by Angel Lawson
“All of what?”
“The muscles and machismo and the talking. Hell, the talking. They talk all the fucking time.” He tosses his tool on the table. “Look, you all have your defenses. You have a shield and Quinn has his power and Owen can manipulate things to go his way. And if Astrid touches me…well, hell no. No. I’ve got nothing but this box and this thing that fixes my voice and I’m not going out there.”
Draco lets him stew for a minute before saying, “This is important, Casper. We need you, do you get that?”
“You have me, on my own terms.”
“But—” Draco’s eyes shift to hers and something shifts on Casper’s face. Maybe his eyes or the drop of his jaw. He’s too far away for Astrid to get a read on him but he stares into the camera and says, “Someone’s there with you.”
Mr. Perfect doesn’t lie. “Yes.”
“Who?”
With the remote Draco adjusts the camera. There’s no doubt when Casper sees Astrid’s face.
“Fuck you. Fuck you both. And stay the fuck away from me.”
The screen shorts out, turning black. He cut them off. Draco runs his hand over his face.
“Sorry,” Astrid says, feeling the bitter sting of tears in her eyes. She wipes them away before he can notice—or if he does, he’s kind enough not to say anything.
“Honestly, until that last part, it went better than I expected.”
“That was better?”
“He didn’t throw anything or break the camera. It’s happened before. I consider it a win.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Astrid says, crosses her legs. She doesn’t miss how he watches her move.
“Give him a few days to cool off. See if he sends over the tech or contacts you first.”
She nods. “I can do that.”
He reaches for her hand. “Thank you for coming by and giving it a shot. It means a lot to him even if he doesn’t realize it. I know things have been weird for us during this transition, but he needs you guys.”
“We’re a team. A jacked-up, misfit group of damaged and out of control people, but still…a team. He’s one of us if he wants it or not.” She touches Draco’s chin and he raises an eyebrow. “Well, all of us but you, Mr. Perfect.”
“You shouldn’t call me that,” he says. “I’m far from perfect.”
“That will be something you’ll have to prove for me to believe it.” She stands and crosses the room. The tension ratchets up too quickly between them. She knows when it’s time to leave. “But either way, we accept you, just like Casper. Got it?”
He nods and she walks away, feeling his eyes on her back. Draco may be perfect, but she suspects there’s more underneath the surface. What’s under there is the biggest question of all.
Chapter Four
Quinn
Astrid returns with a bag of tacos, a case of beer, and news about Jensen and Casper. He frowns at the bag, still worried about her eating habits, but tacos are better than pizza. Or so he thinks, until he watches her pour a spoonful of cheese dip over the top and then dip it into a container of sour cream.
“Ohmygodtheseareawesome.” She sits on top of the Lair desk and groans like a woman deprived of sustenance.
“You think Jensen is really going to back off?” Owen asks. He leans over and wipes a glob of sour cream off the corner of Astrid’s mouth and licks his finger.
Good grief.
“Yep. I told him you weren’t a murderer and he seemed to believe me.”
“What about the deal to stay off the streets?” Quinn asks. He dumps his tacos into a bowl and piles on the lettuce Astrid removed from hers to make a salad.
“I said we’d make an effort but that we’re still going to protect the city.” Her legs are criss-crossed and she takes a swig of her beer before going in for more food. “I’m not a fan of threats.”
“Did he say anything else about us?” Quinn asks.
“I told him you were Atticus-approved. Which,” she takes another sip, “is true, but mostly you guys need to be Astrid-approved and lucky for you both, you passed that test.”
Quinn raises his eyebrow in question. He’s wondered if Astrid and Owen had sex yet. The tension coming off Astrid had been palpable the past few days. Is this confirmation? The hungry look on Owen’s face makes him think they still haven’t crossed that line.
Quinn changes the subject. “Other than Casper losing his shit on you, how did he seem?”
“Good, I guess. He was busy working. The stutter thing is weird. I mean, does he think we’re going to judge him?”
“He’s bluffed a good game, As,” Owen says. “He’s mouthy and obnoxious. A total prick at times. It must be hard for him to have a weakness like this.”
“It’s not a weakness,” she says irritably.
“He thinks it is.”
The phone rings and everyone in the room freezes. It’s the burner. Just activated, and no one has ever called on it before.
“Pick it up!” Astrid shouts from across the room.
The phone buzzes again. No one moves.
“Me?” Quinn asks.
“Yes! You’re closest!”
“For Christ’s sake,” Owen grumbles. He snatches the phone off the desk. “Hello?”
He listens and then snatches a piece of paper and pen off the desk. “Right. Right. Got it. Thanks for calling.”
He hangs up.
“Who was that?” Quinn asks. They’d only given the number to a few people in the community. That’s what it was. A hotline of sorts to connect the neighborhood with their team.
Owen glances at Astrid. “That was Luby.”
“My Luby?” she asks, but they only know one kid in the Swamp with that name, and after the fire with Blaze she’s taken the vandalizer under her wing. It’s the third tip-off he’s given them about a robbing crew terrorizing the Swamp. They’ve eluded them every time. “What did he want?”
“There’s a robbery going down at Scruggs’s barbershop.”
None of them move.
“What do you want to do?” Quinn asks. The deal Astrid made with the agent is only a few hours old and it’s already a problem.
“I told Jensen we’d stand down.”
“Scruggs is a good guy. He cuts my hair,” he replies. It’s unlike Quinn to want to break the rules. “Plus, he’s like, ninety years old.”
“Is the break-in in process?” She’s inching toward the changing room, one foot on the step.
“It’s a tip-off,” Owen says. “We could get there first.”
“We could,” she considers, pulling the sweatshirt over her head. “Maybe stop it before it starts.”
They all know she’s full of shit. There’s no way they’re backing down from helping the neighborhood. She told Jensen as much. She enters the closet, leaving a trail of clothing behind.
“Then we better hurry,” Quinn says, following her in.
They’ve perfected the process, timing one another to get changed as quickly as possible. Half of their issue was getting distracted by Astrid wiggling into her leather pants and then dealing with unfortunate, uncontrollable circumstances that made it challenging to get into their leather pants.
The guys now make her go behind a curtain in the back corner. With less distractions, five minutes is all it takes for them to put on their suits and hit the streets. It’s probably still too slow, but Scruggs’s Barbershop isn’t far away. They go on foot. Owen hits the rooftop. Astrid and Quinn are on the ground, then they split when they get to the small building. Astrid goes around the back.
“Charger?” Owen says, taking point since Casper wouldn’t answer their call.
“In position at the entrance.”
“That’s what she said,” Astrid mutters.
“Seriously? You’re like a thirteen-year-old boy.”
“And that’s a bad thing? You were a thirteen-year-old boy at one point.”
“Yeah,” Quinn says, flipping on his mask screen. “And I was a
horny dumbass.”
“Shut up, both of you,” Owen says. “No wonder Casper gets pissed all the time.”
“Sorry boss,” Astrid replies.
He ignores her. “Echo, what is your location.”
“I’m in the alley. There’s a bag of trash spilled on the ground. Looks like someone dropped it.”
“Is the back door open?”
She’s quiet for a moment, obviously mulling over some sort of anal sex retort, but finally says, “Unlocked. How do we want to do this?”
Quinn tries to get a good visual in the building. He adjusts the systems on his mask and the infrared clicks on. Two figures roam the small shop and one sits in a barber chair. Could be Scruggs or another thief.
“Looks like we’re a minute or two late,” Quinn says. “I’ll go in. Pan, you take watch from above. Echo, hold at the back door.”
“Got it,” Astrid says. Owen also gives confirmation.
Quinn moves quickly, kicking in the front door. Using his current, he holds up a shield. The electromagnetic properties can hold off almost any weapon and when the first punk panics and fires a gun, the bullet bounces off and ricochets into a glass mirror.
“It’s one of them!” the gunman shouts. The other scrambles for the money while Scruggs sits wide-eyed in his chair. The man is eighty, if not older, and has been cutting hair in the Swamp for fifty years. He’s an institution and the fact he’s being robbed is blasphemy.
They turn to the backdoor, looking to escape more than anything else. The team’s reputation is not that of killers.
“Echo—heads up.”
There’s a struggle out the backdoor. Two shots are fired. Quinn races to the back and sees both kids on the ground, hands bound behind their backs. She tucks the gun into her belt. Oh, and she looks pissed.
“Echo?” Owen asks.
“I’m fine. This kid is fucking trigger happy.” She gives the kid a nasty look, but they’re under control.
Quinn walks back in and glances at Scruggs, who is shakily getting out of the chair. “You okay?”
“Yeah, jumped me when I was taking out the trash.” He walks over to the cash register and checks the money.
“You need me to call the police?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t want that task force down here any more than I want you guys down here.”
“Wait, what do you mean you don’t want us down here?”
The old man shakes his head. “You don’t see the pattern?”
Astrid walks in from the back. The two kids are bound right outside the door. Two weeks ago, she would have called Jensen. Now they’re not sure who to call.
“What pattern?” she asks, walking in and handing back over any money the kids took from Scruggs.
“This crew of punks is hitting everyone that’s sticking around during the neighborhood transition. It’s either to run us out by the developers or payback for betraying the community by transitioning over.” He grabs a broom and starts sweeping up broken glass. “You guys showing up here just puts a target on my head by either group.”
Astrid frowns. “You don’t want our help?”
“Nope little girl, I don’t. I lived here for a long time, survived a lot of robberies and many years without your help.” Sirens cry through the streets. Someone probably reported the gunfire. He sighs and rubs his forehead. “I won’t tell them you’re here if you let those kids go.”
“Let them go?”
He nods and goes back to sweeping.
From the set of Astrid’s jaw, it’s clear she’s prepared to fight Scruggs on this but the sirens get louder—closer.
“We can’t get caught out here,” Owen says in their ear. “Echo, cut them loose.”
She starts to argue but Quinn jerks his chin at her to head out the back door. Owen is right. The ink is barely dry on their agreement with Jensen. Breaking it already will just make them all a target.
In the alley, the theives, dumb teenagers with smug grins on their faces, hold their bound hands out. They heard the conversation with Scruggs.
Astrid steps behind the kids and pulls out a knife to cut the ties. She makes sure they see it and one of the boys swallows nervously.
“You got off lucky,” Quinn says, raising his voice over the sound of the police sirens. “If you’d killed someone this would be different, got it? He let you go, but don’t forget we’re watching.”
“Yeah, well we’ve got eyes too,” one of the kids says. He’s slim and has a mean face. How he got so jaded so fast is a mystery Quinn’s not sure he wants the answer to. “And you’re the ones with numbered days. The Po-po, they ain’t got time for you. Word’s out. The Superfreaks are going down.” He looks Quinn up and down, there’s very little fear in his brown eyes. “You better watch your back.”
Astrid cuts the ties and both kids hop up off the ground. They dart down the block, slipping down an alley that goes back to the Swamp.
“5-0 is here,” Owen says. “Time to scatter.”
They go their separate ways, circling back to the gym. Quinn sticks to the shadows, wondering what is going on and how this changes thing. A few weeks ago, they were the heroes saving the Harbor Line from Demetria. Now? They’re the villains too.
“I don’t feel right about this,” he says once they meet back up. “Letting those punks go? They should be in jail.”
“I know,” Astrid agrees. Beneath her mask her eyes flash with anger.
“You want to go back and get them?” Owen asks.
“No,” she says, checking her tool belt. “You guys head back. I’m going to check on Luby.”
Owen’s eyes bulge. “Not alone. Fuck that.”
Her eyes dart between him and Quinn. He’s not happy about it in the least, but steps back, knowing better than to push her. “I’ve been doing this for a lot longer than we’ve been a team. I can handle checking on one kid—”
“Who lives in a gang-infested warzone—”
She holds her hand up in front of Owen’s face and he stops, but only by clenching his jaw. He looks at Quinn accusingly and finally he speaks up. “Astrid, we’re a team and none of us get to unilaterally make decisions—got it?”
The look on her face reminds Quinn of her as a child; lost and afraid. Scared that if she touched something, she’d destroy it. She takes two steps back and then turns, racing across the street and scaling a wooden fence in two moves. In the blink of an eye, she’s gone. Owen shifts on his feet to follow. Quinn grabs him by the arm.
“Let her go.”
“You’re kidding.”
“She’s got on her mask. We can track her that way, but yeah, she needs a minute.” Owen’s chest puffs up in anger and a little bit of fear. “She’ll be okay.”
“And if she’s not?”
Quinn holds his eye. “You can take it out on me.”
Chapter Five
Astrid
It doesn’t take long for her to catch the trail of the two kids that broke into the barbershop. Their sweat is still on her gloves, the faint, lingering echo of their heartbeats rattle in her ears. They’re dumb and don’t lie low like they should and stop at the corner shop just outside the Crescent City Homes housing development for cigarettes and beer.
She’s waiting, tucked in the shadows of the broken streetlight, when they come outside.
They stop and turn to run the other direction but she’s ready, flinging two small balls at them. One kid—probably a fluke—darts to the right. The other gets caught when the balls separate with a length of cord between them and boomerang around his body, pinning his arms. The magnetic clack locks him in place. The second kid is gone, vanished into the Swamp.
“Hey!” the kid shouts, his hands squirming by his sides. He steps in the beer spilling from the can he dropped to the ground. “What the hell, bitch? You said we could go.”
“I changed my mind.” Ripping off her glove, she reaches for the hand of the mean-faced kid. He jerks back but she holds his arm steady. “Prom
ise, this won’t hurt.”
She narrows her focus, not wanting to get caught up in the onslaught of this kid’s life. She needs to know who is pushing them out on the streets and who told them the Supers’ days are numbered. She grips his hand, dirty and clammy with sweat, and channels his echo.
She pushes past the emotions, adrenaline and hyped up testosterone. Digs in his head for his name: Arvin. High school dropout. Baby at home. An image of money and a slip of paper with a list of names changing hands. Black uniforms. “Keep robbing. Keep drawing them out. Even if she turns you in, it won’t stick.”
She drops his hand.
“Why does the task force want us on the streets?”
“What?” He’s confused but the tone is more suspicious.
“Are they trying to catch us? Are these traps?”
“I don’t know, lady, they just pay me and my crew. I go where I’m told.”
She tightens her grip on his shoulder. “You could have been killed tonight or worse, killed someone else. If you’re just out there playing games, leave the guns at home.”
He smiles, the smug kind of someone that thinks they have all the power. He’s wrong. Dead wrong, and she fears for him.
She touches the small button on the ball behind Arvin’s back. It retracts when her gloves deactivate the magnets. “Go, but understand, Arvin, I’m not the bad guy here.”
He doesn’t take the time to respond before running in the direction his friend vanished minutes before. Astrid doesn’t feel any better about what she’s learned, only that she’s going to have to sit down with Jensen and have another talk.
She has one more visit to make in the Swamp and she runs to the back wall of Crescent Homes and eases over. It only takes a minute to find Luby’s rundown apartment. The blue glow of the television flickers in the cracked, taped-up window. He’s awake, like most nights, taking care of his grandmother.
Afraid someone may be watching the apartment, she texts him from the burner and asks him to meet her on the back side of the building. He doesn’t reply to the message but she hears him on the stairs, then going the long way around, passing the dumpster and mailboxes.