Poison Promise
Page 16

And I knew what my answer would be, what it should have been all along: no f**king way.
But before I could tell Benson what he could do with his offer, one of the doors at the front of the club banged open, and a man rushed inside. It was the vamp who’d been stationed by the main entrance, the one who’d been keeping such a careful watch out for me.
“Boss!” he called out, hurrying over to the dance floor, his gun in his hand. “Boss! I just found Johnny by the back of the club. He’s dead—” The vamp skidded to a halt at the sight of me sitting with Benson. “She’s—she’s here!”
“Yes, Derrick, she’s here,” Benson said. “And you were supposed to warn me the second you saw her. Not let her kill Johnny and enter the club undetected. I am most disappointed with you.”
His voice was calm, but Derrick swallowed, his face suddenly pale. Benson got to his feet and straightened his glasses. Behind the bar, Roslyn tensed, as if she knew what was coming. So did the third man, who’d been standing behind Benson, but he lifted his gun, clearly ready to shoot anyone who dared to interfere with his boss. Silvio remained as stoic as ever, although a muscle ticked in his jaw and his eyes glittered with some emotion I couldn’t quite identify. It almost seemed as though Silvio were dreading what his boss was about to do next, even though he knew that he couldn’t stop it. I stayed in my seat, but I palmed a knife under the table.
Benson faced Derrick. He smiled again, showing off his fangs.
“Oh, shit,” Derrick whispered.
Apparently, he’d seen the horror show before, and he wanted no part of it. Unlike Troy, he actually tried to get away. Derrick raised his gun and fired off a few shots, even as he started backpedaling. But his aim was lousy, and the bullets zipped up toward the ceiling instead of thunking into Benson’s chest. I doubted they would have made a difference anyway.
Derrick didn’t get three steps before Benson was on him.
One second, the vamp was standing beside the table. The next, he’d leaped halfway across the dance floor, some forty feet, to where his victim was. Drinking blood gave most vamps enhanced strength and speed, but Benson’s long jump was truly spectacular. I wondered if the emotions he’d siphoned off Troy last night gave him even more power than drinking blood did. If so, that made Benson doubly dangerous.
Benson didn’t waste any time trying to soothe Derrick like he had with Troy. Instead, he latched on to Derrick’s arm, dragged the other man up against him, and buried his fangs in his minion’s neck. The poor bastard didn’t even have time to scream.
One, two, three slurps later, Benson let Derrick drop to the dance floor—dead.
I’d seen vamps drink before, and I’d had a particular nasty one take more than a few bites out of me, but Benson’s strike was supremely surgical—quick, brutal, effective.
And surprisingly neat. Somehow he had managed to avoid getting so much as a single drop of blood on his pink shirt and white pants. But his eyes now gleamed an electric blue behind his glasses, as his body absorbed the blood, the life, he’d just taken. I waited, wondering if his body, his muscles, would expand the way they had in the garage last night, but his figure remained lean and gangly. Perhaps that only happened when Benson ripped out someone’s emotions, instead of just his blood.
Benson stepped over Derrick’s body and strolled back to the table. Silvio held out his chair, and the vamp dropped into the seat again. Silvio stepped back, and Benson picked up his Bloody Mary and drained the rest of the drink.
“Refreshing,” he murmured, setting the glass back down on the table.
I wasn’t sure if he was talking about the liquor or the blood. I didn’t really want to know.
Benson plucked the celery stalk out of the glass. The sound of his teeth tearing into the crisp vegetable was even louder than Derrick’s gunshots had been. Benson took two more big bites of the celery before he dropped the leafy remains back into his glass.
Once again, he eyed me intently, that faraway look glazing his face, even as that invisible sandpaper scraped up against my skin. But I ignored the horrid sensation, pushed my anger down, and concentrated on remaining calm.
Benson blinked, his features cleared, and the blue glow in his eyes dimmed, as though he were disappointed by my lack of shock, surprise, and disgust.
“Please think about my terms, Gin. I would hate for your sister to share Derrick’s fate—or, worse, that of her informant.”
Behind the bar, Roslyn let out a strangled gasp. She knew exactly what happened to people who threatened my family. They ended up exactly like Derrick—or worse.
Usually worse.
Still, Roslyn was my family too, and I wasn’t about to risk her safety to try to take out Benson. Not while he was riding high on all the blood he’d ingested. Not when he was purposefully trying to bait me into attacking him. Not when he wanted me to make a move against him, probably so he could use his magic to suck out my emotions and complete his afternoon feast.
If there was one thing I was good at, it was waiting, and there would be plenty of time to kill Beauregard Benson later.
“I don’t speak for my sister,” I said. “Although I can imagine what she would say to your offer. Starts with F, ends with you. You’re a smart guy. I’m sure you can fill in the blanks.”
Benson gave me a thin smile, his teeth rimmed with pink from his drink and Derrick’s blood. “Perhaps you should have a chat with her, then. Consider it a suggestion between colleagues.”
“We are not colleagues,” I snarled.
He waved his hand. “Whatever label you want to put on it, then. Anyway, I’m afraid I must be going. I have another appointment to keep. But do think about what I said, Gin.”
Benson got to his feet and snapped his fingers. Silvio stepped forward and reached into his gray suit jacket. I tensed, but he only produced a business card, which he placed on the table between me and his boss.
“If you need to reach me, Silvio can pass along any message,” Benson said, bowing low to me again. “Good day, Gin. It was such a pleasure to meet you. And let me be the first to say that the legend of the Spider doesn’t disappoint in person.”
With a final, bland, polite nod, Benson strode off the dance floor, stepped over his own man’s dead body, and left Northern Aggression.
Silvio and the third man stopped long enough to grab Derrick’s arms, then dragged his corpse out of the club, following along behind their boss and the death he’d left in his wake.
13
I waited until the front doors banged shut behind Benson and his men before I got to my feet and hurried over to Roslyn, who was still standing behind the Ice bar.
“You okay?” I asked, setting my knife down on top of the frosty surface. “What happened?”
Instead of answering me, Roslyn reached under the bar, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and fixed herself a double shot. She threw back the liquor like it was water, then made herself another double, which she also downed. It took her a third double before she finally met my gaze. Even then, the alcohol had done little to dull the fear straining her face or the faint tremors that shook her body.
“There was a knock on the back door,” Roslyn said. “I was expecting a delivery, so I opened it without looking. They stormed into the club, guns drawn, and Benson made me sit down with him.”
It was more or less what I’d expected, and her soft words only made me angrier. “Then what?”
“Benson told me to call and get you to come over here. I’m so sorry, Gin, but I didn’t have a choice.”
I waved away her apology. “I know you didn’t. Thank you for warning me that something was wrong.”
She stared at the spot on the dance floor where Derrick had died. Not so much as a speck of blood marred the surface, but Roslyn still shuddered. “I’d forgotten how cruel he can be.”
“You know Benson?”
She shuddered again. “From back when I was still on the streets.”
I frowned. “But I thought he was just into drugs.”
“He is now,” Roslyn said. “But back then, twenty years ago, when he was first starting out, he ran girls, guys too. I didn’t work for him, but I still paid him protection money not to hurt me. That’s how vicious he was. Eventually, he took over most of the other gangs. He was powerful enough that even Mab left him alone, as long as he stayed in Southtown and out of her way.”
“How did you get away from him? Benson doesn’t seem like the type to let anyone go.”
A wry smile curved Roslyn’s lips, chasing away some of her fear. “He isn’t—or wasn’t. But I scrimped and scrounged and saved up every penny I could get my hands on, and I made him an offer—a hundred thousand dollars to let me strike out on my own.”
I let out a low whistle. “And he agreed to it?”
“He thought of it as an experiment of sorts. He’s big on that, you know. Putting people in certain situations, seeing how they react and whether or not they can keep their promises to him.” Her voice dropped to a whisper again. “He likes it when people fail.”
I thought of Troy and Derrick. “Actions and consequences.”
She nodded. “He thought that the club would fail and that I’d have to come crawling back to him. Then he would have had me and my money.” She lifted her chin. “But that didn’t happen, and it never, ever will.”
Roslyn was a smart, savvy businesswoman. In her own way, she was more ruthless about her club than I was with my knives. Because not only was Northern Aggression Roslyn’s pride and joy, but it also supported her sister, Lisa, and her young niece, Catherine.
“Has Xavier said anything to you about Bria? Or what happened at the parking garage?”
“He told me everything.” She shook her head. “Poor Catalina. That girl has no idea what she’s gotten herself into. Doesn’t she know that no one talks in Southtown?”
Last night, I would have agreed with Roslyn. But now, after Benson had threatened her and Bria, my perspective had changed, and I saw how truly brave Catalina was being.
Even if it would most likely be the death of her.
Roslyn poured herself another drink, although she only cupped the glass between her hands, instead of throwing back the whiskey like she had before. “You need to watch out for Bria. I know she’s faced down a lot of bad guys, but Benson is worse than most. You saw what he did to Derrick.” Another tremor swept through her body. “And he wasn’t even using his magic.”
“Magic? What magic? What’s his deal? Benson said that he didn’t like to drink blood, but he seemed happy enough to sink his fangs into Derrick.”
“Oh, he still drinks blood,” Roslyn said. “We all have to do that. But Benson really gets his kicks by feeding on people’s emotions. It’s a rare vampiric ability. Xavier told me that’s what he did to Bria’s informant and the guy in the parking garage. That he pulled the fear and terror right out of them and left nothing behind but the empty husks of their bodies. Anger, lust, rage, sorrow, heartache. He can yank the smallest bit of feeling out of anyone. And when he digs out your emotions, he digs out the power that’s inside you too, whether it’s a giant’s strength or an elemental’s magic.”
I thought of the way Benson had kept staring at me and the feel of that invisible sandpaper scraping against my skin. So I’d been right, and he’d been trying to sense my emotions, trying to rile me up so he could tear the anger out of me, along with my Ice and Stone magic.
I tapped my fingers against the cold bar. “He must have some special form of Air magic, maybe one that only vampires have and that they can only use in this one particular way, for him to be able to rip out people’s emotions with just a touch of his hand. I’ll have to ask Jo-Jo about it—”
The beep of a car horn outside the club, along with the screech of tires on the pavement, cut off my words. Roslyn and I looked at each other. Someone wanted to get in here in a hurry.
“Get down!” I hissed. “Behind the bar!”
Roslyn stopped long enough to yank her shotgun out of its slot, then disappeared behind the thick, glittering sheet of elemental Ice. I grabbed my knife off the bar and raced toward the front of the club, plastering myself up against the wall inside the entrance.
I’d barely gotten into position when the doors burst open, and three figures rushed inside, all with guns in their hands.
•
Two men and a woman raced by my position, and I let them go, instead of stepping out of the shadows and confronting them. I didn’t want to get shot by accident. The three figures were so focused on what was up ahead in the club that they never even noticed me lurking behind them. I slid my knife back up my sleeve and followed them at a more sedate pace.
Xavier, Bria, and Finn skidded to a halt and took up a position so that they were back-to-back-to-back in the middle of the dance floor, their guns up, their eyes cutting left and right, looking for enemies.
“Roslyn!” Xavier called out.
“Here! I’m here!” Roslyn replied, standing up behind the Ice bar.
Xavier went over and grabbed her in a fierce hug, lifting her off her feet with one arm before he set her back down. He holstered his gun, cradled her face in his hands, and started whispering to Roslyn, who kept nodding, trying to convince him that she was fine.
“Where’s Gin?” Finn asked.
“On your blind side,” I drawled. “Just like always.”
I stepped out onto the dance floor where he could see me. Finn lowered his gun and raised his eyebrows at me in a silent question. I nodded back, letting him know that I was okay.