Page 10 of Capitol Matters (Marionette #2)

I didn’t go to the motel because Grimm wasn’t there. He had taken the gang on a last-minute outing to the Blooming Orchid hoping to “boost morale.” When tensions were high, leave it to men to fuck their way through it.

The cabbie pulled up to the curb, and I passed him a twenty between the front seats before stepping out of the car. Downtown power had been restored since the earthquake and, as the sun set, the streetlamps came alight. I rifled through my pockets for a smoke and fired one up, drawing a deep breath and holding it.

A couple blocks down, the construction zone remained cordoned off. As my eyes traveled the length of the desolate street, I was no less troubled by the emptiness and ruin than I had been on my ride along with Holland last week. The gang lived here, too. This was our home—the only place in the country witches were welcome. Were they not bothered by what we’d done to it? We had spread disease and crime and reduced the city to a wasteland. With Avery in charge, I doubted things would improve.

Smoke wisped into the air as I looked up the edifice of the Blooming Orchid. At street level, text was scrawled in red curlicues on black windows, spelling the business name and the accompanying words Tattoo and Piercing Parlor. A single white flower blossomed in the bottom corner.

My head tipped back as I surveyed the second story. More windows defined the upstairs bedrooms where Isha’s girls entertained clients. Those were painted over, too, but pinpricks of bare glass let light sparkle through, like stars raining down on the sidewalk below.

My attention lingered on the uppermost room on the right. Isha’s private suite. Visions of a four-poster bed, floor-to-ceiling drapes, and Keshan rugs that squished between bare toes populated my thoughts. I hadn’t been around much since she gave Donovan his Hex mark. In fact, I was two string tattoos behind. One for Jacoby Thatcher and another for the unknown inmate I’d killed in defense of Grimm. Those happenings seemed so long ago, though only a few weeks had passed.

I discarded the spent cigarette and turned toward the front door. If the whole gang was here, it would be crowded. And, while I didn’t mind company, most of these were not my favorite people. I could stick to the few I tolerated, though that number was rapidly dwindling.

Lately, it was Donovan and I versus the rest of the gang, a kind of isolation I could tell he felt. It bugged me, too, if I was honest. My Capitol job had put a wall between me and everyone else. I had become an outsider, untrusted by my peers on both sides of the law. It sucked.

Taking one more deep breath, I stepped into the tattoo parlor.

Warm golden light caused me to squint. Soft music played while Hex members chatted and scantily clad women circulated the room, moving like every pose was a photo op. They were people for rent, wrapped in lace and satin.

I scanned the crowd, passing over nameless newbies in search of more familiar faces. Vinton reclined on a tufted velvet couch with a girl on each knee. He’d started his job at the Capitol, I assumed. Though, I hadn’t had cause to visit the morgue to find out. There was no sign of Grimm, Ripley, or Avery, but I spotted Donovan perched on the stairs at the back of the room.

Dodging bodies, I made my way toward him, garnering narrow looks from some of the gang members and more appreciative gazes from Isha’s girls. After years of frequent visits, most of them knew me intimately. Plus, my suit and tie didn’t hurt when it came to sex appeal.

Donovan looked forlorn, a typical state for him when wanton women were involved. He’d grown up here, same as me but, due to our six-year age gap, our experiences differed. While I was getting hands-on lessons in how to pleasure a woman, he was doted on and mothered.

It must have been hard for him to shift his perception of the girls from maternal figures to sexual conquests. There was a kink for that, but it was more my playground than my brother’s.

Making it to the stairs, I slid in beside him and bumped my shoulder against his.

“So,” I began, “where is everybody?”

Donovan raised a brow. “What do you mean? Everybody’s here. They’re everywhere. All the time.” His expression showed a level of overwhelm I immediately understood.

I gazed across the room, noting those reposed in chairs getting fresh ink from humming tattoo guns. Not Hex marks—Grimm had forbidden that, and they should have taken it as a sign. They were here for a good time but not a long time. It had already been long enough, as far as I was concerned.

“What about Grimm?” I asked Donovan. “I’m supposed to meet him.”

“Upstairs.”

A grumble slipped out of me as I craned my neck to look up the steps behind us. While the employees entertained guests on this floor, the madam of the house was notably absent. I felt foolish now for how I’d stared at her bedroom window outside. Nostalgia would have been the farthest thing from my mind if I’d known she was screwing my boss in the bed I so fondly remembered.

“Guess I’ll wait, then.” I lay back on the stairs with my hands clasped behind my head as a cushion between me and the hard wooden treads.

Donovan faced forward and matched my sigh .

Ambient noise filled my ears. I tuned into the tattoo gun motors, familiar and soothing, until my brother heaved another breath.

“Storage duty sucks,” he said.

I sniggered. “You don’t say.”

“I think the manager of the place is getting suspicious.” He looked back at me, his eyes dark under a scrunched brow. “How much longer do we have to keep them there?”

“Two weeks.”

His shoulders slumped. “So, forever, basically.”

To him, maybe. To me, it was a deadline approaching far too rapidly.

We sat in quiet for a while before he added, “They’re getting tired of pizza.”

“What else are you feeding them?”

Silence stretched until I pushed up on my elbows and frowned over at him. “Just pizza?” I asked.

“Pizza’s good!” His cheeks burned red.

I laughed again. “For every meal? For a month? Nothing’s that good.”

Approaching footsteps joined the other sounds of the room. I sat the rest of the way up to look along the back wall. Avery and Ripley ascended the staircase in the opposite corner with Maggie tagging lackadaisically behind. Judging by Avery’s stagger, they’d been raiding the downstairs bar. I might head there next if Grimm took much longer.

Avery wore a golden crown and a fur-trimmed red cape that swished against his legs as he walked. He stumbled into the middle of the room, then stopped and threw his arms wide.

“My people!” he crowed, turning an unsteady circle. “Your king has returned!”

A few gang members whistled and clapped, but most pretended not to notice.

I nodded toward the conjurer, who twirled his cape before returning to the shadows where Ripley and Maggie lurked.

“Good to see he’s not letting the whole gang leader thing go to his head,” I said.

“Are you kidding?” Donovan whipped aside to find me grinning. “Oh good, you’re kidding.”

I hadn’t been around as much as usual. With the infrequent kidnappings and my nine to five at the Capitol, my schedule was too full for fraternizing with Grimm’s new and improved gang. On top of all that, I’d taken to staying over at Nash’s, which left Donovan largely on his own. It was an unintended consequence, and one I was coming to regret. He seemed out of sorts and not just because we were at the whorehouse.

“How’s that been going?” I nodded toward the corner where Avery stood.

Donovan wrung his hands. “Awful,” he replied. “He and Ripley bitch at each other like an old married couple. Well, Ripley bitches. Avery mostly laughs at him, and that makes it worse.”

A similar scene appeared to be playing out as we spoke. Ripley stuffed earbuds into his ears while Avery flapped his hands in grand, drunken gestures. Maggie held the cell wired to Ripley’s headphones and stared at it, her pale face aglow in the screen’s bluish light .

Watching them, Donovan added, “I honestly don’t know why Ripley sticks around.”

I shrugged. “Lack of better options?” Or biding his time till he got the chance to stab us all in the back. I didn’t trust the toxin-spewing teen. Once a traitor, always a traitor.

“Does Grimm do anything about it?” I wondered aloud.

“He’s not here,” Donovan said. “And when he is here…” His eyes flicked meaningfully toward the ceiling. “He’s still not here.”

I chewed my lip.

Speaking of the devils seemed to draw them toward us. Ripley led the other two with Avery hanging off his shoulder and talking loudly enough I could hear him at range.

“Whaddya say, Rip?” Avery motioned to the mass of people. “Pick one and have a go. See what it feels like to have a woman between your legs who’s warm and has a pulse.”

Ripley stopped midstride and turned on the caped conjurer. “What would you know about having a woman between your legs?” he snapped. “Prissy twat.” He surged forward again, testing the limit of the earbuds’ cable.

As they approached, it became clear they were headed upstairs, using the path Donovan and I currently blocked. I stood and stepped aside, then poked Donovan to encourage him to do the same.

“Come on,” Avery said, his voice a gritty whine. “I’ll keep your girl company. Not that she’ll mind. Or even notice.” He latched onto Maggie’s arm, halting her with an abrupt jerk that pulled the cord out of the phone.

Again, Ripley stopped, this time with a hard stomp of his foot. Walking back, he stood chest to chest with Avery, his head tilted to look the taller man in the eyes.

“Fuck off,” he said. Smoke curled from his nostrils.

“You’re no fun, you know that?” Avery said. “Could you at least try to have a personality that isn’t small, dark, and brooding?”

When Ripley didn’t budge, Avery twisted Maggie’s arm, pulling her attention away from the phone. Her lips fell apart, and her red eyes stretched wide as they flicked back and forth between the men on either side of her.

“Keep your corpse bride.” Avery shoved Maggie aside with a snort. “It’s like pegging a dead fish, I bet. Do you at least put her mouth to use? Might as well since she’s too fucked in the head to talk.”

“Jesus, Avery,” I sputtered.

Ripley sprung forward, catching Avery by the shoulders and tackling him to the floor. The two men hit and rolled, their bodies rumbling across the hardwood like peals of thunder.

Maggie shrieked and launched herself at me. She pinned my arms against my sides and buried her face in my chest, trembling.

The commotion attracted the notice of everyone else in the tattoo parlor. People gathered to gawk. At the back of the group, someone started a rowdy chant.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!”

A brawl, I could handle. Busted lips and black eyes were far preferable to the damage these two could inflict if magic got involved. I was inclined to let them duke it out but, with Maggie sobbing against me and Donovan standing stunned at my side, I felt compelled to intervene.

The supernaturally strong zombie girl anchored me in place, so I tried shouting first.

“Hey, jackasses, knock it off!”

Fists flew—only Ripley’s while Avery laughed and took punches he was too drunk to feel. Like Donovan had said, the conjurer’s twisted sense of humor only made the situation worse.

Ripley bucked back from his position atop Avery. Motion paused as he drew a chest-swelling breath. His features dipped into shadow, full of malevolence and lacking restraint. I’d learned enough since our prison run-in to be wary of him, but I hadn’t found him frightening until this moment.

“Stop!” I tried to peel free of Maggie, but she clung on tighter. My chest ached as the crushing pressure mounted.

Avery smiled from the flat of his back. Or maybe he sneered. It was hard to tell with his face swollen and smeared with blood. He had yet to lift a finger in his own defense, I thought, until I spotted the hand he’d worked loose. A dagger appeared in his grasp, aimed upward with the tip dug into Ripley’s chin.

“Breathe on me, and this goes into your brain,” Avery snarled.

Ripley shuddered, winded from exertion and forced to suck air through his nose. Whatever concoction he’d brewed was chambered and ready to fire. I wasn’t sure how long he could hold it or if he might sneeze it out instead. I didn’t wait to find out.

With Maggie pinning my arms, I struggled to take mental control of Ripley’s mouth. I pressed his lips together and held them, then locked up his jaw muscles for good measure. He must have felt it but didn’t look away from Avery until a flick of my fingers knocked the knife from the conjurer’s grip.

Neither of the men moved, and no one spoke as Avery’s green eyes slid over to meet mine.

“Now, Fitch, you know damn well that’s cheating,” he said.

I glared at him. “You want me to let him finish you off?” He deserved it for the shitty commentary. I didn’t even blame Ripley for attacking him.

“Why don’t you finish me off instead?” Avery purred and bounced his brows. “I don’t let a good mouth go to waste. Unlike some people.”

“Go ahead and tempt me,” I snapped back. “Real fucking smart.”

Ripley stood and dusted his hands down his chest and arms. He didn’t speak—not that I gave him the option. Instead, he turned aside and offered a hand for Maggie to take.

The zombie girl’s face was still pressed against me, so I whispered to her. “I think your man’s ready to get out of here.”

She pulled back and blinked teary eyes at me. Black liner streaked both of her cheeks. As soon as she spotted Ripley’s waiting hand, she traded me for him, and all of us were happier for it .

The crowd parted, creating a path for the couple to make an expeditious retreat. I waited until they’d put some distance between us before unsticking Ripley’s lips. When the front door closed behind them, I expelled a held breath. The movement jostled my bruised ribs, and I groaned.

On the floor, Avery made a pitiful effort to sit before reaching toward me. “Can a guy get a hand up?”

I rolled my eyes. “Go to hell.”

Behind me, Donovan sank onto the stairs. I’d almost forgotten he was there, gone silent and sullen as he gazed across the room. “Things have changed,” he said in a dull voice. “I don’t like it.”

I looked past him at the steps, thinking of Grimm getting his rocks off instead of facing the chaos he’d created. It was his fault the gang was bloated with nobodies that followed us everywhere like rock band groupies. He’d dragged the professed mutineer out of prison and forced him into our midst. He’d put Avery in charge, knowing full well that if I was a loose cannon, Avery was a lit fuse.

My fists clenched. “Yeah,” I told Donovan. “I don’t like it, either.”