Spiders in the Grove (In the Company of Killers #7)(26)

He has both of our attention now; Cesara and I simultaneously lean forward with great interest; my instincts are kicking-in again, but I’m not sure why.

“He sent you here to look for who, exactly?” Cesara asks suspiciously.

“Who is your boss?” I ask, holding my breath.

Something blinks on inside Dante’s head, and suddenly, he looks as though our interest is on the verge of overwhelming his tiny brain. I should’ve just kept playing idiot Dante, his face reads.

“I’m an assistant, too,” he says, glancing at me. “To Mr. Amell Schreiber”—(Where have I heard that name before?)—"He’s a very private man; has social anxiety issues, if yah know what I mean. I pretty much do everything for him that involves having to go out in public: shopping, sitting in for him during meetings, stuff like that. It’s hard because I was knee-deep in a heroin addiction when I met him, and as far away from knowing anything about that stuff as I know about”—he waves a hand at the stage—“any of this.”

“And he sent you here to find who?” Cesara repeats, because that’s mostly what she cares about.

“Twenty to twenty-two,” Dante begins, “dark hair, blue eyes, small breasts; the girl I purchased—your girl—I think is perfect, but I’m going to hang around and see the others, just in case; maybe I’ll take him back a few so he has choices.” He straightens his tie; he’s still nervous I can tell, but since it’s his first time, I guess that’s expected.

I practically melt into a puddle of relief—I thought he was here for me. Wow, do I have a big head or what? I shake it off.

I believe Cesara was thinking along the same lines, though not that he was looking for me, but that he was an implant here looking for a particular girl who had been kidnapped. I glance over at her, and witness how quickly she loses interest in him again; she sighs, and gets comfortable in the chair.

Sensing he’s overstayed his welcome at our table, Dante straightens his tie again, and then bows halfway at the waist, which is also strange and embarrassing. “Well, it was nice meeting you,” he says.

“Oh, you too,” Cesara says with a big, forced smile; she even reaches out her hand to him for added effect. “I hope you find the perfect girl for your…awesome boss.”

Dante catches that jab; a twinge of humiliation flickers in his eyes for a moment, but he smiles, sucks it up, bends to kiss Cesara’s hand, and leaves us, giving me only a nod on his way.

“Always be on the lookout for infiltrators,” Cesara warns in a lowered voice. “It’s not easy to get into these auctions—we go to great lengths to make sure every attendee is who they claim to be—but you never know what kind of spiders might be lurking in our midst.”

Deadly ones, Cesara. Deadly ones. I smile, lean toward her, and kiss her red lips for added effect.





Izabel


Day Three – Mid-Morning I can actually feel something in the air; I feel it in my bones, in my uneven heartbeat, in my sweating palms. This night will be much different than any night I’ve spent here since arriving with my wrists and ankles bound and my hair and face bloodied. I don’t know what it is, but I know it’s here, waiting in the shadows, somewhere.

I lay amid the cool sheets with Cesara in her giant pillared bed, surrounded by painted stucco walls and a wide wall-less space in front of us that allows the Mexico breeze and sunshine into the room; Spanish tile floors stretch many feet out in every direction; the only thing the room lacks is an ocean view.

Cesara’s girl waits near the open wall; mine, Sabine, sits on the floor near the bed.

The heat of Cesara’s naked body curls around mine, her leg draped over my waist. I comb her soft hair through my fingers.

“Are you ever going to tell me, Lydia,” she says, “why you really hate men as fiercely as you do?” Her fingertips walk along my hipbone, inching toward my inner thighs, and then back up again.

“Men are the cancer of this earth,” I tell her. “I think I was born hating them.”

“Yes, but something had to happen for you to feel that way, something other than the man you killed. It takes more than one man, one incident, to turn out like you did.” She raises her head from my stomach, and looks at me. “You can tell me anything—I want you to.”

“Why?”

She presses her lips to my bellybutton. “Because we all need someone we can trust, confide in, tell our deepest, darkest secrets to.” She works her way up and kisses my breasts. “I want to be that person for you, Lydia.”

“Not long ago you wanted to kill me,” I remind her.

A little puff of air expels from her nose; she smiles at me. “Well, that was before I got to know you; there was a reason I didn’t kill you that day, and I know now what it was.”

She inches upward toward my face, kisses my lips softly. I think she’s about to tell me she has feelings for me, but she switches gears last-second.

Cesara sits upright next to my hip; my eyes slide all over her body, drinking in her perfect breasts, and her smooth, curved waist that ends in a plump, round butt.

She smiles and says, “I’ll tell you mine first, if it’ll make you feel better.”

“OK,” I say. “What is your dark secret, Cesara?”