Venom

  Catalina Vasquez bit her lip and looked over her shoulder at the Goth dwarf. Catalina had only been working at the restaurant a few weeks, and she was still getting used to Sophia—and interpreting what the dwarf’s grunts really meant. Of course, I knew that Sophia was mocking Catalina’s assertion that I was the best boss ever, but I wasn’t about to share that knowledge. I had a hard enough time keeping waitresses, given the dwarf’s dour persona. I wasn’t about to let a responsible, punctual, hard-working jewel like Catalina slip through my fingers because of Sophia Deveraux and her monosyllabic method of communication.

  “Sophia agrees,” I said. “You should definitely go on your break now.”

  “Um, okay. If you’re sure.”

  Catalina handed the menus over to me, grabbed her black wool pea coat off the stand in the corner, and headed out the front door. I waited until she was gone before I stepped over to Xavier and Roslyn.

  “This way, please.” I led them to a booth in the very back of the restaurant, out of sight of the glass storefront windows.

  Finnegan Lane was already seated there against the back wall, wearing another one of his ubiquitous suits. Black, with a faint gray pinstripe today. A cooling cup of chicory coffee perched on the table in front of Finn, along with the remains of his lunch—a half-pound cheeseburger with all the fixings, steak-cut fries, and a triple chocolate milkshake that would go straight to anyone else’s ass but his. I always envied Finn his ability to eat whatever he wanted and never gain a pound.

  Roslyn slid into the opposite side of the booth across from Finn. Xavier sat next to her. I gave both of them menus and went to check on my only other customers—a couple of construction workers grabbing a late lunch before heading back out into the December cold. The two men were ready to pay up and leave. Once I got their change, I went back over to the others. Behind the counter, Sophia kept slicing cheese, her knife thwack-thwack-thwacking against the countertop.

  “So what’ll it be?” I asked, pulling a pad and pen out of the back pocket of my blue jeans.

  “I’m not hungry,” Roslyn murmured, tapping her French manicured nails on top of the laminated menu.

  “Me either,” Xavier rumbled.

  “I don’t care whether you’re hungry or not,” I snapped. “You’re in my gin joint now, and you’re damn well going to eat something. So tell me what you want, or you’ll find yourself at my mercy.”

  I might be a stone-cold killer, but no one could ever accuse me of lacking in the hostess department. Still, I gave them the hard stare to show them I was serious. Xavier ordered two barbecue pork sandwiches, coleslaw, baked beans, and a blackberry lemonade. Roslyn requested an ice water with lemon, a grilled cheese sandwich, and a fruit tray.

  I cocked my hip to one side and looked at her. “Sweetheart, does this look like the kind of place that serves fruit trays?”

  Roslyn’s dark eyes flicked over the barbecue restaurant. I didn’t have to look behind me to know exactly what she was seeing. Clean, but well-worn blue and pink vinyl booths. Matching faded pig tracks on the floor that led to the men’s and women’s bathrooms, respectively. A long counter lined with stools where people could watch their food being prepared on the opposite side. A framed, blood-covered copy of Where the Red Fern Grows on the wall next to the cash register, along with an old faded picture of two young men holding fishing rods. Cumin, red pepper, and other spices from the afternoon’s cooking flavored the air, along with a healthy dose of pure, heart-stopping grease.

  The vampire’s wide mouth quirked. “No, I suppose not.”

  “The only fruit I have in here is in the cherry pie. You can have some of that. With vanilla bean ice cream. Be back in a minute.”

  I scribbled down their orders, tore off the paper, and took it over to Sophia Deveraux. The Goth dwarf had moved on from slicing cheese. Now she cut through a pile of tomatoes with a long, curved, serrated knife, making precise, neat little rounds for the rest of the day’s sandwiches.

  “Another order,” I told her. “I’m going to flip the sign over to Closed for the next hour or so and lock the front door. And I’ll be sending Finn and Xavier your way in a few minutes. Keep them busy in the back while I talk to Roslyn.”

  “Hmph.” Sophia gave me her usual noncommittal grunt.

  This morning, I’d told Sophia that Roslyn and Xavier were coming by to talk about a problem they were having—a problem I was thinking about helping them with in my own special way. The Goth dwarf’s black eyes had actually sparkled a little bit at the thought of disposing of another body for me. Jo-Jo might take care of healing me, but Sophia was the cleanup crew. No matter how bloody a scene was, no matter how much tissue, brain matter, and other nasty bits were lying around, the dwarf could make the area look pristine. No blood, no hairs, no fibers, no DNA or fingerprints of any kind were ever left behind.

  I’d often wondered if Sophia had the same sort of Air elemental magic that Jo-Jo had. Air magic was great for sandblasting things—like getting blood off a wall. But I’d never seen or felt Sophia do any magic. I didn’t even know what the dwarf did with all the bodies I’d sent her way over the years. Didn’t know where she took them or what she did with the remains. I didn’t even know why Sophia enjoyed getting rid of the bodies in the first place. I had a feeling it had something to do with her ruined voice, which rasped worse than a chain smoker with a collapsed lung.

  I’d never come right out and asked the dwarf. Fletcher Lane had instilled a healthy dose of curiosity in me, but I valued Sophia’s and Jo-Jo’s services and friendship too much to pry. At least for now.

  Sophia put her tomatoes aside and started working on the order. I fixed Roslyn’s water and Xavier’s lemonade and took the drinks back over to the booth.

  “… and then I said, ‘Of course I didn’t sleep with your wife. She was too busy screwing your business partner to even notice me.’” Finn let out a laugh at his lame joke.

  Xavier stared at him with a blank expression. Roslyn ran a fingernail back and forth across the tabletop.

  I plunked the drinks down on the table. “Food’s coming up in a minute.”

  By the time I locked the front door and walked back over to the counter, Sophia had dished up Xavier’s coleslaw and baked beans, and Roslyn’s cherry pie with ice cream. I fixed the vamp’s grilled cheese, while the dwarf worked on the two pork sandwiches. A few minutes later, I carried the plates of food to the table and set them down. Then I slid in on Finn’s side of the booth.

  “Nothing for me?” Finn asked.

  “You’ve had your lunch already. Don’t be greedy.”

  Finn stuck out his lip and pouted. I rolled my eyes. Roslyn and Xavier dug into their food.

  The four of us didn’t speak while they ate. Xavier hesitated, but after the first few bites, his claim of not being hungry vanished—along with all the food on his plate. Roslyn merely nibbled at her grilled cheese and only ate a few bites of her pie. A shame, really. Golden crust, warm filling, a perfect blend of sweet and sour. I’d made the cherry dessert fresh this morning. Cooking was one of my great loves and skills in life, along with being rather handy with my knives.

  I waited until they’d both pushed their plates away before I got down to business. “Finn, Xavier, why don’t you boys go help Sophia? I think there were some boxes in the back she needed help unloading.”

  Xavier frowned, and his dark eyes flicked to Sophia. The dwarf had gone back to slicing tomatoes, and the muscles in her arms bulged with her swift, precise movements.

  “You’re kidding right?” the giant rumbled. “Sophia’s a dwarf, the strongest one I’ve ever seen. She could probably bench-press me if she wanted to.”

  “Go help her, Xavier. Now.”

  Finn opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. “You too, Finn.”

  The two men grumbled, but they got to their feet and shuffled over to Sophia, who led them through the swinging doors and into the back of the restaurant. The dwarf would keep them occupied whil
e I talked to Roslyn. Once I’d settled myself in the booth again, I stared at the vampire.

  “Now that the boys are gone, you want to tell me what that little scene at Northern Aggression was about last night? And why Elliot Slater thinks that the two of you have some kind of relationship?”

  Roslyn tapped her fingers on the tabletop. After a few seconds, her hand stilled. She drew in a breath and raised her dark eyes to mine. “Because the bastard’s stalking me.”

  8

  “Stalking you?” I asked.

  The news wasn’t unexpected, given the creepy display of affection I’d seen last night, but I was mildly surprised that she came right out and said it. Roslyn Phillips wasn’t my biggest fan, especially since I’d threatened to kill her if she ever talked about me being an assassin to anyone ever again. The vampire must be more upset or desperate than I’d thought to spill her problems to me with so little provocation. I hadn’t even given her the hard stare yet.

  Roslyn bit her lip and nodded. “Stalking, domination, possession, call it whatever you like. The bastard’s obsessed with me.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “It started a couple of weeks ago,” the vampire said. “When Elliot Slater came to question me about Mab Monroe’s party and how someone was able to get their hands on one of the invitations for my girls—and her heart-and-arrow rune necklace. After that, well, I guess you could say he took a liking to me.”

  The beginnings of a migraine stirred behind my eyes. Elliot Slater had come to question Roslyn because she’d helped me get into Mab’s party so I could go after Tobias Dawson. Slater had seen, gotten close to, and become obsessed with the vampire because of me. All of which meant that Roslyn’s suffering was my fault. All my fault. The vamp had kept up her end of our deal—given me the help I’d needed and kept quiet about it after the fact—and now she was being stalked as a result.

  I’d done a lot of bad things in my time. Killed a lot of people, had a lot of blood on my hands. But Roslyn suffering like this because of me—it made me sick to my stomach. Physically ill. Because she didn’t deserve it. Even when she’d blabbed about Fletcher Lane to the wrong person, Roslyn had only been trying to help someone else. This time, she’d listened to me about keeping quiet, and look what it had gotten her. My stomach twisted a little more at the thought. I didn’t often feel this particular emotion, but I knew what it was. Guilt.

  “At first, I thought it was just a passing thing, you know?” Roslyn said in a low tone. “Slater’s not the first guy who’s wanted to fuck me. I’ve had my share of wacko stalkers over the years. I always make it crystal clear that I don’t hook anymore. That all I’m interested in doing is running my club. Then I steer them to one of my girls. Usually that’s the end of it. If someone persists or really starts bothering me, Xavier encourages him to reconsider the matter.”

  “But not Elliot Slater.” A statement, rather than a question.

  “No,” she whispered. “Not Slater. After he questioned me about Mab’s party, he started coming to the nightclub. He’d get one of the booths on the main floor, order some drinks, and just watch me. All night long. He tried to get me to sit with him a couple of times. Dance with him too. I always politely refused. I sent other girls over to him to try to distract him, but Slater just passed them off to his giant friends. He never so much as looked at them.”

  “So when did he go from watching you to something else?”

  Roslyn dropped her eyes and stared at the tabletop again. “One night about a week ago. I sent Xavier home early and stayed late to go over some of the books. I thought nobody else was in the club but me. I was wrong. Slater came into my office. He said he was tired of waiting for me to realize what a good thing we could have together.” The vamp’s voice was hard, brittle, remote, as if she was talking about something that had happened to someone else. “I tried to get him to leave. Tried to leave myself, tried to fight him off. Nothing worked.”

  Although I didn’t want to cause the vampire any more pain, there was a question I had to ask. Something I needed to know. “Did he rape you?” I made my voice as soft and gentle as I could.

  Roslyn raised her toffee gaze to mine. Her eyes were dull and empty, even though a grim smile tightened her beautiful face. “Not exactly. Slater grabbed me and made me sit on his lap. He was so fucking strong. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t break free, I couldn’t do anything. I screamed, over and over again, but I could tell that… excited him, so I made myself stop. I thought he was going to rape me then, but Slater just sat there, watching me. Waiting for me to realize there was nothing I could do to stop him. And when that happened, when he had me where he wanted me, the bastard made me kiss him—over and over again. And the whole time, he told me how beautiful I was. How fucking special. He rubbed my back for a while, and then, he stroked my hair. It was almost like… I was some sort of doll he was playing with. Some real-life Barbie he could do anything he wanted to. Slater had this look in his eye—this sick, satisfied look. It was the scariest damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

  There was no sorrow in her voice, no pity, no feeling sorry for herself. Just a cold recitation of the facts. A calm retelling of the way she’d been forced to submit to Slater. The way he’d overpowered, controlled, and humiliated her. The way he’d made her feel so helpless. Maybe there hadn’t been any body parts involved, but Slater had subjected Roslyn to his own twisted form of rape.

  Two tears rolled down Roslyn’s lovely face. She used a crumpled, discarded napkin to wipe them away, then took off her silver glasses and started cleaning them. The only thing that gave her away were the slight tremors that shook her hands as she worked.

  The cold, sharp knife of guilt in my stomach twisted in a little deeper at all the things Roslyn had endured because of me. All the horrors that I hadn’t even known about until right now. All the pain that I’d accidentally inflicted on her without even knowing it.

  But as much as I might want to, I couldn’t change the past—only the future. So I leaned back in the booth. Waiting. Just waiting for Roslyn to pull herself together enough to tell me the rest of it. I’d been the assassin the Spider for years. I was very good at being patient.

  After about two minutes, Roslyn put her glasses back on and set the crumpled napkin to one side of the table.

  “Since then, Slater’s been at the club every night,” Roslyn said. “Now he gets a private room. As soon as he comes in, I go and meet him. He usually stays about two hours. I don’t leave until he does, and no one interrupts us. No one.”

  “What does he make you do?” I asked.

  “Everything, nothing. Slater makes me sit on his lap and fix him drinks while he tells me about his day. About working for Mab Monroe. Then he asks me about the club. It’s like we’re playing fucking house or something. Hi, honey, how was your day? But he always has his hands on me, touching me, stroking my hair, kissing me. Every night, he kisses me a little harder, touches me a little longer. It’s only a matter of time before—”

  Roslyn bit off her words, but I knew what she’d been about to say. That it was only a matter of time before Elliot Slater raped her. It was clear that was what the sick bastard was building up to. I was willing to bet it was a game he’d played before with other women. Stalking them, dominating them, and finally raping them. Like a cat playing pat paw with a mouse until the poor creature was broken, bloody, and dead.

  Except in this case, Roslyn Phillips was the mouse. How Roslyn had endured Slater’s twisted attentions this long, though… that was something else. The inner strength that took… it was something I couldn’t even begin to imagine. Something I didn’t know if I would have been able to do, if our situations had been reversed.

  “What about Xavier?” I asked. “The man’s paid to protect you and the club. Why hasn’t he gone after Slater himself?”

  “Because I asked him not to. I told him that I had a special arrangement with Slater. That the giant was paying me good money for my time and to leav
e it alone.”

  I stared at the vamp. “Why would you do that? Xavier’s a bouncer and a cop and a giant. He can take care of himself—and you too.”

  “Because Elliot told me that he’d kill Xavier if he tried to interfere. If he ever interrupted one of our dates.” She let out a disgusted snort. “That’s what he calls them. Dates. And I—I just couldn’t bear it if Elliot ever hurt Xavier. I can bear anything else he does to me, except for that.”

  Pain darkened Roslyn’s eyes, but there was also another soft emotion shimmering in her tight gaze and face.

  “You’re in love with him,” I murmured. “With Xavier.”

  That same grim smile curved her lips again. “Come on, Gin. Everyone knows it’s not love when you’re a former hooker,” she said, trying to make light of her feelings.

  “When did it happen?”

  Roslyn shrugged. “I don’t even know. Xavier’s worked for me for almost five years now. Maybe it was this thing with Slater, maybe it was something else. But one day, I looked up and it was just there. I just cared about him more than I have anyone in a long time. And now I can’t do anything about it.”

  “You know he loves you too, right?” I asked.

  Roslyn nodded. “I do.”

  I thought about what the vamp had said. “So if you told Xavier that you had an arrangement with Slater, why did he tell the giant to leave last night?”

  Roslyn sighed. “At first, Xavier was too hurt to question my arrangement with Elliot, which was exactly the way I wanted it. Xavier thought I was just seeing the giant because I wanted to. But two nights ago, Elliot told me I didn’t show enough… enthusiasm when he was kissing me. So he hit me, backhanded me with that diamond pinkie ring he wears. Xavier saw the cuts and bruises before I could get myself cleaned up and healed.”