The Spider Thief Read Free

features. He finished by gesturing at the other two gunmen. “Salvador? Lazaro?”
    Lazaro, in the leather vest, bit his lip. His gaze flicked back and forth between Ramiro and Andres. He stepped back into the shadow by the wall, as if trying to disappear.
    Salvador’s features turned hard. He straightened up and looked to Andres. A soldier awaiting orders.
    As Ramiro started to crank up his tirade again, Andres slipped a hand inside his black jacket. He drew out a long black pistol extended by a thick silencer. He raised it and closed one eye, sighting down the barrel.
    Ramiro saw the pistol and shut up as if he’d been slapped. He drew in a breath to speak, puffing out his chest.
    Andres’s pistol coughed out a single hoarse shot.Ramiro crumpled to the floor. A brass shell casing rang off the wooden arm of the couch and bounced to a stop on the carpet. Silence reigned in the shadowy house.
    Ash’s heart thudded in his chest. The sound of rushing blood filled his ears. Bile rose in his throat.
    Andres swung the silenced pistol around to aim at Ash’s head. “You have brought the wrath of La Araña on us,” he said in thick English, “dividing us, breaking our loyalty.” The lines around his frown deepened into shadow. “The spider. Give her to me. Now.”
    Ash stared up into the gunsmoke-tainted hollow of the silencer and finally understood what Andres wanted.
    The last time he’d seen the spider, he’d been eleven years old, hiding in the bed of his parents’ pickup. His mom had driven to this house, the preacher’s house, in the heat of the summer night.
    The truck’s exhaust had pinged. Insects had scratched. Ash had peeked over the edge of the pickup bed, watching his mom step up onto the preacher’s porch, clutching a heavy bundle wrapped in a faded towel.
    Lamplight came on inside the house, bathing her in a golden glow. The door eased open.
    Even from a distance, Ash could see the worry on the preacher’s wrinkled face as he carefully unwrapped the towel. Inside was a spider made of gold.
    The gleaming idol was the size of a human skull, a fat body with jointed legs pulled tightly in, as if ready to pounce. Its emerald eyes caught the lamplight and shimmered in the darkness. Seeking him out.
    Ash huddled against the wheel well, hot tears burning the corners of his eyes. He’d gone where he shouldn’t have gone, and found a thing that no one should have found. The spider’s merest touch could draw the life out of someone and leave them lying cold and pale on the floor. The only way to stop it, his mom had said, was to let the preacher break the curse.
    That night, Ash had wanted to believe that the curse was lifted forever, that the spider would never come back to hurt or kill again.
    He was wrong.
    “The spider,” Andres repeated, holding the long pistol steady, its muzzle inches from Ash’s face. “Her power, she belong to me.”
    Ash glanced at the dead man crumpled on the floor, then up into Andres’s deep-set eyes. Something glinted there: devotion, fervor, obsession. Ash didn’t know exactly what to call it, but it ruled out any kind of negotiation.
    “Okay,” Ash croaked out. He cleared his throat, fighting to talk around a tongue that wouldn’t work right. “You win.”
    “Where is she?”
    Ash had no idea. “Outside,” he lied. “I can show you.”
    “Do.” Andres motioned with the gun. “Get up.”
    Ash struggled to his feet, unsteady. Rough hands grabbed him and shoved him through the gloom, down the hall. Lazaro pushed the front door open, letting in a burst of sunlight that shone on the sweat of his thin arms.
    The crisp mountain air washed over Ash like a torrent of cold water. It whispered across waves of tan grass, carrying the scent of old pines, opening his eyes, making him feel alive again.
    To his left was a jumble of sun-bleached split logs, the remnants of the wood pile. Downhill sat the creaky shed where Moolah still waited for him. Hopefully. If Andres found