Page 14 of Looking Grimm (Marionette #4)

A swift kick to the ribs woke me the next morning. I never made it into bed and instead sprawled on the floor beside it. The whiskey bottle lay next to me in a nest of cigarette butts—two packs’ worth. After I’d gotten too drunk to inflict pain in other ways, I’d put out a chain of cigs on the Everett twins’ faces and arms. Now the hotel room didn’t just stink of piss and feces, it smelled like burnt flesh, too.

The stench was close and potent, and enough to roil my uneasy stomach. I swallowed a swell of bile and rolled from my side onto my back, looking up at the slim shadow of a man looming over me.

Ripley scowled. “You don’t have to be so goddamn determined to make me regret housing you.” He stubbed his foot into my ribs again. “Bloody hell, Farrow.”

“You must’ve seen the news.” My voice croaked up a painfully dry throat.

His brows dropped low over his bi-colored eyes. “About your late-night booze run? Yeah, I saw. Awful lot of trouble to get rat-arsed.”

Pain pressed on the sides of my skull, making my brain feel like it was caught in a vise. That and the knowing that I would be headfirst in the toilet emptying my gut as soon as I could crawl to the bathroom seemed punishment enough for last night’s misadventures, but Ripley’s unrelenting frown suggested otherwise.

A long breath whooshed out of me. “Was it unfathomably stupid?”

He stared at me, deadpan. “What do you think?”

I thought I was being evicted. I deserved as much, and I couldn’t say I hadn’t been warned. Even if I hadn’t completely fumbled the liquor store jaunt, my week was up, and my welcome was worn out.

The Everett twins grunted and scuffled a few feet away. Ezrah stomped his foot on the carpet, raising a muffled ruckus. Since we were on the ground floor, we had no downstairs neighbors to disturb, so he could stamp and snort all he wanted.

A yawn stretched my mouth wide and caused fresh pain to stab through my temples. I grimaced and squeezed my eyes shut. “Can I sleep off this hangover before I go?”

“You aren’t going anywhere. That’s what caused this mess. You were meant to stay put and stay put, you shall.” Ripley bent and snatched the whiskey bottle from the floor. “And you’ll do it clean.” He checked the discarded pack of cigarettes before straightening. “And sober.”

I groaned, lacking the gumption to chase after him or protest as he walked out of sight. The distant sound of fluid being poured down the sink prompted me to cover my face with both hands. The bottle dropped into the trash can with a distinctive thunk, and Ripley returned to stand over me again, barely visible through the cracks between my fingers.

“You may be interested to know your antics aren’t the only thing making headlines,” he mused. “It seems Grimm decided to dispose of your investigators sooner than expected.”

It was a relief to already be lying down because that announcement would have laid me out flat. My nausea peaked, and my skin washed clammy. There was no denying it: I was going to puke.

I was almost afraid to open my mouth long enough to ask, “Vesper and Felix?”

Ripley grunted confirmation. “Dead and nearly so,” he replied. “The young man is in critical condition. Barely survived, it seems.”

“He’s too lucky to die,” I muttered to myself.

Ripley cocked a brow. “Beg your pardon?”

“Nothing.”

Sitting up spurred on the volcanic eruption surging from my stomach. A loud belch rumbled out as I scrambled on my hands and knees in a clumsy crawl to the bathroom.

I barely made it to the toilet before draping over it, hands clutching the seat while I retched into the bowl. Painful, strangling heaves wracked my body, clear fluid and yellowish bile tainting the water and burning my throat with acid.

Between coughs and gags, I struggled to catch my breath. As I pressed the toilet lever, my head spun, making me wonder if I’d been flushed, too.

“How’d you get away from the police, anyway?” Ripley sat on the sink counter, watching for God knew how long while swinging his legs where they dangled inches above the floor.

Unfolding my bent knees, I shifted to sit on the tile, close enough to the toilet bowl that I could reach it if nausea came back for another round.

“Nash picked me up,” I mumbled.

I didn’t see Ripley’s face, but I heard the incredulity in his voice as he asked, “And then you came back here ?” He made a scoffing sound. “Prat.”

Anger sparked like a match struck inside me. “Shut the fuck up, Ripley,” I snapped. “You don’t get it.”

Crossing his bony arms, Ripley leaned against the wall mirror. “By all means, explain.”

“He loves me,” I said. That thought had survived the drinking and hours of pointless interrogation. It rattled around in my brain like spare change, a nuisance I wanted to be rid of.

Ripley didn’t respond while I mulled it over, only to arrive at the same unanswered question I had a dozen times already.

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I’m not the one shagging you.”

“Can’t you say fucking like a normal person?” I grumbled.

An impish smile curved Ripley’s lips. “I imagine Nicholas thinks you’re making love.”

“Gross.” I shuddered.

“Don’t be such a child.” Ripley chuckled. Still slouching against the wall, he continued. “Well, you know my advice—”

“Dump all my bullshit and baggage and watch it bury him?” I peered up at him, nearly blinded by the vanity light over his head. It made his skin as pale as paper and his hair as slick and dark as spilled oil.

“So dramatic.” He flapped his hand. “But yes. It’s all you can do.”

“I don’t wanna lose him, Rip.”

How many times had I thought that? Even said it? Yet it felt like a foregone conclusion. Everyone left. Everyone died.

“All the more reason to pin him down with the oppressive weight of your burdens,” Ripley quipped. “Entrapment is as valid a strategy as any.”

“Not funny.” I pushed off the floor and used the counter’s edge to walk myself to the sink and turn on the faucet. I needed a shower but would settle for rinsing the taste of vomit out of my mouth and splashing some water on my face.

Cupping my hands under the stream, I wet my cheeks and raked through my hair before daring a peek in the massive wall mirror.

It didn’t help to add “soggy” to the list of descriptors for what I saw staring back at me. I looked as pale, and skinny, and pathetic as I felt. I couldn’t remember the last full meal I ate or the last time I slept through the night. I couldn’t keep going like this, but I couldn’t stop with the Capitol hot on my ass and two hostages in the adjoining room.

Ripley must have been thinking similarly because he said, “Speaking of burdens, what say we rid ourselves of a couple?”

I shook my head. This was my problem. My responsibility. I’d troubled Ripley enough and jeopardized his and Maggie’s safety, most recently for the sake of some cheap booze. If I valued Nash enough to keep him clear of my troubles, then I owed Ripley the same courtesy.

“I’ll take them,” I said.

“Where?”

Somewhere else wasn’t a good enough answer, but neither was what I settled to say. “I guess I’ll just drive.”

“Wait till dark, at least.” Ripley slid off the counter. “To get them out of the building.”

The thought of waiting another minute made my skin itch. I wanted this over with so badly I could hardly stand it, but I couldn’t deny his logic.

“Fine.” My abrupt nod made my brain rattle. “Can we hose them off or something before then? If I’m cooped up in the car with their stench, I’ll lose it for sure.”

Dragging the Everett twins into the tub shower and blasting them with cold water should have been another opportunity to pepper them with questions, but I was lying in bed trying to shake my hangover headache and the queasy feeling sloshing around in my stomach.

By the time the sun set, I’d recovered as much as possible, but not nearly enough. I pulled the Bronco around to the side of the hotel building and left it running while Ripley and I frog-marched the Everett twins, still smelly and damp, down the sidewalk and toward the car.

I had Ezrah and both shock collar remotes in my hip pockets. He grunted and struggled pathetically, weak from hunger and thirst beyond what he might have sucked through his towel gag in the shower. His twin was a beefier guy and gave Ripley a hell of a time all the way to the back end of the Bronco.

Ripley was cursing and muttering something about coughing up the vilest poison he could come up with when Ethan twisted away and bolted out into the open.

Swearing again, Ripley recoiled and held his wrist. We both looked after the retreating man.

“Where’s he going, you think?” I asked while shoving Ezrah headfirst into the Bronco’s hatch.

“Fuck if I know,” Ripley replied. “I doubt he does, either.”

With a grunt, I fished out the remotes and held one in each hand. There was no sense trying to guess which went to which twin, so I hit both stun buttons simultaneously.

Behind me, Ezrah shrieked as his body lurched with the current of electric shock. Before me, Ethan dropped, unable to stop himself with his hands bound behind his back so he hit the pavement and skidded to a stop.

“Hate these fucking things,” I said, setting the remotes on the lowered tailgate and starting the walk toward Ethan Everett’s crumpled form.

By the time I reached him, he’d stopped twitching and was working his way onto his knees. I grabbed a clump of his blond hair and hauled him up enough that I could drag him behind me. I loaded him unceremoniously into the hatch alongside his brother, who was sprawled out and sucking air through the cloth stuffed in his mouth.

“Hate this, too,” I muttered, lifting the tailgate and then closing the back glass.

Ripley was waiting in the passenger seat when I climbed into the car. His seatbelt was buckled, and his nose was buried in a mobile game that lit his face with neon.

“I’m going alone, Rip,” I told him.

“You don’t have to.” He paused his game and glanced over at me in an act that was so uncharacteristic I was momentarily speechless.

“No, I do,” I said when I’d recovered myself. I thrust out my hand to shake his. “Thanks for everything. I mean it.”

Clicking the power off on his phone, he pocketed it and took my hand for a tight squeeze. Then he opened the door and slid out onto the ground, standing while gripping the frame.

I turned Donovan’s keys in the ignition, starting the engine with a rumble. Grasping the gearshift, I waited until Ripley’s voice drew my attention.

“Hey, Farrow?”

I glanced over.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he said.

Setting my jaw, I nodded.

Ripley closed the door, and I pulled slowly away.