Page 61 of Poison Ivy
I settle on a pair of black combat boots, dark skinny jeans, and a tight black long-sleeved top. It is practical but still allows for easy movement.
As I gear up, my mind sorts through possible scenarios. If Torin ordered the hit as a trap, he and Bram will likely be there waiting for me. But will Tate be with them? And how much does he actually know about their plan?
I shake my head, pushing those thoughts aside. I can’t afford to be distracted right now. I need to focus on the mission at hand - eliminating Walcott Ashford. Everything else is secondary.
Picking up the bag, I tuck it into the waistband at the back of my jeans and pick up my phone, ramming it into the tight back pocket. I need it to give me directions to this cottage out in the middle of nowhere, where, hopefully, I’ll still have a signal. Snatching up a vial of liquid silver, I cram that into my front pocket and hope for the best.
Slipping out the backdoor that leads to the garden from the kitchen, I jog to the back fence and haul myself up. Swinging my leg over the top, I turn around and bring my other leg over before jumping down into a crouch. I check the vial, phone, and bag, which are still in place, and then I straighten up, looking left and right down this deserted, overgrown pathway that leads around the houses to the forest. It’s the middle of the day, so I doubt I will come across anyone walking their dog or just out for a stroll, but I keep a lookout anyway.
I walk quickly along the brambly path, keeping my senses alert for any sign of movement. The forest looms ahead, dark and foreboding even in the midday sun. As I reach the treeline, I scan the area but see nothing out of the ordinary. I check my phone, confirming the coordinates and see that I have a strong signal right now.
The dense foliage swallows me as I plunge into the woods, leaves rustling under my boots. I move as quietly as possible, hyper-aware of every sound around me. A twig snaps somewhere to my left, and I freeze, holding my breath. After a tense moment, a rabbit darts out from behind a bush, and I exhale slowly.
“Get it together, Poison,” I mutter, staying in character when the thought hits my brain, and I giggle. “Poison Ivy. Guess it was fate knocking when I chose the assassin’s name off the top of my head a few years ago.”
Feeling somewhat comforted by this, I carry on, following the map on my phone. The cottage should be about a mile in, right in the centre of this crazily deep forest. An owl hoots, making me nearly jump out of my skin as I go deeper and deeper. It gets darker and more spooky as the canopy closes overhead to allow little to no light. As I walk, I run through my plan again. Get in, take out Walcott quickly and cleanly, and get out before Torin and his crew show up. It is simple enough in theory, but I know better than to expect things to go smoothly.
After about thirty minutes of hiking, I spot a break in the trees ahead. Crouching low, I creep forward until I can see the cottage. It’s a small, dilapidated structure that looks like it hasn’t been inhabited in years. Perfect for a vampire on the run. The bent aerial at the top of the roof is rusted but tells me the place has electricity. Assuming it’s switched on. That belated thought pings in my head, and I roll my eyes at myself. Still, the plug-in wasn’t my whole plan, just a failsafe. But I’m guessing a vampire like Walcott Ashford wouldn’t be hiding out here without at least some creature comforts, so it’s worth checking it out.
I scan the area, looking for any sign of Walcott, Torin, Bram or Tate, but the clearing appears empty. Still, I’m not taking any chances.
I circle the cottage slowly, staying hidden in the treeline. There is no movement inside, no signs of life. It’s almost too quiet. My instincts are screaming at me to abort, but I can’t. That would mean a detailedreport to my bosses about why I didn’t get the job done.
There is only one thing for it.
I slide the phone into my back pocket and pull out the bag of tricks, ready for action.
31
BRAM
I crouchlow in the dense underbrush, watching the clearing intently. Torin and Tate are hidden nearby, also waiting for our little assassin to show up. The anticipation is killing me - I can’t wait to get my hands on Poison again.
A flicker of movement catches my eye, and I tense, peering through the foliage, expecting to see Poison, but it’s just a woodland creature. Sighing, I turn to Torin. “You sure this is the place?”
“That’s what they said,” he whispers.
“Doesn’t look like Poison is going to show,” Tate pipes up, having been unusually quiet on the bash through the underbrush.
“Maybe we should just get your dad contained and then wait inside for her?” I suggest, getting a bit pissed off sitting in a hedge.
“No,” Torin says. “For starters, that might tipPoison off if she is close by, but also, I kind of want to see what she will do to him.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I snarl quietly. “You want him dead now, don’t you?”
“Whatever happened to shit I don’t want to deal with?” Tate snaps as well.
“Look,” he says calmly. “Getting him whacked is a problem for me in the short term, yes. But long-term… it might make things easier.”
“How so?” I frown at him as he considers his words.
“It’s no secret from you that I want out from under his thumb and my mother’s. But I want more than just a new crew. I want The Syndicate.”
Tate and I exchange a glance, and I purse my lips. “Come again?”
“You heard me,” Torin mutters.
I stare at Torin, trying to process what he’s just said. “You want to take over The Syndicate? Are you out of your fucking mind?”
