The Invincibles (Book 1): Trapped: A girl. A monster. A hero.

by Brittany Oldroyd

  I stop. Because fire is everywhere, because there’s a gaping hole where I know a set of stairs should be, because there’s not more than two steps left, because I’m not sure how to get her down.

  “Black Kat!”

  I look. See Zane standing on the other end of the missing staircase. He steps up to the edge of ash where stairs should be and I realize what he’s thinking.

  This poor girl.

  Take a deep breath. “Catch!”

  I throw her hard enough to send her across the stairs, toss her gently enough to not hurt her.

  Zane catches her with a step back to steady them both. He looks at me. “What about you?”

  I open my mouth, close it, listen. Screaming. There’s still someone up here.

  “Get her out of here!” I yell.

  He’s trying to say something, be careful, I love you, but I’m already running. Already sprinting back into the fire and smoke.

  I follow the sound of yelling, follow the sound of a terrified man. But seconds pass and now all there is left is

  silence.

  “I knew you’d fall for that.”

  I whirl. Just in time to see a fist crash into my skull. Sending me back, pushing me onto my back, smashing my head against the ground. I can hear the floor splinter beneath me, feel the wood cracking under my weight.

  “You’re so predictable.”

  I groan. Get up, get up, get up.

  But now he’s kneeling over me, grabbing fistfuls of hair, shoving my head back to the ground.

  I’m glaring and he’s grinning. “Hey, Kate.”

  I hiss.

  He laughs. Taps my scarred arm. “Still mine.”

  Never.

  “You don’t think so?” He’s still grinning. “Why don’t I show you?”

  And then, before I can make a single protest, he’s kissing me. Hard and long.

  Make him stop. Push him away. Shove against his chest. Try to yell. Bite his lip.

  Make him bleed.

  He lets go, pulls back. “You know,” he says, “It’s kind of a shame you’re pretty, Katherine. It’s almost sad that I have to kill you.”

  I should move. I should stand. I should fight. But I don’t think I can. His punch from just minutes ago still hurts. A lot.

  Dalton stands, reaches up a hand, yanks on the wood above my head. Splintered, covered in ash, falling. It crashes on top of my legs, heavy splintering logs on top of me.

  I scream.

  “You should be honored. You’re even getting a funeral of sorts.” He laughs. “Cremation, at least.”

  Glaring, squirming, screaming. The wood splinters dig into my skin every time I move. I can’t get it off.

  Dalton grins, backs up. “Enjoy the fire.”

  He’s gone, running out the room, outside into safety, away from fire, away from smoke, away from me.

  I lean my head back, try to breathe, try to hold still, try to not think about how it will feel for the fire to kiss every inch of my skin.

  “Kate!”

  Zane. Here. Close. Just around the corner.

  “Zane!”

  He’s running now and I’m hoping, praying Dalton isn’t still here. Things are complicated without him to add tension and pressure and intensity.

  He’s here. Standing in front of me. Stopping in a jarring standstill. Paling so quickly. Kneeling down at my side.

  “What happened?”

  I grit my teeth. “Dalton.”

  His eyes flick to the wood on top of me. A glance my direction. “You’re going to have to move when I tell you.”

  “Oh, are you super strong now?”

  He shoots me a look. “Are you in pain?”

  “Why?”

  A weak smile. “I think you’re more sarcastic when you’re in pain.” He pauses. “Okay. On the count of three. One.” He puts his hands under the wood. “Two.” Pulls. “Three.” My legs are free.

  I roll out from under the log, letting out a short gasp of relief. Freedom.

  Zane pulls me to my feet, holds me against him, picks me up, carries me through a safe path. The fire is dying.

  We’re outside now.

  He sets me down. “You okay?”

  “Not my finest moment.”

  He’s almost laughing now. “You really got to stop this whole near-death experience thing you’ve got going on.”

  “Don’t even start with me.”

  Sixty-Four

  “They call themselves The Invincibles,” the reporter says. “Four mysterious strangers joining the quickly rising Black Kat.

  “Just weeks before,” she continues, “Chicago gained a superhero going by the name Black Kat. A mysterious woman in all black. She is now joined with four others.

  “Criminals have always claimed that the Black Kat was half-cat, with a tail, claws, and inhuman speed. While that is yet to be confirmed by authorities, we have heard more rumors about those who have joined her.

  “Tune in tonight at seven for our broadcast on The Invincibles.”

  I smile, turn off the TV, get to my feet. Word has spread quickly. Only a week and the city is alive with whispers of the five invincible fighters.

  It didn’t take much to convince them to join me. Zane, always the arrogant spy these days, wouldn’t let me tell him he couldn’t fight with me. Zandra’s answer was an easy yes. Jay said he thought this was the best thing he could do. And Tatyana agreed as long as she could have a mask.

  Now they all have masks.

  I glance around the basement, look across it. It’s grown since my team grew from one to five. There are now five cots lining one wall, five mannequins lining the other.

  Above each mannequin is the name the press has given us. Me, The Black Kat. Zane, The Timber Wolf. Jay, the Bear. Zandra, Echo. Tatyana, Viper.

  The first mannequin is mine. Black tight across the mannequin. A black mask wrapped around its blank face.

  Zane’s is next. Just gold pants. He says they’re made so he can transform without destroying them. Some kind of special fabric designed by Glass Tech.

  Jay has the same sort of situation, pants that transform with him, no shirt.

  Zandra’s mannequin looks almost like a ninja. A green shirt, green leggings. A tan skirt wrapped around her waist, tied with loose fabric. Tan gloves that reach halfway up her forearm. Dark combat boots. Her mask hides less of her face than mine does, thin lines wrapping around her eyes in diamonds. Her whip is buckled to the belt.

  Tatyana’s mannequin is dramatic. Gray shirt and pants. A black corset. Black boots that reach up past her knees. A long black cape. A long staff rests against the wall next to the mannequin.

  I smile. Shake my head a little. Five. The Invincibles. Experiments of Richard Glass. Fighting against the man that made us, scaring criminals more than the police ever could.

  We’ve made ourselves known in Chicago.

  And now nothing sends crime running faster than whispers of The Invincibles.

  Sixty-Five

  Three weeks have passed me by.

  Three weeks since the lethal injection, three weeks since the fire, three weeks since the Invincibles began.

  We have a routine.

  By day, we sleep, spar, practice, meditate, plan. By night, we patrol the city. Grouped in two and three. Never alone, never chancing a meeting with too many enemies or a too powerful enemy.

  Tonight, I’m with Zandra.

  We wander the streets, listening, watching, waiting for crime. I listen hard for footsteps, screams, anything. Zandra makes a soft sound every once in a while, using echolocation.

  It doesn’t take us long to find trouble.

  Zandra and I stop simultaneously. Share a look. Both hear it. A drug deal going on.

  “Go around the other side,” I whisper.

  She nods and I turn to face the road where the voices are coming from. I take a deep breath, take a step into the street.

  “You know,” I say, “This really isn’t a safe place to do
business.”

  Turning, staring, paling expressions. They both take a step back. Trying to hide what they have in their hands.

  “Don’t bother hiding it. Cocaine, right? I can smell it.”

  They’re both glaring now and one of them lunges for me.

  Idiot.

  Jump out of the way, claws sliding out. Step too close to the other guy. Feel his arms yank me off my feet. Get shoved back into a wall.

  Don’t go down without a fight.

  Press my hands against the wall, kick with both legs, hit him in the chest. The other man lunges for me and I swing my leg up. They’re both left stumbling back.

  It doesn’t take them long to recover though. The first man comes at me again.

  I snarl. Swipe my claws across his chest.

  He pauses, grimaces, attacks again. Determined, stubborn, stupid.

  The other man is back on his feet. And now they’re both lunging for me at the same time. They each grab an arm, shove me back against the wall.

  I growl. Kick at the air.

  They dodge my legs, keep hold of my arms. Every time I struggle, they shove me back against the wall again.

  “What do we do with her?” one of the men says.

  The other one is about to reply but I interrupt, glancing behind them, feeling the grin on my lips.

  “Nothing,” I say. A quick nod to the girl behind them. “You’ve got company.”

  They both turn and I take advantage of the short moment, the quick chance, the fleeting possibility. I lash out, throw a kick at one of the men, a knee to the other man’s gut.

  Freedom.

  They’re ready to fight but Zandra intercedes, snaps her whip against the road. Electricity explodes against pavement and both men are staring at her.

  “Now, unless you want to be the next thing that feels that whip, I suggest you take yourselves to the police.”

  Neither speak. Both stare.

  “Really, boys, you’re going to want to choose surrender.”

  As if to make my point, Zandra steps forward, tightens her grip on the silver whip.

  They both turn to me, terror in their eyes, worry on their lips, surrender on their pale faces.

  “Do we have a deal, boys?”

  They both nod furiously and I point in the direction of the nearest police station. “Go. Tell them The Black Kat and Echo sent you.”

  They’re running and I watch. Zandra steps up next to me, watching them too.

  “So, Zandra,” I say, “Where did you get that whip anyway?”

  She grins. “I stole it from Glass Tech.”

  I laugh. “Good girl.” A short pause. “Why?”

  “I was hoping it would give me a chance to kill Mr. Glass.”

  Chills are running up and down my spine. Because this girl is a child, younger than me, and she wants to murder another human.

  “Why do you hate him so much?” I ask, quiet. “More than the rest of us at least.”

  “I don’t go shouting it around but it’s because of him I never knew what it would be like to be human,” she says. “You see, I’m a clone.”

  “A clone?”

  “With an unknown identity and not a single thing to call my own.”

  A clone. A clone.

  And now it hits me. I understand. I get it.

  “A clone,” I whisper. “You’re a clone.”

  “Yes?”

  I grip her by the shoulders. “I know what Glass’s plan is, Zandra. I know how he plans to use Dalton to destroy Chicago.”

  Surprise, confusion. “You do?”

  Solemnity is my companion now. “He’s going to create an army of Invincibles. He’s going to clone Dalton Knight.”

  Sixty-Six

  They’re back.

  The nightmares, the fear, the hauntings.

  I don’t dream about getting shot anymore. I don’t dream about the men that followed me for so long. I dream about lethal injection.

  Every night, I relive my death. Every night, I’m forced to remember my goodbye to Zane, my goodbye to the world, my goodbye to life.

  I sigh, sit up, swing my legs off the cot. I need to get out of here.

  Leaving the others behind, letting them sleep, I slip on my outfit, tie the black mask around my head. And walk out the door.

  Run. Down empty streets and quiet alleys. Run until I hear screaming, cries, calls for help.

  I throw myself into the alley, grab the man currently attacking a young woman. He has a knife and he swings it wildly.

  “Run!” I yell to the girl.

  She runs and I keep hold of the man. He keeps swinging the knife, keeps trying to break free of me.

  He succeeds.

  Turning, jamming an elbow against my throat, sending me stumbling, he faces me. And drives the knife into my side.

  Cry out, step back, lean against the wall. Wait for him to finish the job.

  He doesn’t. His eyes are wide and he’s stepping back and now he’s running into open streets, into freedom, into escape.

  I lean back against the wall, slide to the ground. I’ve gotten so sloppy. I’m so tired. Nightmares, Richard Glass, Dalton, cloning. There’s too much to think about, not enough time to sleep, to relax, to breathe.

  “You just can’t stay out of trouble, can you?”

  No. No way. Not him.

  I look up. All gray, a sword in one hand, a long knife in the other. The Gray Assassin. The Vigilante.

  “You,” I growl. But then I feel my body crumple against the knife and I have to focus on breathing.

  The Vigilante steps forward. And rips gray fabric from covering his head.

  I’m speechless.

  Fingers in pale blonde hair, sticking to his head with sweat from being covered. Skin pale from being covered all the time. Gray eyes so steady and so playful at the same time.

  He steps forward, crouches down in front of me, studies my face, studies the knife, studies the blood running down my side.

  I’m glaring. Stay away from me, you murdering British psychopath.

  “You should be nicer to me,” he says, words falling into the ups and downs of his accent. “I did save your life.”

  “You also killed someone,” I say through gritted teeth. “You’re just as much a criminal as the man you killed.”

  A dark expression shadows his face. “I’ve saved a lot of lives.”

  Silence. Because he has, because it doesn’t matter, because he’s still a killer. And there is no justice in what he does.

  He’s watching me closely, studying me, deciding what he’s going to do next. A grin dances across his face.

  And he does the last thing I expect.

  The very last thing.

  He leans forward, slips his fingers around the knife, wraps his other hand around the base of my neck. And kisses me.

  I’m too surprised to do anything but let him.

  I can feel the knife being jerked out of my body and I gasp. He leans back, drops the knife on the ground, winks at me.

  I’m staring. All I can do is blink.

  “And so I save your life again.”

  Blink.

  He laughs, glances to his left, down another street. “Looks like you’ve got company.” He winks again. “I’ll leave you in Lover Boy’s care.”

  And before I can begin to comprehend what that means, what just happened, what on earth is going on, he disappears down another road, putting on his gray coverings again.

  I’m staring after him, shocked, when “Lover Boy” shows up. It’s Zane. He stops when he sees me.

  “Kate?”

  I rip my gaze away from the empty street.

  “Are you okay?”

  Drag yourself to your feet. Function. Don’t think about what just happened.

  “I’m fine. I got stabbed but I got the knife out.”

  Zane studies my face for a minute, nods. “You shouldn’t go out alone.”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  He steps clos
e, puts his arms around me. “I figured. Nightmares?”

  “Always,” I whisper.

  He kisses my forehead. “I’ll protect you from the nightmares.”

  But you’re never there. He’s always there. He always saves my life.

  I say nothing, find myself staring down the street again. He kissed me. Pulled a knife out of my side and kissed me to distract me. I’m not sure if I’m flattered or embarrassed.

  Zane grabs my chin. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Focus on him again. “Yes. It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”

  I don’t know what just happened or why The Vigilante kissed me or how I could let him. But I do know one thing.

  I am far better at lying about him than I should be.

  Sixty-Seven

  Absolutely beyond exhausted.

  What happens after exhaustion? What happens after you are too tired to think straight? What happens after you are too tired to fall asleep?

  I don’t know. I wish I knew. I wonder if it would make it easier to handle this.

  I’m running down the streets of Chicago, bleary-eyed, with aching muscles and a slow head. Everything feels so distant.

  “You can’t keep doing this.”

  Stop. Press a finger to my ear. Feel anger boil beneath my skin, in my bones, through my veins.

  It’s the voice I heard so long ago. The one I heard while patrolling alone, the one that stopped me from losing control, the one that convinced me to snap out of it.

  He’s back.

  “Who are you?” I growl.

  “A friend.”

  “Who won’t reveal himself? Not a very trustworthy friend.”

  “I’m on your side.”

  I’m losing patience. I hiss. “Who. Are. You?”

  “You can—”

  His voice is cut short as I’m jerked into an alley, a figure pulling me out of my running, and yanking the ear piece out of my ear.

  Fight.

  There’s not enough time.

  I feel cloth over my mouth, over my nose, and suddenly there’s nothing but the smell of a drug.

  A moment of squirming before the drug becomes too powerful. I go limp, close my eyes. Within seconds, it’s over.

  I’m out.