Page 47 of Pulling Strings

“Weird,” I said.

“Yeah.”

Time for a change of subject, and apparently Donovan thought the same because he said, “Nash asked about you.”

“Nosey bastard.” A smile tipped my lips. “Even in prison he wants to be in the middle of my business. Tell him my cellmate’s a fucking colossus, and I’m giving him my body in exchange for protection.”

Donovan recoiled. “Wait, seriously?”

“No, but you should tell him that anyway. It’ll be good for a laugh.”

It might have been funny to me, but my brother remained somber.

I cleared my throat. “How’s the… Capitol work going? How’s the boss handling having his own boss?”

Of all the things I’d missed during my incarceration, hearing the details of Grimm’s days spent kissingMaximus Lyle’s ass was the most regrettable.

Donovan glanced at the guard holding up the wall behind him, then replied in a hushed voice, “He’s gone a lot. I guess it’s good. He says things are on track.”

“Speaking of things being on track…” I cupped a hand over the receiver. “When might I expect a more productive visit? From everybody? Six days till the trial, you know.”

Shadows crossed my brother’s face. “Yeah, I know.”

He looked more composed than he’d been a couple days ago, but only marginally. It occurred to me that, despite his initiation being on hold, other things could be happening outside my notice. Since our parents’ deaths, I’d never been away from my brother this long. When we were kids, I didn’t trust him alone with the other guys. Part of me still didn’t.

“What’s the matter, Donnie?”

“Gr—” He caught himself and scowled. “He’sobsessed with the Ripley Vaughn thing. Says there won’t be a ‘visit’ at all unless Vaughn’s on board.”

Anger prickled down my arms, drawing my hands into fists. “That’s bullshit. Why does he have anything to do with this? I’m the one with my head on the chopping block.”

Donovan’s features pinched. “I know that, Fitch. I get it, okay?” He looked away, mulling over words before speaking at last. “That’s the deal, though. No Vaughn, no visit.”

“Did they tell you he’s a fucking rat?” I stabbed a finger against the tabletop. “That’s why he’s in here. He tried to roll over on the gang, and it didn’t pan out.”

Because of me. The lynchpin. Was that true?

A heavy breath whooshed through the phone’s earpiece. Donovan slumped in his chair. “No, theydidn’t say any of that,” he muttered.

A hand tapped my shoulder. Guard butting in, always at the worst moment. “Outta time, inmate.”

I shrugged him away. “Fuck off.”

Fingers sunk in, tipping my chair onto its back legs so I was looking up at the grizzled guard. “Say that again, and I’ll send your ass back to the infirmary,” he said.

My tongue snaked across my lips. It was bad enough I had to cower like a kicked dog in this place, worse for my brother to see it.

The guard shoved the chair upright where it hit the floor with enough force to rock me forward. My ankle chain rattled.

“Hang it up,” the guard said.

I couldn’t look at Donovan, too focused on keeping my simmering rage from boiling over. The handset dropped onto the table with a clunk, and I stood.

When I turned away, a knock on the Plexiglas prompted me to glance back at my brother. He stood, too, holding his phone and pressing the other hand in a fist against the clear barrier. Tears glistened in his dark eyes.

He was mouthing something inaudible until I snatched up the receiver and put it to my ear.

“Hey, Fitch?” His voice was thick, fighting back a sob.

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