“You say potato, I say opportunity.”
I started to respond when a faint creak sounded in the hallway outside, as though someone had stepped on a floorboard. I froze. The creak came again, louder and closer this time, and it was followed by something far, far worse—the distinctive snick of a key sliding in a lock.
“Let’s have a drink,” a faint, muffled voice said just on the other side of the door.
I bolted for the window, intending to yank it up and dive through the opening. Otherwise, I was caught, and all my careful surveillance of Damian Rivera and the other Circle members would have been for nothing.
But I’d forgotten about the white velvet bow hanging from the window frame, and I ran straight into it. Even worse, the fabric decided to stick to me, like an octopus clutching at my clothes.
“Shit!” I hissed, trying to peel off the clinging velvet and open the window at the same time. “Shit, shit, shit!”
“Gin?” Finn’s voice rang in my ear, sharp with worry. “What’s wrong?”
I finally slapped the bow away and grabbed hold of the frame. “I thought you said that Rivera was attending some charity dinner tonight?”
“He is. According to my sources, he RSVP’d several weeks ago. It didn’t even start until seven o’clock, so the dinner shouldn’t be anywhere close to being finished.”
“Well, tell that to Rivera,” I muttered. “Because he’s right outside the office.”
“Get out of there, Gin.” Finn’s voice crackled with even more worry. “Get out of there right now.”
I hoisted up the window, wincing at the faint screech it made. “Way ahead of you.”
As soon as the glass was out of the way, I ducked through the opening and stepped out onto the roof.
At least, I tried to.
My foot caught on that stupid bow again, and my leg stuck straight out in midair, as though I were doing a complicated yoga pose. I ground my teeth and yanked my foot free of the clutching fabric. The sudden, violent, jerking motion pitched me forward, but I managed to stagger away from the window and catch myself before I did a header onto the roof—or worse, fell off it completely.
The second I regained my balance, I whipped around and hurried back over to the window, reaching for the frame to push it down.
Across the office, the antique crystal knob turned and the door rattled, as though someone was putting his shoulder into the wood to force it open.
“Damn door always sticks,” a deep male voice said.
The crystal knob turned again, and the door finally swung open. I grabbed the frame and shoved the window down as fast as I could. But I didn’t have the best grip on it, and I didn’t manage to close it all the way. I grunted, trying to force the window down that final inch, even as a man stepped into the office.
If I could see him, then he could see me, so I abandoned the window and lurched to the side to get out of sight. My heart hammered in my chest, beating up into my throat, and I snapped my hand down to my side, palming a knife and waiting for the inevitable shouts of surprise and discovery.
One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . .
Ten . . . twenty . . . thirty . . .
Forty-five . . . sixty . . . ninety . . .
I counted off the seconds in my head, but more than a minute passed, and no alarms blared. Instead, something else echoed out of the office and through the slightly open window to me.
Tinkle-tinkle.
The distinctive sound of ice cubes dropping into a glass, followed by the crack of a bottle opening and a steady glug-glug-glug of liquid, eased some of my worry. Still gripping my knife, I dropped into a low crouch, crept forward, and peered through the glass.
Sure enough, Damian Rivera had come home early from his charity dinner. He looked the same as in all the glamour shots propped up on the fireplace mantel—black hair, perfect teeth, trim figure poured into an expensive gray suit. The only things that the airbrushed photos didn’t show were the red flush that stained his bronze cheeks and his slow, exaggerated movements. Someone had already had a few too many.
And he was intent on having even more. Rivera tossed back his Scotch and poured himself another round, filling his glass almost to the top, like he was dying of thirst. He took another healthy swallow, draining half of this Scotch, before turning and gesturing at someone.
“Well, don’t just stand out there,” he said, his voice a suave purr. “Come in and have a drink.”
A long, suffering sigh sounded, and another man stepped into my line of sight. With his black hair and expensive suit, he could have been an older, fiftysomething clone of Damian Rivera, if not for the black goatee that clung to his chin and the displeased pucker of his lips. And unlike Rivera’s sloppy state, this man’s black eyes were sharp and clear and fixed in a cold, flat stare that I knew all too well.
Hugh Tucker, the Circle’s number one vampire enforcer and my nemesis.
I sucked in a breath, my fingers curling even tighter around the knife in my hand.
“Gin?” Finn’s voice rang in my ear again. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I whispered. “I got back out onto the roof in time. Rivera’s inside the office now. Tucker’s with him.”
“Be careful,” Finn said. “If Tucker sees you—”
“I know, I know. Quiet now. I want to hear what they’re saying.”
A faint muffle sounded through my transmitter as though Finn had started to deliver another warning, but he fell silent. I scooted forward, tilting my head so that my ear was close to the window opening.
Tucker reluctantly joined Rivera at the bar, although he didn’t sit down on one of the padded stools. Instead, he watched his companion grab a second glass and fill it with ice and Scotch. Rivera pushed the glass across the bar to Tucker, but the vampire didn’t deign to pick it up.
Rivera grinned, not bothered in the least by the other man’s obvious hostility. He raised his own glass in a silent, mocking toast, drained all the amber liquor inside, and smacked his lips together. “You really should try the Scotch. It’s Brighton’s Best, straight from Bigtime, New York. Costs a fortune, but it’s worth it.”
Tucker’s reply was a decidedly noncommittal “Mmm.”
Rivera poured himself a third Scotch and moved away from the bar. He staggered across the office and flung himself down onto one of the brown leather couches, making it creak under his weight.
“So, Hugh,” Rivera said, his voice slurring just a bit. “What was so important that I had to leave my dinner and my lovely lady and rush back to meet you?”
Instead of answering, Tucker headed over to the fireplace, moving down the line of photos and staring at each one in turn, just as I had done. His nostrils flared with disgust as he eyed all of Rivera’s glamour shots, though he quickly moved past those, stopping at that picture of Richard and Maria Rivera standing with their son. Tucker’s nostrils flared again, as though something about the photo greatly displeased him, and he nudged the frame with his index finger, so that it was crooked and out of line with the others.
“You know exactly why I’m here.” Tucker crossed his arms over his chest and turned to face Rivera. “It’s the same problem that I brought to your attention several weeks ago. One that you have done absolutely nothing to correct.”
Rivera shrugged. “That’s because I don’t see it as a problem.”
“Well, you should,” Tucker snapped. “Since it is entirely your fault.”
Rivera leaned back against the couch, settling himself even deeper into the plush leather. He toed off his black wing tips and propped his socked feet up on an overstuffed ottoman that matched the couch.
“So what if it’s my fault? No one knows about it, which means that no one’s going to do anything about it. That means that it’s not really a problem at all.”
Tucker’s eyes narrowed at Rivera’s breezy tone, but the other man was too boozed up to notice the vampire’s clenched jaw and how his index finger tapped impatiently against his opposite elbow. I got the impression that Hugh Tucker was one more cavalier dismissal away from crossing the office, snatching Damian Rivera up off the couch, and snapping his neck.
Well, that would have been fine and dandy with me. I didn’t much care exactly how the members of the Circle died, only that their reign of terror ended and that they finally paid for ordering my mother’s murder. For once, I actually found myself rooting for Tucker, hoping that he would give in to his anger and take care of Rivera once and for all.
But of course that didn’t happen.
Tucker uncrossed his arms and smoothed his gray tie and matching suit jacket, using the motions to help get his anger and annoyance under control. His voice was as cold as the winter wind tangling my hair when he spoke again. “Well, I know about it, which means that he knows about it. You know as well as I do that he doesn’t like complications, and he certainly doesn’t need them, especially now.”
My eyes narrowed. He? Tucker had to be talking about his boss, the mysterious leader of the Circle who pulled the rest of the group’s evil strings. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be a complete bust after all.
Come on, Tuck. Say his name. That’s all I need you to do. Say his name, say his name, say his name . . .
Rivera snorted. “Really? He doesn’t want complications? You mean like all the ones you’ve caused by not killing Gin Blanco yet?”
Tucker stiffened at the insult.
Rivera gave him a razor-thin smile, knowing that he’d scored a direct hit. “You know how our little group loves to gossip. I heard all about it. How you thought that you’d forced Blanco into finding and handing over those jewels from Deirdre’s tourist-trap theme park. But Blanco hoodwinked you instead, didn’t she? Gave you a bag full of fakes—and you were too stupid to know the difference. Why, the way I heard it, you proudly handed all of those fake jewels over to our fearless leader, and he was so angry that he crushed them all with his bare hands right in front of you, then made you clean up the mess.”
Tucker’s lips pressed into a tight line, but he didn’t say anything.
“Face it, Hugh.” Rivera’s voice took on a sneering, mocking tone. “You might work for him, but you’ll never be one of us. Not really. Never again. Not only did your father squander your family’s wealth, but he ruined your position in the group. You’ll never get back that standing, that respect, no matter how hard you try.”
Tucker’s face remained flat and expressionless, but he couldn’t hide the faint red blush creeping up his neck, almost as if he were embarrassed by Rivera’s revelations.
I frowned. I’d thought that Hugh Tucker was second in command of the Circle, right below the mysterious he. But Rivera was making Tucker sound like some castoff, some poor country cousin that had fallen on hard times. Some servant that the members of the Circle charitably let do their dirty work in exchange for the privilege of hovering in their highfalutin orbit. It almost made me feel sorry for the vampire.
Almost.
“And then, of course, there was your unfortunate choice of women back then, which only compounds all your many mistakes with Blanco now.” Rivera’s lips curved up into a cruel smile. “Tell me, Hugh, are you still carrying a torch for Eira Snow after all these years?”
I gasped, shock jolting through my body like a lightning bolt. I lurched back from the window, causing one of my feet to slip out from under me. My other foot went flying, and my ass hit the roof a second later.
Thud.
For a moment, I just sat there, eyes wide, mouth gaping open, arms and legs splayed out at awkward angles, knife dangling from my fingertips, as though someone had just shot me in the heart and let my body drop wherever it may. My mind struggled to process Rivera’s words, like I was trying to translate some foreign language I’d never heard before.
Hugh Tucker and my mother?
No—no, no, no, no, no.
As soon as the horrible thought formed in my mind, I forced it away. There was no way that Tucker had loved my mother. Not when he’d stood by and let Mab Monroe kill her. But my mind kept churning, and another equally horrible thought popped into my head.
My mother couldn’t have possibly loved Tucker in return . . . could she?
No—no, no, no, no, no.
Bile rose in my throat, and I thought I was going to vomit all over the roof—
Soft scuffs sounded, penetrating my sick shock, and I noticed a shadow next to me on the roof, growing larger and larger, as though someone were walking toward the window and blocking the light from inside the office. I hadn’t made a lot of noise falling on my ass, but Tucker was a vampire, and the blood that he drank was more than enough to give him enhanced senses, including supersharp hearing.
Years of Fletcher’s training took over, cutting through the last of my shock, and I scrambled to my feet, lunged forward, and pressed myself up against the side of the mansion, leaning my head forward just enough so that I could still see in through the glass.
Not a moment too soon.
Acknowledgments
As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to all the folks who help turn my words into a book.
Thanks go to my agent, Annelise Robey, and my editor, Adam Wilson, for all their helpful advice, support, and encouragement. Thanks also to Melissa Bendixen.
Thanks to Tony Mauro for designing another terrific cover, and thanks to Louise Burke, Lisa Litwack, and everyone else at Pocket Books and Simon & Schuster for their work on the cover, the book, and the series.
And finally, a big thanks to all the readers. Knowing that folks read and enjoy my books is truly humbling, and I’m glad that you are all enjoying Gin and her adventures.
I appreciate you all more than you will ever know.
Happy reading!
About the Author
JENNIFER ESTEP is a New York Times, USA Today, and international bestselling author prowling the streets of her imagination in search of her next fantasy idea. Spider’s Bite, Web of Lies, Venom, Tangled Threads, Spider’s Revenge, By a Thread, Widow’s Web, Deadly Sting, Heart of Venom, The Spider, Poison Promise, Black Widow, Spider’s Trap, Bitter Bite, Unraveled, and Snared, along with the e-shorts Thread of Death, Parlor Tricks, Kiss of Venom, Unwanted, and Nice Guys Bite, are the other works in her red-hot Elemental Assassin urban fantasy series. Jennifer is also the author of the Mythos Academy and Black Blade young adult urban fantasy series and the Bigtime paranormal romance series. For more on Jennifer and her books, visit her at www.JenniferEstep.com and @Jennifer_Estep.
FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR: Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Jennifer-Estep
MEET THE AUTHORS, WATCH VIDEOS AND MORE AT
SimonandSchuster.com
The Elemental Assassin Series
by Jennifer Estep
Spider’s Bite
Web of Lies
Venom
Tangled Threads
Spider’s Revenge
By a Thread
Widow’s Web
Deadly Sting
Heart of Venom
The Spider
Poison Promise
Black Widow
Spider’s Trap
Bitter Bite
Unraveled
Snared
E-novellas
Thread of Death
Parlor Tricks
Kiss of Venom
Unwanted
Nice Guys Bite
We hope you enjoyed reading this Pocket Star Books eBook.
* * *
Sign up for our newsletter and receive special offers, access to bonus content, and info on the latest new releases and other great eBooks from Pocket Star Books and Simon & Schuster.
CLICK HERE TO SIG
N UP
or visit us online to sign up at
eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com
Pocket Star Books
An Imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Jennifer Estep
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
First Pocket Star Books ebook edition December 2016
POCKET STAR BOOKS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.
Cover design by Tony Mauro
ISBN 978-1-5011-4230-7
Nice Guys Bite Page 8