The Pantheon Saga | Book 4 | Gods of Wrath

by Ekeke, C. C.

  Seraph lay naked in bed, legs in the air. Her body quaked as if convulsing, thanks to an equally naked Blur at the foot of the bed. Sweaty and chiseled like a teen girl’s fantasy, the speedster repeatedly thrusted himself into Seraph at superhuman speed.

  The lovers saw Quinn and freaked. Seraph dove under the sheets. Blur lurched away from Seraph, covering his unmentionables with both hands.

  But not fast enough, ironically.

  “You said she’d be in bed!” Blur screeched.

  Quinn couldn’t speak. A jumble of questions clogged her brain.

  How was Blur in Scituate and not Mexico? Right, he’s a speedster.

  How did Blur find her parents’ house? Right, Seraph told him.

  Weren’t Seraph and Blur over? Apparently not.

  Why did Quinn keep walking in on friends’ sexy times? Someone up there hates me…

  She struggled back up, anger scorching away shock. “Out! Get OUT!” Quinn whisper-shouted. Any louder might wake her family. She lunged and peppered Blur with slaps.

  Blur vanished from the guesthouse in a blast of wind, knocking Quinn onto the bed. His clothes were gone, too.

  She bounced off and whirled on Seraph, who cowered beneath the bedsheets.

  “I can explain..."

  “Explain what?” Quinn whisper-yelled. “How you’re getting married in less than two months yet are fucking a teenager? Again?” The more she digested this, the angrier she got.

  Seraph stared back in shock.

  “Say something!” Quinn demanded.

  “I…” Seraph watched her incredulously. “I’ve never heard you curse before.”

  Quinn paused, realizing that. Then she wondered why the hell her swearing was important. “Your stupidity is bringing it out of me!” Was sex with Blur that mind-blowing?

  She plopped on the bed beside Seraph, struggling for calm. “When did you and Blur get back together?”

  Seraph sank deeper. “Two months.”

  “Jesus!” Quinn hissed.

  “Hey!” Seraph scolded.

  This woman’s hypocrisy left Quinn breathless. “Uh-uh! You have zero moral high ground!”

  “Sorry!” Seraph curled both knees against her chest, staring ahead vacantly. “I just can’t get Luke out of my system.”

  Quinn wanted to read her the riot act. What if her parents had walked in? Or her cousins? But saying that would make Mikaela feel deservedly worse. “Truth now,” Quinn asked in calmer tones. “Are you still in love with Sentinel?” “Kurt’s been great these last few months,” Seraph retorted. “I want to marry him.”

  “Okay…” Quinn noted how scripted Seraph sounded but didn’t push. “Are you in love with Blur?”

  “Yes.” That whisper dropped like a bomb. Seraph's face crumpled in shame.

  Quinn felt for Seraph, poor life choice aside. “You have to choose,” she warned. “Or this ends badly for you both.” Hopefully, Seraph would listen.

  Chapter 7

  “To a bang-up job, mates,” Karl crowed, beer raised high.

  Alonzo, Rikki, Saed, and the rest of the Vertebreakers roared, also raising their glasses. The hard-bitten mercenaries had taken over this divebar, celebrating another successful mission.

  The Vertebreakers had decimated Aristides over three days. After killing off the group’s leaders, they’d tracked down lieutenants and foot soldiers in bloody fashion. And Greyson had been in the bloodiest engagements as their heavy hitter.

  Now the group were ordering round upon round of drinks. Their corporate employer had been satisfied, Alonzo had told everyone.

  “So pleased, we’re getting a twenty percent pay bump!” Alonzo added, provoking loud approval.

  Greyson smiled, nursing a drink in a corner booth far from the group. His t-shirt and shorts were damp from the crazy humidity. Sweat beaded down his short-as-a-fuse hair as he watched the TV above the bar. Some movie starring the cheesy superhero team Freedom’s Ring was on. The overtly American-themed group had played supers who traveled to 1776 to stop time criminals from altering the Revolutionary War. Greyson had seen better acting on that Extreme Dreams reality show.

  Now on Global News Today, a panel discussed the popularity of The Elite. Six overpowered brutes cosplaying gods from different mythologies. Greyson scowled. Even in Central America, the global reach of US superheroes made it easy to keep up on the popular ones. But these Elite caused so much collateral damage, sometimes outright killing adversaries.

  Greyson sipped his drink, which suddenly tasted bitter. “Can’t anyone see The Elite are frauds?”

  “Newbie.”

  The voice jarred Greyson from his seething. Rikki stood beside his booth looking unlike her usual sullen self. In fact, she looked rather pretty in her tight dress, sleek hair tumbling down one shoulder. A huge grin plastered on her face. That smile isn’t the only thing plastered, Greyson noted, as Rikki wobbled. He chose to politeness, despite their earlier clashes. “Yes, Rikki.”

  “Good job,” she praised, slapping Greyson’ shoulder harder than necessary. “How about a drink on me?”

  Greyson raised his half-full glass. “I’m set. Thanks.” He returned attention to the TV.

  He felt Rikki glaring into him. “Suit yourself,” she snapped, lurching back to the others.

  The news network showed footage of The Elite from different battles, including a recent car chase. Thor, their leader stomped on the vehicle to stop it, killing three robbers inside. Afterward, he and that shaggy-haired hippy, Apollo, were laughing. And bystanders cheered. Jesus.

  Greyson swallowed an exasperated sigh when Alonzo approached.

  “They’re not all diseased,” Alonzo remarked. With his Tommy Havana shirt and light pants, the mercenary was a walking Caribbean vacation ad.

  Greyson glanced over at the Vertebreakers. A couple were pretending not to curiously watch them interacting. Rikki shot murderous looks at him.

  Greyson sighed. “I know.” He took a long pull of his drink. “Just thinking about the next mission.”

  Alonzo side-eyed him. “That extra pay means the group can lay low for a bit and enjoy life.”

  “Oh.” Greyson should have expected that. Working in the Vertebreakers, like other contract jobs, was meant to be temporary. A learning experience.

  Alonzo leaned closer, eyes bleary from drinking. “Whatcha doing with your free time?”

  “Making the world better,” Greyson answered immediately.

  Alonzo’s expression turned mocking. “You wanna be a superhero or something?”

  Greyson snorted. Been there, done that. “Superheroes are a disease.” Genuine happiness came from discussing his noble purpose. “I plan to be the cure.”

  Alonzo stared, then laughed and slapped the table. That drew some eyes. “Okay,” he managed between chuckles. “What did superheroes do to you?”

  Greyson blinked, not taking the mockery personally. Most wouldn’t understand his mission. “Costumed heroes are as poisonous to society as high fructose corn syrup or cable news.”

  Alonzo looked bewildered. “I’ll give you high fructose corn syrup. But cable news?”

  Greyson cracked his knuckles, prepping for a sermon. He rarely discussed his purpose on mercenary stints. But Alonzo had always treated him well. “Most people don’t want to be informed. Not about the world’s harsh realities. They want to feel informed. Cable news provides profit-based propaganda instead of truth.” Greyson had learned this the hard way months after the end of Amarantha’s apartheid regime. National News Network and others had slanted it as superhuman terrorists orchestrating a coup. Disgusting…

  Alonzo stroked his goatee, digesting this. “But how are superheroes as bad?”

  “People want that warm, fuzzy feeling of safety.” Greyson leaned forward as gusto coursed through him. “Putting their protection into someone else’s hands so they can be lazy.” Greyson spread his arms while explaining. “Superheroes peddle that warm and fuzzy feeling on TV, movies, toy stor
es, video games. Everywhere. All that worship makes them decadent. Reckless. Titan was a bastard behind closed doors. Morningstar was a murderer. Imagine what happens when The Elite turn their ultra-violence onto the public? Someone has to stop them.” Greyson sucked in a gulp of air. Getting that out felt amazing. He planned to target Seneca International’s city-assigned heroes after somehow returning to the US.

  Alonzo gaped as if his brain had melted. “Why are you in Nicaragua and not stopping these evil superheroes?”

  A fair question. Besides a few missions under Hurricane’s misguidance and some combat during Amarantha’s liberation, Greyson had been a rookie. “I want to learn from seasoned mercenaries and killers.” He sipped his drink again. “So I’m battle ready.”

  After a few moments of silence, Alonzo raised a finger. “One. That’s the most I’ve ever heard you talk. Two,” the merc gave a loud belly laugh, “you’re one wacky motherfucker.”

  He doesn’t believe me. Greyson stifled his annoyance behind a smile. “I’ve been called worse.” Probably for the best. Less people knowing meant less possible hurdles. And Greyson had no desire to kill Alonzo.

  The mercenary rose, smiling wide “Another drink. On me.” This time Greyson agreed.

  “By the way,” Alonzo said before heading over to the bar. “What happened to that cute Japanese number who could go intangible? You were together during your first mission with us in Suriname.”

  Greyson stiffened. Anger, longing, and loneliness caused the room to spin. Whatever appeared on his face made Alonzo instinctively step back.

  Greyson quickly fixed his expression. “She left. Hated what we’d become.” The full story was a sharper knife to the heart. Greyson drained his glass to wash down the memory of Connie’s face.

  Alonzo recovered and offered a sad smile. “Huh. Her loss, right?”

  Greyson shrugged. “Right.”

  As Alonzo staggered toward the bar for more drinks, a new segment appeared. The upcoming race between Extreme Teens’ Blur vs. Mexico City-based speedster Velocidad for the title of World’s Fastest Man. Both were cocky, dimwitted, and wielding too much power.

  Greyson seethed while studying the clips of each speedster— searching for weaknesses. It had become a habit whenever news segments about superheroes came on.

  “Soon, they’ll all learn,” a familiar voice cooed. Across the table was Lauren Gerard—at least the illusion only Greyson could see.

  He silently raised a glass to Ghost-Lauren and kept watching TV.

  Chapter 8

  Gobsmacked, Hugo crouched on the floor of Aethon Studios, wearing a tank top, shorts, and a bandana. The rest of the Fab Phenoms sat clustered around him, watching the same computer.

  Simon stood behind his laptop, fiddling and anxious. For good reason. He'd made a three-minute music video showcasing the Fab Phenoms’ practices and dance battles, seamless editing. One montage showed Hugo go savage mode on a routine, intercutting between practice and competition.

  Hugo was breathless after a second viewing. “That video is straight fire!”

  Wale looked ready to kiss Simon’s laptop. Marin and Karin squealed. JT and Groban were emotional.

  Grace was hugging and kissing Simon. “Ten out of ten. Definitely recommend.” She frowned. “The video. Not my terrible pun, mind you.” Everyone laughed.

  Simon brightened. “Really?”

  “It can help us enter dance competitions.” Wale’s eyes gleamed with ideas as he tossed his braids over the shoulder. “The Fab Phenoms are competing all over California this summer!”

  Hugo exchanged a glance with Simon.

  “Cali Mid-State Fair has a battle in mid-July,” Grace added. “And Las Vegas around August.”

  Wale spread his arms, welcomingly. “We’ll enter both!” The Phenoms erupted in approval.

  Hugo hid any panic behind a fake smile, clapping with his friends. School, hero training, and dance practice with occasional weekend competitions were stressful enough. He didn't want to leave the Phenoms. But Wale’s push to enter more dance battles during summer made that decision inevitable.

  After practice, Hugo waited outside for Simon while checking his other phone. Roiling clouds muddied the skies, threatening to spit rain.

  No word from Lady Liberty about Rainmaker or the escapees. A cocktail of enthusiasm and fear rushed through Hugo. When would Rainmaker strike next? And could Hugo and Lady Liberty beat him?

  The sound of Simon’s footsteps scattered the worry from his mind. They began walking from dingy Northeast San Miguel to Paso Robles. As being Aegis took up more time, Hugo sometimes enjoyed normal walking instead of superspeeding everywhere.

  “When are you telling them?” Simon asked after some time.

  “Dunno. It’s your fault with your fancy video,” Hugo snapped. “How could I ruin the moment and say I might have to leave?” That reality weighed on his soul. But being a superhero didn’t mean Hugo’s social life was over. “Maybe I don’t have to quit.”

  Simon looked skeptical. “You sure?”

  Hugo opened his mouth to promote confidence but found none. “No.” He stuffed both hands in his pockets. “I love dancing with the Phenoms.”

  “But if superheroing gets busier—”

  “I know.” Hugo changed the subject. “Can I show your video to Jackson?” He and the Freeway Flow dancer, now touring with L.U.N.A, had become good friends.

  “Only him,” Simon warned. “The video isn’t finished.” His best friend was a perfectionist with his creative works. Simon glanced back at the studio. “You gotta be careful with Abby. Word spread around school about the Beach Bum Burger kiss.”

  Hugo rolled his eyes. “I told Abby that. She couldn’t contain her appreciation so…yeah.” To nosy classmates or friends, Hugo had said he wasn’t dating Abby. Which was true. She was a fun, no strings situationship. “If Abby slips again”—he slashed across his throat—“she’s done like Taylor von Stratton.” Hugo didn’t tolerate loose-lipped girls.

  “Because of her big mouth?” Simon questioned.

  “Taylor has the worst verbal diarrhea. Spewed anytime we hooked up,” Hugo stated frankly. “And wanted to be exclusive. We’re still friends, though.”

  Simon smirked. “Why have one girl when you can have the Paso High Songs team? On Valentine’s Day?”

  Hugo grimaced. His ‘playboy’ gimmick had taken a life of its own, some rumors getting ridiculous. “That was only Taylor and Zoey Mendes. Together.” Hugo smiled at memories of tangled sheets and eager mouths. “Fun times.”

  Simon sobered, meaning serious topics were afoot. “Leaving the Phenoms will worry G-Mama more.”

  “I’ve heard mutterings." Hugo tapped his ear. “Why?”

  Simon stared. “Right, superhearing.” He relaxed in understanding. “Two reasons. She thinks you’ve gotten all secretive since last year.”

  Hugo frowned. Right when I started training with Lady Liberty. Grace always read people well. Keeping secrets from her hadn’t been easy. But this was for Grace’s safety. “And two?”

  Simon glanced at the ground, clearly amused. “Grace thinks you’re hooking up low-key with—wait for it—Spencer Michelman.” Simon guffawed. “I told her it’s not true. I mean, Spencer’s the WORST!”

  The accusation froze Hugo in place. “How the hell does Grace know?” Another fear surfaced. “Did she tell anyone?”

  Simon stopped laughing and walking. “Just…me.” His jaw dropped. “Oh my god! It’s TRUE?”

  Hugo winced as passersby stared. “We hooked up for a month between November and December.” He’d expected this reaction from Simon, hence why he’d said nothing. Hugo guided Simon forward, avoiding his friend’s judgement. “Things started up again in January after the school bombing. Sorry I didn’t tell you.” Hugo shivered. Dating Spencer felt weird now that someone else knew. They’d once despised one another on a cellular level. Now his infatuation with her rivaled anything he felt for Jordana.

  He
mustered the courage to face Simon as they walked. His best friend’s features displayed a buffet of shock, anger, disgust, confusion, hurt. The last one struck Hugo hardest.

  “I get banging Easy Abby. She’s a smokeshow.” Simon clutched his head, still dazed. “Spencer freaking Michelman? She’s evil!”

  Months ago, Hugo would’ve agreed. “But she’s hot,” he countered.

  Simon’s affronted gasp cracked him up. “Yea…Still evil!”

  “High school evil,” Hugo corrected. “After facing real supervillains, Spencer’s brand of villainy is laughable. And I’m rubbing off on her.”

  Simon looked like he’d choked on a chicken bone. “Too soon.”

  Warmth flushed Hugo’s cheeks at the unintended euphemism. “Sounded better in my head. I meant that Spencer’s not so bad now, thanks to me.” Since becoming intimate, Hugo and Spencer sparred regularly over right and wrong, rules and anarchy. Over time, he’d learned that her nihilism shielded a damaged, lonely girl.

  While crossing a busy intersection, Simon kept eyeing Hugo like a stranger. That stung. “I mean…her?”

  “It’s been frustrating and weird and sexy as hell.” Hugo sighed, cool breezes on his face. “Remember Rocco’s Halloween party?”

  Simon grimaced. “The one I’m still mad for missing?”

  Hugo nodded. “Right.” Spencer’s skintight sexy nurse costume, cliched and very on-brand, was hard to forget. As was their nasty quarrel. “I torched Spencer so bad, she started crying. I had to console her.”

  “So what is this?” Simon replied, blinking. “Hate-sex?”

  “No!” Hugo scowled. “Spencer’s kinda awesome when she drops the spoiled rich bitch act.” A grin slashed Hugo’s face. “After Halloween, we started hanging out low-key.” The exhilaration of their first kiss had shocked Hugo’s pants off. Spencer’s horrified reaction still made him cackle, right before they’d resumed making out. “We’ve been mutual Band-Aids for each other.” Superhero training and dance practice had distracted Hugo from the Presley breakup and the anniversary of Dad’s death. Losing himself in Spencer’s flesh had been therapeutic, along with the handwritten love letters she’d slipped into his locker.