Page 58 of Looking Grimm

At that, Nash stood straight. “You wanna get fucked in your dead brother’s car?”

I hesitated, considering. “I’m pretty sure Ihavebeen fucked in my dead brother’s car. That cargo area is spacious.”

Nash’s features scrunched. “There was a bloody corpse in there just yesterday.”

“Not in thecargo area,” I corrected.

With a disparaging shake of his head, Nash replied, “I think I’ll wait for you here.”

The Bronco’s keys rested on the dresser, and I reeled them to my open hand.

“Prude,” I teased.

“Heathen!” Nash called after me as I hurried out of the room and into the upstairs hall.

At the top of the spiral staircase, I stopped to adjust my boner before descending the steps.

It felt strange to talk so flippantly about Donovan. Strange, but good. Perhaps I’d reached some kind of acceptance, and I was so ready for that after endless weeks of grief.

I kept a rapid pace, swinging around the curve of the wrought iron stairs. My feet hit the ground floor with a stomp, and I’d barely angled toward the front door when a full body force slammed into me.

The weight hit my chest, staggering me back against the wall. Movement flashed before me in the shape of a person, and something metal glinted in their hand an instant before I felt it sink into my skin.

The knife cut deep and sharp, driven straight through my shoulder to burrow into the wood-paneled wall behind me. I yelped as pain shot down my arm, then blinked until the surprise attacker became clear.

He wore an ivory button-down and a brown tweed vest, and his auburn hair was swept back so there was nothing to hide the madness in his eyes.

“Avery?” I gasped.

I glanced past him at what little I could see of the entry hall while I was stuck in place like a fly in a spider’s web. Across the room, the front door stood slightly ajar. The wooden frame was splintered where the deadbolt had torn through. Kicked in.

“Fitch!” The conjurer broke into a toothy smile. “What a pleasant surprise.”

He hadn’t come to drink. The bar was closed, and the gang hadn’t darkened the Bitters’ End’s doorway in months. He hadn’t come for me, either. That much was clear.

Avery’s gaze dropped to the weapon he’d lodged in me. “That looks painful,” he remarked as casually as if discussing the weather. Another identical knife appeared in his grasp, and he spun it between his fingers. “Ah, but I’ve started something. I can’t be the one to kill you. That’s a job for our new recruits. To test their mettle or something.” He waved the dagger through the air, and I tried not to flinch as it passed dangerously near my nose.

My pulse pounded in my ears, almost overpowering Avery’s prattle. Every twitch and rapid breath sparked fresh pain from the dagger jutting out of my chest. It scrambled my thoughts, muddying logic and reasoning and stifling any efforts at magic.

The conjurer turned aside, waggling the knife. “Now I have to decide which one of them gets to finish you off.” He heaved a noisy sigh. “The burdens of leadership.”

While he faced away, I reached for the dagger protruding from my shoulder. It had sunk into the tender spot of flesh below my collarbone, a little high considering he had likely aimed for my heart.

My fingers quivered as they touched the blunt end of the knife. Even that slight bump sent bone-deep reverberations into my chest, and I whimpered. The sound must have caught Avery’s attention because he whirled around. He knocked my hand aside, then speared it to the wall beside my head with his second knife.

I shrieked as agony momentarily blacked my vision. I was sweating now, straining, and every minuscule movement made me ache.

“Hang tight, won’t you?” Avery’s lips curved cruelly as he surveyed his handiwork. “I was looking for Nicholas.”

My stomach dropped.

Retribution had come, and it was worse than I’d expected. I murdered Grimm’s lover, so he sent Avery to kill mine.

The conjurer glanced up the steps, then wagged his eyebrows. As he gripped the metal handrail, I found that even the smallest struggle against the twin blades was excruciating. My whine of pain made Avery giggle.

“Patience, Fitch,” he taunted. “It’s not your turn yet.”

My thoughts were a jumble, interrupted by physical sensations that proved impossible to ignore. I needed to get free, to stop Avery or distract him, to do something to keep this nightmare from playing out while I was trapped and helpless.

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