Venom

Page 21

Finn had gotten his hands on some of the crime scene photos. They weren't pretty. They made what the giant had done to me that night at the community college seem like a gentle massage. Slater seemed to enjoy destroying the women's beauty just as much as he did admiring it to start with.
Some of the women had tried to fight back, of course. They'd gone to the police and tried to get a restraining order against Slater. But nothing ever came of their cries for help. In those cases, the women ended up dead within days instead of weeks. Slater didn't like being disobeyed.
The simple fact was that Elliot Slater was a serial killer who enjoyed stalking, terrorizing, and controlling women before he finally raped and ultimately murdered them. He liked their fear, liked the feeling of power it gave him. It was probably the only thing that could get a sick bastard like him off.
Of course, nothing ever came of any investigation into Slater, thanks to the giant's working for Mab Monroe. Hell, she probably gave him carte blanche to go out and find himself a certain kind of distraction every once in a while. A reward for all the bloody jobs he did on the Fire elemental's behalf.
But I had seen a sliver of opportunity in the file, one possible window to get the giant alone tonight-Elliot Slater liked to smoke cigars. A fact I'd witnessed the other night outside of Underwood's restaurant. Not an unusual habit among the moneyed, muckety-muck types in Ashland.
But in a crowd like this, lighting up a Cuban would be frowned upon. Trophy wives didn't like their designer dresses to reek of tobacco. And they'd create enough fuss to make even someone like Slater realize it was better to smoke away from all the silks and satins, if only to keep from listening to their bitching. So if the giant wanted his nicotine fix tonight, Slater would have to seek out a less crowded location to puff away to his heart's content. And when he did, I'd make my move-
"Is this seat taken?" a voice rumbled to my right.
I turned my head and found myself staring into Owen Grayson's violet eyes. "It is now."
Owen tipped his head, settled himself next to me, and ordered a tonic water.
"No scotch tonight?" I asked.
The bartender slid his drink over, and Owen rattled the ice cubes in the glass before he took a sip. "I don't drink when I'm gambling."
"Didn't look like much of a gamble," I replied. "Since you were up several hundred thousand dollars last time I saw you, and the other players desperately looked like they wanted you to move to another table."
Owen grinned. "I should probably mention that I'm excellent at bluffing."
"I just bet you are."
We sat there in companionable silence for a few moments. Owen leaned back, his gaze slowly tracking up and down my body. Admiring the view. I had to admit the unabashed attention pleased me. Especially when there were so many more attractive women on board. Even assassins had egos.
"You know," Owen said in a casual tone. "We're going to have to stop meeting like this."
"Like what?"
He gestured. "At a bar."
This time, I leaned back against said bar and cocked an eyebrow. "You didn't seem too upset last time we were at a bar together. The other night at Northern Aggression."
"That's because you promised to call me," Owen replied. "Which you haven't done yet."
I shrugged. "I've been busy."
"With what?"
Across the deck, Elliot Slater raked in a pile of gold chips.
"This and that."
Owen drained the rest of his tonic. "You know, I'm not used to waiting for a woman to call."
"Well, then this new experience will be good for your ego," I replied. "Keep it from getting too inflated. I think we also discussed that last time we met."
Owen chuckled, then scooted forward and put his hand on top of mine. It was a light touch, as gentle as a breeze. But to me, the feel of his warm skin on mine whispered of possibilities-and the pleasure that could be found in more full-body contact.
"What do you say we get out of here, Gin? Go have that dinner you promised me?"
"Dinner?" I replied.
"Dinner," he said, his eyes darkening to a rich, plum color. "And maybe some dessert too. If you'd like."
I knew exactly what he meant by dessert. My eyes drifted over Owen's face, down his chest, and over his strong, capable-looking hands. Once again, a hot tingle of desire sizzled to life in the pit of my stomach.
Donovan Caine wasn't coming back. The detective had made it perfectly clear that I wasn't what he wanted. That he valued his precious morals more than what he could have with me. And Owen Grayson was here, ready, willing, and able-and his violet eyes free of the guilt that had always darkened Donovan's golden ones.
Owen's thumb stroked over the back of my hand, another light, delicious touch that made me want to say yes to him, just to see what would happen between us-
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Elliot Slater get to his feet. He murmured something in Roslyn's ear, then snapped his fingers. The two giants that had been hovering around the blackjack table moved closer to Roslyn, ordered to watch her instead of Slater. The giant traced a finger down the side of Roslyn's cheek. The vamp attempted to smile through the touch, but it came off as more of a grimace. Slater didn't seem to notice, though. He pulled a heavy silver case out from inside his jacket, opened it, and plucked out a long, fat cigar.
My window of opportunity had just opened. I wouldn't get a better chance than this all evening. I might not get another chance all evening.
Owen's thumb kept up its long, sure strokes, a promise of what could come later with other, more interesting parts of his anatomy. My pleasure or Roslyn's pain. No choice, really.
I smiled at Owen, pulled my hand away from his, and got to my feet. "Hold that thought. I see someone I just have to speak to. Please excuse me for a few minutes."
Surprise flashed in his eyes, and Owen opened his mouth, probably to ask what I thought I was doing turning down his open invitation yet again. I wasn't sure I knew myself.
I might even have been sorry if I hadn't already turned and walked away.
Chapter Sixteen
I kept to the perimeter of the deck, drawing as little attention to myself as possible as I headed after Elliot Slater. By this point, the benefit was in full swing, with at least three hundred people milling about in the open air, playing poker, pulling the slot machines, and drinking themselves into a fevered tizzy. More than enough traffic and noise to conceal my movements to all but the most devoted observer.
The key to making it look like you're not following someone is to pretend like he doesn't even exist. That the two of you are just out for a stroll, coincidentally in the same direction with the same destination in mind. So I walked along at a sedate pace, smiling at the men and women who wandered past me. I even paused a few seconds and pretended to be interested in the outcome of a baccarat game.
Finn had seen Slater get up, and he spotted me moving through the crowd after the giant. Finn nodded at me, encouraging me to keep going. I nodded back. I had no intention of stopping until the giant was dead and feeding the catfish in the Aneirin River.
Thirty feet ahead of me, Elliot Slater rounded the corner of the deck and disappeared from view. I watched the end of another baccarat game, waited a few more seconds, then followed him.
Around the corner, the wide deck narrowed to a long walkway that ran the length of the entire riverboat. This side of the boat faced into the Aneirin River, and a few couples had slipped away from the rest of the maddening crowd to take in the view and murmur hot suggestions into each other's ears. I ignored them, my eyes fixed on my prey.
Ahead of me, Slater continued to walk at a casual pace that suggested he was out for a smoke and a stroll and nothing else. He broke free of the last remaining couple and stepped through an open door. It was quieter here, and I took care to put my heels down as softly as I could on the wooden deck. I eased up to the door and peered inside.
This part of the walkway had been enclosed in glass, probably so folks could still see the river and stay dry during a rainstorm. The walkway fronted a small, recessed salon complete with tables, chairs, and a bar inside the riverboat itself where passengers could relax and watch the landscape go by during cruises. The glassed-in section ran for about thirty feet before opening back up into the night air.
Slater had walked through the entire room and now stood beyond the other open door. The giant shook a lighter in his hand, as though it was low on fluid and he was trying to coax one more burst of flame out of it. There was no one here but the two of us this far back on the riverboat. Perfect.
I walked forward. I made it through the glassed-in salon and stepped back out into the night air. Ahead of me, Slater still fussed with his lighter. I put my arm down, ready to palm one of my silverstone knives.
Just then, a restroom door opened to my left, and a man stepped out onto the deck ahead of me-putting him between me and Elliot Slater. The man turned in my direction, as though to walk back down to the open deck. Silver hair, hard hazel eyes, wrinkle-free face. He spotted me immediately, and his eyes widened for a second before narrowing.
Jonah McAllister looked just as pissed to see me as I was to see him.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he barked.
I wasn't particularly surprised that Jonah McAllister was here. After all, I'd seen him board the riverboat earlier this evening. And if there was one thing I'd learned during my years as the Spider, it was that the universe always conspired to fuck up the best-laid plans of mice, men, and most especially, assassins. Like the slick lawyer choosing this exact moment to step in between me and my target. I could practically hear the cosmic chuckles ringing my ears. Ha, ha, fucking ha.
For a moment, I debated palming my knife, lunging forward, and stabbing Jonah McAllister where he stood. Just for interrupting me. I could do the lawyer, step over his body, and then take care of Elliot Slater. Two-for-one special. But I knew I wouldn't be able to get away clean after the fact. McAllister could scream, Slater could hear the struggle and charge at me, or even worse, run to get his boss, Mab Monroe. The Fire elemental would have no qualms about frying me right there with her magic. Not when what I had done would be so obvious.
No, Jonah McAllister was going to have to live to see another day. And now, so would Elliot Slater. Which meant Roslyn Phillips's suffering wasn't over yet, if it could ever truly be over, given what the giant had done to her.
Fuck.
I crossed my arms over my chest and gave the lawyer a cold look. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm taking a stroll around the riverboat. Is that a problem?"
Elliot Slater's head snapped around at the sound of my voice. The giant frowned, put his cigar and lighter away, and headed in our direction. Fantastic.
Jonah McAllister's hazel eyes narrowed even more at my snide tone. "I specifically meant how did someone like you get on board? The Delta Queen is very exclusive, and loath as I am to admit it, Phillip Kincaid's parties even more so. Helps keep the white trash out."
"White trash? Do you really think that's an insult?"
"Not to someone like you," he sniffed. "Which is what makes you trash."
"At least I look my age," I snapped, referring to his wrinkle-free face. "Tell me, exactly how much a week do you blow on Air elemental facials? A thousand bucks? Two? I'm guessing more. After all, you're a man of advancing years now."
I knew I should have kept my mouth shut, that it would have made things easier if I'd let McAllister take his shots at me and had just slinked off into the darkness as if I was utterly demoralized and defeated. But I was getting real tired of the lawyer needling me at every single turn just because it amused him. And for keeping me from killing Elliot Slater tonight and at least helping Roslyn Phillips in that small way.
An angry red flush spread up Jonah McAllister's neck at my words, something even the best Air elemental facial couldn't disguise. The silver-haired lawyer opened his mouth to lambaste me some more, when Slater stepped up behind him.
The giant stared at McAllister a moment before his hazel gaze cut to me. His eyes narrowed as well in recognition. Slater might be obsessed with Roslyn, but I noted the giant wasn't above checking out my breasts and legs, even though they were nowhere near as spectacular as the vampire's.
"Gin Blanco," Slater rumbled. "You clean up nice."
The back-assed compliment made the gin that I'd just drunk roil in my stomach.
"Elliot," Jonah said. "I'd like you to escort Ms. Blanco off the boat please. It seems she just hasn't learned her lesson about insulting us-or being where she doesn't belong. I think she needs you to remind her exactly what her place is."
Elliot grinned. "Shall I toss her over the side? Right here?"
"Don't be thuggish," Jonah replied. "We have an image to maintain. Ms. Blanco deserves the walk of shame past all of tonight's guests. And then you can deal with her any way you like on shore. Seems that beating you gave her just didn't take. Perhaps you'd like another chance to get it right."
The giant's grin widened.
So Jonah McAllister wanted Elliot Slater to hustle me off the riverboat, take me to a dark alley somewhere, and beat me-again. Not my original plan for the evening, but sometimes, you had to roll with the punches.
Before I could move or react, the giant used his speed to surge forward and clamp his hand around my upper arm. His long, hard fingers bit into my flesh like steel bolts, but I gritted my teeth against the pain. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of screaming and begging for mercy. Not again.