11 Poison Promise (35 page)

Then again, I was never particularly troubled when I decided to kill someone.

I slept another two hours and woke up feeling refreshed and ready to get on with my inevitable confrontation with Benson. Owen had slipped out of bed while I was sleeping, although he’d left me a note propped up on the nightstand.

Buffet. Main deck. Phillip’s treat.

Well, that sounded promising. So I put on some clothes that Jo-Jo had brought to the riverboat for me and headed out to find the others.

At dawn, the main deck had been empty, except for Sophia and her shotguns, but now two tables had been
set up in her place, each one covered with an impressive spread of food. Bacon, scrambled eggs, biscuits with sausage gravy, country-fried ham, stacks of toast with different kinds of fruit preserves. My stomach rumbled, and I realized how long it had been since I had eaten. I fixed myself a heaping plate of food, grabbed a tall glass of orange juice, and took everything over to a third table that had been positioned at the bow of the boat, close to the railing, so that the diners would have a view of the river.

Phillip was sitting at the table, his plate already clean, a mimosa in his hand, and a pitcher full of the same perched at his elbow. Owen was there too, talking softly to his best friend. So was Finn, who had not one, not two, but three plates of food in front of him, all of which he was eating from at the same time, taking first a bite of scrambled eggs and then one of biscuits and gravy and following that up with a
crunch-crunch-crunch
of bacon and toast slathered with strawberry preserves.

I sat down next to Finn, not so gently nudging his plethora of plates out of my way. “Where are the others?”

“Sophia, Jo-Jo, and Catalina are still sleeping below deck,” Owen rumbled, reaching across the table and squeezing my hand. “Xavier went to check on Roslyn. She still had to run things at Northern Aggression last night, so she got a hotel room under a different name instead of driving over here. Bria went with him.”

“And how is that going?” I asked. “Xavier and Bria?”

Owen shrugged. “As well as can be expected.”

I squeezed his hand back, then leaned over and kissed him.

Finn made a gagging noise. “Please. Some of us are eating.”

“I have to agree with Lane,” Phillip said, waggling his champagne flute at me. “It is far too early in the day for
that
sort of thing.”

I gave Owen another kiss, just to annoy them, then sat back in my chair and started eating. The biscuits were light, fluffy, and baked to golden perfection, while the sausage gravy was thick and creamy, with a nice, peppery bite. I cut my stack of toast into triangles, sampling the strawberry, blackberry, and apricot preserves in turn, enjoying the bright burst of sweet, sticky fruit that tickled my tongue.

Everything was good, and I didn’t mind eating someone else’s food, but it had become a tradition for me to fix the postbattle meal, and I was a little put out that I hadn’t been able to do that here. Maybe it was petty of me, but I wanted everyone to be oohing and aahing over the meal that I had fixed. Not some stranger’s.

“So what’s the verdict on the buffet?” Owen asked, his violet eyes twinkling a bit, knowing exactly what I was going to say.

“Serviceable.” I sniffed. “But I could do better.”

Phillip rolled his eyes. “I’ll be sure to give your regards to my chef, with all his many years in culinary school and time working in some of the finest restaurants on the East Coast.”

“Better watch out, Gin,” Owen said, teasing Phillip and me. “Gustav doesn’t take insults to his food too kindly, and he’s almost as good with knives as you are.”

“Oh,” I drawled. “I doubt that.”

Owen snickered, but Phillip rolled his eyes again and drained the rest of his mimosa in exaggerated annoyance.

I polished off two plates of food. So did Owen, and Finn was still going strong and well into his fourth one. While he finished eating, we sat there in companionable silence, listening to the rush of the river. A faint breeze ruffled my hair, bringing a rich, earthy smell along with it. I breathed in deeply, letting the taste of fall come in through my mouth and roll over my tongue before trickling down into my throat and lungs. Perhaps it was my imagination, but the air seemed tangier than ever before, with an almost metallic, coppery taste to it.

Or maybe that was just my anticipation of making Beauregard Benson bleed later on today.

“So what’s the plan?” Finn asked, shoving another strip of bacon into his mouth.

I shrugged. “I figured that we would have a nice, leisurely morning here on the riverboat, and then I would suit up, go over to Southtown, knock on Benson’s front door, and kill him when he answers. With y’all backing me up, of course. After that, who knows? Drinks at Northern Aggression all around?”

The three guys looked at one another, then at me.

“You’re not going to be a little more . . . circumspect about things?” Phillip asked. “You know, slip into his mansion late at night, kill him under the cover of darkness, and leave his bloody body for his men to find the next morning?”

Instead of answering him, I stared up into the sky. A bit of cloud cover had formed, making it seem as though rays were streaming out of the sun. The bloody streaks
reminded me of Coral’s hair. Thanks to my dreams, I’d been thinking a lot about my time with her, especially how I’d hidden in the closet while her pimp beat her to death. And I’d realized that I’d been doing the same exact thing these past several months, hiding at the Pork Pit and waiting for the underworld bosses to try to take me out, when I should have been the one on the offensive, on the attack, instead.

It was time to do something about that, all of it, starting with Benson.

“Gin?” Owen asked.

“No,” I growled, answering them. “No sneak attacks. Not today. I’m tired of skulking around in the shadows, and there’s no point in it. Not anymore, when everyone in the underworld knows who I am. They’ve been messing with me for months now. Well, I think it’s finally time I showed them exactly who they are dealing with, starting with Benson.”

Owen, Finn, and Phillip exchanged glances at the cold violence echoing through my words, but they didn’t try to talk me out of my plan.

“Besides,” I said in a more normal voice, “Benson has to realize that I’ll be coming for Silvio, if nothing else.”

“And?” Owen asked.

I let out a breath. “And it’s personal too. I won’t deny it. That bastard strapped me down to a chair, pumped me full of drugs, and sat there and took notes like I was his own private lab rat. I can’t let that stand. Not as Gin, and definitely not as the Spider. I can already imagine what folks are saying about me.”

Finn winced. “Nothing good. The rumors are already
flying around. Basically, most of them boil down to Benson making you scream like a girl.”

I stabbed my finger at him. “Exactly. Everyone knows that he got the upper hand on me and that you guys had to come and bust me out of his mansion. If I don’t take care of him now, it’ll only get worse. It’ll renew everyone’s interest in killing me.”

“Did that ever really wane?” Phillip asked in a snide voice.

I shot him a dirty look, but he merely arched a golden eyebrow in return before pouring himself another mimosa from the pitcher on the table.

“As I was saying, Benson’s probably been crowing all over town about how he so thoroughly humbled me,” I said. “Well, I plan to return the favor. Benson thinks that he’s the king of Southtown, and he’s put all his rivals in the ground for years now. I say it’s time to knock the king off his throne.”

Finn sighed, grabbed a final strip of bacon off his plate, and crunched down on it. “Why do I get the feeling that this is going to be some grand operation that will most likely involve me schlepping to some disgusting rooftop and getting my clothes dirty yet again?”

I grinned. “Funny you should mention that. I’ve already worked out some of the details with Bria. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

26

Just before noon, I strolled down the street that led up to Beauregard Benson’s mansion.

Forget the sidewalks. I walked right down the center of the street between the two faded double yellow lines, just like I had been doing for the last several blocks.

I’d started my journey at the community college, where the whole shebang had begun a few days ago. It seemed ironic and rather fitting. I’d parked my car in the lot there, gotten out, and headed into Southtown on foot. I’d been walking ever since.

At first, everything had been normal. People moved on the streets, flowing in and out of restaurants, grocery stores, and other businesses. Conversation floated through the air, along with the rumble of cars and the smells of exhaust and fried foods. But the deeper I headed into Southtown, the more storefronts were boarded up, the more rune graffiti covered the buildings, and the
more people ducked their heads and scurried away from one another as fast as they could.

It wasn’t all that far from the college to Benson’s mansion, maybe ten blocks, but eyes had been on me the whole time.

Gangbangers had already gathered on the street corners, smoking, drinking, and selling their daily allotment of weed, pills, and other drugs. A few vampire hookers had already started trolling for clients, slowly sashaying back and forth on the sidewalks, while their pimps dozed on the stoops or in their cars, knowing that the real action wouldn’t start until sunset. The bums had begun their daily trash rounds, digging in the Dumpsters for whatever they could salvage, while the working-class folks hurried along the sidewalks or zoomed by in their cars. But everyone peered at me, wondering what the crazy chick was doing and how many more blocks I would make it before someone started hassling me.

Good. For once, I wanted everyone to notice me. I wanted everyone to see the Spider and exactly what she was capable of.

That wasn’t to say that there weren’t a few problems with my march. There was still traffic on the street, and drivers beeped their horns as they approached me, wondering what I was doing strolling down the pavement like I owned it.

I was wearing my usual ensemble of dark jeans, black boots, a long-sleeved black T-shirt, and my black silverstone vest. With my hair pulled back into a ponytail, I looked like some college student who’d gotten lost in the bad part of town. I didn’t seem particularly threatening,
but one look at my hard face and cold eyes had most drivers putting their feet on the gas and steering away from me as fast as they could. A few of the gangbangers whistled and catcalled in my direction, but I gave them the same flat stares that I gave the drivers, and their jeers and laughter soon quieted down. Given the mood I was in, I was killing anyone who got between me and Benson, stepping over their bodies, and walking on. The folks on the street didn’t have his Air power and the precognition that went along with it, but it was easy to tell that I was up to no good.

As I walked, I whistled out a cheery tune. I was actually looking forward to what was coming. For months now, my anger and frustration about everyone targeting me had been slowly building. All I’d wanted was to be left alone, but the underworld bosses hadn’t gotten the message. Well, Benson was going to be the perfect outlet for all my rage, and he was going to help me drive my point home—right before I shoved my knife through his heart and out the other side.

But something curious and most unexpected happened: the farther I went, the more people appeared on the sidewalks. The gangbangers, the hookers, the pimps, even some of the homeless bums, started following me. Someone must have recognized me, because it wasn’t long before the whispers began.

“Hey, isn’t that the Spider?’

“You mean the assassin chick?”

“I thought she was dead, that Benson killed her.”

“Apparently not. Looks like she’s here for payback.”

I grinned. And then some.

The whispers continued, and the crowd followed me block after block, until I finally reached my destination.

The street I was on led straight into the one that fronted Benson’s estate, which spread out before me like the palace of a king. I’d been too woozy from the sedative yesterday to really appreciate the beauty of the prewar gray stone mansion with its elegant crenellation and soaring columns. It used to be an apartment building, from the information that Silvio had given me, before Benson had it converted into his own private residence and drug-cooking factory. The mansion butted right up against the street, and I’d seen the lush green grounds and the river beyond it for myself yesterday, when Bria rescued me.