Authors: Jennifer Estep
Mab Monroe’s unexpected but not unwelcome death had thrown the city’s entire underworld into a feeding frenzy, as everyone sought to establish themselves as the new big bad on the block. Bria and Xavier told me some of it—all the murders, drive-by shootings, and other violence that soaked the city streets in blood. But there was nothing I could do to stem the tide or help the two cops—not when I was still so weak.
Jo-Jo made me spend two more days in bed before I convinced the dwarf that it was time for me to get back on my feet. I might have killed Mab, but that didn’t mean
that trouble wouldn’t come looking for me sooner rather than later—and bite me on the ass when I least expected it.
Like right now.
The sword zipped by my head, close enough to part my hair, before I managed to duck at the last second. He raised the weapon for another blow, but I was already moving forward. I snapped my hand up and blocked his attack with my own sword before pivoting and slashing my blade at my opponent.
Clang!
Owen’s sword met mine, smashing against my blade so hard that he almost ripped the weapon out of my hand. I growled with frustration. A month ago, before I’d taken on Mab, I would have already hit him a dozen times while we sparred. Now it took all the energy I had just to swing a sword at him for five minutes.
Owen grinned and rocked back on the balls of his feet. “Not bad for a woman who was at death’s door a few weeks ago.”
I paused a moment to catch my breath. “But not nearly good enough for me.”
We stood in the depths of Owen’s mansion in his private gym. Mats covered the floor, while mirrors lined three of the walls. The fourth wall was reserved for the rows of exquisite weapons that Owen crafted in his blacksmith forge in the back of the house. Swords, daggers, knives, maces, even an ax or two.
The two of us had been coming here and sparring ever since the day Jo-Jo had let me out of bed. It was hard—so fucking
hard
—but I worked myself to exhaustion every single day, then pushed a little harder. The Ashland underworld
wouldn’t stay in a tizzy forever, and sooner or later, folks were going to start looking in my direction. And I’d be damned if I wasn’t ready when they did.
I used the sleeve of my T-shirt to wipe a bit of sweat off my forehead, and Owen frowned in concern.
“Are you tired, Gin? Do you need to take a break—”
I launched myself at him, whipping my sword through a series of moves. Owen parried the first blow, and even the second, but the third slipped past his defenses, and my blade just kissed his throat.
“Now that’s more like it,” I crowed.
Owen’s eyes narrowed. “You cheated. You took me off guard.”
“And you should have known better than to think that an assassin
wouldn’t
cheat,” I smirked. “Especially the Spider.”
“Hmm.”
Owen made a noncommittal grunt and used the tip of his own sword to gently push mine away. But instead of raising his weapon again, Owen put his sword on the ground and sauntered toward me. He was dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants just like I was, but he wore them oh so well. The thin cotton stretched across his chest, highlighting his strong, firm muscles, while the sweatpants hung low on his hips, hinting at the hardness that was hidden under there as well. Mmm. A different sort of heat flared in the pit of my stomach. It matched the passion burning in Owen’s eyes.
“You know,” he murmured, tugging my sword out of my hands and lowering it to the floor. “I think we should move on to the hand-to-hand combat portion of today’s workout.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Really? What did you have in mind?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Owen said, drawing me into his arms. “Perhaps something that will improve your flexibility.”
“I happen to be quite flexible,” I retorted. “You’re the one who threw his back out in bed the other night.”
Owen grinned. “Which is exactly why I think that you should be on top today.”
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my throat, his hands already working their way under my T-shirt, just as mine were dipping below the waistband on his pants.
“So what do you say, Gin?” Owen said. “Care for a little one-on-one action? Think you can handle it?”
My hand slid down, closing around his thickening length. Owen’s breath rasped against my neck.
“Oh,” I murmured, turning my head to stare into his eyes. “I think that I can handle anything you’ve got, Grayson.”
Our lips met, and we spent the rest of the afternoon engaging in a far more pleasurable form of sparring.
Another week passed. Every day I got a little stronger, a little tougher, until slowly, the old Gin Blanco emerged once more. Jo-Jo pronounced me fit to go back to work just as the last of the winter snow melted away in mid-March. One day, it was cold and frigid. The next, it seemed like spring had swept in with all her bright green glory trailing along behind her.
Six weeks after my fight with Mab, I walked through the front door of the Pork Pit. It was just after ten, and
I’d come in to open the restaurant for the day. I flicked on the overhead lights, even though the morning sunlight was already streaming in through the storefront windows.
This was the first time that I’d been in the restaurant since my battle with Mab. For a moment, I just stood there by the door, my eyes sweeping over all the familiar furnishings. The blue and pink booths, the matching pig tracks on the floor, the long counter along the back wall, the battered cash register. They all greeted me like old friends. I breathed in, and the scent of sugar and spices filled my lungs, smelling better to me than the most expensive perfume. The aroma would only intensify once Sophia and I started cooking.
I walked over to the cash register. For a second, it was almost like I could see Fletcher sitting on the stool there, wearing his blue work clothes and apron, just like he had in my dream, vision, or whatever that strange trip had been the night I’d almost died. My gaze went to the wall where the bloody copy of
Where the Red Fern Grows
hung in its usual spot, along with a faded photo of Fletcher and Warren Fox.
I might have only imagined it, but it seemed like the smell of chicory coffee suddenly filled the air. I breathed in again, and the aroma was gone, replaced by the usual swirl of spices. But I knew that Fletcher Lane would never truly leave me. I smiled and got to work.
All the waitstaff came in at their usual time, and everyone greeted me with enthusiasm, telling me how sorry they were that I’d had mono for the last six weeks. That’s the story Finn, Bria, and the others had spun to explain my absence. I didn’t think anyone really believed it, though. I
wouldn’t have. I didn’t know how many of my employees knew what had really gone down between me and Mab, or even realized I was the Spider, but at least some of them had heard the rumors. I could see it in the way their eyes didn’t quite meet mine. I supposed it would take some time for all the hoopla surrounding Mab’s death and my part in it to die down—if it ever really could.
Thanks to Sophia’s tender loving care, business hadn’t suffered at all while I was gone. By lunchtime, the Pork Pit was as busy as ever, and I was happy to be back in the thick of things—back where I belonged.
My happiness lasted until about three o’clock that afternoon.
I was wiping down the counter when the door opened, causing the bell to chime. I opened my mouth to greet my new customers and then I saw who they were—Ruth Gentry and Sydney. With my right hand, I kept on wiping the counter. With my left, I palmed one of my silver-stone knives. I still wore them, of course. One up either sleeve, one tucked against the small of my back, and two more nestled in the sides of my boots. My usual five-point arsenal, all stamped with my spider rune. I might have killed Mab, but that didn’t mean that I had a license to do something as foolish as not have my knives handy.
“Sophia,” I murmured. “We might have a situation here.”
The dwarf, who was slicing tomatoes, grunted and looked over her shoulder. When she saw who had come to call, she moved to stand beside me, her black eyes as cold and hard as mine were.
Gentry didn’t dawdle by the door. She marched over
to me, with Sydney trailing along behind her. Both of them had cleaned up considerably since the last time I’d seen them. Gentry had on a new stiff pair of jeans and a spiffy pink flannel shirt with what looked like real pearl buttons. They matched the handle of the revolver that she had tucked into the new holster under her matching pink jacket. As for Sydney, she wore a pair of expensive cargo pants, along with a sweater set done in a sky blue. Her face had also filled out since the last time I’d seen her, and her eyes were clear of that wounded, hungry, desperate look they’d held before.
“Ruth Gentry,” I said in a pleasant voice, mindful of the half-dozen customers who were in the restaurant with us. “What can I do for you?”
Under the counter, out of sight, my thumb traced over the hilt of my silverstone knife. Gentry didn’t look as if she’d come here for trouble, but you never knew. Just yesterday, Finn had heard a nasty rumor that Jonah McAllister was trying to put a new bounty on my head—literally. The lawyer wanted someone to bring him my head—without the rest of my body attached to it. Finn’s sources claimed that there were no takers so far, despite the fat wad of cash McAllister was offering. Amazing how people tended to leave you alone after you killed the most powerful woman in town.
The bounty hunter stepped up to the counter, her pale blue eyes sweeping over me. Surprise flickered in her gaze, as if she couldn’t quite believe that I was still alive. Sometimes, I couldn’t believe it myself.
“Gin Blanco,” she said, matching my pleasant tone. “You’re looking well. All things considered.”
I didn’t say anything. Gentry could see just how well I was, and if the bounty hunter wanted to put me to the test, I’d be more than happy to oblige her.
“I just thought that I would drop by and see how you were doing,” Gentry said.
“Really?” I asked. “You didn’t come here to try to collect on anything else?”
Gentry gave me a sly, shit-eating grin. “I did that a few weeks ago. Cashed in my bounty on Detective Bria Coolidge first thing. Always get the money up front.”
“That sounds like something my mentor would say if he were still alive.”
Gentry’s eyes narrowed, as if she wasn’t sure whether I was mocking her, but she didn’t respond.
“You know that I should kill you,” I said in a mild voice. “Just for having the balls to show up in my restaurant, in my gin joint.”
Gentry nodded her head. “Maybe you should, but I had to come here today. I had to give you my thanks.”
This time, my eyes narrowed. “Your thanks for what?”
“For helping me and the girl. For not killing us both that first night when you had the chance in the woods outside of Mab’s estate. For showing us that little bit of mercy.” Gentry looked at Sydney. “And for giving a hungry girl a hot, decent meal, even though you would have been better off kicking us both to the curb that day here in the restaurant.”
I shrugged. “I know what it’s like to be hungry. That’s all. Don’t attribute it to any real kindness on my part.”
Gentry smiled. “Oh, I think you’re a bit kinder than you like to imagine, Gin.”
“Don’t count on it. The only reason you’re not dead is because my sister asked me not to kill you. You helped her that night with Mab, kept the Fire elemental from torturing her to death. I’m grateful to you for that. You should appreciate your own kindness, Gentry. Because it’s the only reason that you’re still breathing right now.”
There was more to it than that, of course. Finn had finally dug into Ruth Gentry’s past for me and what he had found had made me see her in a new light. The old woman was a bounty hunter of some repute, with a reputation for being tough, ornery, and determined. Gentry was the kind of hunter who always got her man, until two of the bad, bad men that she’d collected a bounty on had broken out of prison, tracked her back to her remote Kentucky home, and burned it to the ground while Gentry was away on business. According to Finn’s file, the bounty hunter had lost everything that night, except the clothes on her back.
And so had Sydney.
The girl and her parents had lived in the next house over, and when the men got through at Gentry’s place, they went next door and started in on Sydney and her family. They’d decided to hole up there and wait for Gentry to return so they could kill her.
Sydney was the one who’d actually killed the men, somehow getting hold of one of their guns, but not before they’d raped and murdered her mother and killed her father. Finn hadn’t been able to tell me what the men had done to Sydney herself during the time they’d held her captive—and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to know.
Gentry had come home three weeks later to find Sydney
living in the ruined remains of Gentry’s home and half out of her mind with grief. Despite her own heartbreak, her own loss, Gentry had taken the girl under her wing. That had been more than two months ago, and the two had been inseparable ever since. I imagined all that was why they’d come to Ashland in the first place—Gentry had needed the bounty on Bria to get back on her feet and to provide a better life for Sydney.
Gentry nodded. “Fair enough. But what about the girl? Sydney’s caused you quite a few problems as well.”
“I don’t kill kids—ever.”
Sydney straightened her spine. “I’m not a kid. I’m sixteen years old.”
I gave her an amused look. “Sure you are, sweetheart. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
Sydney opened her mouth to protest, but one stern look from Gentry shushed her.
I gestured at their clothes. “Well, I see that you’re treating yourselves to the nicer things in life, since you collected on your bounty. A million dollars can go a long way toward making life more comfortable.”
Gentry winced a little at my pointed barb. “I don’t care so much for the money myself. I’ve never needed much. But the girl here is a different story. Her parents came to an unfortunate end, and I’m looking after her. Now I’ve got enough money to take care of her—even send her to college so she can get a real job.”