by Angel Lawson
Quinn shoots him a hard glare. “Draco is solid, Owen. You’re being paranoid.”
He looks forward and Rex stands in the middle of the road, arms crossed. No weapons are visible. No special suit or tech. Just a man that can’t die. He seems completely sure of himself.
Cocky. Fucking. Bastard.
“How are we going to do this?” Owen asks.
“We break him. Restrain him.”
“And the Human Torch?”
“We kill him if we have to,” Quinn replies with a set jaw. Murder didn’t suit him and Owen knew he’d do what he could to spare these men’s lives. He personally just didn’t see the alternative and was prepared to do the deed if necessary.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are…” Rex sings, knowing they are there—just not visible.
“I hate this guy,” Owen grinds out.
Another fireball flies into the air, this time crashing down on the street ten feet away. The heat of the fire singes the tips of his hair. Before they can react, another falls down with a massive explosion. Then another. Blaze isn’t going to give them time to work out a plan. He’s going to keep firing until he hits his mark.
“The fire is coming from down that rooftop,” Quinn says. “I’m going to take him.” He charges his fingertips, the blue flame sparking from his gloves.
“You’re leaving me?” Owen asks. “To fight that guy by myself? What the hell, dude?”
Quinn nods. “You’re a good fighter and really good fucking with people’s minds. Show him what you’ve got.”
His partner slaps him on the back and runs away from the shield in the direction of the fire. Rex watches him run and Owen mutters, “Fuck it,” and races straight toward him, shield up, until he’s inches away from Rex. At the last second, he drops the shield and Rex’s eyes widen. Owen punches him hard in the face, then again in the ribs, and kicks his feet out from under him. He channels all his physical power, all his rage and goes in full force.
“Here I am, bitch,” Owen says, smashing his fist into Rex’s cheek. “Ready to play and shut down your crazy ass—”
Rex grabs him by the throat, his massive hand cutting off Owen’s air. He stands easily, while holding Owen by the neck, hot, dank breath in his face.
“Shut up.”
Owen flicks his fingers, turning the cuffs of Rex’s shirt into imaginary manacles. Reality shifts in his opponent’s mind, thinking his hands are bound and he jerks back, giving Owen a chance to breathe. He doesn’t hesitate, kicking him hard in the stomach, hard enough to drop him to the ground.
“You can’t kill me,” he says, narrowing his eyes and breaking the chains.
With both hands Owen calls into his power, shaking the buildings all around him. His mind grabs at the buildings, tearing at the brick, the cement and beams. They fall like an earthquake, an avalanche of solid rock. Rex barely gives it a look. Why should he? He won’t die. He’ll keep surviving regardless, and he stalks toward Owen with a dark gleam of evil in his eyes.
Owen reaches for his belt, filling his palm with hard pellets that he rolls across the ground. He stumbles backwards, watching as they melt and turn into an acidic goo. Rex laughs and steps out of his boots, walking over the acid, feeling no pain. “You can’t stop me or Rowe or his father. All you have is tricks and illusions. Sure, you’re strong, but how long can you really last?”
He unleashes his fury on Owen, every ounce of rage he’s carried all these years. Scheid cultivated evil in that house and Rex is an example of that hate. He breaks through every challenge Owen tosses his way. He grabs him by the wrist, breaking each of his fingers on his right hand.
Owen bites back a cry of pain.
“Did you really think you’d be of value to your team? You’re useless,” Rex says, pushing him to his knees and standing over him with a murderous glint in his eyes.
A shadow crosses over him—them—and Owen realizes he has one chance. One chance to lock this bastard up for good. He stares over Rex’s shoulder, eyes pinpointed, tugging and tearing at the fabric of time. He’s tired, worn out from the vines in the park, the battle with Demetria, the beatdown from Rex. He hasn’t recharged but if he can get a door open…
Rex leans over him, hands coming for his neck. He ignores him, mind focused, but he sees the man lurch forward, a gasp emitting from his throat. Owen scrambles backward, feet moving, hand wailing in pain, widening the tear, slowly ripping it open.
Out of the corner of his eye he sees Rex spin, a hulking beast slashing a sharpened shield across the bastard’s throat. Blood spills, spraying across them all, and the beast calls out, “Pan!”
With a clenched jaw, Owen yanks hard against reality, opening the door big enough to toss a man into. The other side is visible. Dark. Solid. “Do it. Now!”
His energy wanes, falters, and the door flickers with wobbly edges. Rex, bloody but not dead, sails through the opening just as the fabric weaves shut.
Owen falls back, head landing with a thud. The beast stands over him, touching his forehead gently.
“Casper, we need help. Pan is down,” Draco says into his com.
“Roger that. On the way.”
“You came back to help me?” he asks.
Draco frowns. “Of course, I did. We’re a team. You’re my brother.”
Owen nods, feeling lightheaded. Looking to the sky, the beating wings of a helicopter comes their way.
“Sorry I’ve been a dick.”
Draco shrugs. “Love makes us do weird things.”
Owen laughs, then swears, because dammit his hand is fucking shattered.
Seriously though, love makes them do weird things.
35
Quinn
By the time he climbs up the side of the building, Quinn is pissed. Not a little pissed, but mega-pissed, and the entirety of this whole fucking nightmare is wearing him down.
He heaves himself over the edge of the rooftop, eyes leveled on Blaze, who is joyously burning down The Swamp. He’s an asshole. A dick. A complete and total pain in the ass.
And Quinn is done.
Done.
So. Fucking. Done.
Blaze pays him no attention, too obsessed on the fires burning below, and Quinn unleashes everything he’s got into barreling across the rooftop full speed. His hands are charged, his body primed, his mind focused. Blaze looks up when Quinn is mere feet way, hands blasting a full pulse of heat.
The dry wave of heat flips on a switch in Quinn’s suit, one made especially for him. Fire with Fire, Monroe told him during a long training session. He knew he was the one that had to take down Blaze. Their powers were similar. Their energies compatible, and Monroe’s team designed this suit not only to protect, but to absorb.
A fire-resistant shield covers his face, and the full thrust of fire crackles at the suit. Conduits shifted the flickering flames into modified electricity, giving Quinn an additional dose of current; one that spreads down his limbs into this hands.
Blaze stares at him for a brief moment, trying to figure out why he wasn’t a pile of ash on the ground. Quinn smiles and lifts his hands, long ropes of electricity hanging from his fingertips.
“You’re fucking kidding me,” Blaze cried. He threw fire in a panic, each one landing with a hard thud before being absorbed in the suit.
Quinn had perfected his skill with the whip months before, but now he didn’t need a weapon in his hand. His hands are the weapons, and with a grim expression he swings the blue-white coils through the air and eliminates Blaze in a single, sweeping motion.
“Casper?” he calls into the com.
“Charger? You okay?”
Quinn looks down at the man hog-tied and face-first on the rooftop. He’d seen the helicopter swooping through the air. He lifts his hand and waves. “I could use a ride.”
“You’ve got it. Be there soon.”
Exhaustion sets in. Mental and physical, the adrenaline that carried him over the past few days and weeks drain from his system.
He wants to go home.
He wants a shower.
But most of all, he wants his girl.
36
Astrid
Rowe’s black gloves grip the rail and he watches her as she crumbles.
Jensen and Luby, hanging by their necks. Other than the faint sound of their heartbeats they appear dead, arms hanging limp by their sides.
“Like my prototype? I’m going to build this right here. Once the land to the south is cleared, I’ll have a view of the harbor. I’ll be able to see the lights of Glory City.”
She runs to the building, toward her friends, removing a sharp blade from her belt. Astrid leaps, flying through the air, but she slams hard against an invisible boundary—her body crashing, then slumping to the ground.
“Mother-fu--,“ She cries, hand still gripped around the hilt of the blade.
“Oh, I forgot to say, we’ll have immense security to keep out the riff-raff like yourself. The freaks and criminals. We’re changing the entire city.”
Astrid tries to discern if the men hanging from the railing are real or part of the illusion. Her echo says real, but Demetria is good. Draco needs to work fast.
“Too scared come down here and fight me?” she taunts, hauling herself off the ground. “Built yourself a little fortress to hide behind? Typical, Rowe. You’ve always been pathetic. I knew it the minute you walked in my gym. Sure, you have muscles and stamina, but you’re weak mentally. You let your emotions get ahold of you.” She raises an eyebrow. “I should know.”
The truth, though, is that she can’t get a lock on his mind. There’s something blocking it—the shield surrounding the illusion or something else. No wonder he won’t come down to fight her—let her get inside that head.
Oh well, she thinks, tugging at her gloves. If he won’t come down, she’ll have to force him. Those are her friends—her family—standing there. Gathering the threads of her echo, every last bit of it, she slams it against the illusion. She reaches for that place inside, the one of calm control. She’s looking for Rowe—for his person past the façade, but the shield between them is too strong. A blank emptiness.
Taking a deep breath, she zeroes in on what Monroe told her about Rowe. His father, his rage and weakness. His lack of true gift and the darkness she knows burns in his soul.
She’ll have to get through the illusion first.
“Come on, Draco…”
She feels a gap and slips a tendril of her echo through the fissure in the shield. It coils around Rowe’s brain, past the smug exterior and into the deep well of his psyche. Astrid stumbles on his most recent memory and holds tight when she realizes it’s of Scheid.
This is your last chance. The final opportunity. If she beats you today, there will be no other chances.
I have the devil at my back, Father. Walls to protect me. Beasts at my disposal. She won’t get through.
Bring them to me. I want them all. They’re so close, they’ll all be on the battlefield at the same time. The walls will go up and they’ll be mine. Finally.
A twist of fear rises in Rowe. Paranoia. He verbalizes it. Is this about them or is this about us taking over the Swamp. Claiming the city for ourselves?
Scheid’s face is full of scorn. I’ve waited years for this day and you think this is about land? Property? Cleansing? This? This is why you’re a waste. We have power at our fingertips and you want to be a Lord.
The doctor turns, eyes narrow with hatred. I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re a human with human wants and expectations. You’re nothing compared to them. Why should you believe you can lead a team of exceptional humans? Why do you think you’re worthy?
The clashing hatred shakes Astrid at the knees. She holds on to the thread—the memory. It’s ruthless and shifting. She understands the heightened darkness now. She watches as Rowe unleashes all he’s carried against his father in one fast moment.
You think I’m unworthy? He strips off his jacket, revealing the bulging muscles of hours of relentless training. He takes the weapons off his belt, laying them calmly on the table. You think I’m not exceptional?
Scheid’s incredulous, scornful face watches the display.
Rowe steps forward and in a series of quick moves renders his father useless. The man hangs from the neck in Rowe’s strong grip. “I will not rule this city on the backs of others. I will rule it by my own fist. You’re the one that’s pathetic, Father. Weakened by the desire for children that were never your own, when you had the most loyal here all along.”
He tightens his grip and in the echo Astrid hears the sound of the man’s neck breaking. The shock and horror of the memory jolts her from his mind, the cord severed and the fissure closing.
It only makes Astrid push harder. The wall doesn’t keep her out. Instead it crumbles, shattering in a fell swoop. Her eyes pop open and she knows in her heart she didn’t do it.
“Good work, Draco,” she says as the illusion blinks out, vanishing for good. Luby and Jensen fall, landing on the ground in a solid thump. She hears heartbeats, she reaches for her com to call for help but curses. She’d destroyed her access to Casper. A foolish move that may kill them both.
Rowe no longer stands on an elaborate balcony but at the top of a metal jungle gym. He looks…ridiculous; massive and rageful on a children’s play set. The full force of Astrid’s echo slams into him, charged up and ready from before the illusion fell, hitting him full force, and he falls backward off the structure.
She’s not stupid enough to think he’s down but she takes the time to check on Luby. His body is crumpled on the ground, his eyes closed. She doesn’t have to touch him to feel his faint heartbeat or hear his shallow breath. Astrid takes off her gloves and presses her fingertips against his forehead. She’s not looking for his echo but using it for him, giving him a dose of pain relief until help can arrive.
“Jesus, Casper, if you’ve hacked my system or added in a second com that you use to spy on me in the locker room that I don’t know about, please get help here. Now.”
“Astrid,” she hears, followed by a distressing cough. It’s not Casper, but her adrenaline spikes at the sound of his voice. She turns to Jensen but a shadow falls overhead.
“Fucking bitch.” A hand grips her back. She falls forward, using all her strength, and pulls him with her. His head hits the side of the structure and she manages to get in three punches before he grabs her fists.
“You killed your father,” she spat. “I knew you were a psycho, Rowe, but even for you that seems low.”
Astrid knows his weakness was of the mind, not the body. He has so much deadly rage, and she’d thought it may be where she could get the upper hand. But now, face to face, feeling the absolute rage pour off his body, she realizes any emotional connection with him was gone. He’d lost it when he snapped and killed his father.
Hand to hand. Fist to fist. That is how the battle for the Swamp, the City, will ultimately be handled. She shouldn’t be surprised.
“You should be happy I killed him,” he seethes. “He wanted to cage you. Harness your power for his own uses. Me? I just want you destroyed.”
He kicks her in the side, powerfully knocking her back. His punches are brutal, but she trained him and uses her speed over his size to gain leverage. It’s like they’re back in the ring; bobbing and weaving, taunting one another. Astrid won all of those fights but this one is the most important.
Blocks away, a ball of flame explodes in the sky. Rowe smiles through bloodied teeth. “Another Super bites the dust.” He looks around, well aware that Astrid is here alone. “Or is it two?”
She has faith that Casper is coming. She has to believe that someone is coming to save Luby and Jensen, and she doesn’t want to be here when they arrive. She won’t give Rowe the chance to hurt someone else, so she edges back toward the maze of buildings, giving Rowe what he wants.
A chase.
She’s familiar with the territory from her nighttime visits for Luby and his
mother. Her eyesight allows her to see the cracks in the sidewalks, the busted glass and piles of belongings left by the residents on the run.
His footsteps are loud behind her. Lumbersome. He’s gained massive amounts of bulk over the past few months, working on his muscles, stroking his ego. He never learned, not in all of their training or lessons, that strength doesn’t make the strongest player.
Quick wit. Sharp mind. Clear intentions.
That’s how she survived the simulations. The gala and parade with Demetria and the terrorism at the stadium.
Astrid isn’t human, she’s super-human, with enhanced gifts of speed and strength. Eyesight and senses. And yes, she fucking feels, so goddam much that it hurts, but that’s the difference between her and Rowe. She cares about this city, her friends, and her family.
She spins, whirling around when he’s mere feet away, kicking him in the gut. He grabs her leg but she jumps, twisting out of his grasp. Punches land on his jaw, hard and bone-breaking. She’s gloveless and filled with pure adrenaline, which fuels her to jump on him, tackling him to the dirt.
They grapple on the ground and she gets him in a chokehold, leg wrapped around his waist. She pulls at his neck, knowing she can snap it. “You took everything from me. My parents, my family, the home we grew up in. Then you came for Atticus and my gym. You can’t take anything else. I won’t give it to you.”
“You think I’m the one that can’t get over my anger,” Rowe says, eyes clenched in pain. “You’re the one that wallows in emotions, Astrid. The one that can’t let go. Break free from the chains.”
In a blink she drops her grip and grabs his face with both hands, palms flat on his cheeks. His eyes bulge when she releases her wrath on him, her power. She shoves her pain inside of him. The house exploding. The loss of Atticus. Losing Demetria in the parade. The simulations and the beasts and fighting day after day for this moment. This very moment. With her face close to his, she grinds out, “You want me to be free? Then get the fuck out of my neighborhood. Leave my family and friends alone.”