Page 12 of Capitol Matters

I paused to admire the view as the last drops of shower water cut channels across his muscular torso.The memory of his arms crushing against me—his thighs, too—raised hairs on the nape of my neck. But the list of people slated for death were a strong enough tether to the present to overpower any lustful thoughts.

Tension must have shown on my face because Nash stopped with the towel half-wrapped around his waist and frowned at me.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “Warm fuzzies gone already?”

“Eight fucking people.” I let the paper flutter to land at the foot of the bed.

Nash retrieved the letter, then perched on the edge of the mattress to scrutinize it.

“No Hex members,” I continued. “So, that’s something.”

He turned it over, then back, and skimmed the names again. “A bunch of politicians, looks like. Why do you have it?”

I pinched a corner of the buttery cotton sheet to worry between my fingers. “I’ve been given marching orders,” I said. “By the head of the Capitol himself.”

I didn’t know a lot about the American government other than that we borrowed heavily from their policies and procedures. The Capitol touted the benefits of democracy and the value of votes cast by influential members of our society who were assigned to represent the common man—or witch. Since our city was relatively small, so was the pool of designated voters. Thirty—last I’d heard—men and women of status weighed in on every critical decision the Capitol made. Maximus’s orders to eliminate eight of them put a sizeable dent inthe voter pool.

Confusion crossed Nash’s features. “You’re gonna need to spell it out for me.”

“It’s a hit list,” I replied flatly.

Nash’s expression shifted first to shock, then a wry smile at my expense. “I didn’t know the Capitol employed mercenaries.” He handed the page to me.

“That’s whatIsaid,” I muttered.

Standing from the bed, Nash opened the drawer of a nearby dresser. He pulled out boxers and jeans and stepped into them as he spoke. “Must be a new trend because that’s a hell of a backlog. Oughta have your dance card booked for the next—”

“Four weeks.” I set the list on the bedside table.

“Come again?” Nash looked over his shoulder at me, his bushy brows arched.

“He wants it done in the next four weeks.”

“Which one?” Nash asked.

“All of them.”

He moved to the standing armoire and produced a shirt from inside. Typical flannel fare that he left unbuttoned while rolling up the sleeves. My attention lingered on the exposed sliver of his chest, studying the thin trail of red hair leading from his navel to his belt line while wishing the stress relief I’d come in search of had lasted a little longer. I’d been trying to pin the burly bartender down for years, but he’d only recently shown any interest in me. It started as sharing threesomes with barflies who hung around after last call but, since the plague, we’d been falling into bed together more frequently and exclusively.

“Can you do takebacks on this Capitol gig, or what?” Nash asked. “Old Maximus is making Grimm look like a pussycat.”

Wincing, I propped my elbows on my knees and cradled my face in upturned hands. “Yeah, well don’t tell him that.” My palms muffled my voice.

Nash rounded the bed to crawl in beside me, scooting over till his shoulder bumped into mine. “WhatdoesGrimm think about all this?” he asked.

My fingers parted to clear a line of sight to the alchemist’s skeptical stare. “He doesn’t know yet.”

Nash sniffed. He reached over and ran his hand through the long top of my hair, curling it around my ear. “I doubt this is what he had in mind when he decided to loan you out. You’re about to get rode hard and put away wet.” He chuckled. “And not in the fun way.”

I rolled my eyes and sighed.

Swinging my legs off the mattress, I stood and moved to where my clothes were piled on the tasseled edge of the rug.

As I dressed, Nash laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back against the carved wooden headboard. “So, what are you going to do?” he asked.

“Kill eight people.” I shimmied into my now-wrinkled slacks. “It’s not like I haven’t done it before.”

“Not that many,” Nash argued. “Not that fast. A few dozen kills over a decade isn’t the same as bumping off two people a week for the next month.”

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