Page 28 of Capitol Matters

“You just told me I wasn’t so bad.” My sheepish laugh proved less than convincing.

Felix tucked the 8 Ball under his arm once more. “You’re not so bad for amurderer,” he said.

My discomfort subsided as rapidly as it had spiked. Was I still shaken about the car or was magic at play? I eyed the 8 Ball, as suspicious now as I should have been when a grown man returned to a fresh crime scene to rescue his forgotten toy.

I twitched a finger toward it. Not to pull it from his grip, simply pointing. Would he answer if I asked about its significance? Not likely.

Before I could speak again, Felix beamed a wide grin and said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

I didn’t go tothe motel because Grimm wasn’t there. He had taken the gang on a last-minute outing to the Blooming Orchid hoping to “boost morale.” When tensions were high, leave it to men to fuck their way through it.

The cabbie pulled up to the curb, and I passed him a twenty between the front seats before stepping out of the car. Downtown power had been restored since the earthquake and, as the sun set, the streetlamps came alight. I rifled through my pockets for a smoke and fired one up, drawing a deep breath and holding it.

A couple blocks down, the construction zone remained cordoned off. As my eyes traveled the length of the desolate street, I was no less troubled by the emptiness and ruin than I had been on my ride along with Holland last week. The gang lived here, too. This was our home—the only place in the country witches were welcome. Were they notbothered by what we’d done to it? We had spread disease and crime and reduced the city to a wasteland. With Avery in charge, I doubted things would improve.

Smoke wisped into the air as I looked up the edifice of the Blooming Orchid. At street level, text was scrawled in red curlicues on black windows, spelling the business name and the accompanying words Tattoo and Piercing Parlor. A single white flower blossomed in the bottom corner.

My head tipped back as I surveyed the second story. More windows defined the upstairs bedrooms where Isha’s girls entertained clients. Those were painted over, too, but pinpricks of bare glass let light sparkle through, like stars raining down on the sidewalk below.

My attention lingered on the uppermost room on the right. Isha’s private suite. Visions of a four-poster bed, floor-to-ceiling drapes, and Keshan rugs that squished between bare toes populated my thoughts. I hadn’t been around much since she gave Donovan his Hex mark. In fact, I was two string tattoos behind. One for Jacoby Thatcher and another for the unknown inmate I’d killed in defense of Grimm. Those happenings seemed so long ago, though only a few weeks had passed.

I discarded the spent cigarette and turned toward the front door. If the whole gang was here, it would be crowded. And, while I didn’t mind company, most of these were not my favorite people. I could stick to the few I tolerated, though that number was rapidly dwindling.

Lately, it was Donovan and I versus the rest of the gang, a kind of isolation I could tell he felt. It bugged me,too, if I was honest. My Capitol job had put a wall between me and everyone else. I had become an outsider, untrusted by my peers on both sides of the law. It sucked.

Taking one more deep breath, I stepped into the tattoo parlor.

Warm golden light caused me to squint. Soft music played while Hex members chatted and scantily clad women circulated the room, moving like every pose was a photo op. They were people for rent, wrapped in lace and satin.

I scanned the crowd, passing over nameless newbies in search of more familiar faces. Vinton reclined on a tufted velvet couch with a girl on each knee. He’d started his job at the Capitol, I assumed. Though, I hadn’t had cause to visit the morgue to find out. There was no sign of Grimm, Ripley, or Avery, but I spotted Donovan perched on the stairs at the back of the room.

Dodging bodies, I made my way toward him, garnering narrow looks from some of the gang members and more appreciative gazes from Isha’s girls. After years of frequent visits, most of them knew me intimately. Plus, my suit and tie didn’t hurt when it came to sex appeal.

Donovan looked forlorn, a typical state for him when wanton women were involved. He’d grown up here, same as me but, due to our six-year age gap, our experiences differed. While I was getting hands-on lessons in how to pleasure a woman, he was doted on and mothered.

It must have been hard for him to shift hisperception of the girls from maternal figures to sexual conquests. There was a kink for that, but it was more my playground than my brother’s.

Making it to the stairs, I slid in beside him and bumped my shoulder against his.

“So,” I began, “where is everybody?”

Donovan raised a brow. “What do you mean? Everybody’s here. They’re everywhere. All the time.” His expression showed a level of overwhelm I immediately understood.

I gazed across the room, noting those reposed in chairs getting fresh ink from humming tattoo guns. Not Hex marks—Grimm had forbidden that, and they should have taken it as a sign. They were here for a good time but not a long time. It had already been long enough, as far as I was concerned.

“What about Grimm?” I asked Donovan. “I’m supposed to meet him.”

“Upstairs.”

A grumble slipped out of me as I craned my neck to look up the steps behind us. While the employees entertained guests on this floor, the madam of the house was notably absent. I felt foolish now for how I’d stared at her bedroom window outside. Nostalgia would have been the farthest thing from my mind if I’d known she was screwing my boss in the bed I so fondly remembered.

“Guess I’ll wait, then.” I lay back on the stairs with my hands clasped behind my head as a cushion between me and the hard wooden treads.

Donovan faced forward and matched my sigh.

Ambient noise filled my ears. I tuned into the tattoo gun motors, familiar and soothing, until my brother heaved another breath.

“Storage duty sucks,” he said.

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