Page 44 of Capitol Matters

It sounded like something Grimm would say when I was his kidnapping victim, and he was struggling to keep me under his thumb.

Donovan lingered in place as I walked ahead.

I reached the mouth of the unit before calling back, “So, drinks or what?”

I sensed and saw my brother’s reluctance as he heel-dragged out of the storage garage. Lover Boy’s cries were muffled, then silenced as the overhead door rattled down and latched.

Throwing one arm around Donovan’s neck, I sidled up to him. “Yes, drinks,” I confirmed.

We made our way to the Bronco, where I passed Donovan the keys.

He took them and stepped aside, pausing. His eyessearched me as though noticing something for the first time.

“What are you wearing, anyway?” he asked.

I spread my arms. “Clothing.”

Donovan nodded, unimpressed. He opened the driver’s door and climbed in while I made my way to the passenger side and did the same. While settling into the lumpy upholstery, I nudged him.

“Tell me, though,” I said as the engine turned over. “Do I look sexy?”

Donovan groaned. “Don’t ask me that. I’m your brother.”

“But if you weren’t my brother, would you wanna fuck me?”

Donovan dragged a hand through his mussed brown locks. “There’s something wrong with you, I swear,” he muttered.

“Somuch,” I replied.

He rolled down the windows, then cranked the stereo to blasting. Afraid, perhaps, that he might hear one of the storage unit residents crying out. Or maybe this was his equivalent of stuffing a gag in my mouth.

I’d shut up soon enough. Whiskey would wipe away thoughts of that overgrown coffin of a storage locker. It might even let me forgive myself for committing the same crime that brought my brother and me into the care of the Bloody Hex in the first place. It was bad enough to become a kidnapper, ripping people away from their homes and families. Worse to become calloused to it, knowing how it felt to be left alone in the dark waiting for unlikely release.

I swallowed against the lump forming in my throat. Drinks, definitely. All the drinks. To cope with tonight and prepare for tomorrow.

Ignoring the Closed sign,I let myself in to the Bitters’ End with Donovan trailing behind. Music rumbled from the bar area, luring me with the promise of satisfaction for my many vices. Strutting in, we found the room vacant and spotless. Nash had more time on his hands since quarantine, but the spit shine on the wood floors and gleaming copper counter implied a level of boredom that could easily translate to madness.

“Nash?” I called out. “Pippa?”

Neither of the siblings responded, but I was perfectly capable of pouring my own drinks. I sped up, approaching the counter and vaulting over it to the other side. Grinning, I drummed my hands on the countertop as Donovan stopped behind a stool.

“Welcome, good sir.” I effected an announcer’s voice as I extended an arm toward the wall of intoxicants. “What’re we drinking tonight?”

“You sure we shouldn’t wait?” Donovan glancedaround. “They’re probably upstairs.”

I shrugged. “Probably.”

Turning to the shelves brimming with booze and alchemical concoctions, I identified as many liquors as I could. Without labels, it was a memory game, but I was pretty sure Nash kept most of the poisonous stuff under the bar, so whatever I mixed up wouldn’t kill us. Hopefully.

“I don’t know, Fitch. I’m not really feeling it.” Donovan climbed onto a barstool, and his arms fell across the counter with limp thuds.

I snagged a cocktail shaker from beside the sink and popped it open. “You gotta give me something or I’ll get creative, and it will absolutely taste like shit.”

He sighed. “Fine. Vodka martini.”

“Coming right up.”

Grabbing a bottle of clear liquid, I spun the cap off then tipped it to my mouth for a swig. The vodka tasted clean and crisp, a nice primer for the night’s imbibements.

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