Slater regarded me with his cold hazel eyes. “You know you’re going to die for interfering with me.”
“Really? Tell that to your two buddies that I’ve killed — so far,” I mocked.
Slater regarded me another moment, then snapped his hand up. I’d been expecting the punch and jerked back, but he still managed a glancing blow to my stomach that forced some of the air from my lungs. It was bad enough that Slater had a giant’s inherent strength and toughness. Why did he have to be so fucking quick too? That just wasn’t fair. Slater came at me again, and I was too busy dodging his blows to lament the fact that he was so much faster than me.
Another flash of motion caught my eye. On the other side of the room, the front door swung open, and a figure dressed in dark clothes stepped inside. The figure paused a moment, taking in me fighting with Elliot Slater and Bria swinging her fireplace poker at the other giant.
“Hey, buddy,” the figure called out. “You want some help with her?”
The giant turned, and Finn shot him in the face four times. Fletcher Lane might not have trained his son to be an assassin like me, but the old man had taught Finn everything he knew about weapons — including how to shoot a gun. Hell, Finn was a better shot than I was. Which is why Finn’s first bullet went through the giant’s right eye and up into his skull. The giant’s head snapped back, and he was already on his way to dead when Finn’s next three bullets shattered his face. Bria flinched as the giant’s blood, bone, and brain tissue splattered on her face and body. But she didn’t scream. For some reason, that made me even prouder of her than the freezer trick.
And then there was one — Elliot Slater.
The giant looked over his shoulder at his dead minions and Finn, who was rapidly advancing on us. I wouldn’t have thought him capable of it, but Slater actually did the smart thing.
He ran.
I surged forward, wanting to kill him right here, right now, and take care of Roslyn Phillips’s problem. But once again, Elliot Slater was quicker than I was. The giant slammed his fist into my stomach again and shoved me out of the way. Then, he dove headfirst through the nearest window and out into the dark night.
11
I just lay where I’d fallen, sprawled halfway over a table. Gun at the ready, Finn rushed over to the window and looked outside.
“Slater?” I croaked, still trying to suck down as much oxygen as I could. The giant had connected with his last blow, and it felt like he’d broken a couple of my ribs — again.
Finn drew back and shook his head. “Gone already. He moves fast for a giant.”
I nodded. I’d gone fist-to-fist with him, so Slater’s speedy getaway didn’t surprise me. Even if it was damn inconvenient. But the giant was just going to have to get dead another night. Right now, I had Bria to think of — and the bodies and blood that littered her house like old newspapers.
“So now what?” Finn asked.
“Time to call in the cleanup crew,” I said. “Get both of them over here right now.”
Although his black ski mask obscured his features, Finn still managed to raise his eyebrows at me. “Both of them? Not just our dark and twisty friend?”
I nodded. “Both of them.”
“You’re the boss.” Finn pulled his cell phone out of the pocket of his black khakis, moved to the other side of the living room, and started dialing Sophia Deveraux.
I drew in a breath and turned to face Bria. My baby sister stood in front of the fireplace, the long metal poker clenched in her hands and propped on her shoulder like it was a baseball bat she was eager to swing at my head. Bria must have been getting ready for bed when Slater and his men had burst through the back door. She wore a pair of faded, flannel, baby blue pajama pants with a matching shirt. Her feet were bare, although her toes were painted a dark magenta. Jo-Jo Deveraux would have approved of the color.
Despite the late hour, Bria still wore her primrose rune on a chain around her neck. I wondered if she ever took off the necklace. I was guessing no. The silverstone medallion caught the light and flashed at me like a traffic signal. Warning of danger, in more ways than one.
My eyes flicked over her body, looking for injuries. A couple of rough scrapes marred Bria’s beautiful features, probably from where she’d thrown herself into the fireplace. More cuts and bruises dotted her arms and hands, and the sleeves of her shirt had been ripped and shredded in places. Purple circles of exhaustion ringed her blue eyes, and blood had matted in the ends of her shaggy, layered, blond hair. But what concerned me most was the ever-increasing circle of blood on the right side of her body, parallel with her belly button. She’d been shot, judging from the bullet hole that blackened the fabric of her shirt.
Anyone else probably would have been whimpering on the floor by now, but Bria stood there, as though the gut wound was of no more consequence to her than what she’d eaten for dinner. Whatever else she might be, whatever secrets she had, I knew one thing — my sister was one tough cookie. Just like me.
Bria stared back at me. Wariness shimmered in her blue gaze. “Who the hell are you? What are you doing here?” she demanded, tightening her grip on the fireplace poker.
The motion made three rings glint on her left index finger — thin bands stacked on top of each other. Silverstone, from the way they caught the light.
“Saving your ass.” I moved around the couch so that I stood directly in front of her. “Why? What does it look like we’re doing?”
Her bruised features tightened. “I didn’t need your help.”
I stared down at the giant in front of the couch, the one whose femoral arteries I’d severed with my silverstone knives. He’d clamped his hands over his legs to try and stem the blood flow, but it hadn’t worked. The giant’s dead, glassy eyes fixed on the ceiling fan.
“Really?” I asked. “And here I thought you were trapped in a fireplace with three very large, very strong giants just waiting for you to run out of bullets so they could come over and beat you to death. Or am I misinterpreting the situation?”
Bria’s mouth twisted. Whether it was from pain or annoyance, I wasn’t quite sure.
“Tell me,” I asked, bending down to examine the giant. “What exactly did you do to piss off Mab Monroe enough for her to send Elliot Slater and his goons out here to kill you? Now, Mab isn’t lacking for flunkies, but she sent her numero uno after you tonight.”
“That’s between me and Mab,” Bria said in a frosty voice. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business.”
I was mildly surprised that Bria didn’t deny the fact that she’d done something to upset Mab. “In case you couldn’t tell from the bodies, I’ve decided to make it my business. So you might as well tell me.”
Bria’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not telling you a damn thing. If I were you, I’d think about leaving — right now. I’m a homicide detective, and I’ve already called for backup. A couple of units should be here any minute.”
I finished my examination of the dead giant, got to my feet, and turned to face my sister once more.
“You didn’t have time to call for help, detective,” I replied. “Because you went for your gun instead of reaching for the phone. Nothing wrong with it. I prefer to take care of my own problems too.”
“How the hell do you know that?”
I shrugged. “Because if you’d used it to call for help, it would be lying somewhere in this mess.”