Elemental Assassin 01 - Spider's Bite

turned onto the appropriate street and headed north to Jo-Jo’s. My route took us past the Pork Pit. The neon pig gleamed like a beacon in the darkness. I tried not to think of Fletcher, lying in a pool of his own blood in the storefront, but the image of his flayed body, his ruined flesh, filled my mind. For the second time tonight, hot tears pricked my eyes. Damn. I hadn’t cried this much since I was a kid.
    Finn saw the sheen of moisture. “Hey, hey. He wouldn’t want you to do that. You know how he felt about crying.”
    “A waste of time, energy, and resources.”
    The words came automatically, the way so many of Fletcher’s teachings do. The tears were harder to force back, but I managed.
    I always managed.
    We rode in silence. I coasted to a stop at a red light and drew in a breath. Time to get on with things. Finn and I needed to talk before we got to Jo-Jo’s.
    “Tell me about it. Where you were, how they jumped you, why they brought you back to your apartment.”
    “Sure.” Finn moved his beaten body to one side so he could look at me without turning his head. “Dad had told me about the job, of course, so I decided to attend the grand opening of the new wing at the opera house. For moral support.”
    I raised an eyebrow.
    “All right, so my lady friend wanted to go too, and I had some clients to schmooze with,” Finn admitted. “Several birds, one stone. Know what I mean?”
    “Sure,” I said in a wry tone.
    Finn continued his story. “So I’m at the opera house, private box, wonderful seats, when I hear a man scream. At least, I think it was a man. Rather light in his loafers if you ask me.”
    Gordon Giles, after I’d cut the other assassin’s throat.
    “And I figured you’d done your thing and were on your way out of the building. So me and the lady friend go outside with everyone else to see what the commotion’s about. And I spot a guy holding a gun chasing after a slim black figure.”
    Donovan Caine pounding down the hallway after me.
    “The news leaks out there’s been a murder in one of the private boxes. My lady friend is very, very upset, so I suggest we go somewhere a little quieter where she can calm down.”
    I rolled my eyes again. “You mean where you can get her alone and have I’m-so-happy-I didn’t-get-my-throat-cut sex.”
    A faint grin pulled up Finn’s fat, split lips. “We go downstairs to one of the private salons and become otherwise engaged. The door bangs open just as things are getting interesting.”
    “So they caught you with your pants down.”
    Finn sighed. “The bastards could have at least let us finish. But they pulled me away, told my lady friend to scram, and drove me to my apartment. I suppose they were hoping you’d show up to save me.”
    “Did they say anything? Any mention of who they were working for? Why they wanted Gordon Giles dead? Anything?”
    “Nothing.” Finn shook his head. “They just started hitting me and demanded to know where you were.”
    I kept driving, stopping at red lights, making the appropriate turns, keeping the car just under the speed limit. The last thing I needed was to get stopped by the police, especially considering the fact Finn and I were both covered in blood. We were almost to Jo-Jo’s when Finn asked me the question I’d been dreading ever since I’d stormed into his apartment.
    “What—what about Dad?” he asked in a low voice. “What did they do to him?”
    My heart lurched, but I kept my gray eyes on the road, avoiding Finn’s bright, searching gaze. My hands strangled the steering wheel. I wished it was the Air elemental’s neck instead.
    “Stabbed him to death. I found him in the Pork Pit. He was already dead when I got there.”
    I left out the part about the Air elemental and the gruesome torture. Finn didn’t need to hear about that. Despite his shady deals and occasional need for violence, Finnegan Lane really was a gentle soul. Suits, cars, women, cash, those were the things he enjoyed. Finn was perfectly happy to fuck and drink his way through life, counting his money and scheming to get more. Harmless, by Ashland standards. And the reason Fletcher had trained me to be the assassin and not his son, even though at thirty-two, Finn was two years older than me. I was stronger than Finn. Harder. Colder. I’d had to be just to survive my childhood.
    Finn kept staring at me, wanting to know the rest of the story. I gave him the short, edited version. The fight with Brutus at