The Pantheon Saga | Book 4 | Gods of Wrath

by Ekeke, C. C.

A chill washed over Quinn. Oscar and Clint both grew unmoored.

  Therese continued. “Geist ordered Domino to get Blackjack out. He and I would cover them.” Fear dominated her bruised face. “The speedsters toyed with us.”

  Quinn couldn’t take anymore. Approaching Therese’s bedside, she placed a hand on her shoulder. The archer stiffened. For a moment, Quinn feared she’d pull away. But Therese relaxed, gaze still averted.

  Lady Liberty gave Quinn a glowing look before continuing. “How did he die?” Grief quaked her usually resolute voice.

  Therese sat up again, buoyed by Quinn’s tactile support. “The larger speedster threw Geist into a wall, then dropped part of the lab on him by shooting lasers from his fingers.”

  Quinn stared at her, and then everyone else’s similar reactions. One hero was known for his laser fingers.

  “What aren’t you telling us?” Clint asked warily.

  Therese looked over everyone and then Quinn, who nodded reassuringly. Go ahead. “The female speedster was moving too fast to get a good look. But my explosive arrow destroyed the second speedster’s mask.” Her eyes went glassy with disbelief. “I knew him.”

  Hugo couldn’t take the suspense. “Who was it?”

  “Titan.”

  Loud shock flooded the room. Hugo’s jaw dropped. Lady Liberty glowered.

  Quinn backpedaled from the bed. Her brain felt like it had been dunked in an ice bucket. “What?” Titan got killed almost a year ago by his teammate, Morningstar. Him being alive was unbelievable. Then again, Quinn had seen plenty of unbelievable living in San Miguel.

  “How?” Oscar exclaimed.

  “I froze," Therese confessed, still wide-eyed. "Then he nailed me with those laser fingers across the back.” She gestured at herself with clenched teeth. “A handful of guards took advantage. I barely escaped.” She faced Quinn. “I’m guessing I went to Quinn on instinct, where I’d be safe.”

  The declaration was an electric shock to Quinn’s bloodstream. The room suddenly grew very hot.

  Thankfully, Clint interrupted. “Paxton-Brandt resurrected Titan as their puppet?”

  Therese released Quinn from her stare and eyed Clint. The reporter remembered to breathe as the vigilante continued. “He moved like Titan, has the same powers, the same face.”

  This was earthshattering. But Quinn needed tangible proof.

  She turned to see Lady Liberty massaging her brow. Quinn sympathized. The love of her life, revived by an evil multinational? Quite a lot to digest.

  “I…I’d be alerted if Titan’s gravesite was disturbed,” Lady Liberty muttered. “I’ll check to be sure.”

  “Titan’s dead,” Hugo stated, drawing stares. He sounded so sure, Quinn almost believed him.

  “I know what I saw,” Therese retorted in a soft yet dangerous voice.

  Hugo raised a pacifying hand. “Not calling you a liar. But if Titan was alive, I’d be powerless.”

  Quinn was confused, just like Clint and Oscar. “Huh?”

  Hugo grew sheepish. “I dreamed about Titan the night he died. The next morning, I had his powers.”

  “Oh.” Quinn hadn’t seen that coming. Her gaze landed on Lady Liberty, who had to have known.

  Lady Liberty’s eyes dulled by guilt. Quinn blinked. A heartbeat later, she must have misread the reaction. Another look revealed only exhaustion on Lady Liberty’s face.

  Therese was taken aback. “I didn’t know.”

  A tight smile graced Hugo’s blocky face. “Cuz I don’t share. Geist’s killer is an imposter.”

  “Or clone,” Quinn said. “Paxton-Brandt is a genetics company.”

  “Or they sampled powers from the supers they’d kidnapped,” Oscar added, gesturing with his hands. “Combining them to replicate Titan’s abilities.” That drew affirmative reactions from everyone around.

  Quinn’s mind went to the unasked question. Therese was on the same page. “Why create a false Titan?”

  Clint snorted. “Money. Think of how much they’d make parading a reborn Titan around.”

  Lady Liberty grew more uncomfortable when speaking. “The world will forget all his misdeeds and worship him again. I’m guessing his attacking Team Geist was a test run.”

  Quinn’s heart gave a lurch. What is Paxton-Brandt’s goal beside profit? She almost didn’t want to know.

  Hugo stared at the floor. “I hate these people,” he grumbled.

  “This false Titan must be stopped before Paxton-Brandt makes a move,” Lady Liberty said. “I’ll check Titan’s burial site.”

  “When can I go?” Therese asked once Lady Liberty had departed. “I want to help.”

  Quinn didn’t like Therese’s impatience, visualizing the archer in her arms gushing blood.

  Oscar chuckled humorlessly. “You’re not doing much for a while, Ms. Levesque. You can leave in a few days only if you stay with someone else to help your recovery.”

  Clint raised a hand. “Crash with me.”

  “Appreciated,” Therese responded unenthusiastically. “But you live in a pigsty.”

  “I’ll take her.” The words left Quinn’s mouth without her thinking.

  Everyone turned. Her face warmed from the scrutiny, but not regret.

  Therese slowly recoiled. “You don’t have to.” Quinn could’ve taken the out. No part of her wanted to. “My home is yours while you heal.”

  Therese’s eyes softened. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  Now Quinn tore her gaze away, or risk melting. “Next steps, Oscar?” She sounded unusually hoarse.

  Oscar studied the machines hooked up to Therese. “Pick her up in two days.”

  “Will do.” The weight of what Quinn had agreed to landed on her shoulders. She avoided Therese’s eyes as she bid everyone farewell. So much to unpack. And she had to get to work.

  Hugo walked beside her. “Can I show you something?” he asked once they reached the lobby.

  Quinn stared up at the towering Samoan. “Sure—”

  Hugo’s arm snaked around her waist before she got the word out. The lobby whooshed away, winds buffeting Quinn’s petite body.

  Moments later, Hugo slowed. Quinn almost went sprawling had Hugo not held onto her waist. They were outside in some dank and narrow alleyway. Vision swimming, Quinn hugged Hugo’s rock-hard torso frantically to stay upright. Frakking speedsters…

  She glared daggers up at him. “Hate you!”

  He grinned and pointed left. “See that empty shop.”

  Quinn stood on shaky legs and followed Hugo’s pointed finger. Across the street was an abandoned office space. The bland exterior didn’t jog Quinn’s memory. But she recognized the border between Superville and Colony Square in Atascadero.

  Near Paragon’s. Memories of that bar shivered through Quinn. “What about it?”

  “A former Paxton-Brandt clinic,” Hugo replied.

  Quinn looked again, and the cobwebs fell away. “Oh, my lord!” Another of these heinous free clinics.

  Hugo smiled. “I saw tons of activity three nights ago. Now it’s empty.”

  Quinn mirrored his grin with fierce pride. “Which means we’re on to them.”

  Hugo stopped smiling. “And you need to be careful.” He looked like that lost little boy Quinn had met months ago. “These people scare the bejeezus outta me.”

  The feeling was mutual for Quinn. “I’m scared, too,” she whispered. “But they have to be stopped.”

  Hugo straightened up, regaining his usual confidence. “We will.”

  He sped them back to the store’s rear foyer. Quinn sank to a crouch, curbing her nausea.

  “Gotta go. Got my last final today.” Hugo turned to leave.

  “Hugo,” Quinn blurted out. “What else did you find at Shandon?”

  Hugo paused and turned slowly. “You caught that?” He fingered one of his earring studs guiltily. “Lady Liberty wants more proof but… I think Geist survived.”

  Quinn sprang to her feet, and almost pitched forward. “H
ow?”

  Hugo seemed uncomfortable defying his mentor. “There was a bloody trail at the lab. If he’s alive…”

  Quinn’s stomach roiled. “Then Paxton-Brandt could be torturing him somewhere.”

  Hugo’s face tensed briefly. “Please don’t tell Longshadow until we're sure.”

  “Got it.” Quinn understood. No need to give Therese false hope. “I can keep secrets.”

  Hugo’s smile stretched wide. “I know.” An instant later, he vanished in a flash.

  Interlude 1

  She felt so awkward. Not just from standing in a strange wide-leg stance. Or this sweltering garage leaving her dirty t-shirt and cargo pants drenched in sweat. The awkwardness came from pointing an open palm at a steel plate hanging on a garage wall.

  Oh, and her right forearm wearing a sleek golden gauntlet that weighed several pounds. The palm of the gauntlet sported a glowing circular disc throbbed with energy. That made her super excited, which balanced out the awkwardness.

  A laptop on the workbench tracked readings and energy outputs.

  She exhaled loudly, thankful her wavy red mane was pulled up out of her face.

  Dad stood nearby, bearded and heavyset in his mechanics jumpsuit. His tiny blue eyes were anxious, even after he’d read the stats four times. “Ready, kiddo?”

  She nodded. “Ready, Daddio.”

  Dad hesitated. Understandable, given some close calls in prior tests.

  “I’m good,” the girl reassured, smiling. The gauntlet stabilizers would cut the kickback, and the power output was low.

  That persuaded Dad. “Alright.” He faced the camera. “Palm gauntlet particle beam test number eleven. Power output at nine percent.”

  The girl steadied her arm for the discharge. Dad pressed a command on the laptop.

  A white flash disgorged from her palm, briefly blinding her. The recoil staggered the girl back until Dad caught her from behind. Regaining balance, she looked again.

  The iron sheet was scorched black.

  “Oh milord.” Dad covered his joyful mouth. “It worked!”

  The girl squealed. “We did it!” They hugged, laughing and hopping around.

  Dad scanned his laptop readings. “The blaster already recharged, no lag.” He faced his daughter with twinkling eyes. “Your idea of linking a solar converter to a battery did the trick.”

  The delighted girl slid the weighty gauntlet off, placing it on the work bench. This started after two faulty Dynamo androids crashed in their backyard last year. Now they'd been repurposed into body armor.

  Dad saw a fun father-daughter project. She saw something more. Something heroic. “Let’s work on flight again.” She wiped stinging sweat from her eyes.

  Dad rubbed his thick beard, studying the rack at the garage’s rear wall adorned with pieces of metal they’d helped craft. Boots, arms, legs, a torso carapace, and a featureless helmet. Enough for a full suit. “Not loving the boot repulsors' output, too?” Dad decided. “Let’s do it.”

  The girl clapped, beyond eager. Plus, she loved seeing Dad stretch his underused engineering skills.

  A ping drew attention to the wall intercom. Mom calling from the house. The girl strode toward it and tapped the accept call button. “Yeah, Mom.”

  “Jennifer,” Mom chirped. “Your special friend is here.”

  A wave of colliding emotions washed over Jen Thomas. Heartache and embarrassment ended up prevailing. “Jesus, Mom,” Jen growled at her mother’s ‘wokeness’ effort. “Just say girlfriend.”

  Dad coughed back laughter.

  “But you call your close friends girlfriends,” Mom rationalized.

  Honestly, Jen wanted Mom to send Spencer Michelman packing. But her parents would chastise such rudeness. And despite being adopted, Jen had inherited their congeniality. She turned to Dad ruefully.

  He brushed off any explanation. “We’ll resume tomorrow.”

  Mustering some courage, Jen trudged out of the garage.

  She found her ‘special friend’ sitting on her bed. Spencer stood with a toss of her glossy hair when Jen entered. Spencer’s long-sleeved polo and short green plaid skirt hugged her well-formed figure perfectly. Sophisticated and sexy, as usual.

  Spencer’s upper lip curled in distaste. “Is there a pigsty in your garage?”

  Jen pushed away embarrassment over her soiled appearance. “Why are you here?” Jen asked tersely.

  Spencer teased her with a smirk. “You’d have known I was stopping by, if you’d answered my texts.”

  Jen’s nostrils flared. She couldn’t risk a drawn-out argument. Spencer would always sweettalk her into submission. “I’m busy.”

  “Busy avoiding me? Or taking dirt baths?”

  “You hurt me…again!” Jen erupted, unable to stop herself. “I got kicked out of your party by your maid like a mangy dog and you never even said goodbye.” Spencer always did this. Hot and heavy one minute, ice-cold the next. Yet Jen kept asking for more like an idiot. “I’m sick of being treated like I’m beneath you.”

  “Thought you liked being under me,” Spencer taunted. “Or is it just when I go down on you?”

  Jen gasped, a heady rush of naughty memories making her ears burn. “Stop it.”

  Spencer’s dark-blue eyes narrowed. “This is about Hugo, again. You said that wasn’t a problem.”

  “I know…maybe.” Jen wearily rubbed the back of her neck. If anyone had said a year ago that Spencer and Hugo Malalou would be low-key hooking up, she’d laugh. Same with Jordana and Hugo. Now both were happening. And Jen was so confused. Time to end the uncertainty. “I get you and Hugo are like sexually addicted to each other, which I won’t tell Jodie.” Lying to Jordana had been hell, but she’d promised Spencer. “If you two are exclusive, just tell me.” There, she’d said it. Terror bloomed instantly.

  “Oh, Jenny,” Spencer began, dripping in condescension. “You’re like sunshine. Warm. Happy. Open. Makes me with my shriveled black heart more optimistic.” She made a kissy face, hands over her heart.

  Jen’s cheeks burned. But she wouldn’t cave again. “And Hugo?” She cringed, stammering out an addendum. “Minus the sex?” She couldn’t fathom what those two had in common. “Or is he just another boytoy you’ll eventually get bored of?”

  Spencer grew somber. “Hugo’s the ground beneath me. Solid, present, honest about his wants. Challenges me to face myself.” Her voice trembled at the end. She looked down. “Supports us being exclusive.”

  Jen wasn’t expecting that. “Really?”

  A blush stained Spencer’s bronzed skin. “He’s amazing…” she murmured. “In more ways than he knows.”

  The words sank into Jen’s brain one by one. She’s in love with Hugo.

  Spencer snapped out of the reverie. “That’s why I can’t choose. You two are like ice cream flavors. Sometimes, I’m all about butterscotch. Other days I have to have French vanilla.” She glided into her lover's personal space. Jen was half a head taller, nearly five-foot-ten. And the tension grew unbearably thick.

  “Spend Sunday with me,” Spencer requested, her voice rough and full of want. “Studying in the a.m. Get drunk at one of Daddy’s wineries in the p.m.”

  With her this close, Jen’s brain stopped working properly. “Like you need to study,” she mumbled.

  Spencer shrugged immodestly. “True.” Her GPA was in the top three percent of the sophomore class. Small wonder she was a lab intern Paxton-Brandt.

  Jen could list many reasons for cutting Spencer out of her life. Too many. But the knife would have to go too deep, causing too much pain. And after Briseis, she couldn’t lose someone else.

  Spencer slid her fingers under Jen’s shirt, walking them up her sides. “Spend Sunday with me.”

  Her touch rendered Jen powerless, again. “I hate you,” she moaned.

  Spencer’s face stretched into a wicked grin. “Perfection!” She drew Jen closer and kissed her mouth.

  The unguarded enthusiasm penetrated Jen’s feeb
le defenses. Her body, her senses, her thoughts hungered for Spencer. Now, she was kissing her back.

  “Stay for dinner,” Jen purred after breaking for air. She stroked Spencer’s hair. “Mom’s making chili.”

  “Can’t.” Spencer curtly stepped away from Jen’s reach, smoothing her silky locks with refined proficiency. “Already have dinner plans.”

  Dismay rocked Jen backward. Dinner plans with Hugo?

  Spencer snorted at her visceral reaction. “It’s my twelve-year-old god sister.”

  That quelled Jen’s insecurities, but raised more questions. “You have a god sister?”

  Spencer grinned cheekily. “See ya Sunday.” She twirled ballerina-like and departed, leaving Jen aroused, annoyed, and confused yet again.

  Chapter 19

  Nine of Delgado’s men, dead. Four injured. Greyson had no doubt the other two transports would have met the same fate against Diablo. His crew were licking their own wounds. Rikki had got her bell rung. Saed had bruised ribs and minor burns along his legs.

  Greyson felt Rikki’s hostile vibrations from across the room. For once, they were deserved. Yet Diablo had slipped from his grasp.

  He watched a nurse tend to a bedridden Saed in the Delgado compound. The older mercenary remained unflinching during his treatments.

  “What the hell?” Saed growled after the nurse left. “We looked like amateurs.”

  “I don’t know,” Greyson admitted sheepishly. This had been humiliating on so many levels.

  Rikki was in his face, yelling, “You let that night-bright bastard escape!”

  Greyson had no patience for her tantrum. “I didn’t, dipshit. When Diablo turned to energy, he slipped from my gravitational hold.”

  Rikki and Saed gasped. “How is that possible?” the latter demanded.

  “I don’t fucking know!” Greyson spat. He knew how this looked. They’d put faith in him, and he’d failed. “I tossed the driver of the transport up into the air. Diablo caught her.” A strategy took form, and not one he was proud of. “Maybe Innocent civilians could be something—”

  Before Greyson could finish, the door opened. Delgado marched in. Hernando, Cristóbal, and Dayanara trailed him with several beefy guards.