Page 48 of Looking Grimm

I huffed a breath. “Tree jumped out in front of me.”

Putting her hands on me was akin to sinking in her claws. A gentle touch near my wound turned into her hand cupping the back of my neck, then her other arm curving around my waist. In her stilettos, she was as tall as I was and able to meet my eyes with a sultry stare.

“Do you want me to make it feel better?” she asked.

She wasn’t always like this. In fact, I thought we’d grown past it. I thought we had a rapport that went deeper than what sexual favors she could offer. But she insisted it was business, that fucking me was a job she’d been hired to do, and I knew exactly who she worked for.

I caught Isha’s forearm and twisted it away from my side. The sudden movement made her bend to relieve the pressure, and her brows furrowed.

“Where’s Grimm?” I asked in a growl. “I know he’s been staying here.”

She pinned me with a look of warning, and I released her, satisfied my point had been made.

Stepping back, she smoothed her palms down her sides. “Someone has a one-track mind.” She sniffed. “Fine. What do you want me to tell you, Fitch? You can see for yourself he’s not here now.” She gestured to the room.

I crossed my arms. “Know when he’ll be back? I’ve got all night.”

“You’re welcome to wait. Far be it from me to stop you.” She wouldn’t stop me because she couldn’t. Ishawassmart, and she knew better than to pick a fight she couldn’t win.

Padding across the dense pile rug, I rounded the bed and flopped down onto it despite the thought of laying in Grimm’s cum-stained sheets making me want to gag.

Isha climbed in opposite me. She crawled across the feather mattress to sit with her back against the carved wooden headboard. Opening the bedside table, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes. I forbid myself from asking for one or even getting my own out of my pocket as we fell into silence.

Without me looking her way or saying a word, Isha littwo cigarettes and handed me one. I took it, grudging but also relieved, and dragged down a deep inhale.

Isha sighed through a wisping trail of smoke. “Then we’ll wait.”

Eleven years earlier…

Donovan stretched out on the fainting couch across from me, trailing his finger through the velvet upholstery to draw stick-figure pictures. I slouched, picking at the frayed cuff of my shirt sleeve while the endless buzzing of the tattoo gun rang in my ears. It reminded me too vividly of the stinging, burning feeling of the needle digging into my hand, drawing the skull and thorny vines now permanently inked there.

My tendons seemed to pulse at the memory, and I curled my fingers into a fist.

I didn’t want to be here.

I found a loose thread in my shirt fabric and pulled it, unraveling a small patch of the faded gray sweatshirt that was nearly worn through. I hadn’t grown much since the Bloody Hex took me in. There was barely enough food to sustain me at the size I was. What little we got, or I stole from the motel vending machine, went to Donovan. He was an inch taller in just a few months, and his feet were filling up his sole pair of tennis shoes.

At home, we’d had plenty of everything. Clothes without holes and shoes that fit. Three meals every day, with favoritedishes brought back on repeat. As much as anything, I missed my mom’s cooking. I hadn’t eaten anything that didn’t come from a package in months.

The new hole in my sleeve was almost in the right spot to wiggle my thumb through. I stretched and worked it out, so focused I didn’t notice the madam approaching until she lowered herself onto the sofa beside me.

“You’re quiet tonight.” Her leg brushed against mine as she crowded in.

She always wore so little clothes. Everything was lacey and cut low or high to show as much of her tawny skin as possible. I tried not to stare as she reached over with a small cloth in her hand and touched it to my swollen lip.

Rubbing alcohol, I knew, from the smell and the sting. A year ago, I might have flinched from the pain, but such slight discomfort had become relative.

My injuries were from an argument with Grimm before we got here. He’d decided the best way to shut my mouth was to punch it, and I was bound to end up missing teeth if I didn’t learn better.

Avoiding the sight of the madam’s plunging neckline, I looked around her at Donovan, who was busily brushing the velvet into dark and light stripes.

“You can talk to me, you know,” Isha said. “About anything.” Her hand moved to cup my sore jaw as she seemed to study the bruise developing there.

I wondered what I could really tell her. About Grimm and the others. About my family. About being trapped here, there, and everywhere. But that wasn’t what she meant. She was just like them, and she already knew.

“You’re handsome,” she cooed, leaning so close Ithought our lips might touch. Then she pulled back and smiled. “I bet you hear that all the time. Such a pretty boy.”

My mother told me I was handsome. She made a fuss especially when we got dressed up for Capitol events, putting me in starched shirts with button-up collars that choked me and shiny shoes that pinched my toes. The girls in my class at school blushed and smiled when I waved at them, so they must have thought I was cute, too. But Capitol parties and high school were part of an increasingly distant past. I hadn’t felt anything but dirty and ugly for a long time now.

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