Page 28 of Capitol Matters (Marionette #2)

I blamed—or credited, depending on your perspective—the whole thing on Donovan. Maximus and Holland both knew my brother was alive, and they must have assumed I kept in contact with him. Explaining the plague cure as his discovery and Tobin as our unwitting guinea pig proved a satisfactory explanation. Except Jacoby Thatcher, who nearly gave himself an aneurysm keeping quiet through the meeting, then left the Capitol immediately after lunch.

Worried he might believe my lies and confront Donovan about it, I made a few phone calls. First, to my brother, warning him to clear out of the motel until I had a chance to talk to Grimm privately. Second to Nash to see if I could lay low at his place for the night.

Knowing I needed to explain myself to Grimm didn’t mean I wanted to, or that I wouldn’t take an opportunity to delay it. So after work, instead of seeking out the tongue lashing and getting it over with, I gave Grimm time to stew by heading straight to the Bitters’ End.

Upon entering the bar, I realized I should have given Nash more details about the reason for my sleepover request. Then he might have warned me that the person I was trying to avoid had already beat me there.

Flanked by Vinton and Avery, Grimm guzzled a half pint of beer. I knew his drinking habits well enough to realize he’d been at it for a while. He tended to start with wine and escalate as the night went on—or day, in this instance.

The rest of the gang was carousing. Newbies cluttered the spaces between tables and lined up along the counter, leaving little room for me to squeeze in.

I did anyway, and flagged Nash down to order a double shot of vodka that I hoped would steady my nerves. This wasn’t how I’d wanted to reconnect after more than a week of giving him the cold shoulder, but it was too late to change that now.

Scanning the room found no sign of Donovan, or Ripley and Maggie, for that matter. That meant Grimm’s inevitable temper flare would be all for me. He’d been pissed off since the gala, and today’s events must have sent him into a spiral. Better that he unloaded on me. Then he might leave Donovan out of this entirely.

While I stood between barstools trying not to get elbowed by rowdy nobodies oblivious to my existence, a familiar voice called my name.

With a scuffle and full body shove, Grimm unseated the man beside me and took his place. He spun toward me, perched on the swiveling stool as he took a long drink from his pint glass. The foam that stuck to his mustache in clumps should have been comical, but I sure as hell wasn’t laughing.

“There’s no logic, is there?” Despite the ruckus, I heard him clearly. “Not a flicker of common sense in your dim bulb of a brain.” He thumped a finger into my forehead, and I bent back, scowling.

Grimm set his beer on the counter hard enough I feared the bottom of the glass might have cracked.

“Tell me,” he said with the slightest slur. “Tell me, have you always been so fucking stupid?”

Nash came by with a shot glass and lingered across the bar, pouring slowly to the brim of the tiny cup.

I barely waited for the liquor to finish flowing before grabbing the shot and dumping it down my throat. It burned my mouth and belly like liquid fire. I passed the glass back to Nash, then tapped the bar in a wordless request for a refill. He eyed me with one brow drawn in scrutiny. I would deal with him later. I had enough to worry about with Grimm beside me ready to screech like a teakettle.

Before Nash finished the second pour, Grimm pitched forward and hooked his hand around the back of my neck. He pulled me close, nose to nose so we could smell the booze on each other’s breath.

“Don’t answer that.” He shook his head. “It makes me look foolish for putting my faith in you.”

“What faith?” I tried to squirm away, but he brought his other hand around and grabbed my shirt collar to hold me steady.

“I gave you power and privilege,” Grimm seethed. “I put you in a position any man would envy—”

“The one under your fucking foot?” I retorted. “Or do you mean throwing me to the Capitol wolves and believing they wouldn’t tear me apart?”

Pippa bustled at the other end of the bar while Nash remained nearby, watching with narrow eyes. I wanted to shoo him off. This was another position I didn’t want him to see me in: kowtowed to my boss’s inflated sense of superiority.

A blast of mental force knocked both of Grimm’s hands away, and I stood upright.

“They don’t believe a word I say,” I continued. “If I wanted to win them over, I had to give them something.”

Grimm’s brows drew down, casting his face in shadow. “So, you decided to give them everything.”

I snorted. “It was one cure. For one guy—”

The yank on my head as he grabbed my hair shut me up. “They have it now, you dunce!” he shouted so loud and close that it made my ears ring. “They have everything they need! The whole city will be cleansed in days.”

I could have broken his fingers. Could have shot off any number of catty comebacks, but they all died on my lips. Because Nash said it best, Grimm made me a follower, submissive and compliant, and sometimes the choke chain of that conditioning strangled my rebellious thoughts.

I winced against Grimm’s unrelenting grip until a low voice rumbled from across the bar.

“That’s enough.”

I craned my neck to see Nash bowed up and glaring .

“You two wanna scrap? Take it outside,” the alchemist said. “I’ve never allowed fighting in my bar, and I’m not starting tonight.”

I grabbed Grimm’s wrist, trying to relieve the pinching pain on my scalp. In response, Grimm twisted his hand, drawing me onto my tiptoes.

“This is discipline, Nicholas, and it’s well-deserved,” Grimm told Nash.

I half-expected him to drag me out into the parking lot where he could really cut loose. The sooner he unloaded whatever speech he must have been planning all day, the sooner he would go back to leaving me alone. Which seemed to be the only way we could tolerate each other lately.

“Is that what you tell him?” Nash motioned to me. “That you treat him like trash because he deserves it? How stupid are you , asshole?” He braced against the counter and leaned into our proximity. “You made him a killer. Now you’re afraid of your own creation. So, you hide behind shit talk and abuse and hope he never decides to crush your ribs like a bag of potato chips.”

Nash’s typically ruddy cheeks had flushed fully red, and the vein on his temple pulsed.

Surprised as I was, seeing him so riled up was an undeniable turn on. I could have crawled across the bar and kissed him right then.

Grimm’s response was vastly different. While Nash ran hot, the older man stayed blistering cold. His narrow expression was downright frigid as he released me and said, “Mind your business, barkeep, and let me manage mine. ”

Nash nodded, unfazed. “I am minding my business, and it’s better without you in it.” He grabbed Grimm’s pint glass and dragged it across the bar. When he tipped it out into the sink, I almost choked on a laugh.

“You’ve had enough,” Nash said. “Time to go home.”

Grimm’s mouth fell open. Mine did, too. Not once in twelve long years had I seen anyone cut Grimm off.

“And take your fan club with you.” Nash swung an arm in reference to the crowd loudly partying and missing the highlight of my week—maybe my month. “Bar’s closed,” the alchemist announced, “in case you missed the sign.”

Grimm rose from his stool. His pale blue eyes flicked from Nash to me and back again as realization dawned.

“I see what’s going on.” He nodded slowly. “You know, Nicholas, I expected better from you. Namely that you could make decisions with your brain instead of your cock.” He stepped back from the bar, then tipped his thumb toward me. “Don’t get too invested in that one. He’ll let anyone fuck him.”

My face burned with scorching shame as Nash folded his arms across his chest. He said nothing, but the set of his jaw proved him to be unmoved.

Grimm waited another tense moment before calling across the bar. “Pack it up, boys! We can go somewhere we’re wanted.”

Groans of complaint answered him as the rabble reluctantly formed a single-file line moving toward the exit.

Pippa froze in place behind the taps. She must have been as unaware as the others until Grimm’s declaration. Nash tipped his chin toward the front door, a cue she took to exit the back counter area and supervise the gang members shuffling out.

As the stools emptied, Grimm walked down the length of the bar, knocking over every glass in his path. Booze spilled onto the floor in splattering streams. When he reached the end, he scooped up the last half-empty drink and hurled it into the wall. The stemmed glass shattered with a pop, and liquid streaked the wood paneling.

“Grow the fuck up!” I shouted after him.

Grimm chuckled. “Enjoy your whore, Nicholas. When the novelty wears off, and you’re ready to resume business, I’ll be waiting.”

The insult struck like a gut punch. I didn’t mind the criticism as much as his choice to say it in front of Nash. And I couldn’t decide if the bartender’s persistent silence was a good response or a bad one.

“As for you, Mister Farrow.” Loose waves framed Grimm’s bearded face as he glowered at me. “You are walking a thin line. Interfere with my plans again, and you may find your usefulness coming to an end. I have no place in my ranks for traitors, saboteurs, or self-important shits who forget that my role is to lead and theirs is to follow.”

With that, he turned and walked away.

Nerves and rage had me strung tight and trembling as Grimm left. The front door closed with a resounding thunk, and the lock clicked over. Nash bent behind the bar, then stood holding a gray plastic dish tub that he set on the copper bar top.

Pippa reentered the room with a wide smile splitting her features. “What was that?” she asked. “Did we rid ourselves of the Bloody Hex for good?”

I wouldn’t interpret anything that had just happened as good. Nash didn’t answer as he started down the bar, picking up glasses and stacking them in the tub.

“Let me help with that,” I offered.

He plucked a dishtowel from the pocket of his apron and tossed it to me.

“I’ll get the mop,” Pippa said as she turned toward the back room.

I struggled to match Nash’s pace as he collected toppled cups. The towel was soaked and dripping after wiping only a few puddles, so I left it in a soggy pile and rushed to walk along the counter opposite him.

“I don’t need you to come to my rescue, you know,” I told him. “I can handle myself.”

He replied without pausing his task. “A simple thank you would suffice.”

Dodging stools, I chased him to the end of the bar. “I mean it. You don’t want to be at odds with Grimm. He’ll make your life hell.”

“You say that from experience.” The final glass plinked into the tub, and Nash turned to pin me with a meaningful look. “And no. I stood by for enough of his shit when you were a teenager. I allowed it, and I’ve always regretted that.”

Of all the people who should have felt badly about the dumpster fire of my younger years, Nash was not one of them. Vinton and Avery thought me an annoyance, like a fly to be swatted. Grimm felt the same way then as he did now, that with enough forceful correction he could hold me in line. Even Isha treated me like a novelty or a blank canvas she could design to suit her whims—and not only with the ink she put on my skin.

I coughed at a sudden clog in my throat. “I don’t blame you, Nash—”

“I was young, too, you know,” he said. “And a coward. Working for the Hex gave me everything I wanted. Success, wealth… and a hell of a burden on my conscience.” Sighing, he hefted the loaded dish tub onto the counter. “I’ve decided I can do without anything they have to offer.”

There was certainly nothing cowardly about him now. I shook my head. “I’m not sure it’s worth it.”

“Not sure you’re worth it, you mean?”

The warmth that had earlier singed my cheeks returned, but not from embarrassment this time.

I looked him over. His copper hair glowed gold in the downlights and his eyes had begun to develop crow’s feet from an ever-ready smile. I was deceiving myself to think I only came to the bar to get away from Grimm. I craved a closeness currently prevented by the counter between Nash and I.

Nash’s hand rested on the bar top. I thought to reach for it, but his next statement stopped me.

“There are people who want better for you, Fitch. Not just me.”

I huffed a laugh. “You really have been talking to Ripley.”

“Rip’s a good guy,” Nash replied with a shrug. “Calls things like he sees them.”

Which was a nice way of saying he was as blunt as a spoon.

Nash ferried the dish tub to the sink, raising his voice over the rush of the faucet. “Speaking of calling, it wouldn’t kill you to answer your damn phone. I must’ve dialed you ten times last week.”

“Twelve,” I quipped. Part of me relished that knowledge—I wasn’t used to people worrying about me.

From the back hallway, Pippa returned with a mop and rolling bucket filled with soapy water. She rounded the corner of the bar toward us, then stopped with a frown.

“Aww, Fitch, you’re tracking it everywhere!” she exclaimed.

I looked down at where my shoes had spread the pooling liquor in footprints down the length of the counter.

Nash chuckled as his sister marched forward with the mop offered out.

“Get to it.” She thrust the wooden handle into my grasp.

A curl of my fingers called the wheeled bucket to my side. Water sloshed over the side as it came to an abrupt stop. I lingered, watching as Pippa tackled the river of alcohol running along the bar and Nash rinsed and loaded glasses into a tray for the dishwasher.

His stand against Grimm didn’t necessarily carry over onto me. I had a life outside of this bar—as much as I wished I could ignore it. With four days to go till the vote, and one name left on my hit list, the relief I wanted to feel was burdened by responsibility. That, and a looming sense of dread because if Grimm truly wanted to “discipline” me, there were far worse punishments than pulling my hair or shouting insults.

Taking his ire out on my brother, for instance.

Sliding my phone from my hip pocket, I fired off a text to Donovan.

Meet me at Bitters. STAT.