Elemental Assassin 01 - Spider's Bite

stock, just like me and so many other folks in the Appalachian Mountains. His eyes would have been a merry green, if they hadn’t been mostly swelled shut. Cuts and bruises showed on his face, and blood dribbled down his chin, spattering on his white dress shirt, black pants, and polished shoes.
    Anger filled me at the sight of Finn’s battered face, but I pushed it aside and kept staring at his body, looking for missing pieces of skin and other signs of torture. I didn’t see any, and the stench of ripped flesh didn’t contaminate the air. The Air elemental who’d tortured Fletcher wasn’t here—yet.
    Finn looked like he’d been out on the town before he’d been tied up. He might have even been at the opera tonight. Finn enjoyed those sorts of social functions, mixing with rich people who had even more secrets than he did and would do anything to keep them.
    If Finn had been at the opera house, it would have been easy enough to grab him in the confusion and bring him back to the apartment for a more private conversation. It would also explain the delay in having tortured and killed him by now.
    I studied the guards. The first guy was almost seven feet tall, with wide, powerful shoulders, pale, milky skin, and oversize, buglike eyes. A giant, and definitely the muscle, which is why I didn’t see any bulges under his loose-fitting suit. Who needed a gun when your fists were the size of bowling balls?
    The other guy was shorter, a human. His skin was dark, like polished ebony, and he wore a set of square, gold-frame glasses. He carried a gun—one under either shoulder.
    As I watched, Shortie stepped forward.
    “Just tell us where she is, and this can all be over with,” he said in a pleasant voice. “I promise we’ll make the end quick. Three in the back of your head. You won’t feel a thing.”
    Finnegan raised his head and stared at the guy through his bruised, swollen face. “Here’s what I think of you and your fucking promises.”
    Finn spat blood into Shortie’s face. The scarlet spittle hit his glasses, spewing over the lenses like windshield washer fluid. Shortie straightened and removed his glasses. He jerked his head at Tall Guy, who slammed his fist into Finn’s face. His nose popped and crunched like cereal. Despite the beating, I had to smile. Finnegan Lane never lacked for defiance or style.
    Tall Guy finished his latest round of punishment, and Finn sat there coughing up blood. Shortie drew a handkerchief out of his pocket and cleaned his glasses. Once the lenses were back on his face, Shortie circled Finn, trying his tactic again.
    “Surely you see how pointless this is. Your father is already dead.”
    Fletcher. Hearing the words out loud was a bitch slap to my heart. I gritted my teeth against the pain and focused on what was important now—Finn.
    “No one is coming to save you,” Shortie continued. “Certainly not the assassin. She jumped off a two-hundred-foot balcony at the opera house. If the fall didn’t kill her, she’s probably on her way out of town—if the police don’t catch up with her first.”
    I frowned. Police? I didn’t like the sound of that. Especially the way Shortie referred to them as if they were his own personal force. This had morphed from a mere setup into a full-blown conspiracy. I wondered how long Brutus, Shortie, and their compatriots had been planning this—and how Fletcher, Finn, and I had been so sloppy as to get caught in the middle of this sticky spiderweb.
    “Come on,” Shortie wheedled. “Make it easy on yourself. Tell us where she might go. That’s all we want. Some places to start looking for her—if she’s not already dead.”
    Finn laughed, though the effort made him cough up more blood.
    “What’s so funny?” Shortie asked. “I would think a man in your situation would be incapable of something as foolish as laughter.”
    Finn raised his head. A twinkle of green could be seen through the red and purple bruises that marred his face. “She’s not dead, and you haven’t caught her because she’s smarter than you are. Better. Stronger. But she’ll be coming for you soon, asshole. You and whoever you work for. You might as well start planning your own funeral.”
    “She’s only one woman,” Shortie pointed out.
    Finn laughed again, a deep, throaty chuckle that tugged at me. I’d never realized before how much his laugh sounded like Fletcher’s.
    “She’s not one woman—she’s the fucking Spider. That’s why you