him again, so grateful he was still alive. But in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but think about Tucker—and worry about what the vampire’s latest favor would cost me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Owen, Silvio, and I left the two dead giants where they had fallen, got into Owen’s car, and drove back to my house. We sat in the vehicle while I reached out with my magic and scanned the yard and the woods, but Emery must have decided to lick her wounds, because the stones were quiet, and no one was lurking around the house.

  The three of us went inside and got cleaned up. I checked in with Finn, Bria, and the rest of our friends, telling them what had happened and to be on guard. But everyone was okay, and Owen, Silvio, and I were the only ones who’d been targeted.

  Silvio disappeared into the guest bedroom, while Owen and I crawled into bed together in my room. I was exhausted, and I quickly fell asleep, although sometime later, I started to dream, to remember…

  I was hiding in the woods, waiting for Fletcher to show up and kill someone.

  After I’d closed the Pork Pit, I’d gotten into my car and driven to Wade Brockton’s house, which was located at the end of a road. The accountant’s closest neighbor was around a curve, more than a half mile away, and his house butted up against some woods, offering an easy escape route out the back. The isolated location was an assassin’s dream, and Fletcher could have done this job blindfolded, which was why I was standing in the woods, waiting for the old man to show up.

  I had to talk him out of this.

  I didn’t know who the client was or why Fletcher had agreed to do the job, but he couldn’t kill the accountant, not when the man had only been embezzling money to save his sick daughter. This kind of job went against everything Fletcher had ever taught me about being an assassin. We helped people get justice—we didn’t execute them for desperately trying to save their loved ones.

  I checked my watch. Ten minutes had passed since I’d arrived. I had been worried that Fletcher was going to beat me here, but I hadn’t seen any sign of him so far, and everything was quiet. Lights burned in the house, and I could see a shadow moving around inside through the windows and curtains. Looked like the accountant had already settled into his nightly routine.

  Headlights appeared in the distance, and a vehicle rolled into view. At first, I thought someone was visiting the accountant, but Fletcher’s old white van rattled down the road. Even more surprising was the fact that Fletcher steered the van into the driveway and parked behind the accountant’s sedan. That was brazen, even for the old man. Maybe he was pretending to be a delivery guy dropping off some barbecue.

  Fletcher got out of the van and shut the door, but his hands were curiously empty. No Pork Pit delivery bag, no take-out containers, no weapons. He also walked toward the house with quick, easy familiarity, as though he’d been here before.

  Did Fletcher know the accountant?

  I frowned. But if that was the case, then why would he agree to kill the other man?

  Fletcher had just stepped onto the porch when the front door opened. “Wade?” he called out.

  But it wasn’t Wade Brockton who stepped into the glow cast by the porch light—it was Billings, the redheaded giant who had been at the Pork Pit earlier.

  This wasn’t an assignment—it was a trap.

  Fletcher cursed and stepped back, but it was too late to run. Three more giants clutching guns sprinted around the side of the house and flanked him.

  Fletcher cursed again and raised his hands. “Where’s Wade?”

  Billings shrugged. “I killed him already. Don’t worry, though. His daughter was with her mother tonight, so I spared her the horror of watching me beat her father to death.”

  Fletcher’s lips pressed into a tight, grim line. “So your boss sends you to tell me to kill Wade, but you come here and do it yourself. Then you just wait for me to show up to warn him. Smart. Your boss isn’t usually this much of a planner, a thinker.”

  Billings shrugged again. “I guess he finally got tired of you fighting him at every turn. You had a good thing going, Lane. You should have just put your head down and done your job.”

  Fletcher shot him a disgusted look. “While the rest of you hurt, tortured, intimidated, and killed whomever you wanted? Even kids? I couldn’t ignore that. No one with even half a heart could.”

  Billings’s face remained impassive. Fletcher’s insults didn’t bother him.

  I frowned again. Who were these people? And how long had Fletcher been working for t
hem? He had never mentioned being on someone’s payroll, and I couldn’t help but wonder why he’d kept it from me. Whatever his reason, it sounded like he’d been trying to get out from under these people’s thumbs for quite some time.

  “Well, go ahead. Shoot me, and be done with it. I can’t stop you.” Fletcher held his arms out wide.

  Panic punched me in the throat. I palmed a knife and stepped forward, ready to charge out of the woods, even though I knew I wouldn’t be able to reach Fletcher before the giants killed him.

  Billings shook his head. “Nah. You’re not getting off that easy. We still haven’t found the object in question.”

  I froze and held my position in the woods, although I wondered at the giant’s words. What object? What were these people looking for?

  “I thought the accountant might have it, but he swore up one side and down the other that he didn’t. I questioned him very thoroughly, and I believe he was telling the truth. That means you have to have it, Lane. And I’m going to get it from you—one way or another.”

  Fletcher didn’t respond, and Billings jerked his head at the other giants. “Get him inside.”

  Two of the giants holstered their guns, latched onto Fletcher’s arms, and dragged him inside the house. Billings and the third giant followed them. The door slammed shut behind them, sounding as loud as the lid being dropped on a coffin.

  Fletcher’s coffin—unless I found some way to save him.

  I held my position for another minute, just to make sure no more giants were lurking around, but they’d all gone inside, and they hadn’t bothered to post a guard outside.

  Still clutching my knife, I left the trees behind and hopscotched my way from one bush to another across the lawn until I reached the accountant’s sedan in the driveway. I had started to move past the vehicle when I spotted a tire iron lying on the pavement. I grabbed the metal and gave it an experimental swing. The tire iron was definitely strong and heavy enough to crack a giant’s skull. I tightened my grip on the impromptu weapon and moved on.

  Instead of heading for the front porch, I plastered myself up against the side of the house, hugged the wall, and went around to the back. I peered around the corner. This side of the house also featured a large open-air porch, and two giants were smoking out here, although they were turned away from me and standing on the opposite end of the porch.

  I hunkered down at my end of the porch, and for once, I actually got lucky. One of the giants flicked his cigarette into the grass.

  “They should have the assassin tied down by now,” he said. “I’m going back inside to watch Billings work him over. You coming, Stan?”

  “In a minute, Mike,” the other giant rumbled. “Let me finish this.”

  Mike nodded, opened the back door, and stepped inside. He shut the door behind him, and his footsteps creaked across a few floorboards before fading away. He must have gone into some room closer to the center of the house.

  That left Stan standing alone. The giant was still sucking on his cigarette with his back to me, so I hooked my knee up onto the porch, then slithered forward onto the wooden boards. They didn’t creak at my weight, so I slowly stood up, still clutching my knife in one hand and the tire iron in the other. I glanced in through one of the windows, but no one was in the kitchen, so I kept going. Besides, if I killed the giant quietly enough, maybe no one in the house would realize I was here.

  Stan shifted on his feet, making the boards moan and groan under his heavy weight. He kept smoking, so I crossed the porch, creeping closer and closer. The giant was completely absorbed in his cigarette, and he never noticed my shadow slowly growing bigger and darker next to his.

  When I got close enough, I deliberately put all of my weight down on one of the boards he was standing on.

  Creak.

  The soft sound finally caught Stan’s attention. The giant dropped his cigarette onto the porch, crushed it under the toe of his wing tip, and turned toward me. “Hey, Mike, did you need another smoke—”

  I lunged forward and buried my knife in his throat. Stan let out a choked gurgle and sucked in a breath, like he was going to try to scream, so I ripped my knife out of his throat, then bashed the tire iron against the side of his head. The metal cracked against his temple, and the giant swayed ominously on his feet, like a tree about to fall. I lashed out with my boot and kicked him off the side of the porch.

  The giant’s body hit the ground with an audible thud, but it was still much quieter than if he had crashed onto the wooden floorboards.

  I hurried across the porch and plastered myself up against the side of the house. Then I waited, counting off the seconds in my head.

  Five…ten…fifteen…twenty…thirty…

  A minute passed, but no footsteps thumped in this direction. No one seemed to have heard me kill the giant, so I tucked my bloody knife up my sleeve, then reached out and tried the knob. It turned easily and quietly in my hand, and I cracked the door open and stepped into the kitchen.

  Appliances hugging the walls, a table in the center, dirty dishes in the sink. The kitchen looked like any other, and I moved through the area and peered into the hallway beyond.

  Thwack.

  Thwack-thwack.

  Thwack.

  I grimaced, recognizing the sounds of fists hitting flesh, followed by a low, pain-filled groan. Billings was already beating Fletcher. My heart squeezed tight, but I resisted the urge to charge forward. It wouldn’t do the old man any good if I got captured too. No, right now, I had to be cold and ruthless and set aside my worry. So I tightened my grip on the tire iron and tiptoed down the hallway.

  The corridor turned and opened up into a large common area that was part living room and part office. Fletcher was tied down to a chair in front of a fireplace. Spattered blood stained the fireplace stones and the wall behind him, and more red drops and smears covered the floor around his chair. Billings must have beaten Wade Brockton to death in here, although I didn’t see the accountant’s body. Maybe the giants had already dumped him in the woods outside.

  Mike and another giant were in the room with Billings and Fletcher, although they were both near the back. Mike was pawing through a desk drawer, while the other man was plucking books off a shelf, flipping through them, and then tossing them onto the floor. What were the giants looking for? And why did they think Fletcher could help them find it?

  Truth be told, it didn’t really shock me that Fletcher had something the giants wanted. The old man loved digging up dirt on people, and it was almost inevitable that he’d finally gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar, so to speak. Part of me was surprised it had taken this long for someone to target him.

  While the other two giants kept searching, Billings stepped up in front of Fletcher. He cracked his knuckles a few times, then bent down so that he was at eye level with the old man.

  “Make it easy on yourself, and tell me what I want to know,” Billings said. “Otherwise, I’m going to have to drag this out for as long as possible.”

  “You make it sound like you’re just doing your job, like you’re just another employee punching the clock and dutifully following your boss’s orders.” Fletcher shook his head. “Don’t you ever get tired of following orders? Of swallowing down your own ideas and wants and needs and pride in favor of someone else’s desires?”

  Billings chuckled. “Look at you, getting all philosophical. But no, I don’t think about any of that. The money is good, which is all that matters to me. I’ll leave the deep thinking to fools like you.”

  Fletcher didn’t respond, so Billings casually reached out and slapped him across the face. The old man’s head snapped to the side, and he let out another low grunt of pain. My heart squeezed tight again, but I didn’t charge into the room. Billings could easily snap Fletcher’s neck before I reached them.

  I had to do something to get Billings to move away from Fletcher, but what? I glanced down at the tire iron still in my hand, and an idea popped into my mind. />
  The two giants were still searching for the mystery object, and Billings’s back was to me, so they didn’t see me creep into the room and hunker down behind the couch—but Fletcher did.

  My furtive movements caught his eye, and he blinked a few times, as if he wasn’t sure I was really here. He must have realized that he wasn’t imagining things, because he winked at me. I grinned back at him, despite the grim situation. Fletcher trusted me to get us out of here alive, and that meant so much to me—far more than he would ever know.

  “What are you smirking at?” Billings growled.

  That was all the warning I had before the giant glanced over his shoulder. I ducked down behind the couch and huddled against the fabric, wondering if Billings had seen me. I forced myself to take slow, steady breaths, even as I listened for the slap of the giant’s shoes on the floor.

  Silence. A few more seconds passed. Then the bastard hit Fletcher again.

  Thud.

  Thud-thud.

  Thud-thud-thud.

  The sound of Billings punching Fletcher rang out, along with the old man’s coughs and groans. After about thirty seconds, the beating stopped. Fletcher let out two more coughs, then fell quiet. I peered around the edge of the couch again.

  Billings had only hit Fletcher a few times, but he’d made them count. The old man’s nose was broken, his lips were split, and blood gushed down his face. His eyes had already started to blacken, and his rapidly bruising skin was puffing up and stretching tight over his cheekbones.

  “Well?” Billings demanded. “Do you feel like talking yet? I’m really hoping you say no. I barely had to touch the accountant before he started screaming. I always like a challenge.”

  My hand tightened around the tire iron. He wanted a challenge? Well, I was going to give him one. But first, I had to get him away from Fletcher. Then I could focus on freeing my mentor and killing the giants.

  “Hey,” Mike called out. “Shouldn’t Stan be back by now? Unless he decided to smoke that whole pack of cigarettes.”

  Billings’s eyes narrowed in thought. It would only be a few seconds before he realized that Fletcher had backup. I had to act now, so I surged to my feet, drew my arm back, and hurled the tire iron at Billings as hard as I could.