I'd hoped my small bribe would at least make him tolerable while we waited for Fletcher. It had worked. Finn had been too busy gulping down the rich, sweet concoction to mock me.
For a change.
It had been three months since Fletcher Lane had taken me in, and my life had become as normal as it was ever going to get. During the day, I attended school under the name Gin Blanco, catching up on what I'd missed while I'd been living on the streets and hiding from the Fire elemental who'd murdered my family. After school, I came straight to the Pork Pit to help Fletcher cook and clean and earn my keep. He might be putting a roof over my head, but I was determined to work for it as much as I could. Not a glamorous life by any means, and nothing like the soft, warm comfort I'd had before, but it had a thin illusion of safety. Something I appreciated now more than ever.
Only one thing bothered me - Fletcher's late-night jaunts. About once a month, he'd disappear. Sometimes for a few hours, other times for a few days. He never said where he went or what he did, and I didn't ask. But I knew blood when I saw it, and Fletcher was often covered with it. Fresh, sticky, wet blood. Spattered all over his clothes, as though he'd just killed someone. Something else I knew about, even at thirteen.
My eyes drifted back to the clock: 10:07. Fletcher had vanished as soon as I'd come in this afternoon, saying he'd be back by seven, more than three hours ago. He'd never been this late before. What would I do if he didn't come back?
Where would I go? Back on the streets most likely, begging for food, clothes, and shelter once more. My stomach twisted a little tighter -
The front door of the restaurant jerked open, making the bell chime. My heart lifted. A moment later, a pair of long arms tossed Fletcher Lane inside. He flew through the air, hit a table, flopped off it, and landed hard. Fletcher groaned and coughed. His blood flecked all over the clean floor I'd spent the afternoon mopping.
Another man stepped inside the Pork Pit, closed the door behind him, and turned around. Even above the roaring in my ears, I could still hear the bolt click home. Locking us in.
"Dad!" Finn yelled.
Finn started toward his injured father, but the man stepped in front of Fletcher's prone form and backhanded Finn. The teenager flew across the room. He too hit a table, bounced off, slid to the floor, and was still. I stood behind the counter, eyes wide, not believing this was really happening.
Not now. Not again. Please, please, not again.
"You should have taken the job, Lane," the strange man growled.
He was a giant, almost two feet taller than me, with a wide, stout chest that reminded me of an iron park bench turned sideways. His black hair ringed his scalp like an upside-
down bowl, while a curly goatee covered his square chin.
"I told you... Douglas," Fletcher rasped. "I don't... kill... kids... ever."
"You should have made an exception. Because now you're the one who's going to die."
Douglas slammed his booted foot into Fletcher's side.
Fletcher groaned and coughed up more blood. I gasped. The giant's hazel eyes snapped up to me, settling on my nonexistent chest.
"Well, well." He smacked his lips. "Hello, pretty girl. We'll have some fun when I get through over here."
"Leave her alone," Fletcher said. "She's just a kid."
Fletcher tried to get up, but Douglas leaned down and punched him in the face. I heard his jaw crack across the room, and he fell back to the floor with a sharp grunt of pain.
Finn still hadn't moved from where he'd fallen. I clamped a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.
"You know," Douglas said, rolling up his shirtsleeves. "I'm going to enjoy beating you to death, Lane. It's been a while since I've gotten my hands good and bloody."
My stomach lurched, and for a moment, I thought I might vomit. My mother, my older sister, Annabella, my baby sister, Bria. In the last few months, I'd lost everyone I'd ever cared about. I couldn't lose Fletcher too. I just couldn't. He'd been the only person who'd shown me any kindness, any compassion.
He was the only one left who cared whether I lived or died.
But what could I do? Douglas wouldn't stop until Fletcher was dead - or he was. He'd said as much, and Fletcher was in no position to fight back. Not now.
In that moment, I knew what I had to do if I wanted to save Fletcher, if I wanted to save myself and the fragile little bubble of life, of normalcy, of security, that I'd built at the Pork Pit.
My gray eyes skipped down to the knife I still clutched, the one I'd been chopping onions with. A strange calm settled over me, and my fingers tightened around the handle until the stainless steel imprinted itself over the silverstone spider rune scar on my palm.
"Leave him alone," I said and dropped the knife below the counter, out of the giant's line of sight.
Douglas stopped rolling up his sleeves long enough to stare at me. "What did you say, little girl?"
I drew in a breath. "I said leave him alone, you fat, ugly, cow-faced bastard."
Douglas's eyes narrowed. "Well, aren't you a feisty one? A shame you're going to die so young - and so painfully."
The giant stepped over Fletcher and started toward me.
Fletcher reached out, trying to stop him, but he was too weak and injured to hold onto the bigger, stronger man. I stayed where I was behind the counter and moved my right arm behind my leg, hiding the knife. Douglas came around the counter and reached for me.
His left hand grabbed my shoulder, yanking me toward him. Something wrenched in my arm, and pain exploded in my body. His right fist was already drawing back to hit me.
Somehow, I pushed the pain away, gulped down a breath, lunged forward, and slammed the knife into his chest as hard and deep as I could.
My aim must have been better than I'd thought, because Douglas's hazel eyes bulged in surprise and pain. But he didn't go down. He staggered back. I kept my grip on the knife, and it slid free from his chest. Blood coated my fingers like hot grease, burning my skin. I wanted to drop the weapon. Oh, how I wanted to drop it. I might have, if Douglas hadn't started laughing.
"Stupid bitch," he said. "You think one little stab wound is going to stop me? I'll enjoy making you pay for that."
He came at me again, fist drawn back, but I didn't hesitate.
Before he could hit me, I lurched forward and stabbed him again. I felt the blade slide off something in his chest.
A rib, maybe, or some other bone. The sensation made me want to retch.
Douglas screamed again, louder this time, and his beefy hand tangled in my brown hair, yanking my head back until I thought my neck would break. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the glitter of yellowish fangs in his mouth. A vampire.