Page 25 of Looking Grimm (Marionette #4)

Breathing hurt, so I tried not to.

After Vinton left, I lay on the bathroom floor for a long while, leaking blood from my broken nose and feeling my ribs rattle through every strangled sob. It could have been worse, I told myself, but I couldn’t imagine feeling any shittier.

My muscles burned as I dragged myself out from under the dripping showerhead and back into the cell, leaving a wet smear in my wake. Now I sat against the cold concrete wall, soaked to the skin with one shoulder dislocated and a clump of my hair left clogging the shower drain.

I tipped my head back and closed my eyes, tasting the coppery tang of blood as it trickled down my throat. Between that and all the water I’d been forced to drink, my stomach was so full it sloshed. My ears were similarly waterlogged so they muffled the intermittent cries and gunshots coming from other parts of the building.

From the way Grimm described it, he already had Maximus and Holland. Last I knew, Holland had been on her way to interrogate Nash. The gang had reason to spare the investigator, but Nash would be granted no mercy. Though, if Nash was dead, Grimm would have gloated about it, and he hadn’t said a word. It was a small comfort, but I would take what I could get.

Every yelp and shout from the maze of hallways outside made me flinch, and I tried unsuccessfully to tune them out. I was still trying when I heard the beep of the cell door unlocking.

My eyes cracked open, one wider than the other in the swollen mess of my face, and I peered over as the barred gate slid aside. My expectations ran the gamut from Grimm returning to deliver more bad news to Vinton coming back for another round with his human punching bag. I was so convinced it would be any one of a dozen bad things that I didn’t believe it when something—someone—impossibly good entered the cell.

“Hey, Trouble.” Nash paused in the entry. His soft smile was at odds with the shock he failed to keep off his face.

I blinked, half-expecting him to disappear. Was I delusional? Dreaming?

I couldn’t bear the thought of a third option: was he one of Grimm’s illusions? That was a form of torment far worse than bodily abuse, and one I’d experienced more than a few times.

But I wanted to believe it was him. He looked convincing enough, wearing his sweatpants and a navy investigator training academy shirt that put him ahead of me in the borrowed clothes department. He met my gaze as fresh, warm blood dripped from my nose .

When Nash moved forward at last, lingering doubt made me recoil, then whimper as pain popped off from every part of my body.

“Baby…” His voice cracked, and I knew that no one else in the world could look at me the way he did.

I fought back a sob as Nash sank to the floor beside me. He wrapped me up, and the pressure of his embrace rocked me with another wave of pain. My body throbbed in protest as I leaned into him, my bloody nose staining his borrowed shirt.

“You’re real, right?” I whispered. “Tell me you’re real.”

“I’m real.” He smoothed his hand through my wet, ratted hair. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

I curled against him while breathing through tears. Worry for the investigators being slaughtered outside, fear about my impending execution, and even thoughts of escape were overpowered by the need to exist in this moment, to rest for a few seconds and believe everything would be all right.

After a few seconds, Nash’s voice rumbled against my ear. “What happened to you? This isn’t from the fire.”

I didn’t want to think about it; didn’t want to talk about it. So, I kept it brief. “Grimm had Vinton work me over.” I was prepared to leave it at that, but broaching the topic cued memories of writhing in Vinton’s grip while he pinned me face down against the shower drain. I kicked and got kicked in response, then wormed my way onto my back only to find out that position gave the bald bastard easy access to my face and likely broken nose.

I got one good shot in. Kneed Vinton in the groin and dropped him. That gave enough time for me to squirm out from under the running water that might have drowned me .

When he got back up, he roared like a wild animal. He ripped down the plastic curtain and wrapped my legs with it. I thought he would kill me, after all, and Grimm’s parting words fueled my fear. Only alive enough to die . With Vinton’s necromancy at work, I could attend my execution as a shambling zombie, battered and bloody but able to be decapitated.

I gulped air, trying to settle my nerves. “He told him not to hold back. Said…”

Nash pulled back to watch me as I drew a steeling breath to conclude, “It doesn’t matter what he said.”

We sat in quiet until I grumbled, “God, I need a smoke.” I sniffed. “And a stiff drink. And a fucking Kleenex.” My face currently rested in a bloodstain on the dark fabric of his shirt. Judging by the metallic flavor dribbling past my lips, it must have been down to my chin by now.

“It’s getting everywhere,” I grumbled. “And I look like shit.”

Nash tugged up the hem of his shirt and used it to daub my nose and mouth. His smile returned, more genuine this time and so gentle.

“Still the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen,” he said.

A chill tiptoed down my spine, but I shook it off with a groan. “For fuck’s sake, Nash. People are dying.”

He gave one more swipe across my lips, then replied, “But you’re not, and I’m happy about that. Let me have my moment.”

“I thought you were gonna talk to him, not reenact a shitty romcom,” a masculine voice grumbled from across the room.

I turned my head to see past Nash as a pair of investigators stepped into the cell.

Tobin looked more disheveled than I’d ever seen him. His shirt was untucked, his tie knot pulled loose, and the gel in his hair had broken, letting raven black strands fall across his brow. Beside him, Felix wore casual clothes with a short sleeve shirt that showed the patch of gauze taped around his arm. His perpetually cheery expression had a weariness to it, and I remembered that the last reports about his health had been noncommittal at best.

I also remembered Nash’s idea about Felix corroborating my claims of innocence. But before I got too excited about that, I squinted at the investigators.

“Where’d they come from?” I asked.

“Tobin got me out of interrogation right after Grimm and the gang showed up,” Nash replied. “Felix was with him. I gather he’s the reason we haven’t been caught.”

“Are you sure they’re really them?” I didn’t bother to mask my suspicion.

Tobin crossed his arms, and his self-important sneer should have been proof enough. “You wanna ask me something only I would know?”

I bristled and started to straighten, but that made my chest and wounded shoulder ache, so I sagged forward again, letting Nash support me as I glared at the investigator.

“Yeah,” I began, “how far exactly is that stick up your ass? Has it reached your pea brain yet? Stirred it into soup?”

Nash jostled me. “Fitch, seriously?”

“He’s an ass,” I retorted, then nodded at Felix. “But that one I don’t mind. Good to see you upright, buddy.”

Felix’s lips quirked a grin. “Wish I could say the same.”

“Yeah, well…” I scowled. “It’s been a day.” Which re minded me. I looked at Nash. “Did you see Holland in interrogation?”

He frowned. “No. Why?”

That answered the question of time. If Holland never made it to check on Nash, she must have been nabbed on the way. Which meant I barely made it out of the infirmary before the Hex sieged the building.

My nose was still dripping, dotting the front of my damp green scrubs, and the sight seemed to spur Nash to rise at last. “Let me get something for that.”

He moved into the bathroom, leaving me with the investigators.

Tobin approached while pulling a set of handcuff keys from his pocket. He crouched at my side, and his lips pursed as he scrutinized me. “I hoped you’d be in better shape, but this’ll have to do.”

He tugged on my uninjured shoulder, encouraging me to lean forward and give him access to my shackled hands.

While he worked the tiny key in the lock, I asked, “Have to do for what? Stumbling out of here? I’ll manage.” Even as I said it, a half dozen body parts sparked with pain.

“More than that.” Tobin grimaced and glanced aside. “There’s no easy way to say this…” He drew a breath but didn’t speak before Felix chimed in.

“We need your help.”

As I looked from one investigator to the other, my slack-jawed expression shifted into an incredulous grin.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” I said.

The cuffs hit the floor with a clatter, and I brought my hands around to rest in my lap. My dislocated shoulder was less cooperative, and I was already dreading having to force the joint back into its socket.

Tobin stood and repocketed his keys as Felix said, “We know you’re innocent.”

“Of recent crimes, at least,” Tobin grumbled.

I’d committed plenty of crimes recently, but it didn’t seem prudent to correct him.

“Fine, I’ll bite,” I said. “What do you need my help with?”

“Saving our boss,” Tobin replied. “And stopping yours.”

“I told you,” Felix interjected. “I don’t think he’s with them anymore.”

I shook my head. “I’m not. The opposite, in fact.”

Tobin propped his hands on his hips as he replied, “The opposite of with the Bloody Hex is with us, and you aren’t that, either.”

Whatever relief I’d felt at Felix’s support was replaced by the bitter resentment I’d been steeped in for days. “I gotta say, Toby, you’re making it real easy to turn you down on this.”

“Fine, then,” Tobin snapped. “Go to the guillotine and die. That’s your option. Help us, and you’ll at least have a shot at survival.”

“You say ‘us,’” I began. “Who else do you have? You two plus…? Where’s Holland? Briggs?”

“They have Holland.” Felix twisted the toe of his loafer against the floor. “And Maximus.”

“Briggs?” I pressed.

The investigators shared an uncertain look before Tobin gave a strangled cough. “We haven’t found him,” he admitted. “Or anyone else. Alive.”

Nash emerged from the bathroom, his cheeks colorless and eyes misty. He held a wad of toilet paper, and the fingers of his empty hand had curled into a fist. He looked down at me.

“Vinton did that?” His head angled toward the open doorway at his back.

The ripped curtain, water-stained walls, and trail of blood told the parts of the story I had not. I gave a scarce nod.

Nash held out the tissues for me to take. “I’ll kill him my damn self,” he growled.

“By all means,” Tobin said.

I wiped my face, then set about rolling the paper between my fingers, making little bullet-shaped balls to stuff up my nostrils. I was preoccupied enough that it took a moment for the investigator’s statement to register.

When it did, I peered up at him. “You’re greenlighting us killing people?”

Storm clouds rolled across Tobin’s face. “Given the circumstances, I’m willing to stay out of your way.”

From his position beside me, Nash offered a hand up. I wasn’t sure my legs would support me yet, so I laid my head against his palm instead. He got the message and stepped closer, guiding me to lean on his leg.

Tobin scowled, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

“And then?” I prompted him. “When it’s over?”

He huffed a short breath. “When it’s over, you should get as far away from here as you can. There’s plenty of people who want to see you punished for crimes past, present, and future.”

“ Future crimes?” I scoffed. “That’s a new one.”

His expression went deadpan. “It’s a matter of probabilities. ”

“It’s bullshit,” I retorted.

Tobin looked at Nash. “Are you gonna chime in on this? That’s why we brought you. To talk to him.” He motioned to me.

Nash cupped his palm against the other side of my face, as protective as he could get without putting himself physically between the investigators and me. “I said I’d talk to him but not on your behalf,” he said. “If I were him, I wouldn’t do shit for you.”

“It’s for him, too. It’s his only chance to live through this. You want him to live, right?”

I didn’t wait for Nash to answer before cutting in, “You still haven’t told me what you need my help for. Well, you did, but it was vague, and I’m fucking tired. Explain it again.”

He launched into a description of a few things I already knew and a lot I didn’t. The media was publicizing the trio of executions as a mandatory gathering. Civilians were being rounded up and corralled by the public stage even now, where they would be lorded over by Grimm’s platoon of grunts. The headliners were Maximus, Holland, and me. I might have been flattered if the crowd wasn’t likely to be rooting for my death.

According to Tobin, I would never take the stage. They were busting me out of the clink to join their two-man army. With his time manipulation powers and Felix’s dumb luck, they needed firepower to put up any kind of resistance against the Bloody Hex. Which made me the heavy hitter, a laughable proposition as I sat slumped against Nash’s leg wearing soggy loaner scrubs and no shoes and my nose stuffed full of TP.

As much as I loved a come-from-behind victory, I had to break it to them.

“It won’t work.”

My declaration stalled Tobin’s verbal flow midstream.

“Why not?” he demanded.

I blew a breath up into the ragged fringe of my hair, causing my broken ribs to protest painfully. “Your whole idea hinges on Grimm going ahead with the executions after I go missing,” I explained. “Like he won’t think about me, or you, or anyone else trying to foil his shit plan. If he sees this cell empty, he’ll know there’s a plot afoot, and he’ll pussy out.”

Felix shifted his weight from side to side, visibly uncomfortable. “It kinda sounds like you want us to leave you here.”

“No way.” Nash stepped away so suddenly that I almost fell over. “Absolutely not.”

My nose scrunched. I rocked back against the wall, using it and my good arm to shove myself to standing.

“Can you let me explain?” I asked.

“It’s that damned potion all over again,” Nash argued. “Same play out of the same book.” His expression was severe as he stared at me with his head shaking. “Jesus, Fitch, is there anything you won’t die for?”

He was angry enough that I shouldn’t have antagonized him, but I smirked and sassed back anyway. “Good, clean living?”

Tobin moved forward, waving a hand in a call for quiet. “I’m with your boyfriend on this.” He indicated Nash. “What does it accomplish to leave you here?”

“It lets the show go on the way Grimm thinks it will,” I answered, then wondered aloud, “Whose head’s getting chopped first? Is there an order of events, or a setlist, or something?”

I looked from Tobin to Felix as the latter answered sheepishly, “You’re first.”

I nodded. “Perfect.”

“ Not perfect!” Nash exclaimed.

“Nash, will you gimme a goddamn minute?” I snapped.

Gathering my thoughts, I presented them to Tobin and Felix. “If I don’t go out there—if I’m not here when Grimm and his goons come back—they’ll kill Max and Holland on the spot. No pomp, no circumstance, just murder. I wouldn’t put it past him to mount their heads on pikes as a warning to his enemies or some archaic shit, but they’ll definitely be dead.”

Standing aside, Nash folded his arms, sulking. “And if you do go out there, you’ll be definitely dead,” he grumbled.

“Not necessarily.” I glanced at Tobin, then tapped the antimagic collar fastened around my neck. “How do these things work?”

The investigator snorted. “I figured you’d have a handle on it by now.”

I rolled my eyes. “I mean, can they be on but not on ?”

“Sure,” Tobin replied. “I can turn it off, but anyone with a remote can turn it back on.”

The implication was clear. If I popped powers in front of Grimm or any of his goons, the jig would be up. They would shut me down and render me helpless, then lead me like a lamb to slaughter.

“Guess I’ll have to think fast,” I said.

Nash’s expression was so bitter I could taste it.

Tobin fished into his open suit coat and pulled a remote from the inner pocket.

I raised a brow at it. “Just happen to have one of those on you, huh?”

He bounced his shoulders. “Comes with the uniform.” He fiddled with the device, working the minimal controls until he grunted satisfaction.

“That it?” I asked.

“Try it out.”

I wondered how big of a laugh he would get out of watching me attempt an act of magic and suffering electrical whiplash because of it. Not long ago, he’d told Holland I should be forced to wear one of the damn things all the time like an untrained dog. But these negotiations relied heavily on trust and, if I couldn’t give him this much, the whole plan was doomed to fail.

An obvious test resided within my own body. I knew a few ways to reset a dislocated joint, none of them very appealing, but mentally sliding the ball back into its socket was less dramatic than slamming myself into the wall until something gave way.

I sent out a tentative thought, bracing for the collar to respond with a crippling shock. Fortunately, I was spared that pain, but there was more to come. Sucking a breath, I targeted my shoulder joint. I knew from experience it was going to hurt like a bitch, so I made it quick.

With a swift, grating click, the bone slid into place. I yelped as dizzying pain sent me slumping against the wall.

Nash started to move in, but I waved him off.

“It works,” I told Tobin. “Or doesn’t. Whatever.”

The investigator looked unimpressed, but Felix was visibly wracked with worry .

“So, what is the plan, then?” Felix asked. “How does sending you to die save anyone?”

I didn’t have a plan per se, more a vague notion of how things might go. Without being able to see what we would be walking into or knowing how many soldiers Grimm had at his command, I could only speak in generalities.

While I explained, Tobin pushed back on a few points, and I mostly gave him what he wanted. At the end of it, we all had our marching orders. If things went perfectly, we might not all die.

I dusted my hands together as I surveyed the small crowd. “Just a whole lotta snapping necks and breaking backs,” I concluded.

Tobin ticked his finger at me. “Or arresting the felons and bringing them to trial for justice.”

“You know, Batman,” I frowned, “this isn’t a TV series. We don’t have to wash, rinse, and repeat our villains. We don’t have to keep the plot going. It’s allowed to fucking end.”

I caught Nash’s skeptical look in my peripheral. His uncertainty, combined with Felix and Tobin’s, had me doubting myself already.

“You can’t be the only fighter on the field, Fitch,” Nash said. “We need more offense. Crowd control.”

The words “crowd control” brought one person immediately to mind. “Ripley,” I said as though it was equally obvious to everyone else.

“Ripley Vaughn?” Tobin asked. “Your buddy from the warehouse bust?”

I nodded. “ Your buddy, too, Toby. You two are intimately acquainted since you drank his spit. ”

The investigator frowned. “I did what?”

“Remember that plague cure?” I asked, earning a hesitant nod in response. “It was a big glob of magical spit, and you guzzled it down. That’s pretty kinky, even by my standards.”

Tobin’s face paled while I smiled wide.

“You’re a sick fuck,” he snarled.

I snickered, but my good humor failed to rub off on Felix, who persisted in his apprehension.

“Are you sure you can do this?” he asked. “It’s life or death for all of us out there, but this puts a lot of pressure on you.”

It must have been hard to put their faith in someone better known for ending lives than saving them, but they wouldn’t have come here if they had a better option.

“I can handle it,” I assured him. Bending, I scooped the discarded handcuffs from the floor and offered them to Nash. “You mind?”

He balked as renewed reluctance contorted his features.

“Gotta leave me like you found me,” I explained. Despite the fear clawing up from my feet, I gave him my most encouraging smile.

Any one of them could have put the shackles on, but I asked Nash because I trusted him most. Or maybe it was an excuse to get close one last time.

Slowly, he moved around behind me. His hands trembled as he pulled my wrists together and ratcheted the cuffs around them. When he was done, he leaned against my back and wrapped his arms around my waist.

“For the record, I hate this plan,” he murmured near my ear, then sighed. “I hate all your plans.”

I tipped my head back until my cheek pressed against his. “ Me, too.”

Tobin cleared his throat. “Okay, lovebirds. We have time but not eternity. Let’s get going.”

When Nash pulled away, I shivered. If my hands hadn’t been bound, I would have grabbed him, kissed him, and held on until this was all over. Instead, I rocked back against the wall and laced my fingers together, squeezing.

Tobin left first with Felix trailing behind and Nash lagging at the back.

Watching him move toward the exit stirred the anxiety I’d managed to subdue, and I called after him.

“Nick?”

He paused and looked at me over his shoulder, clearly surprised by the use of his first name.

Words threatened to fail me, but I forced them out in a croak. “I love you.”

His expression softened, and he turned, closing the distance to me and catching me up in a tender embrace. I pressed into him as hard as I could, ignoring the protest of pain from my broken body. He drew back and cradled my head in his hands.

“I love you, too, Trouble,” he said. “So fucking much.”

Tears pricked my eyes as he placed a kiss on my forehead.

“Take care of my pretty boy for me, all right?” His brows furrowed sternly as he continued, “If it comes down to them or you, I want you. You’re gonna walk away from this. Promise.”

“Nash, I can’t—”

“Call me Nick.” Color tinted his cheeks as he looked aside, suddenly sheepish. “I like it. ”

I bobbed my head. “Okay, Nick. I promise.”

He kissed me again, his lips gently meeting mine. Knowing this existed—a future with him—hung a light at the end of a long tunnel of darkness. Maybe we really could walk away from this, hand in hand, and neither of us would ever look back.