Page 79 of Brother's Keeper

“I mean it,” I replied. “That’s proof enough for Grimm, don’t you think? And a small price for my freedom.”

Jax stared at me, incredulous. When I said nothing more, he turned to Donovan instead. “You grew up with this guy. Is he always this fucking nuts?” He eyed my brother, waiting for a response I couldn’t silence without raising suspicion.

The moment I released my hold on Donovan’s jaw, he rounded on me.

“Fitch, what are you doing?”

“Negotiating.” I hoped he didn’t miss the warning inmy tone.

“Not on my behalf, you aren’t,” he retorted. “I didn’t agree to this.”

My lip curled. “Is it the one hand thing that’s hanging you up? They make some pretty sick prosthetics these days.”

“You’repretty sick.” Donovan shook his head. “Jesus. Are you serious?”

Had he forgotten this was a setup? Not to say I wouldn’t have agreed to the deal I was offering. The longer I considered it, the better it sounded. So good that I almost regretted involving the investigators in this at all.

Jax watched with a grin as Donovan and I volleyed the conversation back and forth. When we both fell silent, the shapeshifter put his fingers to his lips and blew a shrill whistle.

From the corner hallway, two newcomers emerged. Jette and York strode into the room, and Jax turned to greet them.

Now standing across from me, Donovan’s severe expression broke long enough for him to give me a wink. “The investigator said to keep him talking,” he hissed. “Did I do all right?”

I offered a weak nod then whispered back, “Very convincing.”

Jax’s voice rang out. “The great Marionette has an idea about how we can handle our disagreement without too much bloodshed.” He looked over his shoulder at me to quip, “Kind of a pussy move if you ask me.”

Jette sniggered while York pinned me with a leeringglare.

Anytime now, guys,I thought, casting fervent glances around the room in the hopes of seeing movement in the shadows.

“Jette, my dear,” Jax said, and my already racing heart picked up tempo. “Can you find me a knife? Make it a big one.”

With a nod, Jetteretreated into the hall from which she’d emerged.

“Yorkie?” Jax turned to the aquamancer. “Bring the prisoner.”

York tagged after Jette, both of them gone as suddenly as they’d arrived.

Beside me, Donovan rubbed his wrist. He must have been wondering, same as me, how far the investigators would let this go. Capitol healers could reattach severed limbs in a pinch, so any pain or damage would be temporary. That didn’t make it any less foreboding.

I heard footsteps this time, more of a shuffling drag. York reentered the room carrying Ripley by the back of his shirt.

Tape covered his mouth, and a leather strap encircled his throat. Attached to the front of the makeshift collar was a metal, double-ended fork with its tines sunk deeply into Ripley’s chin and chest. Dried and fresh bloodstreaked his skin and left dark splotches on his black clothing. He was bent forward at the waist, but the fork held his head angled straight up and back, so we saw each other eye to eye.

“What the fuck?” Donovan whispered.

If it were possible, Ripley looked thinner than usual. Pale skin stretched over his skeletal frame. Two weeks of starvation had taken a lot from someone who only had a little to give. I wondered how he hadn’t died without fluids until I recalled the aquamancer currently supporting Ripley’s fragile body. I knew from experience that York was able to hydrate a person from the inside out.

Upon reaching the center of the room, York let Ripley drop onto the slick, cement floor. The frail teen fell, unable to catch himself with his hands bound behind his back. The cry that escaped him was choked and far weaker than the feeling behind it.

My stomach lurched, and my pulse pounded as I checked the shadows for the umpteenth time, wondering if the promised backup would make itself known before or after I murdered every one of these sadistic assholes.

Jette returned with a knife from God knew where—a machete with a chunk missing from its blade. She brandished the rusty thing as though expecting us to be impressed. Sure, it was big, but size was secondary to technique.

Jax waved her forward, clearly reveling in being the center of attention as he divided his focus between Ripley’s crumpled form, Donovan, and me. “All right, Fitch Farrow,” he said. “We’ll do it your way. And, sinceit was your idea, you won’t mind going first?”

I cast a narrow look at the footlong knife in Jette’s eager clutches. She was as likely to gut me with the damn thing and say her hand slipped.

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