Venom

I thought of that folder of information Finn had compiled on my sister. Of what secrets it might hold. I wondered what Bria remembered of the night our mother and older sister had died. If she knew Mab Monroe was the one who was responsible for it all. Why Bria had come back to Ashland. Why now, after all these long years?

But instead of getting out of bed, going downstairs, turning on a light, and looking at the file like I should have, I pulled the sheet up to my chin, as though the soft, warm flannel could protect me from, well, everything. All the horrible things that had happened, and all the ones that were yet to be.

Tomorrow, I thought. I would look at the information tomorrow.

Tonight, I only wanted to sleep-and forget.

Chapter Seven

At exactly two o’clock the next afternoon, Xavier pulled open the front door of the Pork Pit, making the bell chime. Punctual. I liked that in a man.

The giant held the door out wide so Roslyn Phillips could maneuver around him and step inside. The vampire madam and nightclub owner was dressed down today in a pair of black wool pants and a thick, ivory turtleneck sweater. A black and ivory checked coat covered her slim shoulders, and silver glasses perched on the end of her nose. Roslyn was still a striking woman, even without the party clothes and heavy makeup she wore when working the floor at Northern Aggression.

Catalina Vasquez, one of my best waitresses, heard the bell chime too. Her head snapped up from the chemistry textbook she’d been reading. Like me, Catalina was a student at Ashland Community College who worked part-time at the Pork Pit to make ends meet. With her long black hair, hazel eyes, and full-bodied figure, Catalina was quite popular with my male customers-especially Finnegan Lane, who always stopped to admire her assets whenever he came by the restaurant.

Catalina grabbed a couple of menus off a holder on the back wall and hurried behind the long counter that ran down one side of the barbecue restaurant. She reached the end, where I perched on my usual stool behind the old-fashioned cash register. I put down the copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn that I’d been reading and signaled Catalina to stop.

"The lunch crowd has died down," I said. "Why don’t you go on break now? I know you’ve got some errands to do. Take a couple hours if you want. I’ll handle them. I was thinking about closing down until four anyway."

Catalina flashed me a wide, grateful smile. "Thanks, Gin. You’re the best."

"Hmph."

A grunt sounded from the middle of the counter, where Sophia Deveraux stood slicing a thick wedge of Jarlsberg cheese, one of the key ingredients in the Pork Pit’s most excellent grilled cheese sandwich. The dwarf was dressed in her usual black jeans and boots. Her T-shirt was also black today with a large silver heart on the front that was broken in two and dripping crimson blood. A thick silver choker ringed Sophia’s throat, and several matching rings flashed on her fingers.

Catalina Vasquez bit her lip and looked over her shoulder at the Goth dwarf. Catalina had only been working at the restaurant a few weeks, and she was still getting used to Sophia-and interpreting what the dwarf’s grunts really meant. Of course, I knew that Sophia was mocking Catalina’s assertion that I was the best boss ever, but I wasn’t about to share that knowledge. I had a hard enough time keeping waitresses, given the dwarf’s dour persona. I wasn’t about to let a responsible, punctual, hard-working jewel like Catalina slip through my fingers because of Sophia Deveraux and her monosyllabic method of communication.

"Sophia agrees," I said. "You should definitely go on your break now."

"Um, okay. If you’re sure."

Catalina handed the menus over to me, grabbed her black wool pea coat off the stand in the corner, and headed out the front door. I waited until she was gone before I stepped over to Xavier and Roslyn.

"This way, please." I led them to a booth in the very back of the restaurant, out of sight of the glass storefront windows.

Finnegan Lane was already seated there against the back wall, wearing another one of his ubiquitous suits. Black, with a faint gray pinstripe today. A cooling cup of chicory coffee perched on the table in front of Finn, along with the remains of his lunch-a half-pound cheeseburger with all the fixings, steak-cut fries, and a triple chocolate milkshake that would go straight to anyone else’s ass but his. I always envied Finn his ability to eat whatever he wanted and never gain a pound.

Roslyn slid into the opposite side of the booth across from Finn. Xavier sat next to her. I gave both of them menus and went to check on my only other customers-a couple of construction workers grabbing a late lunch before heading back out into the December cold. The two men were ready to pay up and leave. Once I got their change, I went back over to the others. Behind the counter, Sophia kept slicing cheese, her knife thwack-thwack-thwacking against the countertop.

"So what’ll it be?" I asked, pulling a pad and pen out of the back pocket of my blue jeans.

"I’m not hungry," Roslyn murmured, tapping her French manicured nails on top of the laminated menu.

"Me either," Xavier rumbled.

"I don’t care whether you’re hungry or not," I snapped. "You’re in my gin joint now, and you’re damn well going to eat something. So tell me what you want, or you’ll find yourself at my mercy."

I might be a stone-cold killer, but no one could ever accuse me of lacking in the hostess department. Still, I gave them the hard stare to show them I was serious. Xavier ordered two barbecue pork sandwiches, coleslaw, baked beans, and a blackberry lemonade. Roslyn requested an ice water with lemon, a grilled cheese sandwich, and a fruit tray.

I cocked my hip to one side and looked at her. "Sweetheart, does this look like the kind of place that serves fruit trays?"

Roslyn’s dark eyes flicked over the barbecue restaurant. I didn’t have to look behind me to know exactly what she was seeing. Clean, but well-worn blue and pink vinyl booths. Matching faded pig tracks on the floor that led to the men’s and women’s bathrooms, respectively. A long counter lined with stools where people could watch their food being prepared on the opposite side. A framed, blood-covered copy of Where the Red Fern Grows on the wall next to the cash register, along with an old faded picture of two young men holding fishing rods. Cumin, red pepper, and other spices from the afternoon’s cooking flavored the air, along with a healthy dose of pure, heart-stopping grease.

The vampire’s wide mouth quirked. "No, I suppose not."

"The only fruit I have in here is in the cherry pie. You can have some of that. With vanilla bean ice cream. Be back in a minute."

I scribbled down their orders, tore off the paper, and took it over to Sophia Deveraux. The Goth dwarf had moved on from slicing cheese. Now she cut through a pile of tomatoes with a long, curved, serrated knife, making precise, neat little rounds for the rest of the day’s sandwiches.