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Jo-Jo prided herself on her manners, and it shocked me to see her do something so crass, so vicious and out of character. Bria raised her eyebrows at me, as surprised as
I was, but I shook my head a tiny bit in response. I didn't know who the man was or why Jo-Jo would look at him that way. But one thing was clear. This wasn't about me, but I was going to end it.
The woman in the red dress moved closer and raised her hand so that it was level with Jo-Jo's face. She rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, and red-hot embers hissed out from between her fingertips as though she was holding a sparkler. More and more of those invisible bubbles popped against my skin as the woman reached for even more of her Fire magic.
"Let me kill her," the woman snarled in a voice that was even twangier than the leader's. "Or at least put out one of her eyes. She deserves it for insulting you like that. "
"No, Hazel," the leader said, pulling a gray silk handkerchief from his pants pocket and using the fabric to wipe the spit off his face. "Leave her be - for now. "
Hazel gave him a sour look, but she reluctantly let go of her magic, dropped her hand, and stepped away from Jo-Jo.
The man tucked his handkerchief back into his pants.
He pulled his hand out, and a small piece of paper fluttered out of his pocket and drifted to the ground. He didn't seem to notice it, though. Then again, it was most likely just a bit of trash. Just like he was.
"You'll have to forgive me. I would have been here sooner, but I've been busy these past few months. Business has been booming ever since Ms. Monroe died, as I'm sure you can imagine. "
Business? What sort of business was he in? And what did it have to do with Mab?
He paused, as if he expected Jo-Jo to respond, but she kept silent.
"Anyway," he continued, "I finally managed to get myself in gear and come on back down to Ashland. I'd been meaning to for a while now. Ever since I heard that our mutual friend Mr. Lane had passed away last year. A shame, him being tortured to death like that. "
I frowned. Fletcher's murder was no secret, but there was something ominous about the way the leader talked about him, as though the old man's death was something he'd been waiting for and looking forward to for a long, long time. He said that he'd known Jo-Jo some fifty years ago. Had he known Fletcher back then too? Had the two of them been enemies all these years?
Even more hate burned in Jo-Jo's eyes, making it look like she had two chunks of white quartz glowing in her face. "You're no friend of mine, Harley Grimes. You never were, and you never will be. So get out of my house. You weren't welcome back then, and you sure as hell aren't welcome now. "
I kept my face blank, but my mind was spinning at the man's identity. Harley Grimes. I'd heard that name before, when Jo-Jo had told me how he'd kidnapped and tortured Sophia years ago. Grimes had even forced Sophia to breathe in elemental Fire, ruining her vocal cords.
My gaze snapped to Sophia, who was still lying on the floor. She stared back at me, and once again, I saw the fear in her eyes - fear not just for herself but for all of us.
She knew what Harley Grimes was capable of better than anyone.
So I turned my attention to the men surrounding us, looking for any weaknesses that I could exploit. A few seconds of inattention, a tremor in a gun hand, something, anything, that would give me an opening to attack - or at least let me put myself between Grimes and everyone else.
Grimes smiled again and let out a soft, sinister laugh.
"Of course I'll leave you in peace, Ms. Deveraux. I'm not a monster, after all. Besides, I've finally gotten what I came for - what you and Mr. Lane took from me all those years ago. "
He turned away from Jo-Jo and jerked his head at the two men guarding Sophia. They reached down and hauled the Goth dwarf to her feet. Sophia winced and clutched a hand to her left thigh. Blood had soaked into her black jeans there, and more blood trickled out of the gunshot wound on her left arm, which peeked out from beneath her T-shirt sleeve. Grimes, Hazel, and their men must have jumped her somewhere, maybe in the alley behind the Pork Pit, and put a couple of bullets into her, trying to subdue her so they could kidnap her. Sophia must have managed to escape and had come to warn Jo-Jo. But Grimes had known exactly where she would go, and he'd followed her to finish what he'd started.
"Oh, Sophia," Grimes purred. "How I've missed you. "
He stretched out a hand, as though he were going to caress her cheek, but Sophia snapped out, trying to bite off his fingers. Grimes snatched his hand back at the last second, his face full of disbelief, as though he didn't understand why she wouldn't welcome his touch after he'd had her shot and threatened her sister. He regarded her for a moment, then casually flung his hand out and slapped her across the face.
The sharp crack reverberated through the room like a clap of thunder, and the hard, brutal impact made Sophia stagger back, along with the two men holding her. Oh, yes. Grimes was definitely strong, thanks to his giant and dwarven blood.
But even worse, he put a bit of his Fire magic into the blow, and flames flashed between them as his skin touched hers. The stench of burning flesh filled the salon.
After a moment, Sophia slowly raised her head. The imprint of Grimes's hand had been seared into her left cheek like a brand.
Even more Fire magic flickered in his eyes, making them burn a dark, dangerous brown. "I'd hoped that we would start out on better terms this time, but I'm going to enjoy teaching you to mind your manners around me once again. It seems that you've forgotten. "
Sophia's nostrils flared with rage, but that was her only response.
The man holding on to my arm winced at Grimes's threat, as though he'd been on the receiving end of his leader's wrath in the past. He was so busy staring at Grimes that he didn't notice when I eased my right hand behind me, reaching back toward the buffet table. My fingers slid across the smooth surface until I felt something cold, hard, and metal. I stretched back a bit more, hooking a fingertip on the edge of the metal and dragging it toward me.
My hand closed around my knife a second later. I tightened my grip, feeling the spider rune stamped into the hilt pressing against the larger, matching scar on my palm. Owen had made this knife for me, and I was going to enjoy putting it to good use on Grimes, Hazel, and their band of miscreants.
