Rogues_Supers of Project 12_Reverse Harem

by Angel Lawson

  He knows better than anyone she most likely stepped in a hornet’s nest she can’t get out of. Rowe won’t back down now. If anything, Astrid just made the target on her team and everyone associated with her bigger than ever.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Astrid

  Beer sloshes out of the pitcher and spills down the side. Owen curses at the loss but Astrid just slides over her glass. She needs another drink. They all do.

  “How long before he comes back?” Quinn asks from across the table. The primary topic that night had been how Astrid shamed and humiliated Rowe, but they all know there will be a price to pay.

  “He won’t come in the front door,” she says, licking the beer off her thumb. “He’ll jump me on the street or arrest me for something else.”

  “You think Jensen will intervene?” Owen asks.

  “No idea what is going through Jensen’s head these days.” She holds up her glass for a toast. “Here’s to being impulsive and pissing off a psychopath.”

  They clink glasses. Owen tosses his arm over her shoulder. “You did it spectacularly. That’s what counts. And to be completely honest, I’ve never been so fucking turned on in my life.”

  She and Quinn both roll their eyes.

  “God, he’s such a prick,” she says, feeling the alcohol now. It’s warm and makes her lips feel numb. She works her way under Owen’s arm, liking the way he smells. “Why didn’t one of you stop me?”

  “Who knew you’d disarm a special agent in the middle of the gym?” Quinn says. “I thought you were just going to berate him.”

  “Nope.” Owen smiles. “If As goes down, she’s going down in flames.”

  “And taking you all with me.”

  “We’re a team, babe. That’s how it works.” Quinn smiles across the table and Owen nods in agreement. “We knew going in, self-control is not your strong suit.”

  “I’ve corrupted you both,” she says, easing out of the booth. “Don’t worry, just going to the ladies’ room. I think I can do that without starting a civil war.”

  No one at the table seems comforted by that statement.

  The music in the bar is loud, indie rock. Better than the emo shit they play at Skull Knockers near the university. They decided to go to one of the new places down by the water. Support the Harbor Line. It’s their home and no one, including Rowe and his band of merry dicks, is going to intimidate her otherwise.

  She’s in and out of the bathroom quickly, only stopping to wash the beer off her hands and take a quick look in the mirror. She forwent her standard leggings and hoodie for the night, opting for a tight black shirt with long sleeves. The jeans are skinny, stuck to her like a second skin, and her boots black with a sharp, pointed heel. She even took a minute to dust powder over her nose and coat her lashes in mascara. The guys noticed, their bodies betraying them the second she came into sight. The affect she has on them is empowering—to them as well as her.

  Drying her hands, she keeps her gloves in her back pocket—something she’s trying to do more and more as she learns to control her abilities.

  Three girls enter the bathroom, giggling and smelling of smoke. She walks past them waving her hand in front of her face but stops short the second she enters the hallway.

  Someone is waiting for her.

  “Heard you were back here,” Draco says. He’s devastatingly handsome. The gray of his button-down matches his eyes. The short haircut accentuates the strong line of his jaw. An expensive silver watch circles his wrist. He looks out of place here, like he got lost on the way back from a corporate retreat and is just slumming for the night.

  Is that what Draco’s doing? Slumming it?

  “Is this something you do?” she asks. “Lurk around women’s bathrooms?”

  The corner of his mouth twitches. “Can we talk for a minute?”

  “Here?”

  He grimaces at the bathroom door. “Maybe outside.”

  “I should tell the guys so they don’t worry.”

  He touches my elbow, steadying her wobbly feet. “I already did. They know you’re with me.”

  Safe is what he means, because that’s who Draco is. A protector. No wonder Casper gave him a shield as his primary weapon. He walks away from the bar and pushes open the back door. It leads them to a small back patio lit with a string of lights. Flat beds of sand stretch across the patio. It’s a bocce ball course. She rolls her eyes. Freaking hipsters.

  Water laps nearby. They’re right on the harbor. They find a bench overlooking the water and sit.

  “I heard about what happened today.”

  “Oh yeah?” She can’t imagine Owen or Quinn contacting him. “So Casper won’t talk to me but he’ll watch?”

  He laughs. “Pretty much.”

  “It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “The task force is no joke, Astrid. You don’t need the extra attention right now.”

  “So what am I supposed to do? Let a thug with a badge come in my business and threaten me?”

  “Of course not. But there has to be some kind of middle ground.”

  She eyes him. The shadows of the lamplight make him even more handsome. “You don’t seem like a man that understands the middle ground. I think you’re pretty black and white when it comes to things.”

  “There’s a right and a wrong. I try to stay on the right.”

  “Where does Demetria fall into that? Where does Project 12? Casper? There’s a lot of shades of gray you’re dealing with.” She feels the tension in him, the conflict and confusion. He came here for a reason, most likely one he can’t define. “Did you come down here to tell me to be careful?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you come down here to make sure I was okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you come down here because you don’t trust me or Owen or Quinn to stay out of trouble?”

  His lip quirks. “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “You’re not our dad, Draco. Relax. Join us for a drink. Socialize.”

  He wrinkles his nose.

  “You know it may help Casper understand the importance of the group if you join in every once in a while.”

  Understanding flickers in his eyes.

  “One drink.”

  “Perfect.”

  “For Casper.”

  “Obviously.” She smiles and links her arm with his. “Hey! Have you ever played bocce?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Draco

  With strategic heft, the weighted blue ball flies though the air and lands with a plop in the sand. There’s silence and one gasp of disbelief when it doesn’t roll but it does knock a similar yellow ball on the side, bumping it out of its slot for first position.

  The small group of spectators, who Draco suspects are well aware that they’re watching four genetically superior individuals, break into cheers. One person isn’t so pleased.

  “You. Cheated.”

  Draco smiles at Astrid, tipping the bottle of beer to his lips and taking a refreshing, victorious pull. The woman on her own is a spit-fire. Competitive and angry? She’s a damned wrathful goddess.

  “I don’t cheat.”

  “Of course you don’t,” she mutters, like this is a bad thing. “You’re just all perfectly-perfect at all the things, right?”

  He shrugs. “Your nickname, not mine.”

  He walks into the sand with Quinn and picks up the balls. Owen has found himself an empty seat by the fire pit and warms his hands.

  Astrid approaches him and grabs her yellow balls. She’s beyond tipsy and her nose and cheeks are flushed. Her eyes spark with perceived injustice. Without warning, he pushes her hair over her shoulder. The wind from the harbor tangles it more every minute they’re out on the patio. She pauses and there’s an awkward moment that follows.

  “Sorry,” he mumbles. She was right about him joining them. This was more fun than he expected. He glances at his watch. “I should probably head out. I’ve got a meeting at WIND-E in the morning.”r />
  “More world domination?” Owen asks.

  “Insurance settlement with the city over the street damage.”

  “Ouch,” Quinn says. He takes the seat next to Owen.

  “Yeah, the board probably won’t like it if I show up reeking of alcohol and with sand in my shoes.”

  “Meeting or not, you don’t get to leave yet. I get a chance to even the score.”

  Even drunk, Astrid’s a fierce competitor. Her sense of balance and accuracy match his own. She surely has speed over him due to her smaller stature, but the fact they’re a good fit in so many ways unnerves him.

  “One game,” he agrees. “Just so I can destroy you.”

  “You guys in?” she asks the others but they’re not moving from their chairs.

  “Go for it, As,” Owen says. “Kick him in the, uh, bocce balls.”

  Quinn shakes his head and mutters something about Owen being a dumbass.

  “Oh well,” she says, stepping up to the line. The yellow ball rests in her hands. “Their loss.”

  Draco glances over his shoulder and notices both men have their eyes on Astrid’s ass as she slightly bends to throw the ball. His eyes dart down instinctively and a flood of dirty thoughts fill his mind.

  Again.

  Her ball flies through the air, coming within five inches of the small white target.

  Astrid fist pumps. “Your turn.”

  He holds the two blue balls in his hands and tosses the first one. It comes within an inch of hers but not quite close enough.

  “Aww,” she cries. “Just a little short.”

  “I’ve got another turn,” he says to her. She reaches for her beer bottle and he takes it from her, tipping it to his mouth.

  “Hey! That’s mine.”

  “We’re on the same team, right?”

  She smiles up at him and he knows he’s playing with fire. This girl, woman, she’s more than he can handle. He knows it. He cuts the flirting, which feels really, really nice, and focuses on the game so that he can get out of here before he’s in too deep.

  “You’re up,” he says, picking her yellow ball up off the ground and handing it to her. Their fingers graze and a jolt travels up his skin. She blinks and he prays she didn’t get anything off of his echo about his rambling thoughts.

  Astrid throws her final ball and it rolls across the packed surface. It bumps his off the track and eases in barely an inch from the target. She spins and smiles. “Nailed it.”

  “Sure enough, let’s see if you can hold on to your lead.”

  He’s about to launch his next ball when she leans over and whispers, “There are other things you could nail if you weren’t so uptight, Draco.”

  Mid-arc, the ball slips from his fingers, zooming past the other balls and the target. It slams into the backboard hard and he winces at the sound of wood splitting.

  “Holy shit,” Owen cries. “Did you just break it?”

  “Super powers plus bocce may not be a great idea,” Quinn adds. He walks over to check the board. It’s split in two.

  “Who cares about the backboard,” Astrid says, sticking out her tongue. “I won!”

  Yeah, he wants to say, by whispering dirty thoughts in his ear. Talk about a cheater.

  “I’ll pay the owner,” he says, “but seriously, I’ve gotta run.”

  Quinn picks up the discarded game balls and puts them on the rack. “Why did you take over at WIND-E? Why the commitment to Demetria?”

  “She reached out to me when I needed someone.” There’s no doubt they know what he means. They found one another in a similar way. “She’s not a bad person. Just very, very sick.”

  “Don’t let him fool you,” Astrid says. “He’s physically incapable of doing the wrong thing. Some greater sense of morality makes him stick by Demetria, even if she’s the devil.”

  Owen perks up. “Is that true?”

  He shakes his head and shoots Astrid a glare. “No. I can do the wrong thing, I just choose not to.”

  He says it with conviction but the knot in his belly makes him doubtful. Astrid called him out earlier. There are shades of gray in what he’s dealing with right now. Is he doing the right thing for Demetria by fixing her mistakes? Is he doing more harm to Casper than good? He looks at the woman that walked off to rack the game balls on the small shelf by the door. Her hips sway to the beat of the music filtering through the speakers. She’s the biggest mystery of all to him. The biggest danger.

  How can one small but powerful woman take up so much space in his head?

  He stands. “Thanks for letting me hang out.”

  “No problem, dude,” Owen says. “See you soon.”

  Quinn shakes his hand and Draco gives Astrid a small wave. He leaves out the back gate and he’s nearing his car when he hears her voice.

  “That’s how you’re going to leave?”

  He turns to face Astrid. “Excuse me?”

  “A wave?” She mocks the move. “Later!”

  She’s feisty and something is bugging her. It has been for the last hour—no, make that since the day they met. “Do you have something to say to me?”

  She closes the distance and looks up at him.

  “I know how you feel.”

  He tilts his head.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I read your echo that night we went on patrol. I saw what you wanted to do.” She bites her lip. “To me.”

  Her accusation makes him uncomfortable. What had she seen? Because his thoughts tended to run the gamut on her. From endearing to protective to downright feral.

  The look in her eye makes him suspect it’s the latter.

  He swallows and carefully circumvents the truth, knowing his thoughts could have lingered on a dozen activities he’d like to share with her. Most naked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “What you want to do falls in the gray space, Draco, just like I do. Just like the guys. It’s the place that binds us together, that gives us unimaginable strength.” She smiles and it’s breathtaking and terrifying at the same time. It cuts through his soul, through the protective shield he’s placed around himself—she disarms him and that is unacceptable.

  “Look, I don’t want to sound rude, but whatever you three have going on is between you. I don’t see how it affects our working together as a team to keep the city safe.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, but when you’re ready, let me know.”

  “Ready for what?” She’s way too in his personal space.

  “Me.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Astrid

  Draco may have had to meet with insurance adjusters, but Astrid had her own consequences to deal with. Jensen texted her at seven a.m., asking her to come to his office.

  “Tell him you can’t,” Quinn says over breakfast. “You do have recruits downstairs.”

  “You and Mick can handle it. He knows that. I have to go take my punishment for what happened with Rowe.”

  His mouth sets in a grim line. “Don’t get arrested, okay?”

  “I won’t.” He doesn’t look convinced so she kisses him quick on the lips. “Promise.”

  She takes the Jeep to the agency office and moves through security. When Jensen appears, she expects him to take her up to his office. Instead, he presses the down button on the elevator.

  “Are you taking me to a cell?” Quinn may have been right about that getting arrested thing. “Because Rowe was a dick and I won’t feel bad about defending myself.”

  “If I was arresting you, that would have already happened.”

  Oh.

  “Is Mayor Steed serious about this charity game? I thought we’d had enough of this sort of thing lately. The last two caused more damage than good.”

  “His name wasn’t on any of those events. He wants to take credit for rebuilding the city. We can’t stop him.”

  “Yeah, well if Rowe keeps taunting me, it’s going to get ugly.”

  The elevator doors
slide open and it leads to an indoor firing range. She feels the shots vibrating in her chest as well as the gunfire rattling in her ears. She covers her ears and Jensen hands her a pair of headphones.

  Then, silently, he hands her a gun and a clip of bullets and gestures for Astrid to follow. The weapon feels weird in her hand. Lighter than expected. She doesn’t use weapons like this. She is a weapon. Honed and developed for assault. Sure, she carries tools and a few things that get her out of a scrape, but guns? That’s not her style.

  “Stall four,” he says and she enters the box. A fresh sheet of black paper with the outline of a white body hangs on the wall in the distance.

  He nods at the target. “Go for it.”

  Astrid has shot a gun before. There is a lot to the training of the recruits, and although the gym focuses on the physical side of things, she’s aware once they graduate they become even more lethal killers. Jensen had shown her and Atticus the process. But now, with the weight of the gun in her hand, and the target hanging in the distance, she feels like she’s part of some kind of test. Closing one eye she unloads the clip, feeling the recoil and vibration through her entire body. It hurts.

  Jensen presses the button that brings the target back to them. On the good side, she hit the paper with every shot. On the bad she didn’t hit center mass with any of them.

  “What’s the point here,” she says, not liking his silence or whatever it is he’s doing.

  He lifts up another target—used—with seven bullets clumped together in the middle of the body, most near the heart. “This is Rowe’s target. He’s trained. And lethal and has a license to carry a gun. He may be a dick and you may have been his instructor, but you can’t mouth off to him.”

  “Why? Because he’ll kill me?”

  He sighs and rubs his chin. Too many new wrinkles have appeared on his face over the last few months. Obviously, she’s a contributing factor. “Rowe’s not going to kill you, Astrid, but he may take a shot at your alter ego. Or someone else in the community who thinks it’s okay to talk back to task force agents.”