Black Widow
Page 20
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“Sure he did.”
But Madeline didn’t miss a beat. “I hate to point this out, darling, but you sound a bit . . . paranoid. As if the whole world is arrayed against you. Perhaps you should take some time off while the restaurant is closed. Talk to someone about these feelings of persecution you have.”
“You’re right,” I said, disdain dripping from each and every one of my words. “I have given you far too much credit. I thought that you would do something grander, more impressive. But this”—I waved my hand out at the restaurant—“this is nothing. Rather disappointing, actually. Mab would have been so much more direct about things. Why, your mama would have burned this place to the ground with her bare hands already. Not spent all her time and energy bribing, wheedling, and batting her eyes to get my restaurant shut down by a crooked cop.”
“I am nothing like my mother,” Madeline snapped, her calm façade finally cracking at the mention of Mab. “She was a grand fool.”
“Mab was many things, but she was never, ever a fool. Not when it came to me. She once hired a whole squad of bounty hunters to come to Ashland just to hunt me down. And when she finally figured out who I was, well, she called me out herself, face-to-face, elemental to elemental, villain to villain. You could have done the same. You should have done the same. Challenged me to a duel and tried to kill me yourself with your acid magic.”
I snorted and gave another dismissive wave of my hand. “But you? With your sly little schemes? You’re just a pale, weak imitation of her, sugar.”
Madeline couldn’t stop herself from sucking in a ragged breath at my insult, but I wasn’t done yet.
I leaned over the counter so that our faces were inches apart. “You should have killed me the second you had the chance. That’s the other mistake you made, and that’s the one that’s going to cost you—everything.”
Madeline’s green eyes burned with anger, and I could almost see the gears grinding in her mind as she debated whether to reach for her acid magic and try to take me out, right here, right now, all her elaborate schemes be damned. But after a moment, she blinked, then blinked again, and the hot rage in her gaze cooled, congealed, and crystallized into icy, calculating hate. Yeah. Mine too.
I stayed up in her face a few seconds longer to let her know that I’d seen her hesitation, then drew back behind the cash register. “You should have come at me head-on, but you just had to play a little game with me instead.”
“Perhaps I like my games,” Madeline replied, her voice and features mild and unruffled again.
“Oh, I know you do. But there’s one problem with playing games.”
She arched her eyebrow at me again. “Oh, really? What’s that?”
I smiled, showing her my teeth and all the cold, cold venom in my heart. “There’s always a chance that you can lose.”
Another flash of uncertainty darkened her eyes before she was able to hide it. “I never lose, Gin. And I don’t intend to now.”
“Intentions are for fools. You do, or you don’t. Or in your case, you just die.”
Her crimson lips pulled back, and she returned my smile with an even wider, toothier one of her own. “Oh, I think that you’re talking about yourself in this case, Gin. After all, you’re the one in trouble with the law, not me.”
“We’ll see.”
“Yes, we will,” she murmured. “Yes, we will.”
We stared at each other a few more seconds before Madeline tilted her head at me.
“As much as I enjoy our little chats, I’m afraid I must be going. I’ve still got that dedication to attend. And you . . .” She stared around the deserted restaurant. “Well, you’ve got a lot of problems to take care of, don’t you?”
I didn’t respond.
“But don’t let this little bit of unpleasantness get you down. I do hope that you enjoy the rest of your day, Gin. I know I certainly will.”
Madeline gave me one more arrogant smirk before she pivoted on her white stiletto and sashayed out of the Pork Pit.
8
I would have liked nothing more than to palm a knife, run around the counter, and bury the blade up to the hilt in Madeline’s back. But I couldn’t do that. Not without getting even more stuck in her web than I already was.
Besides, Emery and Dobson were peering in through the windows, waiting for me to attack Madeline. Attempted murder would land me in a jail cell lickety-split, and if that happened, then the acid elemental would get exactly what she wanted.
I wasn’t about to fall into that trap, so I let her walk away—for now.
A few seconds later, the front door opened, and Silvio stepped inside.
I untied my apron, pulled it off, and tossed it onto the counter. “Now what?”
He came over to me, grabbed his silverstone briefcase from where he’d left it on the counter, and opened it, sliding his tablet inside. “They’re taking Sophia down to the main police station to book her for assaulting Dobson. Given the situation, I suggest that we follow them and be waiting when they process her so we can bail her out as quickly as possible.”
I nodded, scanning the storefront, but Catalina was nothing if not efficient. In addition to cashing out the customers, she’d also gone ahead and turned off the appliances, put the extra food away, and stacked the dirty dishes into plastic tubs. All I had to do was walk out the front door, lock it behind me, and the restaurant would be closed.
The only loose end was the dead woman in the freezer, but it wasn’t like I could move her body to a better location right now. Not with Dobson and the cops milling around outside and peering in through the windows. I didn’t even dare to leave the storefront and go stack some boxes on top of the freezer. The cops might notice, come back in, and search the restaurant again.
But instead of leaving, I settled my gaze on the framed, blood-spattered copy of Where the Red Fern Grows that hung on the wall close to the cash register. My own little tribute to Fletcher, since that was the book he’d been reading the night he was tortured to death in the Pork Pit.
I hadn’t been able to save Fletcher, but I wouldn’t lose his restaurant too. I would find a way to beat Madeline at her own game, as dark, dangerous, and twisted as it was. I wasn’t going to leave anything to chance, not anymore, so I went over and took the framed book off the wall, along with a photo of Fletcher and his friend Warren T. Fox, taken back when they were young.
But Madeline didn’t miss a beat. “I hate to point this out, darling, but you sound a bit . . . paranoid. As if the whole world is arrayed against you. Perhaps you should take some time off while the restaurant is closed. Talk to someone about these feelings of persecution you have.”
“You’re right,” I said, disdain dripping from each and every one of my words. “I have given you far too much credit. I thought that you would do something grander, more impressive. But this”—I waved my hand out at the restaurant—“this is nothing. Rather disappointing, actually. Mab would have been so much more direct about things. Why, your mama would have burned this place to the ground with her bare hands already. Not spent all her time and energy bribing, wheedling, and batting her eyes to get my restaurant shut down by a crooked cop.”
“I am nothing like my mother,” Madeline snapped, her calm façade finally cracking at the mention of Mab. “She was a grand fool.”
“Mab was many things, but she was never, ever a fool. Not when it came to me. She once hired a whole squad of bounty hunters to come to Ashland just to hunt me down. And when she finally figured out who I was, well, she called me out herself, face-to-face, elemental to elemental, villain to villain. You could have done the same. You should have done the same. Challenged me to a duel and tried to kill me yourself with your acid magic.”
I snorted and gave another dismissive wave of my hand. “But you? With your sly little schemes? You’re just a pale, weak imitation of her, sugar.”
Madeline couldn’t stop herself from sucking in a ragged breath at my insult, but I wasn’t done yet.
I leaned over the counter so that our faces were inches apart. “You should have killed me the second you had the chance. That’s the other mistake you made, and that’s the one that’s going to cost you—everything.”
Madeline’s green eyes burned with anger, and I could almost see the gears grinding in her mind as she debated whether to reach for her acid magic and try to take me out, right here, right now, all her elaborate schemes be damned. But after a moment, she blinked, then blinked again, and the hot rage in her gaze cooled, congealed, and crystallized into icy, calculating hate. Yeah. Mine too.
I stayed up in her face a few seconds longer to let her know that I’d seen her hesitation, then drew back behind the cash register. “You should have come at me head-on, but you just had to play a little game with me instead.”
“Perhaps I like my games,” Madeline replied, her voice and features mild and unruffled again.
“Oh, I know you do. But there’s one problem with playing games.”
She arched her eyebrow at me again. “Oh, really? What’s that?”
I smiled, showing her my teeth and all the cold, cold venom in my heart. “There’s always a chance that you can lose.”
Another flash of uncertainty darkened her eyes before she was able to hide it. “I never lose, Gin. And I don’t intend to now.”
“Intentions are for fools. You do, or you don’t. Or in your case, you just die.”
Her crimson lips pulled back, and she returned my smile with an even wider, toothier one of her own. “Oh, I think that you’re talking about yourself in this case, Gin. After all, you’re the one in trouble with the law, not me.”
“We’ll see.”
“Yes, we will,” she murmured. “Yes, we will.”
We stared at each other a few more seconds before Madeline tilted her head at me.
“As much as I enjoy our little chats, I’m afraid I must be going. I’ve still got that dedication to attend. And you . . .” She stared around the deserted restaurant. “Well, you’ve got a lot of problems to take care of, don’t you?”
I didn’t respond.
“But don’t let this little bit of unpleasantness get you down. I do hope that you enjoy the rest of your day, Gin. I know I certainly will.”
Madeline gave me one more arrogant smirk before she pivoted on her white stiletto and sashayed out of the Pork Pit.
8
I would have liked nothing more than to palm a knife, run around the counter, and bury the blade up to the hilt in Madeline’s back. But I couldn’t do that. Not without getting even more stuck in her web than I already was.
Besides, Emery and Dobson were peering in through the windows, waiting for me to attack Madeline. Attempted murder would land me in a jail cell lickety-split, and if that happened, then the acid elemental would get exactly what she wanted.
I wasn’t about to fall into that trap, so I let her walk away—for now.
A few seconds later, the front door opened, and Silvio stepped inside.
I untied my apron, pulled it off, and tossed it onto the counter. “Now what?”
He came over to me, grabbed his silverstone briefcase from where he’d left it on the counter, and opened it, sliding his tablet inside. “They’re taking Sophia down to the main police station to book her for assaulting Dobson. Given the situation, I suggest that we follow them and be waiting when they process her so we can bail her out as quickly as possible.”
I nodded, scanning the storefront, but Catalina was nothing if not efficient. In addition to cashing out the customers, she’d also gone ahead and turned off the appliances, put the extra food away, and stacked the dirty dishes into plastic tubs. All I had to do was walk out the front door, lock it behind me, and the restaurant would be closed.
The only loose end was the dead woman in the freezer, but it wasn’t like I could move her body to a better location right now. Not with Dobson and the cops milling around outside and peering in through the windows. I didn’t even dare to leave the storefront and go stack some boxes on top of the freezer. The cops might notice, come back in, and search the restaurant again.
But instead of leaving, I settled my gaze on the framed, blood-spattered copy of Where the Red Fern Grows that hung on the wall close to the cash register. My own little tribute to Fletcher, since that was the book he’d been reading the night he was tortured to death in the Pork Pit.
I hadn’t been able to save Fletcher, but I wouldn’t lose his restaurant too. I would find a way to beat Madeline at her own game, as dark, dangerous, and twisted as it was. I wasn’t going to leave anything to chance, not anymore, so I went over and took the framed book off the wall, along with a photo of Fletcher and his friend Warren T. Fox, taken back when they were young.
