Page 94 of Capitol Matters

Unreliable. Untrustworthy. Irresponsible and, more recently, a whore. I could fill in those gaps on my own, but I wanted to hear it from my brother.

“There’s nothing else.” Sweat glistened on his face as he fumbled through reply. “It doesn’t matter—”

“Gimme your phone.” I extended my still-open hand.

Rather than surrender or admit defeat, he slid the phone behind his back and set his jaw.

“No,” he said.

With a growl of frustration, I bound his arm with mental energy and straightened the bend in his elbow, forcing his cell-bearing hand out from his side and into plain sight.

“Dumbass,” I muttered, then called the phone through the air to my waiting hand.

I knew his password—he used the same one for everything—so it took scant seconds to unlock the device and click over to the messaging program. Unsurprisingly, a thread labeled “Boss” hovered at the top of the conversations.

Donovan lunged forward and grabbed for the cell. A swipe of my free hand knocked him back into the metal siding again with another echoing clang.

Turning aside, I opened the chat log and started skimming. The most recent incoming message showed as read about ten minutes ago.

Keep him busy. Almost done here.

I stopped moving. An ache stabbed deep in my gut as I scrolled down. While I read, Donovan sobbed protest.

Looking further back found the day’s conversation started with a text time-stamped one hour ago.

Morning. Vote today. Meet downtown ASAP.

Can’t come. With Fitch.

Stall him. We need time.

Hot tears blurred my vision before I was done scrolling. Lowering the phone, I looked at the buildings lining either side of us. The memory potions in my pockets felt as heavy as lead weights. They were unnecessary since this detour had given the gang ample time to collect the votes and dispose of the unfortunate souls who cast them.

Morbid curiosity tempted me to keep reading my brother’s texts, but I couldn’t force myself to focus or think of anything beyond what I’d already seen.

“Fitch, I’m sorry.” Donovan sniffled.

I blinked, scattering moisture from my lashes. No more tears came; everything dried up as I stared at him, composing myself enough to speak in a level tone.

“Where downtown?”

Donovan’s brow furrowed. “Huh?”

“Where are they downtown?” I repeated, enunciating every word.

“They’re done by now,” he replied. “They’ll be leaving soon—”

“Damn it, Donnie, answer me!” My fingers tightened around the cell phone I still held, threatening to crush it.

“At the warehouse,” he confessed. “But please don’t go. It’s not safe…”

The sun blazed overhead, adding to the warmth that built in my chest until I felt like I might combust.

Fishing the key fob from my bulging pocket, I motioned to where the Bronco sat parked. “Come on.”

Walking ahead prompted him to follow so closely he nearly stepped on my heels. “Fitch, they could kill you.” His voice strained.

I tossed the cell for him to catch. Fear of the gang’s wrath was an old one, based on threats that had lost their cutting edge over time. I’d lived so long with the terror my brother showed now that I found myself numbing to it. Death sometimes sounded like the respite I desperately craved.

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