Heart of Venom

Chapter Twenty

The sun woke me.

It streamed in through the open window, as sweet and innocent as could be, warming everything that it touched with its soft golden rays. Outside, birds trilled out high, happy notes, accompanied by the low, steady bass beat of bumblebees and other bugs.

I cracked my eyes open. A painting of puffy clouds drifting across a summer sky covered the ceiling above my head, like they always did whenever I woke up at Jo-Jo’s house after a fight to the death. For a moment, I relaxed, even though part of me wondered why I was lying on the hard wooden floor instead of in the bed beside me. But the more I stared at the ceiling, the more it seemed like there was something slightly . . . off about it. Like the painting wasn’t the same one that I’d seen so many times before.

A soft summer breeze fluttered in through the window, ruffling the pretty, delicate lace curtains—and bringing the stench of death along with it. And I finally realized that I wasn’t in Jo-Jo’s house after all; I was in Harley

Grimes’s piss-poor substitute.

But instead of springing to my feet, I lay there on the floor and took stock of the situation, trying to force the rest of the fuzziness to fade from my mind. I still had on the same bloody clothes as before, although I could feel the breeze dancing over bare patches on my arms and legs from where Grimes’s and Hazel’s elemental Fire had seared through the fabric. The soft kiss of the wind made the burns and blisters that marred my skin start pulsing with pain, and I had to grit my teeth against the sensation. More cuts and bruises dotted my body, adding to my aching exhaustion. I’d put up a good fight, but it had left its mark on me.

Once I realized that I was more or less in one piece, I focused on my magic. My spider-rune ring was still empty and would be until I filled it up again, but being knocked unconscious had given my body a chance to regenerate some of my power, although it was still little more than scraps inside me, not nearly enough to let me go toe-to-toe with Grimes and Hazel with any hope of success—or survival.

I shifted on the floor and put a hand on my chest, patting myself down. I was still wearing my silverstone vest, and the front was largely intact. Then again, Grimes and Hazel had put most of their Fire power into my back. But all of my supplies had been fished out of the vest pockets, including my extra knives. Not surprising. I supposed I should be grateful they’d left my clothes on, burned and bloody as they were, instead of stripping me naked and shoving me into some sort of sundress and heels like they had done with Sophia. Actually, I wondered why they’d let me live in the first place. They should have grabbed one of my knives and cut my throat with it while I was still unconscious—

“Oh, good,” a voice purred. “You’re finally awake.”

I raised my head to see Hazel standing in the doorway, along with three men, all with guns pointed at me.

Hazel gave me an evil smile, then held out her hand.

Elemental Fire sparked to life on her fingertips, swaying back and forth like lanterns dancing in the wind. Even though she wasn’t actively roasting me with the flames,

I could still feel the intense heat blasting off them and brushing against my already burned skin, adding to my misery. The sensation made a snarl rise in the back of my throat, but I swallowed it down.

“Harley wants to see you,” she purred again. “Now, are you going to come along quietly, or do I have to . . . encourage you?”

The flames on her fingers burned a little brighter and hotter in anticipation. They matched the cruelty flickering in her dark eyes.

I sat up and immediately had to put a hand down on the floor to keep myself from toppling right back over.

After a moment, my head quit spinning, if not aching.

Whoever had punched me had done an excellent job of it, judging from the pain that radiated out from my jaw and throbbed up into my right temple. Slowly, very, very slowly, I got up onto my knees and then onto my feet.

The change in elevation made my head spin that much more, and I swayed from side to side until the white spots cleared from my vision and I found my balance. This was all not to mention how every single movement made my burned skin ache and how every shift of my singed clothes threatened to pop the blisters covering my arms, legs, and back.

So as much as I would have liked to have tackled Hazel, driven her to the floor, and strangled her to death with my bare hands, I didn’t have the energy for it right then. Besides, she and Grimes had kept me alive for a reason, and I wanted to know what it was.

“I think I’ll go with the first option,” I finally said when I could open my mouth without hissing with pain.

Hazel pouted, obviously disappointed by my cooperation, but she curled her hand into a tight fist, snuffing out the flames and causing the resulting bit of smoke to drift toward the ceiling.

“come on, then,” she snapped. “Nobody keeps Harley waiting—or me either.”

Again, I wondered why they’d bothered to let me live, but I supposed that I’d find out soon enough.

Hazel pivoted on her high heels and stormed out of sight of the doorway. The three guys with guns stepped down the hallway far enough for me to leave the bedroom and fall into step behind her, then followed us with their weapons pointed at my back. I thought about whirling around and going for one of their guns, but in the end, I decided against it. I might have been able to kill the three men, but they’d probably have managed to put a couple of bullets into me for my troubles. Not to mention the fact that Hazel would be quite delighted to roast me with her Fire magic, which I had little to defend against while my own power was still so low. So I decided to go along with them—for now.

We walked downstairs, and I was once again struck by an eerie sense of déjà vu. Grimes’s house was almost an exact replica of Jo-Jo’s, inside and outside. The floor plan, build, and construction were identical, right down to the dark cherry wood that had been used for the stairs and the curlicues carved into the railing that ran alongside them. Even the walls were painted the same soft blues, pinks, and whites as in Jo-Jo’s house.

I wondered how Grimes had been able to match everything so exactly. He must have been inside Jo-Jo’s house at some point. But when? I thought back. The only time the sisters had been away recently was when they’d come down to Blue Marsh to help me out with a particularly nasty vampire a few months ago. Perhaps Grimes had been in the sisters’ house then without them realizing it; that was the only explanation that I could think of.

The only things that were different were the photos on the wall next to the stairs. Instead of shots of Jo-Jo, Sophia, Finn, Fletcher, or even me, pictures of Harley Grimes covered the wall. Most of the photos had the brown, faded, vintage look of old daguerreotypes, and almost all of them showed a grinning Grimes tipping his fedora, holding a glass jar of moonshine, or clutching a pair of revolvers crossed over his chest, as though he really was some romantic bootlegging outlaw mugging for the camera, instead of a sick psychopath who liked to kidnap and torture folks.

Other pictures showed Hazel in the same poses, along with one of her on a high ridge, looking off into the distance, queen of everything she surveyed, a set of diamond pins glinting like some sort of crown in her wavy black hair.

There were even a few family portraits of Grimes and Hazel with a couple of other men who looked like them. Probably Horace and Henry, the brothers Fletcher had killed.

But there was one photo in particular that made me stop with one foot in midair: a picture of Sophia.

It was about halfway down the wall, right in the middle of a cluster of pictures of Grimes with his guns, and it looked like it had been taken with an old Polaroid camera. At first, I wasn’t sure that it was Sophia. She looked so young in the photo, and she was wearing another white dress patterned with tiny red flowers. Her black hair was much longer and tied back into a pretty braid that trailed down over her right shoulder, but she was staring at the camera with the same flat, murderous expression I’d seen earlier at the pit.

The photo must have been taken the first time Grimes had kidnapped Sophia, which meant that he’d kept it all these years. Once I spotted the one, I noticed more photos of my friend. They lined the bottom of the wall, leading back up to the first.

All of those photos looked as though they’d been taken at a distance and featured a very young Sophia in various spots: on the lawn at Jo-Jo’s house, on the front porch of country Daze, sitting in a library, reading a book.

These pictures must have been snapped before Grimes had kidnapped her the first time. Because in all of them, she looked relaxed and happy and was sporting a variety of clothes in a rainbow of colors—white jeans, red tops, khaki shorts.

None of the photos showed Sophia in her dark Goth clothes. I wondered if she’d adopted the style after her first encounter with Grimes. I would have never wanted to see another dress, ribbon, or pair of high heels again either, if I’d been her.

Just how deep Grimes’s obsession with her ran made the whole thing worse and reminded me that I needed to find some way to kill him before I died up there on the mountain. Otherwise, Sophia and Jo-Jo would never be safe.“come on,” Hazel growled from the bottom of the staircase, realizing that I’d stopped to stare at the photos.

“keep moving.”

One of the men behind me shoved his gun into my back, encouraging me. I stared at the first photo of Sophia in the white dress for a second longer before trudg— ing the rest of the way down the stairs.

I wasn’t terribly surprised when Hazel led me into the back half of the house. I steeled myself and stepped through the doorway after her, expecting to find some sort of twisted replica of Jo-Jo’s salon, but the area was completely different. Instead of combs, curlers, and hair dryers, Grimes had set up a fancy, old-timey office and parlor in the space.

An antique desk trimmed with brass stood in the middle of the room, close to the back wall, with a variety of leather wing chairs arranged in front of it. A perfect place for Grimes to hold court and pontificate to his men. All of the seats were a dark green, except for the one behind the desk. It was the same vibrant cherry red as the salon chairs at Jo-Jo’s.

A set of double doors to the left of the desk led out to what looked like a stone patio and then a fenced-in yard beyond. Grimes stood on the patio a few feet outside the open doors. He was dressed in a fresh suit, this one in a pale baby blue, and a blue fedora with a matching feather stuck in the brim perched on his head. I wondered how many of those old-fashioned suits he had hanging in his closets and in how many different colors.

But the surprising thing was that Grimes wasn’t alone.

Someone was on the patio with him. I couldn’t see who it was, though, or even if it was a man or woman. A bit of black fabric was barely visible around the edge of one of the doors, telling me that the person was wearing some sort of dark pants, but that was all.

Grimes had his hands up and was gesturing. Bits of conversation drifted in through the open doors to me.

“. . . bit of a problem . . . nothing that I can’t handle . . . the shipment won’t be delayed . . .”

Then the other person: “The guns had better not . . . that would . . . upset me.”

I still couldn’t tell whether the stranger was a man or woman. I was too far away, and the voice was too much of a low, smoky murmur.

I’d thought that Grimes would dress down the mystery person for his or her insolent tone and not-so-veiled threat, but the pleasant smile on his face tightened, his lips pulling back to show even more of his perfect teeth, as though he was grinding his molars together to keep the expression firmly in place. After a moment, he nodded.

“Of course.”

I frowned, wondering who this person was who could intimidate Grimes with only a few words, especially since I, with my knives and my killing spree of his men, didn’t seem to have had much of an impact. I tried to shift to one side, so I could get a better look at his mysterious guest, but a rough hand on my shoulder and a gun shoved against my spine made me stop.

Grimes’s answer must have satisfied the other person, because he or she didn’t say anything else. Grimes swept his fedora off his head and gave a low, elegant bow, but

I couldn’t see whether the other person returned the gesture with a polite nod of his or her own. Grimes turned, as if watching someone walk through the backyard. A second later, something creaked, like a fence gate being opened. Then . . . silence.

Grimes settled his hat on top of his head again, then strode inside the office and shut the double doors behind him.

Hazel looked at her brother. “Well?”

“There was a bit of . . . concern about all of the noise and commotion, and of course, we left the client waiting here in the house for far too long while we dealt with the situation,” Grimes said. “All of which I apologized profusely for, in addition to offering a discount for all of the worry, waiting, and trouble, so I think that I managed to salvage the deal.”

Hazel crossed her arms over her chest. “I told you that we should have waited until after this was done before you went after that haughty Deveraux bitch again.”

Grimes gave his sister a cold, chilling look. “And I told you that I wanted Sophia back as soon as possible—back here with me, where she belongs.”

Hazel’s nostrils flared, and her jaw tightened, but she didn’t argue with her brother any more. Still, it was obvious that she had no love for Sophia. I wondered why— well, beyond the obvious fact that she was a sadistic bitch.

Was Hazel jealous because Grimes was still so fixated on Sophia all these years later? Because he’d apparently spent months building a replica of Jo-Jo’s house for her to live in? Because he’d decided to bring her there despite the fact that it might jeopardize some big gun deal that the brother and sister had cooking? Or maybe it was a combination of all that and more. Grimes bringing Sophia in, even as his victim, would threaten the amount of time that he had for Hazel. Maybe that was why she liked torturing people so much, especially the young women Grimes kidnapped and brought here. Maybe Hazel didn’t want any competition for her brother’s attention—or anyone replacing her as queen of the mountain.

“Besides,” Grimes said, “it’s not my fault that our guest was left waiting. It’s hers.”

He pointed an accusing finger in my direction. All eyes turned to me, and I gave them all a cocky smile.

“Why, if I’d known that y’all had company, I wouldn’t have bothered killing your men up on the ridge,” I said.

“I would have come straight on over here and shown your guests exactly how hospitable I could be—along with the rest of you.”

Hazel stepped forward and backhanded me.

Pain exploded in my jaw, making every nerve ending in my face pulse with agony once more. White stars exploded in my vision again, and I rocked back on my feet, but I didn’t give her the satisfaction of stumbling. Instead, I blinked away the spots, stared back at her, and slowly swiveled my head from side to side.

“Thanks,” I drawled. “My neck’s been killing me all day, but that cracked it just right for me.”

Hazel started forward to backhand me again, but Grimes cut in.

“Not now,” he said. “You’ll get your chance soon enough. I need some information from her first.”

“Fine,” Hazel muttered in a sullen tone. “We’ll do it like usual.”

I wondered what like usual was, but since it probably involved my screaming, bloody, torture-filled death, I didn’t dwell on it too much. I’d find out soon enough.

Grimes moved over and sat down behind his desk, leaning back in his cherry-red leather chair. Hazel went over and perched on the corner of the wood. She’d also changed her clothes sometime while I’d been unconscious and was now wearing another wrap dress in the same baby blue as Grimes’s suit and hat. She’d also stuck some different diamond pins, these shaped like small hearts, into her wavy black hair, although her lips were still the same bloody crimson as before.

In a bizarre way, the two of them seemed like two halves of a whole, yin and yang, with Grimes so strong and stocky and Hazel so tall and slender.

Hazel arranged the long skirt of her dress around her, as though she were some sweet Southern belle getting ready to host a genteel social, instead of the cruel, murderous psychopath that she was. She gave me a mocking smile. I ignored her and focused on Grimes. Despite how vicious Hazel was, he was the one in charge—even of her.

Grimes tipped his hat back from his forehead, leaned his elbows on his desk, and steepled his hands together, giving me a thoughtful look over the tops of his interlaced fingers. “Here’s how this is going to work,” he said. “You are going to answer my questions quickly and truthfully as soon as I ask them. Or there will be consequences.”

“What sort of consequences?”

He gave me a thin smile. “I’ll let Hazel use her Fire magic on you again.”

“Oh, yes,” Hazel purred in delight. “And Harley won’t make me hold back this time like he did up on the ridge.”

I threw back my head and laughed at her threat.

Smoke wisped out from between Hazel’s clenched fists, and her brown eyes darkened with the fury of her Fire magic. She didn’t like me mocking her. Too damn bad.

A minute passed, then another, and I kept right on laughing. Finally, when my ribs started to ache even more than they already had been, I let the last cold, mirthless chuckle die on my lips.

“Oh, sugar,” I drawled. “I’ve been roasted, toasted, and tortured by some of the strongest, most vicious elementals this little corner of the world has ever seen. Not to mention all of the vampires, giants, dwarves, and regular folks who’ve gotten their hands on me over the years. Hell, I faced down Mab fucking Monroe herself and lived to tell the tale. Yeah, you’re strong in your Fire magic, and so is your brother there, but you’re nothing compared with Mab, nothing. So I’d stop bragging and patting yourself on the back. You haven’t earned it. You haven’t earned a damn thing, especially not my fear.”

Red splotches of anger bloomed like roses on Hazel’s cheeks, and more smoke boiled up from her fists, even blacker than before. If she’d been a cartoon character, matching clouds of steam would have been screeching out of her ears by this point.

“careful, careful,” I mocked. “You wouldn’t want to singe that pretty dress of yours. Oh, wait. That’s right.

You only like doing that to other women. Or do you boil the clothes off all of the young men you kidnap before you kill them too?”

Fury flashed in her eyes again, but she slowly unclenched her hands, scooted off the corner of the desk, and stood up.

“Make her start talking, Harley,” Hazel snarled. “Right now. Or I will.”

I airily waved my burned, bruised, bloody hand at her.

“Oh, there’s no need to fret, now, sugar. I don’t have any problem telling you why I’m here.”

“And why are you here, exactly?” Grimes asked.

I stared at him. “I’m here because Fletcher Lane sent me.”

Apparently, that wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting, because Grimes’s hands slid off his desk and into his lap.

His eyes narrowed but not before I saw a flicker of emotion in the cold brown depths: fear.

“You do remember Mr. Lane, don’t you?” I continued, mocking him with his own fondness for formal addresses.

“He’s the man who saved Sophia from you before.”

“He’s the man who took Sophia from me before,”

Grimes growled back. “One of my biggest regrets in life is that I didn’t kill him years ago.”

“Funny, because Fletcher felt the exact same way about you,” I drawled. “He didn’t kill you way back then, but believe me when I tell you that I plan to rectify that now.”

Grimes gave me an amused look. “Do you know how many people have tried—and failed—to kill me over the years? You’re not the first person to come up to my mountain with a couple of guns and knives and try to take me out. I assume you saw the pit. That’s not the first one that’s ever been dug around my family’s cemetery, and it won’t be the last.”

“Perhaps your other attackers weren’t motivated enough,” I quipped. “Believe me when I tell you that won’t be a problem for me. I’m in it to win it, and all that.”

Behind me, the three men with the guns shifted on their feet, making the floorboards creak and groan under their weight. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the two men on my right exchange a nervous glance. They seemed much more concerned by my threat than Grimes did.

Then again, I’d already killed a passel of their buddies, and the day was still young.

But Grimes had a different reaction from his flunkies.

He ignored me completely. Instead, he swiveled around in his chair and reached for a decanter of clear liquid on a table behind his desk. Grimes unstoppered the bottle, and caustic fumes from whatever was inside assaulted my nose. Some of his mountain moonshine, I guessed, gussied up in fancy crystal. Mountain strychnine, from the harsh scent of it. That wouldn’t just put hair on your chest; it would burn it clean off. And probably take a good portion of your esophagus along with it.

Grimes poured himself a couple of fingers’ worth of moonshine into a crystal tumbler, then swiveled back around to face me again. Once he’d had a few sips of the foul brew, he set the tumbler aside and picked up a silver picture frame perched on the right side of his desk. He studied the photo for a moment, then set the frame down at an angle. The same sullen photo of Sophia that I’d seen earlier on the wall by the stairs peeked at out me.

“I knew that Sophia was mine from the first moment that I saw her,” Grimes said. “Hazel and I were out getting supplies at this little country store down the mountain a ways. Sophia was there with her sister.”

A jolt went through me. country Daze—he had to be talking about country Daze, Warren’s store. No wonder the old coot had been so insistent on coming with Owen and me. Warren probably felt guilty that Grimes had first laid eyes on Sophia in his store, as guilty as I felt for Jo-Jo’s picture being in the newspaper and leading Grimes back to her and Sophia all these years later. And especially for letting Sophia dispose of so many bodies for me over the years.

“Of course, I tried to do the right thing and court her proper,” Grimes continued, still staring at the picture of Sophia, his eyes distant and dreamy with memories. “But Ms. Deveraux wouldn’t have any of that. She thought that I was a bad influence on Sophia. She should have kept out of things that didn’t concern her. But that won’t be a problem now, will it?”

I thought of how casually Grimes had shot Jo-Jo in the salon and how cold, pale, and lifeless she had looked lying on cooper’s kitchen table. She could have taken a turn for the worse. She could have needed more healing magic than cooper had to give.

She could have died in the time that I’d been up here on the mountain.

My heart squeezed at the thought, aching worse than any of my injuries, but I kept my face calm, as though we were talking about the weather, instead of a brutal attack on someone I loved.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I replied. “Jo-Jo is stronger than you think. She’s a tough old bird. She might just surprise you—again.”

“What do you mean byagain?” Hazel asked.

My gaze cut to her. “Who do you think hired Fletcher in the first place? Jo-Jo wanted her sister back, and she decided to do whatever was necessary to make it happen.”

“Yes, let’s get back to Mr. Lane,” Grimes said, leaning back in his chair and interlacing his fingers again. “I’m interested in why you said that he sent you, since I know that he’s been dead for months now.”

His voice and words were casual, but once again, a bit of unease pinched his face. Whatever Fletcher had done to Grimes all those years ago, however badly the old man had hurt him, however close the old man had come to killing him, it had left a lasting impression. Good. I wanted Grimes to be afraid. I wanted him to sweat and worry and wonder. But most of all, I wanted him to suffer for as long as possible before I ended him.

Even if I had no idea how I was going to accomplish that right now.

“Oh, you’re right,” I agreed. “Fletcher was killed last fall.”

My gaze dropped to the floor, but I wasn’t seeing the gleaming, pristine wood. Instead, blue and pink pig tracks spattered with blood filled my vision, along with a crumpled, ruined figure that had had the flesh peeled from his bones with Air magic. Fletcher. More memories rose in my mind of that horrible, horrible night when

I’d realized that the job that I’d been sent out on was a trap and that I was too late to save Fletcher from being tortured to death inside the Pork Pit.

But I pushed the memories and the emotions back down into the bottom of my black heart and smothered them with a cold, icy layer of rage, just like I had done with the pain of my injuries. Because now was not the time to show any sort of weakness.

“If Lane is dead, then why are you here?” Hazel asked.

“Because he trained me,” I answered in a voice that was even snider than hers.

“And who are you?” Grimes asked.

“My name is Gin, like the liquor.”

They both gave me blank looks, apparently not getting the joke. Nobody appreciated irony these days.

I sighed. “My name is Gin Blanco,” I replied. “But y’all probably know me by another one: the Spider.”

The three men behind me sucked in a collective breath.

They shifted on their feet again, backing away from me and making the floorboards creak-creak-creak-creak with their jerky, hurried movements. Well, it was good that my reputation had preceded me. Perhaps when it came time for me to kill Grimes and Hazel, these fools would cringe and cower instead of getting in my way. A nice thought, but I wasn’t going to pin my hopes and dreams on it.

But once again, the brother and sister seemed completely unconcerned by my moniker.

“The Spider?” Hazel sneered. “Really? You’re the big, bad bitch who took out Mab Monroe? I don’t believe it.”

I shrugged. “Believe it or not. Doesn’t much matter to me.”

“You’re lying,” Grimes said. “The Spider would never come here. She would never waste her time on some ill-advised rescue mission.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that it was so ill-advised, seeing as how I’m standing here and Sophia isn’t.” I grinned. “Y’all didn’t catch her, did you?”

A muscle twitched in Grimes’s cheek, but he returned my shrug with one of his own, as though the fact that

I’d stolen Sophia right out from under his nose was of no consequence. “This isn’t the first time that Sophia has escaped. She’ll be back here where she belongs soon enough.”

Hazel let out a derisive snort, then rolled her eyes. “All you’ve done for the past several months is talk and talk about Sophia Deveraux. I don’t see what you find so fascinating about her. She’s just a dwarf. Not even a very pretty one at that. Did you see those tacky clothes she had on? Not to mention that horrid spiked collar that she was wearing. You could do better, Harley. So much better. At the very least, we can find you a college girl who will clean up much nicer than Sophia Deveraux ever could.”

From the evil glint in her eye, what she really meant was some poor girl whom Hazel would have an easier time torturing, an easier time breaking. It wouldn’t surprise me if Hazel got even more enjoyment out of using her Fire magic on their victims than Grimes did. Sadistic bitch.

Grimes studied her a moment, as though he were considering her words, and a hopeful smile curved her crimson lips. Grimes stood up and walked around his desk, and Hazel turned to meet him. She held her hands out, reaching for his—

Grimes slapped her across the face for her trouble.

Hazel stumbled away, hitting the doors at the back of the office hard enough to make the glass rattle in the panes. She whirled around, her mouth open wide in surprise, a hand pressing against her cheek as if she couldn’t believe the growing red welt there—and the fact that

Grimes had hit her, his own sister, as casually as he would hit anyone else.

“Sophia is mine,” Grimes growled, his brown eyes darkening with fury, as though the answer to Hazel’s question should be obvious. “She’s the only woman I’ve ever met who’s strong enough to be mine. She’s the only one who’s never been cowed by me or backed down from me. All the others who have come through here over the years have been weak, foolish creatures, crying to go home, cringing at the smallest little thing, begging for mercy until I give them to my men just to be rid of their incessant whining. Every single one of them has displeased me, disappointed me with her weakness. But Sophia never has.”

Fletcher had said in his file that Grimes was sick and twisted, but I was beginning to realize exactly how warped he really was. Harley Grimes imagined himself to be the king of this little mountain, and he took whatever and whomever he wanted, brought them here, and expected them to serve him in any way that he deemed fit. And when someone displeased him, when she cried, screamed, and sobbed at the terrible torture that he inflicted on her, then the fault was hers, and off to his men she were sent, to suffer that much more.

“You’re right,” I said. “Sophia is strong. She’s certainly stronger than you, you sick son of a bitch. And as long as I’m alive, you will never lay one hand on her again, not so much as one fucking finger.”

Grimes took a menacing step toward me. I clenched my hands into fists, bracing myself for what was to come.

Because as soon as he was within arm’s reach, I was going to lunge forward, grab the revolver out of the holster on his waist, and shoot him point-blank in the chest with it—even though I knew that I’d die in the attempt.

Either the men behind me would put a couple of bullets in my skull, or Hazel would scorch me to death with her Fire magic. And of course, there was always the possibility that Grimes’s gun was empty of bullets, the way it had been when Sophia had tried to shoot him with it. But

I didn’t care. I’d bludgeon him to death with the thing if I had to. All that mattered was making sure that Sophia and Jo-Jo were safe from Harley Grimes forever. And if I had to sacrifice my life to save theirs, well, it was a trade that I was happy to make. For them and for Fletcher too.

But Grimes thwarted me without even realizing it, because he stopped and smoothed down his suit jacket, obviously trying to rein in his temper. His hands went to one cuff, then the other, pulling them down. As a final touch, he fingered the brim of his baby-blue hat and then the matching feather stuck there, as though making sure the fedora was still securely perched on his head, his peacock’s plume perfectly on display. When he raised his eyes to mine again, he was cool, calm, and in control once more.

Grimes gave me a pleasant smile, the sort a shark would give a guppie before it snapped the smaller creature in two with its many teeth. “Well, then, Ms. Blanco, or whoever the hell you really are, it’s a good thing that you won’t be alive much longer, isn’t it?”

I opened my mouth to tell him exactly what I thought about him, hoping to distract him long enough to surge forward, grab his gun, and end him. But Grimes snapped his fingers, and two of the men behind me stepped forward and clamped their hands on my arms, while the third shoved his gun into my back again.

“Take her outside to the usual spot,” he ordered. “And call the men together. We all might as well have a little fun before we go back down to Ashland to find Sophia and bring her back here where she belongs.”