Page 97 of Capitol Matters

He nodded, then pushed his umber brown hair off his brow.

“Like I said before,” I continued. “Let me do the talking.”

He sighed. “I always do.”

Sliding past the piled crates, I pulled the door open outward. Dust motes took to the air, aglow in the light as they drifted into the building’s dark interior.

The warehouse soared three stories tall and spanned about 5,000 square feet. But, while some of these buildings were broken up into sections for offices or separate garages, this one consisted of a single, cavernous space. Metal I-beams crisscrossed the vaulted ceiling, illuminated by a grid of cracked windows that formed the upper border of the walls. The cement floor was lined with fissures and dotted with puddles of musty rainwater.

It smelled like rust and fresh death. The latter stench stemmed undoubtedly from the pile of bodies heaped in the nearest corner. The five abductees formed a disjointed stack with arms and legs poking out at every angle. One figure moved among them: a slim, teenage girl with powder pink hair and a bloody foot hanging out of her mouth like a dog’s chew toy.

Maggie spotted us and paused amid the smorgasbord, long enough to wave. I returned a weak smile and two-fingered salute despite my roiling stomach. Donovan had fallen back, stopped barely inside the door and gaping at the mass grave. I wondered briefly if his desire to keep me away from here was fueled by his own wish to stay clear of this.

Peering across the expanse of the warehouse, I didn’t have to try hard to find the gang. Similarly, they had no trouble seeing me.

A pair of dilapidated sofas and a wooden spool table formed a makeshift living area. Grimm had one couch to himself, and Avery occupied the other. Vinton loomedover Grimm’s shoulder while Ripley reposed in a lopsided folding chair.

All heads swiveled toward Donovan and me, but no one moved until Grimm rose from his low-slung seat. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and his expression was serene. Eerie calm blanketed everything from Maggie’s soft munching to the dull stares given by the other men.

I pulled my attention away from Grimm’s approach long enough to find a pair of vented doors on the far wall. My recollection of this place was distant but vivid. It was where I first met the gang—where we were formally introduced, since there was no time for that in the wake of my parents’ murders.

Grimm held me prisoner here and debated my fate loudly for days, often in front of me. I’d been bound and gagged, locked in the water heater closet, then left while the men attended to more pressing matters.

It was here I bargained for my brother’s life after being certain he’d died on our living room floor. Here I’d sworn myself into the service of the Bloody Hex.

Marionette was born here. An identity carved out of terror and pain so deep and dark it swallowed everything that came before.

I once thought I would die here. Standing now with Donovan creeping up from behind me, that possibility existed again.

“Fitch.” Grimm somehow crammedthe whole of his disdain into the single syllable of my name. “How did I know you would somehow insert yourself into this?”

The six of us plus Maggie made for a relatively intimate gathering. The auxiliary gang members hadn’t been invited to this party either, which gave me a good idea of where I ranked these days.

“Were you waiting for me?” I asked. “Or did you just need a breather after all the killing?”

Grimm chuckled through a long breath. “What are you doing here, son?”

“You lied to me,” I said.

He withheld the truth, at best. I should have pushed harder, having too readily accepted the command to stay in my lane. What was it Nash called me? Submissive and compliant. Grimm’s ideal follower. Those traits had rarelyserved me well.

“You came all this way to tell me that?” Grimm looked perplexed. “Broke a week of silence to make this stand? Overthem?” He gestured to the mound of bodies I’d turned my back to. “You are a contradiction, Fitch. I’d wager you didn’t even know their names.”

I winced at the criticism. He wasn’t wrong, but neither was I. And I wouldn’t let him off that easily.

“They didn’t have to die,” I argued. “We had a plan—”

Grimm’s head bobbed. “You know, I heard about this. A few weeks ago, was it?” He glanced at Vinton, who walked around the couch to join us.

“Vinton told me you made a fuss about a couple of cleaners at the DiaLogix lab. Unexpected casualties,” Grimm said. “I dismissed it. My boy knows better than that. He understands necessary sacrifice.”

“I also understandunnecessary cruelty,” I retorted, bristling at both Vinton’s snitching and Grimm’s use of what should have been an endearing term. I wasn’t his “boy” or his son, for that matter.

Grimm looked me over, puzzling. “But you didn’t use to care.”

“I always cared.”

He hummed a soft sound. “As your reputation would attest.” He spread his hands as though pantomiming a banner advertisement. “‘Marionette, the compassionate killer.’”

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