“Right,” I say, removing my armor from the closet. “I just have to watch them even more closely.”
“Or you could back off a bit,” he says. “It’s a big undertaking.”
“You know I can’t.”
“You’re only one man, Master Parish.”
“That’s not true.” I lean over to the security desk and fling the “Opinions” section on the floor near his feet. “I’m both ‘venerated savior’ and ‘single-minded killer,’ depending on who meets my mask.” I shake my head. “I can’t let the Cartel remain in New Rhone. Ignacio was a smart man. Carlos isn’t, but he could still become as powerful as his father. They’ll continue to grow unless I take out their key players—making Carlos my next target.”
“Maybe now that Ignacio is dead, Carlos will rethink their presence in the States and return full-time to Mexico.”
“Maybe.” I glance at the wall clock. “Go back to bed, Norman. I’ll wake you if I need your help.”
“Actually, sir, I didn’t come down here to help.”
I turn all the way around and arch an eyebrow at him. My arms cross. “Go ahead.”
“About the scuffle earlier. Pardon me for speaking out of place, but I feel compelled. Might I recommend a little gentler handling with the girl. She’s still adjusting to her . . . situation.”
“Despite your silence on the matter, your disapproval hasn’t gone unnoticed. But as always, you’ll have to trust in my decisions.”
“As always,” he echoes, “your decisions are thorough and precise. In this case, however, I’m concerned you’re too close to see what you’re capable of.”
“Too close?”
“While you care for the girl, you can’t—”
“I don’t care for her,” I state. “You know what she is.”
“It’s normal to feel confused, Master Parish. She has no idea who you are, yet she’s an integral part of your life.”
“Get to the point.”
“After all this time, surely her feelings mean something to you.”
“They don’t. She’s a duty, an obligation. Another citizen, except that I owe her my protection. Just like New Rhone needs to be looked after, she does as well.”
“That’s not to say you can’t care for her too. Don’t you care at all for this city though you consider it an obligation as well?”
“No. My purpose is simply to keep watch over New Rhone to the best of my ability. Frankly, having Cataline Ford under this roof is a relief. For once, I don’t have to concern myself with her childish affairs.”
He shakes his head at the ground and sighs. “Then let her be. You have no shortage of women to meet your needs. If you’re bored, I’ll find you something new.”
“It’s not that,” I say to myself. When Cataline was a small girl, she was quiet. As a teenager—observant and somewhat skittish. Her fight, this inexorable disobedience, is unexpected. It gets under my skin in a way things just don’t.
“Master,” Norman interrupts my thoughts, “I must insist you leave her alone. Or at least permit me to answer some of her questions. She’s still quite confused.”
Norman knows arguing with me will get him nowhere. And as it is, time itself is never time enough. I cannot even justify his request with a response. Instead I turn my back and go to change, his dismissal made clear by my silence.
It’s only hours before sunrise, but tonight, release is essential. The aggression Cataline has stirred in me can lead to mistakes, and mistakes can change everything.
My bulletproof rubber one-piece is thin but dense, specially developed by engineers, scientists, and ballistics specialists with speed, accuracy, and resilience in mind. It’s one step ahead of the armed forces and costs me a fortune. Especially considering I don’t actually need it.
The people of this city—they call me Hero. Their nocturnal vigilante needed a label, and that’s what they gave me years ago. The suit of armor is extra padding, but more than that, it’s for the public. They believe that underneath it, I’m a man like any of them. It’s a lie, but it’s the only truth they can ever know.
Because I’m not like them at all.
I am stronger, faster, and more powerful. K-36, a formula developed for over a decade and a half, fortifies my skin, hones my intuition, and sharpens my senses like the most predatory of Mother Nature’s night prowlers. When injected into my bloodstream, it makes me superhuman. I have the instincts of a killer, but the intentions of a hero. And a hero’s what I’d be if not for my human impulses and urges—like the ones that threw Cataline onto that mattress.
I pull on my gloves. My metal-grey eye mask latches behind my head, secure but conforming instantly to my face. My blacked-out Lamborghini is the car of choice for patrolling, and my agitation settles once the engine revs to life. I enter the limits of New Rhone with my mind buzzing and my muscles warming. This is what I do. This is what feeds me. I hunt.
New Rhone’s silver skyscrapers are even colder against a black sky—soothingly monochrome like it’s always been. My parents would bring me to the city as a boy, and the weekend would go by too fast. Until it was childish, my parents would hold each of my hands, and we’d get lost between the buildings. They’d tell me about growing up two blocks apart but never meeting until their twenties. I’ve long forgotten the names of the plays we attended or the high-end restaurants where we dined, but whatever’s mixed into the concrete of this city is inescapable.
It’s not long before I hone in on an escalating argument. The hour after the bars close is always busiest; fortunately, distinguishing between harmless drunk blathering and slurring that drips with bad intention comes naturally to me now. The car screeches when I yank the steering wheel, and my foot weighs on the pedal when a woman screams. Every muscle in my body strains as if to split my skin. My unsatisfied arousal sits too close to the surface. I almost welcome the stench of the East Side’s garbage—garbage that exists for me to clean up.
I throw the car in park and exit swiftly. An easy jump has me hanging from the fire escape. I haul myself up and take the stairs two at a time until I’m outside an apartment window. I put my fist through the glass, and instantly the woman’s piercing screams become surround sound. A man’s alcohol-laden curses hurl at me as I barge in. In my youth, the barrage of noise, thick with fear, despair, and desperation, would’ve been too much for me. Now I compartmentalize and manage it without even realizing.
I stride across their kitchen’s yellowed tiles. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Who the hell are you?” the man asks. His arm draws back dramatically, but I catch his fist when it flies toward my face.
“I suggest you answer my question,” I say, squeezing his knuckles until his knees give out. I glance at the woman cowering in the corner and then down at the man whose bones begin to crush under my strength. “But since you’re indisposed, I’ll take a guess as to why her face is swelling up, and you can tell me if I’m right.” With lightning speed, I release his fist and capture his neck. “You had a little too much to drink, took it out on her.”
“She’s my wife,” he wheezes. “It’s the first time, I swear.”
I compress his throat. “That true?” I ask the woman without looking at her.
“Yes,” she sobs.
I cock my head to the side, watching him as he gasps for breath. “Want me to kill him?”
“No,” she says. “He’s my husband . . .”
“Are there children here?”
“They’re grown up,” she rushes the words out, “moved away years ago.”
His eyes blink lazily as his life circles the drain. This is the time to let go and leave him with his warning. But I’m assaulted by the disturbing image of Cataline crouched in that corner. I block it and force myself to refocus.
I drop him on the floor before he loses consciousness. I catch his arm on its way to his throat and swiftly wrench it at an unnatural angle. More screaming when it cracks, but this time it’s his.
“That’s nothing compared to what I’ll do if I have to come back here.” I dig a card out from a hidden pocket and set it on the table. “This is a battered women’s shelter nearby,” I tell her. “They’ll take you in, no questions asked.”
“Hero?” she calls as I turn away.
I don’t wait to hear what she’s going to say next. I’m out the window and downstairs in seconds. I don’t believe she’ll take my advice; many of them don’t. But that just gives me the excuse to come back and finish what I started. My body thrills at the thought, my heart pounding even harder than it just was.
I don’t normally let myself go so far. My code of ethics was developed by my parents and Norman to ensure justice is served only to those I’m certain deserve it. I need the boundaries because years spent cleaning up this kind of mess has made me a fiend for justice—and if I’m not clear-headed about every kill I make, my system will fail. But I have a special void to fill tonight, something I’m afraid is Cataline’s doing.
Norman sets a tray table next to me, but my eyes remain focused out the window.
“You should eat your breakfast,” he says.
“I will.”
“All right, dear. I’ll be back to check on you soon.”
Staring past the lawn at the thicket of trees, I wonder what I’d do if I ever made it there. How dense is it? How far does it span? Is that even what I want? I blink after what feels like minutes. Of course it’s what I want. To escape this hell, made even worse now I’ve met the devil. I’m ashamed for all the days and nights I ever fantasized about Calvin. All the times I defended him to myself.
He’s not mean.
He isn’t cruel.
He’s just private.
Under his cool exterior, he’s a good man who needs patience, understanding, and love, just like anyone else. If I had him in my clutches, I would peel away those layers until I’d exposed the beauty of him.
How could I have been so wrong?
The reality of my situation roils through me, settling in my gut: Calvin Parish is dangerous. And now that I know the truth about him, how can he ever let me go?
Heat creeps up my neck as I relive the crush of Calvin’s hard body on mine. The pressure of him between my legs, begging to enter. I get mild comfort from the fact that in the end, he respected my request to stop.
“You’re not going to fly away, are you?” I hear.
Calvin’s voice is smooth and deep, but he startles me just the same. I wait for my heartbeat to calm before turning to face him. “And if I did?”
His arms cross over his chest, punctuating his rigid posture. “Have you got hidden wings underneath that robe, Little Sparrow?”
“I might be willing to find out.”
His eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”
With a heavy sigh, I deflate deeper against the wall. “Nothing.”
“About last night,” he says. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I assure you it won’t happen again.”
“It won’t?” I ask.
“No.”
“Does that mean I can go?”
“I’m sorry?”
My thoughts scatter. “Isn’t that . . . ,” I start. “Why else would you . . . ?”
Silence follows, long and strained. His eyes drill into me without giving anything away.
“Then why am I here?”
“I’ve warned you about questions.”
“But what else could it be? I thought—”
“You are purposely trying my patience. Do you want to see what happens if you push me too far?”
His words leave a coat of goose bumps on my skin. I’m beginning to understand what he’s capable of physically, but it’s not knowing what’s underneath his exterior that scares me most.
“I have to return to the office. It’s important for us both that I maintain my routine. I recommend you eat,” he says, gesturing to the tray, “seeing as how you’ve slept until noon.”
“The office,” I mutter. “What do they say about my absence?”
He clears his throat and turns his face to the bed, his eyes resting on my mussed up sheets.
I can only laugh. “They haven’t noticed, have they? Hale probably replaced me right away. Such is my life, coming and going without anybody noticing.”
“That’s not true,” he says with surprising tenderness.
“You don’t know anything about me, so fuck off.”
I brace myself for a reaction. As seconds tick by, his impassive expression has me growing regretful of my comment. His eyebrows rise. “You ought to be careful, Cataline. Mouthing off can get you into trouble.”
Any regret vanishes. “More trouble than I’m already in?” I ask. “I’ve been kidnapped to fulfill some pervert’s sick fantasy. And since I know who you are, where you work, and where you live, I suppose you’ll have to kill me at the end of all this. So perhaps we move things along, and you make me do whatever it is I’m here for so I can have some relief from this hell.”
“As I just said, I won’t touch you again. Even,” he pauses to ensure my attention, “if you beg for it.” He takes a step forward, and I push back against the window frame. His large hand wraps gently around my throat until I’m covered with him. “And like a little sparrow, it would take nothing to snap your neck. I assure you, if that’s what I wanted, it would be done.”
He removes his hand, but I still feel his cold touch there. “I want to go home,” I say through a quivering chin.
With him so close, the shift in his demeanor is obvious. “Look around,” he snaps. “I’ve stocked the kitchen with your favorite foods, filled the library with books you love, and bestowed on you a closet any woman would die for. I’ve instructed everyone be at your beck and call.” His voice rises, falling heavily over me from above. “What is it you want? What more can I do?”
“I want my freedom.”
“Why, so you can go back to that shit apartment on Breaker Street and work for some ungrateful asshole at a job you don’t even want?”
I draw my knees against my chest, pulling my heels tight so as not to expose myself. “How do you know where I live?” I whisper. “Or what books I like?”
He scowls before storming away. When he reaches the door, he twists to look back at me. His voice is as intense and mesmerizing as his stare. “This isn’t hell; hell is what I rescued you from. I’ll have no more sulking, no more sneaking around. Am I understood?”
I agree with a mindless nod.
“Answer me,” he clips. “If I catch you doing either, you will be punished. Do we have an understanding?”
I don’t consider my options because it’s becoming clear I have none. So I can only answer, “Yes, I understand.”
The new executive assistant stares back at me as her teeth carve into her bottom lip. She’s not bad to look at, petite like Cataline with dark brown hair. I think it might be all right to turn her around and take her from behind. I lick my lips as I think about Cataline bent over the sharp lip of that desk, my hands bound by long strands of her silky hair.
Back upstairs in my office, I automatically pick up my desk phone when it buzzes. “Parish.”
“Master Parish, you’re needed on the East Side.”
“Go ahead,” I say, reaching for a pen and paper to scribble down Norman’s message. My staff is the scaffolding of my secret identity, and their most important job is making sure no call to our private, direct line goes unanswered. I’ve told them countless times that minutes can mean the difference between life and death.
“Where you off to today, Parish?” Hale asks when he enters the elevator.
My attempt at a smile is pathetic. I hate this motherfucker because he’s a shit person, and because he’s always sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. “Got a meeting.”
I shrug off his irritating attempts at conversation before exiting the elevator and heading for my car. Cataline doesn’t know, but I only started spending more time in the office when s
he was hired over two years ago. Most decision making is done by the board and the president of Parish Media, who was a friend to my parents and one of the few who knows the truth about Hero’s identity. He runs my company because he’s trustworthy, but what I pay him ensures he stays that way. Together, we manage as best we can what the city sees about Hero.
My car glides smoothly out of the underground garage, and I’m traveling toward my destination. There’s no time for a costume change or to switch cars, so I go as I am in my suit and tie. The seedy underbelly of New Rhone, also know as the East Side, is my most common playground. If I removed its entire population, something I’ve considered, New Rhone would be better for it.
I park the car and remove everything from my pockets, tossing the contents and my glasses under the passenger’s seat. From outside, the warehouse I’ve been directed to is still and quiet without a person in sight. I shield my eyes against the afternoon sun and scan the deserted lot on New Rhone’s outskirts.
The building is seemingly empty when I enter, but I immediately tune to hushed voices and shuffling feet in the maze of aisles. It’s not until I hit a clearing that people appear. I recognize the approaching men as Cartel members by their signature rose tattoos with “Riv” scripted across the middle. Having just murdered their leader and some of their crew, there’s no question what they want from me. I ball one fist into my other palm and crack my knuckles as the thrill of attack burns its course through my body. Today’s turning out better than I expected.
As if prompted by some silent cue, each of the five men draws a gun. “Where’s your costume?” one asks as they encircle me. “We were hoping for a Hero, not a yuppie.”
I relax my stance, my trained reaction to danger. The first shot rings out, catching me in the shoulder. I inhale deeply, drawing on the pain to fuel my anger—and smile. They look to each other as I advance. Two more shots are fired, one landing in my upper thigh and the other deflected as it comes at my head.
One yells in Spanish to slow down because they need me alive. I only laugh as I grab the two men nearest to me, easily lifting one in each hand by his shirt collar. Footsteps echo in the warehouse as someone I didn’t see runs for the door. My instincts will me to chase after him, and I know I should, but I’m salivating over what’s right in front of me. I launch one man into the nearest wall then seize the other’s head between both hands, snapping his neck with a satisfying crack. In the moments it takes me to kill both men, I hear shots outside.
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