Spider's Revenge

32

I spent the next week recovering at Jo-Jo’s. My friends all dropped by at one time or another to see how I was doing, and Owen spent more time at the dwarf’s house than he did at his own. Finn was there too every single day, giving me updates about what was going on in the Ashland underworld.

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 silverstone 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.”

“But I want to be a bounty hunter like you, Gentry,” Sydney protested.

Gentry gave her a fierce look. “You might be a fair enough shot for it, but a girl needs to know more than just how to shoot guns. There’s book learning too, you know.”

Sydney didn’t say anything, but I could see the determination in her face. No matter if Gentry sent her to a dozen colleges, she’d always want to be a bounty hunter, just like the old woman. I stared at the girl, and, once again, I saw myself at that age. With a dead family and a strange new mentor that I didn’t know quite what to make of. I wondered where Sydney would be in seventeen years. If our roles would be reversed, and I’d be in Gentry’s shoes by then.

The thought made me smile.

Still looking at the girl, Gentry stuck her hand into her jacket pocket.

“Gently,” I cautioned her. “I’m feeling a might twitchy today. So is Sophia here.”

“Hmph.” Beside me, the dwarf grunted.

“Of course you are,” Gentry murmured.

She grabbed something in her jacket pocket and came out with it slowly, keeping her movements small and steady. Then she handed me a business card with a cell phone number on it. A rune was also stamped on the card in black foil. A revolver. The symbol for deadly accuracy. Fitting, given what I knew about the bounty hunter.

“Sydney and I have decided to leave Ashland behind for a warmer climate. If you’re ever down in Charleston, give me a call,” Gentry said. “Because based on what I saw in that courtyard, I’d sure as hell like to buy you a drink someday.”

I probably should have ripped the card into pieces. Or better yet, stuck it on the end of my knife and then put them both through Gentry. After all, this was the woman who’d kidnapped my sister and carted her off to be tortured by Mab. But Gentry was also the reason that Bria was still breathing, which was something I just couldn’t overlook. So I took the card and slid it into the pocket of my jeans.

“I just might do that.”

“Well, Gin, I can’t say that it’s been a pleasure doing business with you, but it’s certainly been an experience.”

“I would say the same thing about you, Gentry. You certainly gave me a run for my money, and you earned every penny of that million that Mab paid you.”

“Ah, now you’re just flattering an old woman,” she said, but a pleased blush crept up her leathery neck.

“That’s something else you should know about me. I don’t flatter people — ever.”

A grin creased her wrinkled face. “Either way, Sydney and I need to be going. There’s a bus that leaves for Charleston in an hour, and we plan to be on it. So you take care now, Gin. I hope we meet again someday.”

“You too, Gentry, Sydney,” I said and meant it. “You take care too.”

Gentry nodded, before she and the girl turned and left the restaurant for the final time.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. People came and went, eating, talking, laughing, gossiping, but no one entered the restaurant looking like they wanted to do me immediate harm. I enjoyed the calm, even though I knew it wouldn’t last.

Finally, about six that afternoon, more customers left than came in, and I thought about closing early. After being cooped up in Jo-Jo’s house for the better part of a month, I found myself with a case of spring fever. I wanted to take a walk, do some yoga in the park, anything that would get me outside into the fresh air and sunshine. I’d just turned around to tell Sophia to shut off the stoves, when the front door opened, causing the bell to chime, and a young girl stepped inside.

I watched her, waiting for her mother or father to come inside after her, but no one did. After a moment, I realized that no one was going to. She was here all by her lonesome. She was twelve, maybe thirteen, far too young to be wandering around this close to Southtown by herself.

But what caught and held my attention was the puffy bruise on her face. It was blue, black, and every shade of green in between. There was only one way that you got a bruise like that — by someone planting his fist in your face. I stared at the girl, wondering who she was and what she wanted. There was a hardness in her face, a pinched set to her features that told me she’d already seen some bad things in her time. I knew that look. It was one I’d had ever since I was thirteen — the same one I saw every time I looked in the mirror.

The girl looked around carefully, staring at the other diners, as if she was measuring what kind of threat they might be. Apparently, she thought that she could take them, because she walked over to the counter. The girl hopped up on a stool close to the cash register and looked at first Sophia, then at me.

“Can I help you, sweetheart?” I asked.

The girl just stared at me. “That depends. Are you the Spider?”

Are you the Spider?

I’d been expecting someone to ask me that question all day long, but no one had. No one had dared to — until now.

I didn’t answer the girl, but I didn’t tell her that I wasn’t the Spider either. If Jonah McAllister or someone else had sent her in here, I wanted to see what kind of game she was playing, and how I could twist it around to my advantage. If she had come in on her own, I still wanted to know what the hell she thought she was doing.

Some of the toughness in the girl’s face melted under my hard, gray stare. She dropped her eyes from mine and drew in a breath, as if to bolster her fading courage.

“I heard that there’s a lady here called the Spider who helps people,” the girl said. “And I want to hire her.”

Of all the things she might have said, that was one I’d never expected. I didn’t help people, I killed them. The two were not necessarily one and the same. I looked at Sophia, but the Goth dwarf just shrugged. She didn’t know what to make of the girl either.

“And who told you that?” I asked. “About the Spider?”

The girl reached out and fiddled with one of the silver napkin holders. “It was just something that I heard from some people.”

She drew in another breath, then reached into the pocket of her jacket and came out with a wad of crumpled bills. She shoved them across the counter to me. I eyed the bills. It looked like she had maybe a hundred bucks there, total. Not exactly my going rate before I’d retired.

“There are some bad men who are hurting my mom,” the girl said. “I want the Spider to make them stop. If you’re not her, then do you know who she is? Do you think that she’ll help me? Please?”

I should have told the kid no. Should have told her that there was no Spider here and to get lost. Maybe it was seeing the parallels between Sydney and Gentry, and me and Fletcher. Maybe it was this strange mood I’d been in ever since my ghostly talk with the old man, this strange feeling I had that I was at some kind of crossroads. Maybe it was because I thought being retired sucked. Hell, maybe it was just the damn please she tacked on at the end. But I didn’t tell the girl no.

The truth was that part of me felt adrift now, restless and at loose ends. Mainly because my finally killing Mab wasn’t turning out to be quite as fulfilling as I’d imagined it would be.

Oh, I was glad she was dead. More than glad. Ecstatic, really. But now that she was gone, now that my rehab was finished, I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. Sure, I had the Pork Pit to run during the day, Owen to go home to at night, and the rest of my friends and family to fill in the time between. But so much of my life these past few months had been tied up in the Fire elemental, in killing Mab. Now that she was dead, I just felt… empty. Adrift, without purpose. Hell, bored, even.

Killing Mab had been my goal for so long that I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself now, what to say, even what to feel.

And now here was this girl, asking for the Spider, wanting me to pull out my silverstone knives and jump into the fray once more. Her simple words and the desperate plea in them stirred something in me, something I couldn’t deny, something I didn’t want to deny. Not any longer. For the first time, I realized how Fletcher must have felt. How the old man had realized that maybe there was another use for his particular skill set instead of just killing people for money. One that was far more satisfying in the end.

And I knew what I had to do. Maybe it was what I’d always had to do, what I’d always been doing. The path that Fletcher had set me on all those years ago, even if I hadn’t realized it at the time or along the way. Even if I hadn’t thought about it until this very moment.

“Put your money away,” I told the girl. “There’s no need for it here.”

She stared at me, hesitating, before she scraped up the bills and stuck them back into her pocket.

“So you’re her, then?” the girl asked. “You’re the Spider?”

I slowly nodded.

“And you’ll help me?” she asked. “And my mom?”

I nodded again. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sophia shake her head. I turned my head and winked at her. The dwarf grumbled something under her breath, but her lips turned up into a smile.

Meanwhile, the girl sat there and stared at me, the briefest glimmer of hope swimming up in the dark depths of her eyes. “But how will you help me? What can you do?”

I palmed one of my silverstone knifes and laid it on the counter in front of her. The girl’s eyes widened in surprise, and maybe a touch of fear too, but I just grinned at her.

“My name is Gin, and I kill people.”