Page 72 of Looking Grimm

A broad-chested bald man shoved through the crowd. He had a body draped over one shoulder which he let drop into the space formed as the newbies scattered. Vinton Everly’s mouth pressed a tight line as he glowered at me.

There were more than thirty now. Jacoby Thatcher, the rogue inmate at Thorngate, Avery’s bank robbers, Sleeping Beauty, Jette Black and York Tompkins, Charlie, the Everett twins, Isha, and the attack squad sent to the Bitters’ End including Avery himself… They all added to a seemingly impossible tally.

“Very well.” Grimm waved a hand toward the Hex members. “Whichever of you is the first to take thirty lives will be invited to take Mister Farrow’s place.”

Clammy sweat beaded across my chest and back. I felt faint again and queasy as ever.

The rookies muttered amongst themselves until Grimm called for silence by clearing his throat.

“Better get started,” he said.

They dispersed, taking off in opposite directions down the hallway. Vinton remained. His beady black eyes bored into me.

Grimm addressed the necromancer as he nodded toward me. “He mentioned wanting to rinse off. Perhaps you could do something about that?”

Vinton dipped his head, ever ready to accept orders.

“Have some fun while you’re at it,” Grimm told him. “Don’t hold back.”

My heart lurched into my throat, silencing any protest I might have given. The threat was obvious, but in case I’d missed it, Grimm clarified by adding, “He only needs to be alive enough to die.”

With that, Grimm exited the cell and closed the door, locking Vinton and me inside. His words resounded in my brain, drumming up panic. Left in handcuffs and magically neutered, I had no hope of self-defense. This wasn’t a fight, it was a beating, one Vinton would relish judging by the way he cracked his knuckles as he strutted toward me.

I shrunk from the bald man’s approach and nearly toppled over as he knotted his fist in my hair. My knees dragged the floor, and my bound hands wrenched helplessly as he hauled me toward the bathroom.

Breathing hurt, so Itried not to.

After Vinton left, I lay on the bathroom floor for a long while, leaking blood from my broken nose and feeling my ribs rattle through every strangled sob. It could have been worse, I told myself, but I couldn’t imagine feeling any shittier.

My muscles burned as I dragged myself out from under the dripping showerhead and back into the cell, leaving a wet smear in my wake. Now I sat against the cold concrete wall, soaked to the skin with one shoulder dislocated and a clump of my hair left clogging the shower drain.

I tipped my head back and closed my eyes, tasting the coppery tang of blood as it trickled down my throat. Between that and all the water I’d been forced to drink, my stomach was so full it sloshed. My ears were similarly waterlogged so they muffled the intermittent cries and gunshots coming from other parts of the building.

From the way Grimm described it, healready had Maximus and Holland. Last I knew, Holland had been on her way to interrogate Nash. The gang had reason to spare the investigator, but Nash would be granted no mercy. Though, if Nash was dead, Grimm would have gloated about it, and he hadn’t said a word. It was a small comfort, but I would take what I could get.

Every yelp and shout from the maze of hallways outside made me flinch, and I tried unsuccessfully to tune them out. I was still trying when I heard the beep of the cell door unlocking.

My eyes cracked open, one wider than the other in the swollen mess of my face, and I peered over as the barred gate slid aside. My expectations ran the gamut from Grimm returning to deliver more bad news to Vinton coming back for another round with his human punching bag. I was so convinced it would be any one of a dozen bad things that I didn’t believe it when something—someone—impossibly good entered the cell.

“Hey, Trouble.” Nash paused in the entry. His soft smile was at odds with the shock he failed to keep off his face.

I blinked, half-expecting him to disappear. Was I delusional? Dreaming?

I couldn’t bear the thought of a third option: was he one of Grimm’s illusions? That was a form of torment far worse than bodily abuse, and one I’d experienced more than a few times.

But I wanted to believe it was him. He looked convincing enough, wearing his sweatpants and a navy investigator training academy shirt that put him ahead of me in the borrowed clothes department. He met my gaze as fresh, warm blood dripped from my nose.

When Nash moved forward at last, lingering doubt made me recoil, then whimper as pain popped off from every part of my body.

“Baby…” His voice cracked, and I knew that no one else in the world could look at me the way he did.

I fought back a sob as Nash sank to the floor beside me. He wrapped me up, and the pressure of his embrace rocked me with another wave of pain. My body throbbed in protest as I leaned into him, my bloody nose staining his borrowed shirt.

“You’re real, right?” I whispered. “Tell me you’re real.”

“I’m real.” He smoothed his hand through my wet, ratted hair. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

I curled against him while breathing through tears. Worry for the investigators being slaughtered outside, fear about my impending execution, and even thoughts of escape were overpowered by the need to exist in this moment, to rest for a few seconds and believe everything would be all right.

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