Page 32 of Capitol Matters (Marionette #2)

“Fitch.” Grimm somehow crammed the whole of his disdain into the single syllable of my name. “How did I know you would somehow insert yourself into this?”

The six of us plus Maggie made for a relatively intimate gathering. The auxiliary gang members hadn’t been invited to this party either, which gave me a good idea of where I ranked these days.

“Were you waiting for me?” I asked. “Or did you just need a breather after all the killing?”

Grimm chuckled through a long breath. “What are you doing here, son?”

“You lied to me,” I said.

He withheld the truth, at best. I should have pushed harder, having too readily accepted the command to stay in my lane. What was it Nash called me? Submissive and compliant. Grimm’s ideal follower. Those traits had rarely served me well.

“You came all this way to tell me that?” Grimm looked perplexed. “Broke a week of silence to make this stand? Over them ?” He gestured to the mound of bodies I’d turned my back to. “You are a contradiction, Fitch. I’d wager you didn’t even know their names.”

I winced at the criticism. He wasn’t wrong, but neither was I. And I wouldn’t let him off that easily.

“They didn’t have to die,” I argued. “We had a plan—”

Grimm’s head bobbed. “You know, I heard about this. A few weeks ago, was it?” He glanced at Vinton, who walked around the couch to join us.

“Vinton told me you made a fuss about a couple of cleaners at the DiaLogix lab. Unexpected casualties,” Grimm said. “I dismissed it. My boy knows better than that. He understands necessary sacrifice.”

“I also understand un necessary cruelty,” I retorted, bristling at both Vinton’s snitching and Grimm’s use of what should have been an endearing term. I wasn’t his “boy” or his son, for that matter.

Grimm looked me over, puzzling. “But you didn’t use to care.”

“I always cared.”

He hummed a soft sound. “As your reputation would attest.” He spread his hands as though pantomiming a banner advertisement. “‘Marionette, the compassionate killer.’”

“Fuck you,” I growled.

Grimm laughed. “Come now, Fitch. You know why those people had to die. To cover your sorry ass. And your brother’s.” He tipped his chin toward Donovan, who lingered quiet and nearly forgotten behind me.

While I seethed, the older man gestured to the room. “The pity of all of this is that I couldn’t rely on you to clean up your own mess.” He shook his head. “I’ve lost faith in you, son.”

“Stop that,” I muttered.

He arched a brow. “Stop what?”

“Stop saying ‘son’ when what you mean is ‘piece of shit,’” I replied. “And stop treating me like a child. You killed my father, and you will never take his place.”

I crept forward as I spoke, leaning in with my fingers balled into fists and my eyes narrowed. I was ready for a fight. Begging for one.

Grimm, in contrast, relaxed. “Do you know why I treat you like a child?” he asked. “Because you are a hair’s breadth away from that emotional, reactive little boy who committed murder by accident. You bought your fate with a temper fit, and twelve years haven’t changed you at all. You still don’t know when to quit, when to keep your mouth shut, or when to take your licks and lay the fuck down.”

A shout burst out of me, launching a wave of force that knocked the older man flat. He fell onto his back, cracking his head on the floor and splattering water from the puddle in which he landed.

Grimm shoved up on his elbows with his face flushed. He sucked a breath to rage back at me, but I grabbed him first. A mental rope looped around his throat and hauled him up, lifting his body till his toes dangled inches off the floor.

Jaw clenched, I walked the few steps to him. Watching him struggle spread a grin across my face. He fought the pressure physically, as though he didn’t know better, grabbing at his neck while writhing helplessly.

Donovan yelped my name at the same moment I heard a pistol cock. A few feet behind Grimm, Avery stepped into sight, aiming a semiautomatic at my face. Despite the obvious threat, I risked an over-the-shoulder glance to check on my brother.

Vinton held Donovan against his chest with one sausage-fingered hand on each of his arms. The Bloody Hex mark on the back of Vinton’s hand glowed dimly, causing my stomach to lurch into my throat. The necromancer didn’t need the cursed tattoo to do my brother harm, though. He oozed death and knew a dozen different ways to deal it.

But I didn’t relax my grip on Grimm. The red that stained his face had taken on a darker tone. Purple, like a bruise, spread upward from my invisible chokehold.

This was a game of chicken. Whoever moved first—or flinched—would set off a chain of violent events. I was fast enough to dispose of one of them. Vinton, probably, which would give Avery all the time he needed to put a hot piece of lead in my skull. It would save Donovan, then leave him immediately at the mercy of the gang, which wouldn’t be saving him at all.

The only person who hadn’t budged was Ripley, who sat in the folding chair with his head ducked and his nose in his phone.

A growl edged through my gritted teeth as I beckoned to him. “Hey, Rip, you want in on this? Make it a fair fight? ”

He claimed to be on my side, but it sure didn’t feel that way. At least, it didn’t until he stood and dusted his hands down his gray skinny jeans.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Avery glanced back in time for Ripley to grab the sides of his face. His gun hand flailed as the scrawny teen pulled him down, locking lips for a forceful kiss.

“What the hell?” Vinton rumbled.

I took the chance to mentally seize the necromancer’s arms, shoving them away from my brother with such force I might have ripped them off. Vinton howled as he staggered and fell, leaving Donovan to bolt forward unharmed.

Across from me, Ripley withdrew from Avery, stringing black sludge between their mouths. The pistol had vanished, lost along with the conjurer’s concentration as he doubled over and started heaving onto the wet ground.

Still, Grimm hung, gone from plum-colored to pale as his life slowly faded. He was limp, having lost either the will or the ability to fight me any longer. I glared while his eyelids fluttered, wondering how many times I’d fantasized about this moment.

This man had been my tormentor for half my life. He had stolen my family, my future, and my innocence. He’d tried to turn my brother against me. And he might have succeeded judging by the muffled sob that pricked my ears as Donovan grabbed my elbow.

“Fitch, stop,” he whimpered.

My fingers twitched.

Noble heroes let their villains live. Good guys chose the high road, trying to prove themselves better than their nemeses. I never claimed to be better than Grimm, and I wasn’t dumb enough to believe leaving him alive would do anything but delay my problems for another day. Why, then, did I hesitate?

My brother whined my name again. “Please,” he begged. “I know he’s not your dad, but he is mine.”

The words washed cold over me. I sucked a breath to argue but couldn’t speak.

Donovan’s memory of life before the gang was spotty, I knew. Largely informed by the stories I’d told him, trying to keep the past alive. It made me feel less alone, believing there was someone else who understood what had been lost. But he was too young. A blessing, perhaps, because his ignorance freed him to embrace everything that came after. To want this new life. To be so very different from me, but not in any of the ways I’d hoped.

Ripley wiped his mouth while standing over retching Avery. His morose expression made clear that he knew what I had to do.

With a heavy breath, I released Grimm. The older man sank to the floor, his knees splashing into a murky puddle. Color returned to his face as the sound of his frantic gasps echoed to the high ceilings.

Maggie trotted over to join Ripley while Donovan stood beside me, all of us watching the two men huddled on the floor.

Broken blood vessels darkened the whites of Grimm’s eyes as he glowered at me. Finally, he managed to speak in a gritty whisper. “That was real fucking stupid, Fitch.”

My lips pursed with unspoken reply as Grimm fumbled into his jacket’s inner pocket. He pulled out a folded piece of paper and held it in a trembling hand.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked, his voice raw.

I shook my head.

He worked his way to sitting while air whistled through his damaged windpipe. Despite his injuries and the rage that boiled in his icy eyes, he smiled.

The page fell open—a sheet of parchment with the title WARRANT OF EXECUTION AND SENTENCE OF DEATH. A short paragraph followed, and below it was a wet ink signature that I recognized as Maximus Lyle’s. I crept closer.

As soon as I read the first sentence, my heart plummeted into my stomach.

“This letter hereby permits the bearer to eliminate one Fitch Patrick Farrow for crimes against the Capitol.”

The Capitol’s seal was embossed at the top of the paper, as official as anything. Along with the date. Two weeks ago.

Grimm held the page aloft as long as he could, then finally let his arm drop.

“How did you…?” I sputtered. “Where…?” My thoughts tangled.

“Lyle had it in his desk drawer,” he replied. “For some time, it appears. Saving it for a rainy day, perhaps?”

I recoiled, recalling all that had transpired in the last fourteen days. That was before the gala. Before I took Sleeping Beauty to Maximus’s house. Maybe that was why he put it away? He decided he could trust me, after all. But why not destroy it? And what happened when the vote results rolled in, and he saw the names of the people I had supposedly killed?

Vinton came around from behind us to attend Grimm’s side. He moved stiffly, but still had all his limbs, so I hadn’t done irreparable damage. I watched, mute with shock, as Vinton helped Grimm to his feet. Donovan remained beside me, equally quiet. I could only assume he’d seen what I had and understood the implication.

“Just think,” Grimm leaned heavily against Vinton as he stood, “if you’d killed me, you would never have known.” His laugh came out hoarse. “And where would you have gone next? Proudly to Maximus’s door, crowing about your victory to a man who wants you dead ?”

Refolding the paper, Grimm tucked it into his jacket.

“You did all this because you thought I lied to you,” he said. “What are you going to do to the man who ordered your death?”

My head filled with questions I couldn’t answer.

“I don’t know,” I mumbled.

Shrugging off Vinton’s support, Grimm walked forward and laid his hand on my shoulder. I stared at it, unable to move.

“You’re a villain to him, Fitch,” Grimm said. “He spared you so he could use you. Now he is done, and you should be, too. So,” he drew another rattling breath, “what are you going to do?”

Heat, nausea, and a full-body shudder combined with a maelstrom of emotion I couldn’t identify. I didn’t dare look at Donovan, or even Ripley, while my feelings of righteous indignation were replaced with fear.

“I said I don’t know!” I staggered away from him.

Grimm chased me with a sympathetic smile.

“Deceive yourself, if you must, but you can’t fool me,” he said. “You’re a killer, son. You always have been. And you know exactly what you have to do.”