Three the Hard Way

by Sydney Croft

  “Bastards,” Justice growled. Throwing out his hand, he sent his own gift at the electric-whip guy’s snowmobile as it sped toward the cabin’s clearing. The thing veered hard to the right and collided with a tree. At the same time, another snowmobile crashed, and Justice looked over to see Tag with a self-satisfied smirk.

  They joined forces, working in tandem to take out more snowmobiles and riders as the other ACRO agents engaged Itor.

  For fun, Justice sent one snowmobile into a collision with an Itor agent, and then he and Tag crashed two head-on.

  “It’s like a fucking video game,” Justice yelled at Tag.

  Grinning, Tag flicked his wrist, and the last snowmobile flipped into the air, dumping its driver in a heap in the snow. ACRO agents swarmed the guy, and soon he joined a handful of other Itor survivors in restraints near the shed.

  Eventually, only a few lone shots rang out, punctuated by groans and shouts for help from the injured and dying. Justice and Tag helped round everyone up, bringing them inside the cabin, where uninjured ACRO agents with medical experience tended to the wounded.

  “Ian is a trained medic.” Tag grabbed Dev’s arm, and Justice groaned. Tag was going to push the guy too far, and probably sooner than later. “Did you hear me, dammit? He’s a medic. He can help.”

  For a long time, Dev stared at Tag, measuring him from head to toe.

  “Dev,” Justice pleaded, fighting the adrenaline that rushed through his body from the fighting and subsequent victory. “Please. He deserves a chance to prove himself.”

  Dev jerked his chin at the basement hatch. “Go. And good job tonight.”

  Yeah. Good job. Justice should be thrilled. They’d defeated the bad guys, and while there were a lot of injured men being cared for in the cabin or being evacced immediately in the most critical cases, there were no casualties. At least, not on ACRO’s side. But something niggled at him. The expression on Dev’s face earlier, when they’d been discussing Ian . . . Justice would bet his left nut that his boss was keeping something from them.

  So yep, they’d won the battle. But he had a feeling the fight was not yet over.

  The quieter of the two ACRO agents babysitting Ian checked his phone and looked over at his buddy, Gus. “Devlin needs me. Hang here with him.”

  “Great.”

  “It’s no picnic for me either,” Ian said brightly as the agent raced up the stairs and slammed through the doorway. His humor fled though, as fear for Justice and Tag settled into the pit of his stomach. “Care to share what’s happening?”

  Before Gus could reply, Justice’s voice drifted down the stairs, and Ian nearly sagged with relief. “Dev said to let Ian up—we need a medic!”

  “Now, asshole,” Tag shouted, and Ian snorted. So Tag.

  Gus frowned, but he checked his phone and must’ve gotten the confirmation he needed because he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a key. “Don’t fuck this up.”

  “I don’t plan on it.” Ian watched him unlock one cuff, and then they both froze as a boom rattled the shelves and rows of supplies stacked along the walls, sending cans of soup and bottles of water crashing to the floor.

  “What the fu—” Gus cut off as the wall in front of them exploded outward.

  Wood, stone, and dust pelted them, but the real danger was the Itor agent who crashed through the opening. In an instant, Justice was looking down the barrel of a pistol.

  Son of a bitch!

  The bastard fired even as Ian shoved Gus down and moved out of the way himself, encumbered by the chains but free enough to put on a burst of speed and avoid a bullet to the brain. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement through the wall opening the trigger-happy Itor dick had emerged from, and shit, more agents were storming through what appeared to be an ancient, narrow tunnel.

  Tag, you should have studied the damned building plans.

  Two more agents burst in and Gus was up, rushing to fight the first one. Real quick, it became obvious that Gus was an Excedo—with a single punch to the chest, he knocked the agent into the back wall hard enough to displace a section of stonework and likely kill the guy.

  Ian didn’t have time to celebrate. One of the newcomers came at him, the sleeves of his jacket peeled back enough to reveal his secret weapon: venomous barbs.

  Not. Good.

  Heart pounding, Ian hurled himself at the guy and used the chain still connected to his wrist as a weapon. With an angry shout, he wrapped it around the guy’s neck before he could shoot off venom from his barbs. The barbed agent grunted as Ian yanked the chain to cut off his air. The Itor bastard struggled hard, one hand going for the chain at his throat, the other flailing wildly behind him as he tried to stick Ian with the tip of his poison barb.

  Holy shit, was this idiot ever going to go down?

  “Help . . .” Gus’s voice was a tortured whisper from behind him. Ian cranked his head around to see the ACRO agent standing, unnaturally still, near the staircase, his eyes wide with panic.

  The remaining Itor guy was stalking toward him, knife in hand, but his real weapon was the hypnotic ability he was using to hold Gus immobile.

  Summoning every last drop of strength he had, Ian slammed poison-boy to the ground hard enough that he was never getting up and charged the hypnotist. Speed was his blessing in this case—he moved too fast for the guy to get a bead on him, but for some reason, for all his speed, he suddenly felt like he was moving in slow motion. Still, his slow motion was twice as fast as a normal human, and he managed not only to disarm the enemy, but to slice his neck open with his own damned knife. Fucking satisfying as hell.

  Straightening, he winced at the throb in his head. Damn this headache. At least none of the Itor agents were moving. Gus was blinking, rubbing his eyes, and as Ian helped him up, he could sympathize. Ian’s own eyes were stinging, his vision blurring, and what the hell was going on?

  He stumbled, felt his legs go wobbly.

  “Ian, what’s wrong?” Gus’s voice sounded far away.

  Ian glanced at the barbed Itor guy. Looked down at himself. Had he been jabbed by one of the poisonous spurs without noticing? He’d been so fucking careful, but, what if . . .

  Pain tore through him—searing, stinging agony, as if a million fire ants were biting at him from the inside. His pulse pounded in his ears, deafening him. At some point, everything went black and then, blissfully, there was nothing at all.

  “Ian’s down!”

  Justice heard those terrifying words as he and Tag were trying to wrench the basement door open. The explosion from below had twisted the hinges, and holy shit, all Justice could think about was Ian. Finally, with Dev’s help, they managed to rip the door loose.

  Tag ended up in front of him as they took the now-wobbly stairs two at a time and dropped into chaos. Justice’s heart raced at the sight of the collapsed wall and bodies littering the floor, but then his ticker skidded to a halt when he saw Gus hunched over Ian’s motionless body, his hands probing for injuries.

  No. Oh . . . no.

  Tag hit the floor next to Ian with a crack of kneecaps. “What happened?” he barked, his words thick with emotion, and Justice was just glad that he’d been the one to ask that question, because he didn’t think he could speak at all past the lump in his throat.

  “He saved my ass,” Gus said roughly. “Then he collapsed. That Itor guy next to the shelves—he’s got those venomous barbs.”

  “Shit.” Devlin was behind them. Working quickly, he crossed to the dead guy and snapped a picture of the exposed barbs with his phone.

  Justice’s mouth went dry as he looked down at Ian, his pale skin covered in sweat. He was unconscious, but each wheezy breath sounded labored, as if even in his passed-out state he was trying to claw his way back to the living.

  “It’s okay,” Justice said, his voice humiliatingly hoarse as he joined Tag next to Ian. “We’re here.”

  Ian’s eyes popped open, and Justice exhaled with relief. Until he saw the pain
and fear glazing them.

  Tag gripped Ian’s hand so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “You hold on. We’re getting an antidote.” He glanced over at Justice, his eyes pleading. “Right?”

  Justice could only nod. He knew that there were different types of venom in the barbs, and some had antidotes . . .

  Most didn’t. He held his breath waiting for Devlin to get the answer from ACRO—Justice knew that’s who he’d sent the picture back to. There were scientists on call 24-7, just for emergencies like this one. And Devlin’s teams traveled with whatever antidotes they could produce but . . .

  Time slowed to a crawl as he counted each rise and fall of Ian’s chest. There was activity all around him, but he barely noticed. At some point, Gus had gotten up to gather medical supplies, but where the hell were ACRO’s crack scientists with the damned info they needed?

  “Don’t we have anything to give him?” Tag’s raspy voice brought Justice out of his own head. Ian had closed his eyes, was still breathing hard. Gus appeared with an oxygen tank and mask, and as Justice helped place it over Ian’s mouth, Tag gripped his wrist. “Justice, please. Give him something.”

  “If we give him the wrong antidote . . .” He couldn’t finish, but Tag got it quickly enough.

  “But we have antidotes for every kind of venom, right?”

  Dammit. Tag knew the answer to that as well as he did. He was looking for a reassurance, and Justice was willing Dev to give him one. He’d probably settle for a lie at this point, but that wasn’t going to help save Ian . . .

  Ian, who was ripping the mask off. Justice tried to force it on him, but the guy was still strong. “No,” he managed. “Please.”

  “Ian,” Tag begged, “put the mask on until we figure out what to do.”

  Ian grabbed for Tag, pulled Justice closer too. “Thank you.”

  “Jesus, Ian— Don’t you fucking dare!” He hadn’t meant to yell, but he was back, cradling his mom’s head while she died in his arms. And Tag had begged him to help then, too.

  It was the one thing Justice felt he could never, ever make up to Tag. And he couldn’t lose Ian, not after finding something this goddamned special in the middle of hell.

  Devlin was kneeling down now. Justice didn’t even have to look at him to know the answer—he could feel it coming off Devlin in waves.

  “I’m sorry,” Devlin said quietly.

  “You fix this,” Tag told him. “It’s your fucking fault he was down here. He could’ve been up with us. We would’ve kept him safe.”

  Devlin stared at Tag—he’d never kick a man when he was down like this, Justice knew. Devlin shouldered blame better than anyone.

  “I don’t know how the barb got him,” Gus said. “Ian was so fucking fast—even with the chain. I could barely see him.”

  “Ah, shit,” Dev muttered. “Of course.”

  Justice whipped his head around to Dev. “Of course . . . what?”

  Dev met Justice’s gaze. “His chip. It could be killing him.”

  “Killing him?” Justice shook his head. “We told you—”

  “If you were right about the model of the chip, it was loaded with both an explosive and a toxin. Tag might have destroyed the explosive element, but it’s possible that he inadvertently caused the poison to leak before the chip melted.”

  Tag exploded to his feet, fists clenched, and Justice got ready to . . . to what? Intervene? He was as angry and blindsided as Tag was. Now he knew why Dev had seemed to be holding back something when they discussed the chip.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Tag practically hurled the words at Dev. “The chip is full of poison, and you just now thought to tell us about it?”

  “It didn’t seem relevant at the time,” Devlin said evenly, not giving in to Tag’s anger. “Ian didn’t appear to be ill, so there was no reason to alarm anyone.” An edge of warning deepened his voice as his patience with Tag began to wear thin. “Especially not when we were about to be fighting for our lives.”

  “Dammit.” Frustrated with his inability to help and terrified for Ian, Justice shoved a hand through his hair. “You made a good call, isn’t that right, Tag?” Tag gave a reluctant nod, and he continued. “But what now? If the chip did this, what kind of poison is it?”

  “Hold on.” Devlin’s long fingers flew over his phone’s keyboard, texting, no doubt, to the scientists. “They say it’s most likely either a hematological or neurological toxin.” He frowned at the screen. “Maybe both. Whatever it is, it’ll have some sort of mineral base, and it’ll—”

  “Wait.” Tag broke in. “Did you say mineral? What kind of mineral?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It matters, Devlin,” Justice assured him.

  There were a few seconds of silence and then Devlin read, “Pyrrhotite.” He glanced up. “But the pyrrhotite is just the vehicle for the poison. If my guys are right, they bonded the poison to the lodestone, and the molecules have been carrying the poison to all his organs and nervous system, including his brain, since the moment the chip was destroyed. There’s no way to get it out of him.”

  “Yes, there is.” Justice grinned. “Most pyrrhotite is magnetic.”

  Tag locked gazes with him, the hope in his eyes drawing Justice as if that was Tag’s power. “Pyrrhotite contains iron. We’ll have to lock hard on its signature or we’ll pull out the necessary iron in his body.”

  “You’ll also have to keep it contained once it’s outside his body so it won’t spread through the air,” Dev added.

  Shit, this wasn’t going to be easy. The worry must have shown on his face, because Dev clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You can do this. You’re never stronger than when you’re fighting for someone’s life.”

  “He’s right, Justice.” Tag went down on heels and stroked his hand over Ian’s head as he looked up at Justice. “I’ve never seen anyone who fights harder.” His throat worked on a swallow. “Now we’ll fight together.”

  In any other situation, he’d have kissed Tag until they both combusted, but right now, they had to make sure Ian was there to share the heat.

  “Our magnetic powers kick some serious ass,” Justice said. “So let’s do this.”

  Dev gave a nod, but Justice had already summoned his power, and next to him, the air pulsed with the magnetic energy radiating from Tag. In a moment, they’d start pushing each other apart unless they either concentrated their power on a metal object or Justice reversed his power . . . and then they’d snap together so hard they’d crack their skulls.

  They’d tried it a few times as kids, and it’d always ended badly.

  By mutual, unspoken consent that came as naturally as it had for so many years, Justice rolled Ian onto his side, and Tag yanked up Ian’s shirt. Ian groaned as Devlin and Gus kneeled to hold him steady. He’d gone ashen, and his breathing was getting choppier. Shallower.

  “Shit,” Justice breathed. “We gotta do this fast.”

  “Let’s go.” Tag took one of Justice’s hands in his, their fingers twining with familiarity. Gently, they each laid their free hands on the cool, clammy skin of Ian’s back. “Now.”

  Justice turned on his power full blast, focusing it into the palm of his hand. Energy sang through him, vibrating his body, his bones, his very cells. Tag might as well have been a nuclear power plant, his energy buzzing against Justice’s in the air between them.

  There . . . he could feel the metals in Ian’s body quiver—all the metals. Closing his eyes, he felt around for the special “feel” of pyrrhotite, it’s unique molecular structure allowing him to pick it apart from all other metals and minerals. He focused on iron, and then began what seemed like a way-too-slow process of locating only the right iron sulfide molecular combination. He knew Tag was doing the same, and . . . there! He focused on the signature, and instantly, the pyrrhotite that had spread through Ian’s body began to move toward Justice’s palm.

  Suddenly, Ian’s spine went stiff, his body convulsing. “Hold him
down!” he shouted. Or, at least, tried to shout. His voice was hoarse with the effort required to draw the mineral out of Ian’s tissues slowly, without damaging anything. Fuck, he’d take yanking a moving helicopter out of the sky over this any day.

  “It’s happening,” Tag ground out, his hand clutching Justice’s in a fierce grip.

  They hadn’t worked together like this in years, but sleeping together the last few days, touching one another constantly, had been like a shortcut for this moment. Justice squeezed Tag’s hand just as hard and concentrated on the thick, quicksilver fluid he could picture in his mind’s eye.

  Come on, come on, comeoncomeoncomeon . . .

  Slowly—so fucking slowly—he could feel the pyrrhotite near the surface of Ian’s skin.

  “Almost,” he said between panting breaths. “Almost . . .”

  He felt the mineral push through Ian’s flesh before he saw it, the dusty particles forming an almost sugary coating on his skin.

  “I didn’t know it was crystalline,” Dev murmured, his voice deep with awe.

  “That’s . . . the . . . poison,” Justice managed.

  The mineral dust vibrated as it came free of Ian’s body and floated up to stick to Justice’s and Tag’s palms. When the last particle finally popped out of Ian’s body, he relaxed, but only a little.

  “Get soap and a bowl of hot water,” Tag rasped. “We need to wash off the poison before we release our power, or it’ll get into the air.”

  Gus flew up the stairs, leaving Dev to ease Ian onto his back while Justice and Tag kept the poison dust firmly in their hands with their powers. “He’s already looking better,” he said, and yeah, Ian’s color was coming back, and his breathing had evened out.

  Gus returned with two bowls, one for washing and the other for rinsing, and Tag and Justice wasted no time in washing the shit off. The moment their hands were free of the rinse water, both Justice and Tag released their power and fell forward as if their bones had turned to Jell-O.