Elemental Assassin 03 - Venom

bodies that I’d left in my wake.
    Owen could draw his own fucking conclusions and act accordingly. And when he told me to get the hell out of his office and never come back, I’d go quietly and without anger or malice. Because before he’d left town, before he’d left me, Detective Donovan Caine had taught me an important, if painful lesson—that anyone who couldn’t accept me for who and what I was wasn’t worth wasting my time on.
    So I stood there, and I waited for Owen to tell me to leave.
    “I suppose I should thank you for killing Jake McAllister,” he said. “After I found out that he’d threatened Eva that night at your restaurant, I wanted to snap the little bastard’s neck myself. I might have too, if not for Jonah McAllister and his connection to Mab Monroe.”
    Owen uncrossed his arms and flexed the fingers on one hand, then the other, as if he’d still like to get his hands on Jake McAllister, even though the Fire elemental was currently rotting in his grave.
    “Don’t thank me,” I said. “I didn’t do it for you.”
    “No,” he replied. “You did it for yourself. Because Jake McAllister was going to keep on making problems for you. Just like Tobias Dawson was making problems for Violet Fox and her grandfather, because Warren Fox wouldn’t sell his land and store to Dawson.”
    Surprised, I frowned. “You knew about the Foxes’ troubles with Dawson?”
    Owen nodded. “Eva told me about it. I offered to intercede on Warren’s behalf, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Grumpy old bastard.”
    “Warren T. Fox is definitely all that.”
    We shared a smile, and for the first time, a bit of hope flickered in my chest. Because instead of the cold disgust I’d expected to see, warm respect filled Owen’s violet eyes. He kept studying me, that strange, thoughtful expression on his face once more.
    “You don’t remember me, do you, Gin?” Owen asked.
    I raised my eyebrows at the sudden change in conversation. “Should I?”
    He shrugged. “Maybe I’m a sentimental fool, but when a girl saves your life, you hope she remembers you after the fact.”
    I’d saved Owen Grayson’s life? When had that happened? And why had I done it in the first place? I wasn’t in the habit of saving anyone but myself. My eyes narrowed. “Sorry. Not ringing any bells.”
    The corner of his lips lifted into a half smile. “I thought not. Given all the other… excitement you’ve confessed to just tonight, I suppose I shouldn’t be disappointed.”
    I just stared at him, searching my memory foranything that would tell me what he was talking about, but I came up blank. As far as I could remember, the first time I’d ever set eyes on Owen Grayson was the night he’d come to the Pork Pit to pick up Eva after Jake McAllister had tried to rob the restaurant. Oh sure, I’d seen his picture in the newspaper and his face on the evening news, since he was one of the movers and shakers in Ashland. But that night in the restaurant was the first time I’d ever been up close and personal with him.
    Owen sighed, walked around the desk, and sat down on the far edge. He gestured for me to do the same, so I perched on the opposite corner.
    “I don’t know how much you know about me, Gin, but my parents died in a fire when I was a teenager. There wasn’t any money or insurance or other relatives we could stay with, so Eva and I were out on the streets. She was little more than a baby then.”
    I knew what it was like to live on the mean streets of Ashland. Cold, hard, depressing, constantly cowering in dark corners so the bigger and stronger wouldn’t decide to take an interest in you. It had been hard enough by myself at thirteen. I couldn’t imagine being responsible for someone else as well back then.
    “Anyway,” Owen said. “We didn’t have any money for food, so I begged mostly or stole what I could. One night, I found myself in the alley behind this barbecue restaurant near Southtown. It was winter and cold, and Eva and I hadn’t eaten in days.”
    A tiny flicker of memory sparked to life in the back of my mind. A fuzzy image that I’d all but forgotten. I remembered that snowy winter—and the scrawny teenagerI’d seen behind the Pork Pit one night, digging through the cold trash for something to eat.
    “The back door of the restaurant opened, and this girl stepped out, carrying a black trash bag. She was a few years younger than me,” Owen said in a low voice. “She saw me digging through