Page 98 of Capitol Matters

“Fuck you,” I growled.

Grimm laughed. “Come now, Fitch. You know why those people had to die. To cover your sorry ass. And your brother’s.” He tipped his chin toward Donovan,who lingered quiet and nearly forgotten behind me.

While I seethed, the older man gestured to the room. “The pity of all of this is that I couldn’t rely on you to clean up your own mess.” He shook his head. “I’ve lost faith in you, son.”

“Stop that,” I muttered.

He arched a brow. “Stop what?”

“Stop saying ‘son’ when what you mean is ‘piece of shit,’” I replied. “And stop treating me like a child. You killed my father, and you will never take his place.”

I crept forward as I spoke, leaning in with my fingers balled into fists and my eyes narrowed. I was ready for a fight. Begging for one.

Grimm, in contrast, relaxed. “Do you know why I treat you like a child?” he asked. “Because you are a hair’s breadth away from that emotional, reactive little boy who committed murder by accident. You bought your fate with a temper fit, and twelve years haven’t changed you at all. You still don’t know when to quit, when to keep your mouth shut, or when to take your licks and lay the fuck down.”

A shout burst out of me, launching a wave of force that knocked the older man flat. He fell onto his back, cracking his head on the floor and splattering water from the puddle in which he landed.

Grimm shoved up on his elbows with his face flushed. He sucked a breath to rage back at me, but I grabbed him first. A mental rope looped around his throat and hauled him up, lifting his body till his toes dangled inches off the floor.

Jaw clenched, I walked the few steps to him.Watching him struggle spread a grin across my face. He fought the pressure physically, as though he didn’t know better, grabbing at his neck while writhing helplessly.

Donovan yelped my name at the same moment I heard a pistol cock. A few feet behind Grimm, Avery stepped into sight, aiming a semiautomatic at my face. Despite the obvious threat, I risked an over-the-shoulder glance to check on my brother.

Vinton held Donovan against his chest with one sausage-fingered hand on each of his arms. The Bloody Hex mark on the back of Vinton’s hand glowed dimly, causing my stomach to lurch into my throat. The necromancer didn’t need the cursed tattoo to do my brother harm, though. He oozed death and knew a dozen different ways to deal it.

But I didn’t relax my grip on Grimm. The red that stained his face had taken on a darker tone. Purple, like a bruise, spread upward from my invisible chokehold.

This was a game of chicken. Whoever moved first—or flinched—would set off a chain of violent events. I was fast enough to dispose of one of them. Vinton, probably, which would give Avery all the time he needed to put a hot piece of lead in my skull. It would save Donovan, then leave him immediately at the mercy of the gang, which wouldn’t be saving him at all.

The only person who hadn’t budged was Ripley, who sat in the folding chair with his head ducked and his nose in his phone.

A growl edged through my gritted teeth as I beckoned to him. “Hey, Rip, you want in on this? Make it a fair fight?”

He claimed to be on my side, but it sure didn’t feel that way. At least, it didn’t until he stood and dusted his hands down his gray skinny jeans.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Avery glanced back in time for Ripley to grab the sides of his face. His gun hand flailed as the scrawny teen pulled him down, locking lips for a forceful kiss.

“What the hell?” Vinton rumbled.

I took the chance to mentally seize the necromancer’s arms, shoving them away from my brother with such force I might have ripped them off. Vinton howled as he staggered and fell, leaving Donovan to bolt forward unharmed.

Across from me, Ripley withdrew from Avery, stringing black sludge between their mouths. The pistol had vanished, lost along with the conjurer’s concentration as he doubled over and started heaving onto the wet ground.

Still, Grimm hung, gone from plum-colored to pale as his life slowly faded. He was limp, having lost either the will or the ability to fight me any longer. I glared while his eyelids fluttered, wondering how many times I’d fantasized about this moment.

This man had been my tormentor for half my life. He had stolen my family, my future, and my innocence. He’d tried to turn my brother against me. And he might have succeeded judging by the muffled sob that pricked my ears as Donovan grabbed my elbow.

“Fitch, stop,” he whimpered.

My fingers twitched.

Noble heroes let their villains live. Good guys chosethe high road, trying to prove themselves better than their nemeses. I never claimed to be better than Grimm, and I wasn’t dumb enough to believe leaving him alive would do anything but delay my problems for another day. Why, then, did I hesitate?

My brother whined my name again. “Please,” he begged. “I know he’s not your dad, but heismine.”

The words washed cold over me. I sucked a breath to argue but couldn’t speak.

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