Supervillainess (Part One)

by Lizzy Ford

  ***

  Kimber awoke to the scent of bacon and eggs. His nose wrinkled, and he stretched back. His first solid night of sleep in a week hadn’t been disturbed by voices over the intercom or dreams about running through fire to save his neighbors. Instead of awaking refreshed, though, he felt as if the events of last weekend and his week of double shifts were just catching up to him.

  His body ached, and he was as tired as when he dropped into bed last night. He sighed and reached for the phone on the pillow beside his. It was a few minutes before seven. His alarm hadn’t gone off. It was the smell that drew him from sleep.

  Kimber sat up abruptly.

  Someone else was in the house.

  Had Tish been wrong about the dates of her friend’s vacation?

  He dressed hastily and left the room with his backpack, preparing a profuse apology for why he was sleeping in a stranger’s house.

  He reached the last stair and glanced towards the door. Was it rude for him just to leave? Did he owe the owner an apology?

  Did he really want to deal with any more embarrassment after the articles the local media continued to feature?

  His mind decided, he struck off towards the front door.

  “Mister Wellington,” came a deep, male voice from behind him.

  Kimber drew a breath and prepared to apologize. Turning, he was momentarily taken aback by the size of the man. Kimber had a large frame – but this man was nothing short of menacing. Seven feet tall, blocky shoulders, dark hair streaked with white, and a black suit.

  “Your breakfast is ready,” the stranger said and turned, returning to the kitchen.

  “Uh … okay.” Kimber trailed. “Breakfast?”

  The massive man didn’t respond. He went to the breakfast nook overlooking the river and stood to the side, hands crossed before him as he waited. On the table was a plate of food and steaming cup of coffee.

  Kimber looked from the man to the food, perplexed.

  “If you prefer, I can make French toast,” the man offered.

  “No, no. This is great.” Kimber approached. He set his possessions behind the chair and sat. “You’re sure this is for me?”

  “It is,” the large man answered.

  “You’re a … cook?”

  “Among other things.”

  “How did you get in here?”

  “My boss owns the place. She told me to make sure you were comfortable.”

  Tish’s friend had gone all out. Kimber dug into his breakfast, not about to turn down a free, home-cooked meal, even if the large man standing over the table while he ate was distracting. The food was flavored well, hearty and fresh. When he had finished, the other man swept his dishes away.

  Kimber rose. “Thanks,” he said and gathered his belongings.

  “I can drive you to work.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “Do you have a ride?”

  Kimber didn’t respond.

  “I made you lunch.” The man pulled a lunch pack from the fridge and set it on the counter.

  Okay, this is getting weird. Kimber reached out to take it, not wanting to offend his host but not certain why anyone would go to these lengths for a stranger either.

  “So … who are you?” he asked.

  “Igor.”

  Helpful assistant whose appearance was unnerving? The name definitely fit, Kimber thought.

  “If you leave your clothes, I’ll wash and press them for you,” Igor said, glancing at the laundry bag Kimber held in one hand.

  “No, thanks.”

  Igor shrugged and left the kitchen. “I’ll pull the car around front,” he said over his shoulder.

  Kimber wasn’t used to being waited on. He walked out of the front door and through the courtyard. Once he was outside the gate, he waited in the drizzle for Igor’s car.

  The Maybach Igor drove was another surprise. He had even donned a cap, as if driving was another of his duties and not a simple favor to a guest.

  Kimber climbed in back. He made a mental note to tell Tish he didn’t need a place to stay anymore. It was one thing to stay at a friend’s apartment, and quite another to squat in a multi-million dollar property with a butler.

  The trip to the hospital was silent. Igor dropped him off at the front of the hospital and then pulled away. Kimber watched him go, uncertain what to think about his first experience being chauffeured.

  With a shake of his head, he walked into the hospital and to Tish’s office first. Her administrative assistant, Melissa, told him she was out sick, and Kimber returned to the locker room.

  He tucked his dirty clothes back into his locker.

  “Nine o’clock at Tapirs,” someone called.

  Kimber shifted the door to his locker so he could see the speaker.

  “Bring a pen so you can autograph our newspapers.” Gary stood ten lockers down from him, smiling.

  Kimber sighed. Before he could reply, the cheerful nurse was gone.

  After his weird morning, he didn’t think he’d feel up to friends. Then again, things couldn’t really get much stranger.

  He changed and reported for duty and was soon immersed in resolving whatever crises came through the ER doors.

  Seven: Villains are made, not born

  Hours later, after his shift was over, Kimber ran through the darkened, quiet streets around the hospital. The fast-paced beat of electronica thumping in his ear buds propelled him forward and drove away everything except for the sensation of his feet pounding against cement. Working out was the only time when his mind was clear. He relished the peace physical activity brought him.

  He passed a group of men standing outside of a rundown house and turned a corner, heading back towards the hospital. Lost in the rhythm of his breathing, he didn’t notice the car with darkened windows draw up alongside him until it swerved off the road and crossed the sidewalk twenty feet ahead to block his path.

  Four men darted out of the vehicle and started towards him, two carrying guns and another two with blunt objects.

  Kimber slowed and glanced behind him, uncertain who or why anyone would be approaching him. No one else was in sight, and he stopped, tugging his ear buds from his ears. The hair on the back of his neck rose, and he shifted to the balls of his feet.

  “Can I help you gentlemen?” he asked.

  One of them raised a gun.

  Kimber raised his hands. “I don’t have any money.”

  “You Kimber Wellington?” one asked gruffly.

  “How –”

  “We’re here for you, not your money.”

  Kimber opened his mouth to protest while simultaneously reaching into his pocket to dial 911 on his phone. He backed away, preparing to run, when a shot rang out.

  He froze, waiting to feel pain tearing through him from the wound.

  None came, and he patted down his torso.

  One of the men before him dropped, dead from a bullet wound to the head.

  The others dove for cover. One aimed for Kimber as he ran. Kimber stumbled behind the car nearest him, landing on the asphalt with a grunt. Broken glass littering the street pierced his palm, and he grimaced.

  A firefight broke out between those who claimed to be after him and others he wasn’t able to see. He hunched down behind the car, unable to tell who was firing at whom by the sounds, and not about to stand up to figure it out.

  Just when I thought my life was bad enough … Was this the night he died? Kimber’s body was tense, and cold fear streaked through him.

  He shifted to his knees. The direction from which he’d run appeared to be clear. If he kept low and darted from car to car, he might be able to leave the area safely.

  As soon as he had formed a plan, the street fell silent. Kimber waited, heart hammering. No sound came from the direction of the four men.

  “Mister Wellington!”

  Kimber frowned.

  “Mister Wellington!”

  It was definit
ely Igor’s voice.

  Kimber peered out from around the car to see the large man in his black suit standing four cars down, closer to where the men who approached him had been.

  Catching sight of his movement, Igor turned to face him. “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  “No, thanks,” Kimber said. He left the protection of the car cautiously. Shaken by the incident, he started forward. “Are they gone?”

  “More or less.”

  As he rounded the car, Kimber caught sight of the blood. He drew closer to Igor, eyes glued to the first of the dead bodies. When he reached the spot where he had been before the men confronted him, he stopped.

  All four of his would-be attackers had been shot in their heads. Instinct made him kneel by the nearest of them and check for a pulse. Dead. He studied the others.

  “You should wait in the car, Mister Wellington,” Igor advised.

  Kimber gazed up at him, and it dawned on him that the butler had to have been following him in order to appear out of nowhere like this. “What’re you doing here, Igor?” he asked in a hushed tone.

  “Protecting you.” Igor motioned to the dead men. In his right hand, hidden from Kimber’s previous point of view, was a gun.

  The wail of distant sirens reached Kimber. “From what? Or whom?” he asked.

  Igor replaced the weapon in its holster beneath his arm. “Come on, Mister Wellington. We need to leave.”

  “I think I should stay and explain things,” he replied.

  “My boss wouldn’t approve.”

  “I don’t care. The police … wait, who’s your boss?”

  “Reader.”

  Kimber gazed at him blankly.

  “Keladry Savage.”

  Understanding passed through Kimber, trailed by anger. “And these guys?”

  “Jermaine’s henchmen,” Igor answered. He went to the car and opened the back door, waiting. “He found out you helped her.”

  Kimber bit back his response. He had unknowingly put himself in the middle of a mafia family crisis. “Where are you supposed to take me?” he demanded, eyeing the interior of the car.

  “You have a gathering with work friends at nine,” Igor said.

  “How –”

  “We bugged your phone and locker.”

  Keladry knew nothing about boundaries. Kimber clenched his jaw hard enough for the muscles of his cheek to tick. “Whose house did I sleep at last night? Keladry’s?”

  “One of her homes, yes.”

  I knew it was too good to be true. Kimber rubbed his mouth, eyes on the dead men. By his count, eight people had died since he met Keladry. That was eight too many. “Will you take me anywhere I want to go?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He started forward and got into the car. Igor closed the door and slid into the driver’s seat.

  “Take me to Keladry,” Kimber directed.

  “Boss may not like that.”

  “I’ll deal with it.”

  “All right.” Igor pulled away from the scene and turned the next corner, seconds before two police cars with blaring sirens raced down the street.

  Kimber twisted in his seat to see them. His heart still raced, and the image of the men with their heads blown off was seared into his brain. He watched out the back window until he could no longer see the bright lights of the police vehicles.

  “You should put your seatbelt on,” Igor advised.

  Kimber faced forward. He obeyed absently, uncertain how to digest what he had just been through. The idea any supervillain-wannabe was targeting him seemed too farfetched for him to accept, and yet, he had been confronted by four armed men who didn’t appear to be there for a chat.

  “Are you injured?” Igor asked in the pensive silence.

  Kimber glanced down at his hand. He thought it had been cut when he fell, but no wound was present beneath a thin layer of blood. He wiped his hand on his pants.

  “No,” he said. “Are you stalking me?”

  “Yes, Mister Wellington.”

  “Your name really is Igor?”

  “It is.”

  “And you’re … what exactly? A professional bodyguard?”

  “I’m a nanny.”

  Kimber’s sudden laugh of surprise caught them both off guard. He cleared his throat, hoping to pass it off as a cough. By Igor’s raised eyebrows, he wasn’t buying it.

  Kimber didn’t know what to say at first. Keladry had literally assigned him a babysitter.

  “Do all nannies in Sand City carry guns?” Kimber asked after he’d recovered from his surprise.

  “They do when they’re raising supervillains.”

  “So you’re Keladry’s nanny?”

  “I raised her, yes. Now I serve her in whatever capacity she requires.”

  “How can you work for someone like that?” Kimber questioned. Keladry was a psychopath if not completely insane.

  Igor glanced at him through the rearview mirror once more. “Like what?”

  Kimber heard the lethal edge in his voice. “A villain. Supervillain,” Kimber answered.

  “Because I have hope for her.”

  Kimber’s brow furrowed.

  “Her brother is a lost cause, but Keladry has a chance to be something her father and brother could never be.”

  “Which is …”

  “A good supervillain.”

  “Not following,” Kimber said. “Good as in effective? As in more diabolical than her father?”

  “Villainry is a business and an art. On the business side, someone has to be in charge of the criminals, to keep the police from interfering and getting hurt, to invest the revenue from illicit activity and to maintain order on the streets. The art side determines how it’s done - whether or not collateral damage is permitted - and establishes the rules of engagement. Good supervillains can balance crime and money and fuel the local economy.”

  “You believe villains are necessary for the economy.”

  “Supervillain t-shirts sales are double those of sports teams, and the Savage family draws billions of dollars in tourism every year.”

  The entire city is insane, Kimber thought. It was, by far, the most ludicrous explanation he had ever heard. For whatever reason, Sand City residents believed this shit. How had supervillainry become so ingrained into the populace that they accepted any of this to be true?

  “Humans have a choice between good and evil,” Igor continued. “Most choose good. Do-gooders don’t need a handler. The handler can structure those who generate evil for the greater benefit. You don’t want to cross the gray, do you?”

  “I don’t even understand what that means!” Kimber exclaimed.

  Igor rolled his eyes. “Anyway, no one wants chaos, not do-gooders or villains.”

  “Okay, assuming all this is factual, and not part of the deranged reality existing in Sand City, how can a villain be good?” Kimber asked.

  “By making do-gooders off limits. By structuring evil responsibly and in such a way that chaos is not allowed to ensue and innocent lives are not lost.”

  “And you think Keladry can do this.”

  “Yes. Keladry can control minds. She’ll make sure criminals do what they’re told and nothing else.” Igor was smiling. “She and Jermaine were raised under the same horrible conditions. He eventually snapped, but she’s becoming stronger.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She said you rescued her?”

  Kimber nodded.

  “Then you saw the scars,” Igor stated.

  “I assumed she’d been in more than one altercation.”

  “She’d never been bested in battle before that night. Her brother betrayed and ambushed her,” Igor growled. “Those scars were from her childhood. She and Jermaine are twins. Their father tortured them, starved them, twisted their minds. From the time they were two until they came of age at eighteen, they knew only evil and pain.”

  Kimber listened, not expecting to feel his stomach twist at th
e information. He had seen her scars. Should it matter that they came from her father instead of during battle with some other villain? Why did his protective instinct stir at the idea of her in danger when she could clearly protect herself against almost anything?

  “They were isolated, aside from contact with us nannies. We were permitted to feed them and bandage them. They never experienced kindness and were never exposed to normal people. They depended upon each other to survive their father’s brutality, until last year, when Jermaine …” Igor drifted off.

  “Jermaine what?” Kimber prodded, intrigued by the insight into Keladry’s background.

  Igor was silent.

  “Igor, what happened?”

  “Their father found his weakness and broke him. He hasn’t been the same.” By the clipped tone, whatever had happened stuck with Igor still.

  Kimber didn’t want to know what made the imposing nanny – who had witnessed the torture of the child he was rearing – found disturbing enough he wouldn’t talk about it. Keladry’s sorrow at losing her brother’s loyalty had been real, and Kimber wondered if she had also lost her only friend in the extremely isolated world in which she lived.

  “Why did you stay with the family? Why didn’t you report child abuse?” he asked, bothered by the image in his head of a young Keladry crying in pain.

  “Report to whom?” Igor chuckled. “The Supervillain Council would’ve given him a Father of the Year award for how he raised those kids. Cops know better than to interfere.”

  “But if there are supervillains, aren’t there superheroes, too? Someone you can call when you need help?”

  “We haven’t had a superhero in two generations. General Savage’s rule over the city has been uncontested.”

  “What about their mother? Or some other relative?” Kimber asked.

  “General Savage killed their mother after they were born. In order to take over the city, he had to murder his father – his predecessor – and his brother, who was his only competition. Those kids had no one but each other.”

  Kimber was quiet once more, troubled by both Igor’s account and the idea Keladry hadn’t known better than to behave like an asshole under his care.

  “You’re the first person she’s asked me to watch over,” Igor added.

  Why does this make me feel bad? Kimber didn’t know. If anything, Igor’s explanation clarified Keladry’s path to insanity. Somehow, eight murders later, Kimber couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.

  “We’re here.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Kimber murmured, peering out the window.

  Igor had taken him to a set of warehouses in an industrial area near the river. Kimber exited the vehicle and looked around.

  Igor led him into a warehouse guarded by two men in black. Kimber glanced at them as he passed. His step slowed when he saw what exactly was going on inside the massive, open bay of the warehouse.

  She really does have an army of ninjas, he thought.

  Dozens of men in black were involved in combat arms training. They all wore facemasks that gave them the appearance of ninjas. They were spread out at several different stations: some sparring with weapons, others hand-to-hand, while others raced through an obstacle course or participated in heavy calisthenics. A small gym area was tucked in one corner, and one entire wall was packed from floor to ceiling with weaponry retrieved by a mechanical arm hanging from the ceiling.

  Keladry had an army and military grade weapons. Why did it surprise him to discover she wasn’t entirely insane in her claim of being a criminal mastermind of some kind?

  A pathway marked by yellow lines wound through the different activities. Kimber followed Igor through it, stunned by the level of activity occurring around him. Igor led him to a corner containing wrestling mats. Keladry was in the center, sweating and dressed in a black unitard that hugged her shapely body, from her lean thighs to her rounded hips, slim waist and large breasts. She wore a mask as well.

  Kimber caught himself staring a little too long at the beautiful, deranged woman who claimed to be a supervillain. He told himself he was evaluating a former patient for any lingering issues. Nothing more. This was professional.

  But it wasn’t. This was something else entirely and very unlike any attraction he’d ever experienced for anyone. This was … deeper. As if their paths were meant to cross.

  Fate. Destiny. He didn’t know, except he couldn’t look away from her.

  Why are the pretty ones always crazy? He thought.

  As if expecting them, Keladry’s gaze settled on Igor then Kimber. She lifted her chin, and the four men on the mats with her moved away.

  She frowned and tilted her head, as if trying to listen for something.

  Igor stopped at the edge of the mat. Kimber drew a breath and approached her, noticing the scars on her exposed skin and recalling how she had gotten them.

  “I appreciate you sending your babysitter after me, but I don’t need the protection.” After Igor’s story, Kimber’s words were much kinder than he had anticipated. “I don’t want to be involved in whatever this is.” He motioned to the warehouse around them.

  “Interesting,” she replied, gazing up at him intently.

  “What’s interesting?” He folded his arms across his chest, preparing for more of her nonsense.

  “I can’t hear you.”

  Kimber recalled the familiar words. “Because you read minds,” he said.

  “Most minds. Apparently not yours.”

  “I find it convenient you can’t do it when I’m around.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Request denied. Igor will stay with you.” Keladry spun and walked away.

  Kimber’s gaze fell to her shapely backside before he started forward. “It wasn’t a request, Keladry!” he told her.

  “Around here, I’m called Reader,” she snapped back. “And you don’t get to make that decision.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.”

  Tired of a night that was quickly spinning out of control, he halted. “I’m not staying in your house, and if you send Igor after me, I’ll call the police.”

  “Good luck with that,” she snapped. She faced him. “My brother knows who you are. You’ll be dead by dawn, if you don’t accept my protection.”

  “I don’t want any of you involved in my life.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have rescued me!”

  “If I had known this would’ve happened, maybe I wouldn’t have!” he retorted.

  “Whatever, Doc. You ran into a burning building to rescue complete strangers. I don’t need to read your mind to know you weren’t going to turn your back on me.”

  Kimber bit back his response. He wiped his mouth, seeking a way to talk some sense into her. If everything Igor said was true, then Keladry didn’t understand what boundaries or respect or consideration were, because she had never experienced any of those things. Did he have the patience required to teach a supervillain how to be more sensitive to others?

  He moved closer, so only she could hear him.

  “You have a problem with boundaries,” he started. “Take this as a lesson in compassion. If someone says they don’t want your help, then you have to respect their decision and allow them to face the consequences of their actions. If you want to help someone, help those people who are homeless because you decided to burn down my apartment building. They’re the ones who need it.”

  “You’re welcome for saving your life tonight!” she exclaimed. “I already learned a fucking lesson in compassion from you, Doc! What would you do, if you knew someone was going to die, if you didn’t help them?”

  “Finding you dying in an alley and you assigning me a babysitter are not the same.”

  “From where I stand, they are. The only difference is that I’m acting pre-emptively so you don’t end up in an alley bleeding to death.” Her eyes blazed with anger. “Look, Doc, I know what you’re doing. I know you have this bizarre t
endency towards self-destructive behavior. You walked into the fire at your apartment building and probably told yourself it was so you could help those people, but the truth is much more selfish. You’re punishing yourself for something in your past. Nothing you could’ve done could have possibly been that bad. So, I’m going to protect you from yourself, while you attend your little pity party.”

  The words hit home harder than if she had punched him in the solar plexus. “Keladry –”

  “Reader!”

  “Whatever! You have no clue how I feel, or what I’ve been through, or why I chose to come to this city. I do not want your people anywhere near me!”

  “I don’t care what you want, Doc!” Keladry whirled and strode away.

  “If I see Igor or any of your ninjas within a block of me, I’m calling the police,” Kimber called after her.

  She flipped him off.

  Humming with anger, Kimber left the warehouse and called a cab. Was he upset with her alone or with himself as well? He barely knew Keladry, and she had verbally skewered him in a way no one else had ever managed to do. He despised her having any kind of insight into him and hated the idea of anyone thinking he helped others for selfish reasons. He helped others as a form of penance, yes, but he also did it because he wanted to make the world a better place, a place where good people who made a mistake, or got caught in the crossfires of Life itself, weren’t punished forever because of it.

  It wasn’t selfish to want to help people, and he was not holding a pity party for himself! He was being cautious, because he didn’t want to hurt anyone else by making bad decisions.

  Why was the year old wound, created when he ditched his old life to start over, reopening? Why was he starting to hurt again? A year of double shifts and few breaks had effectively numbed him to the pain of what he’d been through. How did a stranger like Keladry manage to rip him open again?

  Kimber was still fuming thirty minutes later when he entered the locker room at the hospital. He changed out of his running clothes and lingered by his locker, too angry for any of his thoughts to make sense.

  “Hey, Doctor K.”

  He closed the door to his locker and saw Gary dressed in jeans and a sweater. Kimber braced himself for the invite he knew was coming.

  “You want to ride with me to Tapirs?”

  Kimber hesitated, rolling Reader’s words around in his head. Dealing with her always left him ready for a stiff drink, and tonight was no different. He dreaded the idea of trying to fall asleep in the bay reserved for staff in need of some rest while working overtime. His thoughts were too agitated to leave him in peace, and he had the urge to go for another run.

  “Yeah. I’ll come,” he decided, unwilling to be alone with his thoughts and the ache at his core. If nothing else, a beer or two would help him sleep.

  They joined two other nurses in the waiting area nearest the parking lot and rode together to the trendy bar and nightclub district located in the eastern part of the city. Kimber had driven through the area once or twice without ever having stopped.

  He exited Gary’s car and glanced up and down the busy street packed with college students and others out for a night of drinking and fun. He didn’t spot Igor or any of Reader’s ninjas and started to relax, hoping she got the point to leave him alone.

  “Their margaritas are amazing,” said the female nurse, Anna, who got out of the car to stand beside him.

  “I’m pretty much just a beer guy,” he replied.

  Gary held out his hand to Anna, who took it with a grin. “C’mon, boys!” she said with the same cheerfulness Gary often displayed.

  The third member of their party, Joe, fell in beside Kimber as they made their way out of the parking area and towards the bar sporting a digital sign that alternately flashed Tapirs and Half-Priced Margaritas for the Ladies in bright hues.

  The bar was packed. Half a head taller than most men, Kimber was able to keep an eye on Gary as he followed the couple through the throng towards the bar.

  “What’ll you have?” Gary called when they had reached it.

  “Guinness,” Kimber replied. He pushed a twenty dollar bill at Gary, who pushed it back.

  “I’ve got first round. You get second!”

  Kimber nodded. Anna took his arm and tugged him towards a table with standing room only on one half. The area was large enough for all of them to squeeze in. Moments later, Gary joined them with drinks.

  Kimber breathed in the scent of fried bar food. His eyes settled on the live band playing across the room. Tension melted from his frame at the familiar surroundings. He had spent nearly every Thursday through Saturday night at bars like this in college; he hadn’t realized how much he missed it. He and Suzanne had always gone together, along with whichever of their friends were available. Social by nature, he didn’t realize how much he had isolated himself since leaving Chicago.

  One beer became two, three, four. He welcomed the warm buzz of becoming tipsy that made it harder for his more serious thoughts to stick around and easier to fall into light conversation with his companions.

  For the first night in a year, Kimber relaxed, though it was impossible to enjoy himself when he couldn’t stop replaying Keladry’s words in his mind.

  Was it possible she was right?

  Eight: The greatest arch-nemeses are former allies

  Reader watched Kimber cross the crowded street lined with bars, accompanied by three other people. He was smiling. It wasn’t the terse expression she had seen while in his care at his apartment, but a freer, broader, happier smile, probably facilitated by alcohol.

  She and the surveillance team tailing him kept their distance after his visit to the training facility. Already she had spotted two of her brother’s men, also discreetly following the stubborn doctor. Her brother was nothing if not impulsive, and she was as interested in his plans as she was in what Kimber was doing. Jermaine had already tried to murder Kimber once today.

  Reader studied the doctor, unaccustomed to being perplexed by anyone. She could read the minds of those around her with ease, but when she went too close to the doctor, he somehow managed to block her ability completely until she moved away. Fortunately, he was too intoxicated this night to notice her, which gave her the ideal opportunity to test the limits of his ability.

  Fifteen-ish feet. If she were within four or five yards of him, she lost her superpower. The distance was far greater than she would have liked. It basically ruled out her ability to talk to him without rendering herself vulnerable to her surroundings. Safe in her lair or at the training facility, it wouldn’t matter. But anywhere else, especially in public, she couldn’t risk approaching him outright, not when her brother – and newfound arch-nemesis – was after her.

  Kimber and his coworkers disappeared into another bar.

  Reader telepathically ordered one of her men to stay with him before turning away and making her way down the street, towards the car, where Igor awaited her. As she walked, she sucked in the thoughts of those around her absently, always alert for any sign of threat. Forefront on her mind, however, was the unusual sensation she had first experienced the day she and the doctor spoke about suffering.

  Reaching Igor, who stood on guard at the front of the car, Reader tilted her head back and gazed up at his dark features and darker eyes. His thoughts were quiet and loyal, as always. Igor was easy to understand, because he had no real desire other than to assist her, and he generally spoke his mind, unlike pretty much everyone else she had ever met. Moreover, she trusted her longtime nanny, who had sneaked her candy when she was in the dungeon, despite her father’s orders to let her starve until she learned whatever lesson it was he wanted to teach her.

  “Igor, what’s the opposite of hate?” she asked.

  “Love.”

  She gave a snort of derision and rolled her eyes. “Not that opposite. Less opposite but still pretty far from hate.”

  “Like?”

  “No.” Reader fr
owned and sifted through the thoughts and emotions she picked up from Igor on a daily basis to provide some sort of basis for understanding what she was trying to ask. “It’s how you feel about your first cup of coffee in the morning.”

  “Ah,” Igor said with a smile. “Happy.”

  “Really?”

  “Happy and grateful for its existence.”

  “That seems extreme for coffee, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s the coffee, but it’s also the experience. The smell, the flavor, the warmth, when that first sip reaches my soul, and I know my day will go well, since I got my coffee in.”

  She rolled the explanation around in her head with some skepticism. “Can you feel that way for a person?”

  “It might be a little different if you feel that way towards a person.”

  “Then what would you call that entire experience if it involved a person?”

  “That’s difficult.” Igor was quiet. “It’s not one emotion but many.”

  Her phone buzzed, and she plucked it from her pocket. “My predictable brother,” she said. “He took the bait. Let’s go.” She climbed into the car and closed the door.

  Igor slid into the driver’s seat. Seconds later, they peeled away from the curb, headed in the opposite direction of the bars.

  “Affection?” Igor asked, glancing at her through the rearview mirror.

  “Hmm. Closer,” she replied. “But without the warm, squishy undertone.” She checked the alert on her phone again, thoughts turning from Kimber to her brother. “I’m going to kill that fucker.” As she said it, familiar pain radiated through her insides. Her brother deserved everything he had coming to him, so why did she ache when she thought about him? Why did she start to remember the times when they were starving or injured or abandoned in their father’s dungeon, and Jermaine was the only reason she survived such an ordeal?

  Reader locked her phone and set it down, gazing out the window. The cityscape zipped by as Igor deftly navigated through the city neither of them had ever left.

  “Igor,” she started. “Is it wrong for me not to want to kill my brother?”

  “No, Reader,” was the quiet response. “His betrayal was unexpected.”

  “I should have known,” she replied. “I can read his mind but I didn’t think it necessary, since we were always united against our father. My guard was down.”

  “Your father spent years trying to drive you apart. He finally succeeded. No one is to blame except for him. If not for the doctor, you’d be dead.”

  I prefer death to suffering. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll end this tonight,” she said aloud. “My father will have his heir, and the games will be over.”

  Igor was quiet for a moment. “I want you in charge of the city, Reader. But if you’re not ready for the final confrontation with your brother, don’t force it.”

  “I’m ready.”

  She didn’t have to read his mind to know he didn’t believe her. The man who helped raise her had a way of pursing his lips when he wanted to say more but chose not to. She studied his profile, aware of how her father had broken Jermaine. No part of her believed she was safe from the same treatment, especially if she did kill her twin and become her father’s heir. He preached isolation as being the only true way to prevent betrayal and maintain absolute, unbiased power.

  He’d take Igor from her or force her to kill him, just as he had done to the members of Jermaine’s inner circle. Reader couldn’t let that happen. Igor was loyal, and she cared for him more than he cared for his first cup of coffee in the morning.

  It was a weakness, a horrific one she was ashamed of. If her father knew the extent of her feelings for her nanny, he would have murdered him long ago. She couldn’t allow Igor to be harmed, couldn’t dismiss her shame in knowing she had a weakness others could exploit. She was left trying to sort through her confusion alone, unable to ask her only mentor what she should do.

  Beating Jermaine was the first step in protecting Igor. The second: preventing her father from ensnaring her and forcing her to destroy her only remaining friend. She wasn’t ready to face the city’s supervillain. Not until Igor was safe. Her father would destroy her if given a chance, and he wouldn’t hesitate to use everything, and everyone, he could against her.

  Before she faced her father, Igor had to be safe and …

  She cocked her head to the side, unease sliding through her.

  The doctor needed to be safe, too. She didn’t feel for him what she did for Igor, but something about him was special, even if she couldn’t identify what or why. The do-good doctor had to survive.

  Reader strapped on a mask. She needed a solid plan to safeguard Igor. She had been debating how best to protect him for months with no solid ideas. He wasn’t safe anywhere in the city; her father or brother could always get to him. That left outside the city, a place she wasn’t permitted to go. Supervillains weren’t allowed to leave the city limits of their assigned territory. It was the only real rule of the Supervillain Council.

  Igor would never voluntarily leave her, and she’d been unable to invent a reason as to why she would ever need to send him outside the city.

  “Ptolemy wants to know if he has a green light,” Igor said.

  Reader pulled herself from her thoughts and focused on the plan for this night. “Yeah.”

  Igor gave the quiet kill order.

  Still a mile away, the explosion was visible from the car. Reader checked her weapons, eyes glued to the location. The explosion wasn’t part of her plan, but it didn’t surprise her that her brother had reacted so quickly.

  Igor turned down the street housing her warehouse and pulled over. She got out of the car, breathing in the scent of super heated metal and rain.

  “Stay here,” she reminded Igor.

  He said nothing, and Reader trotted towards the action. Her men had formed a ring around the warehouse and were systematically executing the henchmen displaying the patch of a cloud and lighting, indicating their loyalty to her brother, whose villain code name was Thunder.

  She hurried towards them. Her black-clothed ninjas parted for her as she approached, and she made her way to the center of the circle.

  The report of a gun went off just as she stepped into the center of her men. The last of her brother’s men convulsed as he dropped.

  “Where is he?” she demanded, searching the dead bodies for signs of her brother.

  “Not here, boss,” one of her henchmen replied.

  She double-checked the minds of those closest to her, ensuring none of them sought to betray her. They told the truth, and she walked among the dead, sucking up the last memories from their dying brains before they were gone. The minds of the recently dead were harder to read, and she squatted in their midst, closing her eyes to concentrate. She had given strict orders for no one to be shot in the head, so she had access to their brains.

  Fragments of images formed in her head until she was able to distinguish an almost complete picture.

  Her brother had been among those who followed up on the leak about the training facility’s location. According to the memories of the dead, when Jermaine realized it was an ambush, he used his superpower to set her warehouse on fire and fled towards the river, leaving those he brought with him to be rounded up and executed by her henchmen.

  Reader bounced to her feet and bolted in the direction her brother had gone. She ran through the light rain, breathing in the scent of wet asphalt, and paused at the railing lining the riverbank. She strained, listening with her mind and her ears, to find her brother.

  Movement from the direction of one of the piers caught her attention. She ran a short distance, when a splash of red blood on the railing caught her attention. It was fresh and bright beneath the glow of the overhead streetlight. Reader scoured the ground for more drops of blood that hadn’t been diluted in puddles or hidden by the patches of darkness existing between the reach of streetlights.

  A sporadic trail formed, l
eading her in the direction in which she’d witnessed movement. The idea her brother was wounded filled her with elation – and also concern she tried hard to suppress. He had tried to murder her in cold blood, she reminded herself. Jermaine didn’t deserve mercy of any kind.

  The trail of blood led her towards the end of the pier, past the two warehouses and several smaller boathouses, and towards lights bobbing in the bay a few feet from the end of the pier.

  Reader ran to the end of the pier and leaned over the railing, squinting to see into the boat. No one appeared to be in it, aside from the driver, though the motor was rumbling quietly as it waited. Jermaine hadn’t made it this far, which meant he was still somewhere on the pier.

  Turning around, she drew back and listened.

  … keep moving. She’ll … Her brother was close enough for her to hear fragments of his thoughts.

  Reader darted to the nearest boathouse and ripped open the door. It smelled strongly of fish and contained a massive crane for lifting goods and fish off of ships, repair and support equipment, and a myriad of other tools she cared nothing about. She stepped inside – and Jermaine’s thoughts grew more distant.

  Retreating, she moved silently back to the center of the pier, until Jermaine’s thoughts became louder and she was able to identify the direction in which he was hiding. She circled one building and spotted the blood trail once more.

  He had made his way up the pier, towards the waiting boat, then stopped to hide, likely when he saw her coming.

  She drew a weapon and opened the door to the warehouse into which the blood led. Reader closed the door softly behind her and stood still, listening. She sensed the gun before it fired and ducked. The sound of a bullet smashing through metal rang through the empty, dark space, and she whirled, smashing a fist into her brother’s face.

  He gasped and fell back. Reader snatched the arm holding the weapon and twisted, forcing him to release the gun. She shoved him to the ground and stared into the darkness, satisfaction coursing through her.

  The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as Jermaine gathered his superpower to strike her. Reader backpedaled and slammed the door of the warehouse open. She flung herself to the side as lightning arced out of the warehouse and soared harmlessly into the sky. She climbed to her feet, tucked her gun away, and snatched one of the buckets gathering water at the corner of the warehouse.

  The charge was back when she entered the darkness again. She threw the water in the direction of the uncomfortable charge and heard it hit her brother. Lightning fizzled and spurted around his body, highlighting his position and temporarily crippling his superpower.

  Reader grabbed one of his legs and dragged him out of the warehouse into the circle created by one of the pier lights. Breathing hard, she released him and stood over him, glaring.

  “You know I could’ve made you fry yourself!” she shouted at him.

  He didn’t respond. Jermaine clutched his stomach and rolled onto his side. He climbed to his feet slowly. Pain was etched on his features, along with defiance.

  “It was a warning shot, sis,” he replied, straightening to face her. “And yes, I know that.”

  Reader couldn’t identify where the emotions originated, or what they were, that left her trembling. She counted how many times she could’ve killed her brother in the five minutes since she’d found him but didn’t reach for her gun, despite the voice of her father in her head ordering her never to take mercy on anyone.

  “I thought we should talk,” Jermaine said. Tall and lean, he was dressed similarly to her down to the mask. The only difference was the patch on his shoulder.

  “Now you want to talk?” she demanded. “What is there to discuss?” She listened to the answer in his mind and drew her weapon, furious he thought to string her along until he had a better plan.

  “Whoa!” he said and held up his hands. “I’m too weak to fight you. You know what our father did to me, is still doing to me!”

  “What’re you talking about? Still?”

  “He’s been twisting my mind as only he can do, feeding me lies about you. About everything.”

  She raised her weapon. “Lies. All of it.”

  “You know he can do it, Keladry.”

  She listened to his thoughts.

  Jermaine was a jumbled mess. His head was filled with too much for her to zero in on one solid train of thought. It had been this way since their father broke him and left him weeping in front of his own men.

  The ache was back, and Reader hesitated to pull the trigger. Yes, Jermaine’s mind was a mess and yes, their father had done this to him. But nothing he said or thought was preventing his death. Her thoughts were in the way, not his.

  “You didn’t have to try to kill me,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “You could’ve ambushed me and let me escape!”

  “I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Lie!” She took a step towards him.

  Jermaine backed away. “Okay, okay! So I did have a choice! I fucked up. What else do you want me to say?”

  “That you won’t do it again. That we can be what we were, before the games, before our father fucked you up.”

  “That’s not possible, Keladry.” Jermaine’s response was quiet, his gaze haunted. For the first time since confronting him, she sensed he wasn’t trying to lie or deceive or mislead her. “I’ll never be that person again.”

  “Why not? We are … were partners. Good ones. If we work together, we could easily take him out.”

  “Then what? Co-rule the city?” Jermaine shook his head. “Only one of us can take over, Keladry. It’s the way it’s always been.”

  “But we’re different. We’re a team.”

  “We were. We aren’t now.” Jermaine lowered his hands. “I don’t want to kill you, but I will. My mistake was not seeing the job through myself the first time. Get used to it, sis. This is the new us.”

  Her hand shook, and she tried to find some part of what he said to give her hope, to remind her of the person who smoothed her hair and told her jokes whenever she cried in the dungeons.

  Everything about Jermaine was different since their father broke him, down to the hardness in his eyes. It was a similar expression to their father’s, all that remained of the horrific deeds shaping him in his past.

  “Come home with me, Jermaine,” she said and lowered the gun. “I can see what’s in your head. I know there’s a piece of you that wants us to be what we once were, allies against our father.”

  Jermaine looked away. “That part of me is dead.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.”

  “You don’t get it! I made the choice to ambush you! I crossed the gray! Father had nothing to do with it. I want to make him pay for what he did to me, and the only way I can do that is if you’re dead and I win the games!”

  The words stung, though Reader understood the sentiment all to well. While there was a whisper of yearning in his mind for them to return to the relationship they’d had their entire lives, most of her brother’s thoughts were geared towards the sole purpose of vengeance, no matter what – or who – he destroyed in the process. She was an obstacle to him, the only thing standing between him and their father.

  She’d lost him a year ago. There wasn’t enough of him left to save.

  Hurting worse after witnessing the truth of his mind, Reader raised the weapon again. “I’ll at least make it quick,” she whispered.

  “Do your worst, sis.” Jermaine stepped towards her and swept his arms outward, exposing his body.

  Reader slid the safety off with her thumb and aimed at his head, willing to grant her longtime ally a quick death. Jermaine held her gaze, his tortured, broken thoughts sailing through her mind.

  She drew a breath, steadied her breathing, and counted down.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  I’m not ready for this.

  The corner of Jermaine’s lips curled up.
>
  Her brother hadn’t hesitated in his attempt to kill her, so why wouldn’t her index finger obey her command to squeeze the trigger? Why was panic sliding through her at the thought of losing him permanently?

  What was wrong with her?

  “I didn’t think you could do it,” Jermaine said. “Father told me you were the weaker of the two of us.”

  “I’m not weak!”

  “Then prove him wrong.”

  Reader tried again without success. She had murdered dozens of men point blank and hundreds more from a distance. Jermaine was one man, the second to her father in his attempts to murder her. If he were her father, he would’ve been dead before he had the chance to open his mouth.

  But he wasn’t. He was her brother, the man who had been the anchor of her world until a year before, when her anchor broke. She’d been adrift since then.

  Jermaine was smiling confidently. “Next time, sis.” He limped towards the railing, holding his stomach once more.

  Reader kept her weapon trained on him and tried again to squeeze the trigger. Her finger didn’t budge. Instead, she watched her brother climb the railing with some difficulty. Jermaine saluted her then leapt off the pier into the dark waters below and the boat that had shifted to the side of the pier to fish him from the river.

  Lowering her arm, Reader stared into the space before her, frustrated with her weakness and furious with the uncontrollable emotion twisting her insides and preventing her from doing what she had to.

  Jermaine’s thoughts faded as the boat pulled away from the pier, taking him to safety and leaving her alone. Her brother had turned from her only friend to her first arch-nemesis. He had crossed the point of no return the night he tried to murder her. She had to do the same, to pursue him with the same tenacity and lack of mercy. She had to be ready to kill him next time or better – prepared to hunt him down.

  But not tonight.

  The light patter of rain filled the air around her as she stood, pensive and frustrated.

  “Reader!” Igor called from the base of the pier.

  She replaced her weapon and glanced towards the river. The light of her brother’s boat was visible a quarter mile away. She still had time to blow him out of the water using the heat-seeking missiles stored in her lair, or by providing his position to a helicopter equipped with heavy explosives. In five minutes, she could resolve the issue of her brother.

  Reader turned away and began walking down the pier towards Igor. She ignored the thoughts of her lifelong supporter, not wanting to see his concern. She didn’t deserve it tonight, when she’d failed at living up to the namesake she wanted so badly to claim.

  “Did you find him?” Igor asked.

  “No,” she lied. “He was already gone.”

  By the split second of silence between her statement and Igor’s reaction, he knew the truth.

  “The cleaners will take care of the warehouse,” he said. “Your father has sent the next task in the games.” Igor handed her an envelope containing a single piece of linen cardstock with instructions.

  Pleased at the distraction, Reader opened it and shifted to see the words written in her father’s elegant handwriting.

  Task 6: Uncover the secret Reader’s savior is hiding, the reason why he came here. Use any means necessary – but keep him alive. As a reminder, the score is Reader 3, Thunder 2.

  “Dammit,” she muttered and handed it to Igor. “Couldn’t be something simple like burning down one of the mayor’s houses again or torching the city’s oil supply.”

  Igor read the card.

  “Add another team to the doctor’s surveillance,” she instructed him.

  “Do you want us to take the doctor in?”

  “Not yet,” she said, mind racing. “I’m going after my brother. I need some leverage.”

  Thoroughly disappointed by her evening, she trailed him to the car and hopped inside, unable to shake the ache inside her or the sense her father was about to start pursuing those she didn’t want harmed. After her discussion with Jermaine, he wasn’t going to spare anyone she cared about. He’d be healed from his wounds by morning and wouldn’t hesitate to corner the doctor and torture him, if that was what it took to level up in the games. Now that her father had inserted the doctor into their games, the chances of Kimber living through this were slim.

  I have to get Igor out of town, she thought, gazing again at her nanny. The doctor, too.

  But how? Was there another way to keep one or both of them safe?

  “I figured out the word you were looking for,” Igor said. “Admire.”

  “Admire.” Reader repeated. She met his gaze briefly in the rearview mirror. “I like that word.”

  I don’t want anything to happen to the doctor, because I admire him.

  It fit, even if the sentiment was so very foreign.

  Nine: Villains will always betray you

  Kimber’s night out was worth the hangover. It was the first time he slept through the announcements over the intercom and the busyness of the bay where doctors and nurses working overtime came to rest.

  Kimber awoke groggy with a headache pulsing in his temple – but otherwise more rested than he could recall being since arriving to Sand City. He was alone in the bay and checked his phone for the time, pleased to see he had awoken before his alarm.

  He showered and dressed then took his belongings to the locker room to secure them before his shift. The locker room, too, was quiet. Kimber left, wondering where everyone was, until he reached the chaos of the emergency room.

  It was packed, both with hospital staff and dozens of people. The normally quiet area was loud with cries of pain, orders issued among the staff, and concerned visitors. He gazed around, trying to understand what had happened to cause the sudden influx. Whipping on his coat, he crossed to the nursing station, which was jammed with impatient visitors demanding news of their loved ones.

  “What the hell happened?” Kimber asked, bending over between the two frazzled nursing aids.

  “The Savage twins blew up a bus station this morning,” one replied. “We’re short staffed in resuscitation and minor surgery.”

  His stomach sank, filled with dread.

  Kimber rose and left, weaving through the crowd towards the hallway leading to the minor surgery rooms attached to the ER. Patients lay on stretchers lining the hallways or on the ground. Whatever he thought about Keladry’s insane aspirations to become a villain, it was clear she and her brother were menaces to the city.

  “Doctor.” Someone gripped his coat and tugged him to a halt. “I need help.”

  Kimber gazed down at the man seated on the floor, clutching his bloodied head. He knelt beside him. Kimber shone a penlight in the injured man’s eyes. He was in his early twenties with short, dark hair, dark eyes and an athletic frame covered in bloody clothing.

  The man’s gaze was dilated and unfocused.

  “May I take a look?” Kimber asked, reaching out to the t-shirt the man had used to create a bandage.

  The wounded man lowered his hands. Kimber unwrapped his head gingerly, took one look at the gaping wound in his skull, and rewrapped it.

  “Any numbness? Chills?” he asked.

  “I can’t remember how I got here.”

  “Can you stand?”

  He was answered with a nod.

  Kimber helped him to his feet and supported his weight. They wove through the crowds. Kimber waved over one of the nurses and very slowly guided the wounded man towards the area designated for high risk patients.

  “Do you help all of these people?” the dazed man asked.

  “I help as many as I can,” Kimber said.

  “Hey, are you the hero doctor from the newspaper?”

  Kimber almost sighed, hating the photographs in the papers. “It’s my picture, yeah.”

  “That makes me feel better. You rescue people all the time, don’t you?”

  “I do my best.”

 
“Why?”

  Kimber glanced at the man. “Why do I help people?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Because they need it.” He lowered the man to a bed and straightened to address the nurse. “Priority one. Suspected cerebral edema.”

  The nurse nodded and went to the head of the bed.

  “We’ll get you taken care of,” Kimber told the man with a smile.

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  How many other people in critical condition were floating around the emergency room? Kimber looked around, hating the Savage twins for causing such pain and suffering. He was equally disappointed in himself for caring enough about Keladry that he hoped she wasn’t responsible for this.

  “Doctor Wellington!” one of the nurses called.

  Kimber turned. He dismissed all thoughts of them and anything else, throwing himself into assessing those wounded who had not been seen by a doctor or nurse.

  The injured people kept coming. Whenever he had a moment to breathe, another influx of patients appeared and overloaded the ER. The hospital was at max capacity by noon – and the flow of patients showed no sign of stopping.

  In addition to the bus station, he learned a mall had been attacked as well as a college sporting event. Sand General was the nearest to all three events. The more he saw of the damage, the angrier he became. How could the police allow the Savage twins to destroy the city this way? Would no one stand up to them? How did the people of Sand City not demand more of their city government?

  He wrestled with the thoughts during his few breaks. It was not the first time his double shift turned into twenty hours. At the twenty four hour mark, he was ordered to sleep by the administrator acting in Tish’s place while she was out sick.

  The bay where he had been sleeping for the week – aside from the night at Keladry’s – was packed with doctors and nurses trying to catch a few minutes of sleep before wading back out into the human suffering.

  Kimber grabbed two blankets from those kept in the linen closet and left, heading towards the wing housing the managers’ offices. He went to Tish’s darkened office and walked in without knocking or bothering to turn on the lights. Setting his alarm to go off in four hours, he stretched out on the couch butting against one wall the best he could given his height and closed his eyes.

  “Reader didn’t do this.”

  Kimber snapped up into a sitting position. He’d been too tired to notice if anyone was in the room when he entered. How he missed the hulking frame of Igor, though, was beyond his ability to guess. Kimber flicked on the flashlight on his phone and shone it in the direction of the voice.

  Igor was perched on the edge of the desk, dressed all in black.

  “What’re you doing here?” Kimber demanded as he swung his legs over the couch.

  “What the boss ordered.”

  “I thought I made it clear. I don’t want her protection.”

  “Boss does what she wants.”

  “Like blowing up a bus station?”

  “She didn’t do this,” Igor replied. “Jermaine’s framing her.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t want anything to do with either of them.”

  “You’re in danger, Doc.”

  “That’s my business, not hers. Or yours!” Kimber snapped.

  “But think about it. If you get hurt, who will take care of all these people?”

  Kimber rubbed his face, exhausted. He lay down with his back to the desk. “Leave me alone, Igor. I have four hours … actually, three hours and fifty seven minutes before I have to start a new shift.”

  “I’ll be outside.” Igor moved to the door and opened it.

  Kimber lifted his head to tell the massive man to leave the hospital. The door closed, and he sighed. He was too tired to deal with the police. If Igor were present when he awoke, he’d definitely contact the authorities.