Page 47 of Looking Grimm

Another flick of magic opened the driver’s door. I unbuckled my seatbelt, then spilled out onto the ground. Finding my feet, I staggered around the front quarter panel and put my quivering fingers to work untying the electrical cords that secured Ethan’s body. When they finally fell away,the dead twin dropped in a heap.

Adrenaline had me shaking and breathing hard as I clambered back into the driver’s seat. I glanced over at Ezrah, who was thoroughly tangled in his seatbelt.

With pain protesting my every move, I didn’t have the wherewithal to deal with freeing him. Fine. He could keep me company. Not that I expected much in the way of conversation.

I leaned back to dig into my pocket for my smokes. My hands were unsteady, which made lighting up a challenge, but a worthwhile one. With a cigarette in my mouth and the nicotine hitting just right, I could think clearly. More than that, I remembered what Ezrah had told me. Grimm was staying at the Blooming Orchid, keeping Isha’s bed warm.

At this time of night, the Orchid was bound to be bustling with all manner of clientele. It was also as good a chance as any to catch Grimm at his new home. Turning the rearview mirror, I checked my reflection for the second time today. No improvements. If anything, the bloody gash on my head worsened an already bad situation.

I didn’t need to look pretty for Grimm, but I didn’t want him to watch me drag ass into the whorehouse, battered and half-dead. Not that he hadn’t seen me that way and worse over the years. He never seemed to mind.

Cranking the wheel all the way to the left, I shifted into drive. The Bronco made a gritty, crunching sound as it pulled away from the battle-scarred tree. When the car rolled forward, the front right tire bumped over Ethan’s discarded body, and the back end followed suit.

In the passenger seat, Ezrah’s head bounced along to every ridge and divot as I retraced the tire tracks through thefield. Bumping onto the edge of the road, I stepped hard on the gas. The Blooming Orchid was about fifteen minutes from here, but I bet myself I could make it in ten. Then I could park the Bronco curbside, dead body, dents, and all, strut up to Grimm and finish what I’d started the night my parents died.

I’d come so close before and failed. This time, I felt better about my odds due to one critical difference: Donovan wasn’t around to stop me.

Letting myself in theback door of the Blooming Orchid, I nearly collided with BDSM Liv who was necking with a john. The short, balding man had a handful of Liv’s ass and his face buried in her ample cleavage, and was undisturbed by my arrival. Liv, though, locked up stiff.

Her heavily shadowed eyes stretched wide as she looked at me like I hadn’t been all over and under her in recent weeks.

“Evening, miss,” I said, effecting an almost Southern drawl. “I’m here to see the man of the house.”

In response, Liv peeled herself off the john and darted around the corner out of sight. The thunder of her footsteps ascending the stairs told me everything I needed to know. She was running to the madam to play the human version of an intruder alert.

The john stood, scowling. He adjusted himself, then shot me a look. “What the fuck, man?” he growled.

“I wouldn’t wait up if I were you,” I told him. “It’s aboutto get loud in here. And not in a fun way.”

Rather than heed my warning, he grunted and grabbed at his crotch again. “Yeah, whatever.”

Walking forward, I glanced across the tattoo parlor and found only one chair occupied and a single artist at work, neither of whom I recognized. The tattoo gun hummed in the background as I followed Liv to the upper level. If she was going to cry wolf, far be it from me to make her a liar.

My heart thudded slow and steady as I climbed. There were plenty of rooms to explore, but I knew the one most likely to contain what I searched for. Straight ahead, Isha’s door loomed. Grimm would be inside, reposed in the madam’s bed like he had been the last time I barged in. But tonight, I hadn’t come to talk. I’d given up on reasoning with him, just like I had with Holland. People only saw me the way they chose to, and only used me as long as I was useful. It was like I told Ezrah. I wasn’t the only one with no time for useless things, and I had no use for Grimm at all.

I tested my fingers, sending magic crackling between my digits. Isha and Grimm had scarce moments to prepare, and I would use that to my advantage. I’d been imagining this moment, or some version of it, for years.

Arriving before the door, I heard nothing from inside. Not even a whisper. I was prepared to unlock it, or rear back and kick it down, but a check of the knob found it unlocked, so I let myself in.

Isha’s room was always dark and smoky. Burning incense thickened the air with notes of sweet spice and created a cloud that gave the canopied bed and draped windows a mystical feel. I stood in the doorway, spotting the madam and BDSM Liv standing beside the armoire and staring atme.

Liv’s face paled, and she cast a glance at Isha, who fluttered her manicured fingers in a dismissive motion.

“Fitch.” Isha smiled through the succinct greeting and walked forward.

Frowning, I scanned the space again. The bed was empty, and the bathroom door stood open to reveal a vacant interior.

Before Isha made it all the way to me, I stopped her with a question. “Where is he?”

Liv skirted past the madam and me, exiting the room without so much as a squeak. In case Isha got the same idea to leave, or someone else tried to invade, I moved aside and swept a hand toward the door, closing it and setting the lock.

Isha’s dark eyes settled on me, her expression practiced and pleasant. “I don’t know who you mean,” she said.

“You’re a smart woman, Ish,” I countered. “Don’t insult yourself by playing dumb.”

Finishing her approach, Isha reached toward my face, gingerly brushing the cut on my forehead. “What happened here?”

Pain pulsed from the gash. I’d managed to clean up most of the blood, but the wound twinged in response to her touch.

---