Page 20 of Looking Grimm (Marionette #4)

It was a blissful, dreamless rest, the first I’d had since Donovan died. I never wanted it to end, so I spent the next morning dodging daylight and hiding under the covers until real life found me and dragged me out.

Padding into the bathroom, I found my toothbrush in the cup by the sink. I had clothes in Nash’s dresser, too, and a few things hanging in the armoire. Half of it, Nash had bought for me, determined to make me feel at home here.

I combed through the tangles in my hair, then checked myself in the mirror. It might have been my imagination because twelve hours couldn’t have changed that much, but I thought I looked better. A bit fresher in the face, and the pinch of strain around my eyes had relaxed, letting in light that made the hazel look almost green.

Blankets rustled in the bedroom, and I spotted Nash entering the reflection. Sheet wrinkles lined his bare torso as he wandered up behind me and threaded his arms around my waist .

He pulled me into him, and I grinned, setting down the toothpaste I’d been holding to cup my hands over his.

“Thought I was dreaming having you here again.” Nash’s breath rushed hot across my neck as he started kissing again, dotting the curve down to my shoulder.

I rubbed my ass against his crotch, craving the closeness we’d shared last night. But thinking about the past twenty-four hours brought awareness that trumped my arousal, and I turned to face him.

“About what I said,” I began.

“No takebacks,” Nash cut in. “And I’m not gonna forget it, either. Not ever.”

A smile tempted my lips again. Was he always this cute? Glowing and almost giddy. It was a struggle to keep myself focused on sobering thoughts when I wanted to kiss that satisfied look off his face.

I slapped his arm. “I meant about the Capitol, dumbass. Holland’s out for blood.”

Now that I thought about it, the investigator might have been in as much danger as I was. So far, everything I’d done had caused Grimm to respond in equal measure. Isha was high on the roster of people in the Hex’s circle. She had been involved with the gang since before I came along, and Holland was her obvious Capitol counterpart.

I could have called and warned her, but she would trace the phone—follow it here—and I’d be damned before I put Nash through that again. Now that I was wanted, associating with me was its own crime. I didn’t put it past Maximus Lyle’s court to convict Nash of aiding and abetting a fugitive.

“You said that investigator Felix is still alive,” Nash replied. Squeezing around me, he got his own toothbrush and loaded it with a stripe of paste.

I flipped down the toilet lid and sat on it, crossing my arms and kicking one leg over the other. “Last I heard. Why?”

After dousing the toothbrush in water, Nash stuffed it in his cheek long enough to ask, “What would he say about it?”

“About what?”

He scrubbed then spit into the sink. “Whoever hurt him. Tried to kill him. He would know it wasn’t you.”

I snorted. “Unless they were illusioned like that schmuck who gassed the bullpen.”

Nash ran the brush over his tongue, then rinsed and spit again before replying, “It’s a shot, at least.”

“You think I should try to talk to him?” I asked. “I’m not even sure he’s conscious. Or where to find him.” Or if he would vouch for me. He had once before, but so much had happened since then. Still, I had to consider the possibility. Holland wouldn’t listen to reason, but Felix had always been a soft touch. Maybe his luck would rub off on me.

“I could make some calls.” Nash folded his arms as he leaned against the doorframe.

I shied back, shaking my head. “I really don’t want you involved in this.”

More than that, I desperately needed him to keep clear of it. Prison was a grim fate, but there were far worse alternatives.

Nash’s smirk caused his ruddy cheeks to dimple. “And yet I keep finding ways to insert myself. Why do you suppose that is?”

Sighing, I stood. “Boredom?”

He fixed me with a knowing look. “Because you don’t want to do this alone, and I’m not inclined to let you.”

“Well, you helped,” I told him. “I hadn’t even thought about Felix.”

Speaking of the investigator made me think of his coworkers actively trying to sniff out my trail. The Bronco was still parked out front, a decidedly recognizable vehicle with damage and bloodstains that served as testament to my misadventures. Usually, there would be no reason for investigators to venture this far afield, but since the Bitters’ End had been established as a hangout of mine, they might come snooping.

“I gotta move the car,” I said, and Nash cleared the path for me to venture into the bedroom.

Sunlight beamed around the drapes that obscured the glass balcony doors, casting a warm glow across the space. I expected it to be cold out, so I layered up in thermals and jeans and grabbed Nash’s stocking cap from atop the bedside table lamp.

Nash stood by, observing with that same pleased look from earlier. When I bent to tighten the laces of my tennis shoes, he gave a wolf whistle.

I glared back at him. “Seriously?” I asked, trying to sound exasperated.

He walked forward, wearing only sweatpants that did little to obscure the shape of his morning wood. When his hands rubbed down my arms, my body started a slow lean toward him.

“Don’t get too comfy in all those clothes,” he said in a husky voice. “They’re coming off as soon as you get back.”

Desire stirred in my gut. How had I stayed away from him so long before this? It felt impossible now .

“Nash, I have work to do,” I murmured, then swallowed, thinking about the things I would rather do with my mouth than argue.

It was too easy for him to sweep me up and carry me away. He hardly had to try. Something in his presence, his proximity, consumed me.

Nash’s hands slid down my sides where he took hold of my belt loops. He jerked my hips against his, and I groaned.

“Then we’ll do it your way,” he replied. “Make it quick.”

Despite the tingling sense of need making my dick hard, I tried to peel away from him. “The car, Nash.” I dragged the words out. “I gotta move the damn car…”

When he nuzzled into my neck, I was all but done.

“Maybe we could make it quick in the car,” I thought aloud.

At that, Nash stood straight. “You wanna get fucked in your dead brother’s car?”

I hesitated, considering. “I’m pretty sure I have been fucked in my dead brother’s car. That cargo area is spacious.”

Nash’s features scrunched. “There was a bloody corpse in there just yesterday.”

“Not in the cargo area ,” I corrected.

With a disparaging shake of his head, Nash replied, “I think I’ll wait for you here.”

The Bronco’s keys rested on the dresser, and I reeled them to my open hand.

“Prude,” I teased.

“Heathen!” Nash called after me as I hurried out of the room and into the upstairs hall.

At the top of the spiral staircase, I stopped to adjust my boner before descending the steps .

It felt strange to talk so flippantly about Donovan. Strange, but good. Perhaps I’d reached some kind of acceptance, and I was so ready for that after endless weeks of grief.

I kept a rapid pace, swinging around the curve of the wrought iron stairs. My feet hit the ground floor with a stomp, and I’d barely angled toward the front door when a full body force slammed into me.

The weight hit my chest, staggering me back against the wall. Movement flashed before me in the shape of a person, and something metal glinted in their hand an instant before I felt it sink into my skin.

The knife cut deep and sharp, driven straight through my shoulder to burrow into the wood-paneled wall behind me. I yelped as pain shot down my arm, then blinked until the surprise attacker became clear.

He wore an ivory button-down and a brown tweed vest, and his auburn hair was swept back so there was nothing to hide the madness in his eyes.

“Avery?” I gasped.

I glanced past him at what little I could see of the entry hall while I was stuck in place like a fly in a spider’s web. Across the room, the front door stood slightly ajar. The wooden frame was splintered where the deadbolt had torn through. Kicked in.

“Fitch!” The conjurer broke into a toothy smile. “What a pleasant surprise.”

He hadn’t come to drink. The bar was closed, and the gang hadn’t darkened the Bitters’ End’s doorway in months. He hadn’t come for me, either. That much was clear.

Avery’s gaze dropped to the weapon he’d lodged in me. “ That looks painful,” he remarked as casually as if discussing the weather. Another identical knife appeared in his grasp, and he spun it between his fingers. “Ah, but I’ve started something. I can’t be the one to kill you. That’s a job for our new recruits. To test their mettle or something.” He waved the dagger through the air, and I tried not to flinch as it passed dangerously near my nose.

My pulse pounded in my ears, almost overpowering Avery’s prattle. Every twitch and rapid breath sparked fresh pain from the dagger jutting out of my chest. It scrambled my thoughts, muddying logic and reasoning and stifling any efforts at magic.

The conjurer turned aside, waggling the knife. “Now I have to decide which one of them gets to finish you off.” He heaved a noisy sigh. “The burdens of leadership.”

While he faced away, I reached for the dagger protruding from my shoulder. It had sunk into the tender spot of flesh below my collarbone, a little high considering he had likely aimed for my heart.

My fingers quivered as they touched the blunt end of the knife. Even that slight bump sent bone-deep reverberations into my chest, and I whimpered. The sound must have caught Avery’s attention because he whirled around. He knocked my hand aside, then speared it to the wall beside my head with his second knife.

I shrieked as agony momentarily blacked my vision. I was sweating now, straining, and every minuscule movement made me ache.

“Hang tight, won’t you?” Avery’s lips curved cruelly as he surveyed his handiwork. “I was looking for Nicholas.”

My stomach dropped .

Retribution had come, and it was worse than I’d expected. I murdered Grimm’s lover, so he sent Avery to kill mine.

The conjurer glanced up the steps, then wagged his eyebrows. As he gripped the metal handrail, I found that even the smallest struggle against the twin blades was excruciating. My whine of pain made Avery giggle.

“Patience, Fitch,” he taunted. “It’s not your turn yet.”

My thoughts were a jumble, interrupted by physical sensations that proved impossible to ignore. I needed to get free, to stop Avery or distract him, to do something to keep this nightmare from playing out while I was trapped and helpless.

When Avery’s foot hit the lowest stair tread, I shouted so loud that the single word seemed to tear up my throat.

“Nash!”

I couldn’t see it from this vantage point, but I heard Nash’s bedroom door open.

“Fitch?” he called back. “What’s wrong?”

Avery’s head cocked as new knives appeared in each hand. His smile chilled me as he said softly, “That’ll do the trick.”

“Nash, don’t come down here!” I yelled.

The conjurer thrust his arm toward me with the knife blade pointed at my face. I sucked a breath as the sharp tip pricked my lower lip.

“I’m not above putting this down your throat,” Avery snarled. “And I know you always swallow.”

Nash shouted my name again. His footsteps thundered on the floor above, racing closer.

Avery’s face lit with delight. He was practically vibrating, and I was definitely shaking while sputtering against the knife’s beveled side.

“Avery, please,” I spoke carefully, moving my mouth as little as possible to avoid eating metal. “He’s never done anything to you—”

The flat edge of the dagger snapped against my teeth so hard it resonated in my skull.

“Don’t beg,” the conjurer sneered. “You’re better than that.”

The stairs rumbled with Nash’s rapid descent, and I squirmed. The resulting pain was dizzying, burying productive thoughts too deep for me to reach. Avery knew exactly what he was doing. His cavalier attitude and willingness to turn his back on me were informed by the knowledge that my magic was concentration-based, and there was no chance of me being able to focus with my body wracked with pain and my heart gripped by fear.

Finally, Nash arrived on the ground floor. He turned slowly to scan the space and found Avery and I standing behind him.

“Avery, stay the fuck away from him!” I yelped, and Avery sniggered.

“Oh, that’s cute,” he said to me. “That’s very cute. You’ve got a little crush.”

Across from him, Nash bowed up, still shirtless, so his muscles visibly flexed. His hands balled at his sides, and I glimpsed the cork of a small bottle poking out of his fist. I’d seen him eject enough rowdy patrons from the bar, and been subjected to it myself once or twice, to recognize the knockout punch coming.

Before Nash swung, Avery rounded on him. “You like him?” he jerked a thumb toward me. “You should thank me. I had him first, you know. Broke him in for you.” His leering grin made my insides twist.

Fury blazed in Nash’s eyes, and his lips curled in a snarl. I’d never seen him so angry.

“Shut your mouth,” he growled.

Avery waved the knife through the air, egging him on. “Make me, barkeep.”

“No!” I squawked and struggled, but the effort blinded me with a fresh onslaught of pain. My vision sparkled with stars, so I almost missed the haymaker punch Nash threw at Avery’s face.

The dagger flashed simultaneously, aimed out and up. Not going for the heart or even the chest. Judging by the angle, he planned to drive it up into Nash’s chin, straight to his brain. But he came up short, stopped by the potion bottle popping with a crackling snap.

Smoke exploded in an acrid cloud, and Avery flailed backward, swearing. I inhaled a breath and held it, remembering the mace effect those bottles usually had. Nash sidestepped as the knives Avery had been wielding disappeared. Simultaneously, the force pinning me to the wall relented. I slid down, hitting the floor on my knees.

A few feet away, the fight was far from over. Nash lunged again, tackling Avery to the ground. The two rolled and tussled while noxious potion fumes made my eyes burn and water. Avery shrieked, and I caught sight of Nash on top of him, rearing back for a wicked left hook.

The blow connected, and blood spritzed the foggy air.

Avery bucked, freeing one arm to swipe across Nash’s face. He raked his nails from cheek to cheek, and Nash recoiled with a growl.

That was all the opening the conjurer needed to produce a new weapon, another deadly dagger with its tip angled toward Nash’s gut. Entwined as the two of them were, Nash couldn’t possibly see the threat. My fear for his life managed to overwhelm the blinding pain, and I got a mental loop around the knife.

I twisted it loose of Avery’s grip and threw it aside to dissolve in a wisp. The conjurer glowered at me, his features swollen and streaked with tears and snot from the alchemical pepper spray.

“Tenacious bastard,” he spat.

Nash landed another hit that snapped Avery’s head aside, and his cries became garbled. As the smoke dissipated, I caught a glimpse of Nash’s face, contorted in rage. He swung down again, and I heard bones crunch. If he kept going like this, he’d kill Avery with his bare hands.

It wasn’t that I objected to Avery’s death. I should have craved it since he’d tortured me the same as Grimm, just in a different way. But the sight of his blood speckling Nash’s cheeks and slicking his knuckles gave me pause.

Donovan used his Hex mark on a man who meant to shoot me. He’d earned his passage into the gang by protecting me. His innocence was lost for my sake because the one thing I couldn’t protect him from was me.

“Nash, stop,” I croaked. The next punch made me cringe, and I called over louder. “Stop!”

Nash glanced at me. His eyes were narrow, and his jaw clenched with such determination that I was surprised he paused at all. Lines striped his features from Avery’s fingernails, and a chunk of skin was torn off the bridge of his nose, all of it beading with red.

“He’s a sick bastard, and he deserves this,” he said, his voice gruff.

I knelt on the floor, soaked in blood myself and spiraling in pain while I shook my head. “Let me do it.”

My uninjured hand curled a loose fist, and I channeled a single, powerful thought. My mental threads wrapped around Avery’s skull and squeezed until something gave way.

He was past the point of verbal protest, so his body twitched silently as bone broke and gray matter mingled with the blood pooling on the hardwoods.

With a final shuddering kick, Avery’s body went still.