Spiders in the Grove (In the Company of Killers #7)(42)

Joaquin’s grinning face follows me all the way to the table where Iosif Veselov stands. For one moment, I look right at Iosif; one look into his eyes, and it will tell me what I need to know. He sees me, and there it is—the unreadable tyrant who came here knows me. He knows exactly who I am. But he remains quiet—and I hope he stays that way.

Looking away from the man I believe to be Vonnegut, I turn my attention to the second most important matter now that I’ve accomplished the first.

“Is there something you need, Miss Delacourt?” Joaquin asks me.

“I need you to let me have them both,” I say, and Joaquin laughs, and so does the crowd as he looks out at them all with a comical expression of disbelief.

“And why in actual fuck would I do that for you?” Joaquin says.

“Because I believe they’re both worth more alive than dead.”

“Oh, that’s what you believe, is it?” He smiles crookedly, and presses the gun against the side of Leo’s head. “Well, I happen to disagree. Moreno is an out-of-style fashion, and he’s worth about as much as you are”—he smirks, satisfied he could get back at me publicly for denying him—“and the girl…well, she’s worth absolutely nothing, like most women.”

A few heads in the crowd—of the female sort—look up at Joaquin, offended, but it’s not enough to shake him.

“Let me prove otherwise,” I offer. “Give them to me, and give me one week—”

“Fuck you,” Joaquin snaps, cutting me off. “I promised the crowd retribution, not mercy. Isn’t that right?!” He looks out at the audience, and they clap and nod and urge him to do what he promised.

“Joaquin—don’t.” I’m getting desperate; I feel like I know there’s no role I can play, no excuse I can come up with that will save their lives. “I’m…” I take a deep, nervous breath. “…I’m asking you to spare them.”

Something clicks in his eyes; he peers down at me. And then he laughs, and looks for Cesara in the crowd. “This is what you trained?” he accuses. “This is your ‘special find’? What a joke, Cesara! Well, guess what? Guess who will pay for her fuck-ups?”

Cesara comes up behind me; she grabs my elbow. “What the hell is your problem? You can’t do this here, in front of all these people,” she whispers, her fingernails digging into me. “I’ll deal with her now,” she tells Joaquin, and tries to drag me away.

Snatching my arm from her grasp, I shoot her with a look. “I’m not going anywhere,” I say. “And if they die, I will never forgive you, Cesara.”

She stands shell-shocked, her eyes blinking rapidly, her lips parted.

“So, you do care for that girl,” she says, growing angry and jealous, and feeling more betrayed by the second. “You lied to me; all this time you’ve been lying to me—about everything!”

“No,” I lie again, “Not about everything, Cesara—my feelings for you—”

I see a flash of white light cross my vision after Cesara’s hand lays across my face. She grabs me by the wrist and pulls me to her chest. “I can save you, Lydia,” she whispers, “but you have to stop this now; come with me and we’ll talk about it privately.” Her willingness to forgive me is even more reason to believe her feelings for me are real.

Many faces in the crowd are pushing in on us from both sides, trying to hear what Cesara is saying to me, but she pushes them back, and attempts once again to drag me with her out of the theatre. And once again, I snap my arm free and refuse to move, glowering at her. She glowers back. And then she steps back. And she stands there, looking at me as if she doesn’t know what to do with me. But Cesara is the least of my worries—Joaquin has already lost interest in us.

“Joaquin, I’m…I’ll give you what you want from me, just please, let them go.” I know I’m wasting my breath.

“I don’t want anything from you anymore,” he says.

The demon inside Joaquin smiles for him, and I see his finger move to press the heavy trigger; the guard’s finger moves to press the heavy trigger.

No…no…NOO!

I play the only card I have left.

“IF THEY DIE, I’LL MAKE SURE JAVIER KILLS YOU FOR IT!”

The world stops moving on its axis; stunned silence stretches on forever; the only movement in the theatre now is that of my own, is that of me sealing my fate and carving my betrayals in stone.

I don’t look at Cesara standing behind me, but I sense she’s there, unable to move, uncomprehending. I keep my eyes on Joaquin, watching as his finger moves away from the trigger; as the guard’s finger moves away from the trigger. Naeva’s lungs fill up with air, relieved that, at least for a moment longer, she and Leo are going to live. Leo doesn’t change; he remains solid, vigilant in Joaquin’s grasp, waiting for any moment he can to grab Naeva, and he never looks at me.

But everyone else is looking at me; even I am looking in at myself from the outside, stunned, wondering why I’ve done this.

“What did you say?” Joaquin asks—demands—breaking the silence.

I move toward the steps leading up the stage, and I take them slowly.

“You heard what I said,” I tell him on the second step. “Let them go now—and let me go—or I make the rest of what life you have left, a living hell.”