Page 77 of Pulling Strings

With his plan to take things over from Maximus Lyle well underway, I saw no point in large-scale combat. The Capitol didn’t have an army, just a few dozen investigators. I squinted out into the crowd as Grimm spoke.

“It’s a leader’s job to give orders, not explain them,” he said. “Today in court, you trusted me with your life. Surely you can trust me with this.”

My grunt of agreement went unheard as I continued to scan the horde.

“Don’t fret,” Grimm continued to my turned back. “They aren’t replacements. Donovan told me you were quite distraught thinking Ripley might take your spot.” He chuckled. “You’re not that disposable, Fitch.”

Avery finished necking with the chicken fight guy and stopped in front of me on his way to his seat at the gang’s table.

“Hey, bitch,” he greeted, conjuring a pack of cigarettes and a lighter and pressing them into my hand. “Welcome back, etcetera.”

Sighing relief, I tore through the plastic wrap into the smokes and fired one up in record time.

“Grab a drink, then come on back,” Avery said. “Gonna be an interesting night. Grimm’s really dredging the bottom of the barrel with these ex-cons if you ask me.” He looked me over with a sort of dawning realization, then shrugged. “No offense.”

He moved away to sit beside Vinton, and I facedthe throng of Hex hopefuls once more. Dancing, drinking, and grinding on each other, it wasn’t a bad party. I just wasn’t in the mood. Alcohol would fix that. I could change my entire personality with the right combination of hard liquors.

Ducking into the mob, I wove a path to the bar where Nash was multitasking with a shaker in each hand. When I managed to attract his attention, I gave my order, then leaned with my back against the cool, copper counter.

I wasn’t the last to arrive. Stragglers came through the entry in waves, packing the room to bursting. Whatever Grimm said to get them here must have been lucrative, or maybe they felt they owed the gang some debt for busting them out of jail.

I thought I might find Clyde in the mix, an easy mark since he would have been half again as tall as anyone here and twice as broad. While searching for him, I spotted someone else. Make that three someones.

Across the throng of strangers, Jaxon Rhodes, Jette Black, and York Tompkins passed through the entry.

My drink order forgotten and cigarette snuffed out, I shoved away from the bar to make a beeline for the new arrivals.

It was hard to believe Jax could be even skeevier in street clothes, though the eyepatch taped across his face made me smirk. York must have taken fashion classes from my lawyer, buttoned up in a blue velvet suit with his hair perfectly coiffed. Jette looked damn near edible in a black patent leather minidress I would have peeled off her, given the chance. Too bad she had shitty taste in friends.

I reached them in moments, making myself into a wall between them and the rest of the room.

“No fucking way.” I stabbed a finger back the way they’d come. “Get out.”

Jax pushed close, his dark hair stringy and halitosis worse than ever. “Long time no see, jailbird,” he hissed.

God, he stunk. Like pavement-baked roadkill.

I muscled through revulsion and stayed within inches of him, my hands twitching with magic begging to be unleashed.

“Turn the fuck around,” I growled. “You’re not welcome here.”

He didn’t back down, didn’t even blink. “That so?” he asked. “Well, Grimm said wearewelcome. And, since you’re just one of his peons, we don’t have to listen to you.”

Jette snickered. Gluttons for punishment, all of them and, without antimagic like a boulder on my shoulders, I had plenty to give.

“You wanna cut the shit and take this outside?” My eyes angled toward York and Jette. “I’ll even let you bring your fan club.”

Jax huffed a breathy laugh. “Careful, Marionette. You don’t want to dirty that very clean slate of yours.”

A shrill whistle from the opposite end of the room pricked my ears. I knew without looking that it was Grimm calling the meeting to order. Reluctant as I was to answer his summons, ignoring it would only delay the inevitable.

“Save the last dance, won’t you?” I told Jax. “I’ll be here all night.”

27

Application Denied

Passing by the bar, I found my drink waiting on the counter—old reliable whiskey sour.

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