The Pantheon Saga | Book 4 | Gods of Wrath

by Ekeke, C. C.

  The knowing disappointment on Therese’s face was excruciating to witness. Quinn didn’t want to hurt her. Yet she kept doing so. Just like a few weeks ago when she’d panicked and bailed during their first rendezvous. That had caused an emotionally wounded Therese to lash out. “I don’t know what we are.”

  “Figure it out,” Therese snapped, but not from anger. “Because I know what I want.”

  “Which is?” Quinn asked, despite every instinct telling her not to.

  “You.” Therese’s smile was so unguarded, melting Quinn into a puddle. “And everything that comes with. Even the bad French-Canadian jokes.”

  Something serious with Therese just meant another person to disappoint, to see how little she offered. “Therese…” Quinn refuted feebly.

  “You know, too,” Therese spoke over her. “No matter how hard you fought.”

  Quinn had no defense besides incoherent stammering. She’d yearned for a connection like this for years. And here it was…with a woman. This woman.

  Therese rose from the couch and shuffled over until they were nose to nose. “I am your truth, Quinn.” She stroked Quinn’s cheek with the back of her hand, grinding the reporter's mind to a stop. “The sooner you accept that, the sooner we’ll be together.”

  Therese savored a little smirk while backpedaling to retrieve her bow. Notching an arrow, drawing back the string, she released—striking the bull’s-eye with a thunk, splitting another arrow.

  Several moments passed before the blood flow returned to Quinn’s brain.

  “I-I gotta go.” She pointed shakily at her room. “Over there.” She ran, slamming the door behind her.

  Hours later, Therese’s declaration still consumed Quinn’s thoughts, her desires, and her heart.

  “Anyone home, QB?”

  Colin Garner’s voice jolted Quinn into the present. The videographer watched her with concern. For a moment, the swarming press pool confused Quinn. Then she saw the stage ahead and remembered.

  News orgs gathered before the ornate, Greek-columned gates of Olympian World Theme Park outside San Miguel. The Extreme Teens’ successful Mission Experience film was to become a park section, using immersive 3D technology. Far more important than Paxton-Brandt’s corruption.

  The teen heroes were onstage announcing this newest cash grab. Sunrider, golden-skinned with beachy-blonde locks, carried her gleaming surfboard. Roadblock, covered in stony skin and big as a boulder. Cyberpunk rubbed his metallic hands together, a frightening fusion of teen and machine. Vendetta, mute and bald with claw-like fingers, crouched in front. Starchylde hovered just off the ground, her greenish mane a churning smoke column.

  And finally, there was Blur with windblown black hair and goggles, his tracksuit slathered in OWE endorsements. The speedster stood at a podium, discussing Mission Experience Land opening in November.

  Quinn itched to slap that self-satisfied pretty boy. It wouldn’t fix things with Seraph, but she’d feel better.

  Their minder, Johnny Truelove, stood in the backdrop muted and dapper. Given Sentinel’s fraught history with his former sidekick, Quinn could imagine Truelove and Blur’s shared glee. Quinn turned away in distaste. Truelove’s angular features were blank while he monitored his wards. Farther behind the press were throngs of Extreme Teens fans barricaded by security and police. Quinn instinctively tuned out their sycophantic screams.

  Around her, other reporters’ pending queries had nothing to do with the theme park. And Blur knew it.

  After peddling the Mission Experience, applause sounded, and the speedster scanned the crowd. “Questions?”

  Countless reporters’ hands shot up, including Quinn’s.

  Blur’s roving eyes found her and he laughed knowingly. “Ms. Bauer! Hit me!”

  Quinn wasted no time. “Two questions? Is the WSJ article true? And if so, who do you suspect leaked it?”

  Blur’s teammates collectively groaned.

  Truelove advanced, snatching the mike from Blur. “We’re not taking any—”

  A heartbeat later, Blur stood several feet away, holding his mike again.

  “Luke—”

  Blur shooed Truelove off. “I got this.” He turned back to Quinn. “It’s true. Seraph and I are lovers!”

  Gasps rose from the press pool. Fans far back let out heartbroken cries mixed with eager shouts. Sunrider and Cyberpunk brightened while the other Extreme Teens were pissed. Truelove facepalmed.

  Blur sighed with boyish glee. “I know that might upset the LUNA-tics. Or Team Blissy diehards who think Missy and I are secretly married with three kids or whatever. But I gotta live my truth.” He raised his hands then let them drop. “I love Mikaela Guerrero!”

  Quinn fought to keep from facepalming. Blur had wanted everyone to know. Now he reveled in it.

  The speedster wasn’t done. “And who told the Wall Street Journal?” He pointed—at himself. “Me!”

  “Luke, no!” a horrified Truelove yelped.

  Now everyone expressed full-throated shock, including Quinn. Suddenly the WSJ article’s frightening accuracy made sense. Who else but either Seraph or Blur knew some of those specifics?

  “You did what?” Quinn barked, not caring how livid she sounded. Many would applaud Blur's declaration of love. Meanwhile, the Catholic Church and other religious groups had reportedly severed ties with Seraph. Who knew the havoc this had wreaked within The Vanguard, which still hadn't released a statement?

  Onstage, Blur basked in the loud, polarized reaction. “I told the world about Seraph and me.” He then grew serious. “Seraph felt obligated to marry that stick-in-the-mud, Sentinel, who I’ve heard can’t raise his flagpole past half-mast.” The crowd erupted in scores of oooohs.

  “Now we can be together.” Blur was grinning again. “Next question.”

  The throng of reporters turned rabid, everyone jockeying for the teen speedster’s attention.

  Quinn stood in shock. A glance at Colin confirmed similar feelings. Blur had selfishly ruined the life of the woman he claimed to love. So deep was her befuddlement, Quinn almost missed the gasps and screams as a well-built man in plainclothes appeared out nowhere to sucker-punched an oblivious Blur from behind. The teen went down, clutching the back of his head.

  “Holy crap!” Quinn exclaimed at the man standing over a fallen Blur.

  “You motherfucker!” Sentinel snarled. His manic blue eyes made him look unhinged.

  The rest of the Extreme Teens stood flabbergasted like everyone else.

  “Oh my God,” Quinn murmured, seeing but not believing. Sentinel had snapped.

  “That can’t be happening,” Colin exclaimed, recording every moment.

  “Sentinel!” Johnny Truelove grabbed Sentinel around the waist. “Kurt, what are you doing?”

  Sentinel whirled around, headbutting Truelove. His ex-protégé howled, skidding several feet away. Truelove lay on the ground clutching his face.

  “You’re next, boy!” Sentinel snarled and returned to Blur.

  Roadblock pointed, and the Extreme Teens advanced to defend their leader.

  Fear flooded Quinn’s body in icy rivers. She tensed for the beatdown.

  Until a giant man blocked the teens, hulking and unbearably ugly. Vulcan swung his massive sledgehammer, discharging a shockwave of dazzling energy. Roadblock and Starchylde ate the brunt, smacked off their feet. The billowing blast mowed Vendetta, Cyberpunk, and Sunrider over next. The entire team went sprawling in every direction, knocked out.

  Quinn squealed. The press and crowds roared. Cameras flashed. Everything went chaotic.

  Blur struggled to his feet and dashed away superfast. But the sucker punch had clearly injured him, and he collided like a drunkard into a podium. The speedster tumbled in a heap.

  The security not stuck controlling fans several yards back rushed the stage, clutching for their guns. A few violent swings from Vulcan's hammer gave them pause.

  “Stay back,” the warrior rumbled like an earthquake. “Sentin
el must avenge his honor.”

  Sentinel had mounted a prone Blur, raining down rights and lefts. The teen tried covering up, but the punches landed with vicious impact. “I loved Kaylie! And you took her!” Sentinel roared.

  Eventually Blur wilted under the beating. His head rocked side to side, face a bloodied mess. The Extreme Teens began to stir. Vulcan still held security at bay.

  Screams rang out from traumatized teens and their parents. Even the bloodthirsty press begged Sentinel to stop. Quinn’s heart dropped. Sentinel might kill Blur.

  “Kurt, stop!” Her cries got lost in the tumult.

  Screw this. Quinn pushed through her peers, ignoring Colin’s shouts to stay put. But the reporter leaped over the barricade to hop on stage. Quinn had no interest in facing Sentinel in berserker mode. But someone had to stop him.

  “Kurt, you’re killing him!” she screamed. “What would Mikaela think?”

  Sentinel either didn’t care or didn’t hear, repeatedly bashing Blur’s now-hamburger meat face.

  Frantic, Quinn jumped on Sentinel’s back, grabbing his bull-like neck. “Stop, please—”

  “Get OFF!” Sentinel jerked around, throwing her aside.

  Through that simple movement, Quinn felt this supersoldier’s true strength and went sailing through the air across the stage. The shouted exclamations were barely audible over her own shrieking. Especially as the stage rushed up, about to break her fall…and neck.

  Chapter 30

  “Daddy and I bet a grand if Seraph and Sentinel would actually get married,” Spencer bragged. “I won. Haha!”

  “Blur and Seraph?” Hugo wondered aloud. He leaned against the headboard of his bed, chin propped on Spencer’s head while wrapping his arms around her. “Never saw that couple coming.”

  News of the Blur and Seraph affair had gone nuclear this morning. Hugo had avoided social media and news sites afterward. Reactions on his friends’ group chat were informative enough.

  Simon’s reaction, all the way from Seoul, was summed up in one text.

  Simon: TOLD ya Blur and L.U.N.A was fake!

  Spencer had returned from New York this afternoon, visiting Hugo that evening. After a memory walk from Spencer’s childhood of Titan teaching her to swim, she and Hugo had dissected Blur and Seraph’s affair.

  “Does your dad know how The Vanguard’s handling this shitshow?” Hugo asked.

  Spencer scoffed. “Soooo crazy. Seraph’s getting fired. Teammates are taking sides. Sentinel’s a wreck. Can’t blame him.” Spencer rubbed her jaw. “Can’t blame Seraph either. I mean, Blur is hot AF!”

  Hugo chortled. Her reaction wasn’t shocking. Girls loved Blur. That prompted another question. “The rumors about him and L.U.N.A—?”

  “Yes,” Spencer replied before he could finish. “Total fauxmance to boost L.U.N.A’s popularity.”

  Hugo’s interest in L.U.N.A withered. “Ooph.” That wasn’t his sole disappointment. “Guess Italy isn’t happening, huh?”

  Spencer moved from Hugo’s lap, sitting beside him. “My family’s still going.” She got unusually shy. “You can still come.”

  Hugo's relief came in an avalanche. “Sure.”

  Spencer beamed. “Perfection.” She draped an arm around his neck, her dark-blue eyes raking over him. “Now... Penny for your troubles?”

  Hugo frowned, not caring for her probing stare. “What?”

  Spencer’s brow knitted. “What?” she echoed, still smiling.

  Hugo’s breaths felt constricted by the thick, delicious tension. “Nothing…”

  Spencer didn’t shift her eyes a fraction. “If something’s wrong, you can tell me.”

  Can I? Hugo nodded faintly. “I know.”

  Spencer tilted her head. Sleek black tresses spilled over her shoulder. “So, what’s wrong?”

  Damn, she’s perceptive. But he doubted that Spencer would want to discuss her internship or hear how awful Paxton-Brandt was. And would she accept hearing that parts of Hugo’s soul remained tethered to Briseis in ways he couldn’t understand?

  Regardless, Hugo wasn't interested in talking. “Ask me in a few days.” He silenced Spencer with a kiss, pulling her body onto him.

  Half past eight the next morning, he was in jeans and a long-sleeved tee passing joggers and bystanders along Liberty Park’s windy trails. The golden sun continued its lazy climb into the skies.

  Twenty minutes ago, he’d finished an uneventful patrol of San Miguel’s suburbs.

  Rainmaker, whom Hugo still tracked, had vanished again without a trace. Hence why Hugo decided to pursue a new mission.

  It was Abby Dunleavy's voice in that Brie video. Hugo’s senses never lied. He still hadn’t confronted Abby. Not for fear of ruining their situationship. Sex with her was awesome, but he’d survive without it.

  Lady Liberty always said in situations of reasonable doubt, concrete evidence was king.

  Hugo reached the edge of one basketball court, a two-on-two game in progress. The person he needed information from just scored a monstrous slam-dunk. The ballplayer landed and howled, high-fiving his teammate.

  He spotted Hugo and his smile withered, elevated heartbeat rising higher.

  The petty side of Hugo basked in Sebastian Martinez’s enduring fear. But today was about business. The Samoan summoned him with a subtle head gesture.

  Baz asked his friends for a quick break. Wiping off sweat, he warily approached.

  The two stood eye to eye, which still puzzled Hugo. Their mutual hatred remained at a steady boil. Especially this close.

  “What do you want?” Baz snarled.

  To be elsewhere. “To talk,” Hugo replied quietly, glancing at Baz’s teammates.

  Anger bled into Baz’s face. “I haven’t talked about Fall Fling. So there’s nothing to discuss.”

  Hugo curled his lip. Fall Fling, the gift that kept giving. A constant reminder to wield his powers responsibly. “It’s about Briseis,” he began. “What happened to her at that basketball party?”

  Baz squinted at him and then snickered like he'd told a joke. “You ignore Briseis for a year and now you care?” Mirth turned into disgust. “Fuck off.” He turned to leave.

  The dismissal irked Hugo. He caught Baz’s arm, smiling. The ballplayer paled. “We both know the only thing protecting you from me…is me.” Hugo stopped smiling and let go. “Watch your goddamn mouth.”

  The reminder of Baz's inferiority…and well-being shamed him quickly. “How can I help?” he asked robotically.

  “The basketball party,” Hugo repeated. “What happened to Brie?”

  “Jordana no-showed because of Brent’s kidnapping.” Baz bristled. “Brie avoided me most of the night after dumping me a week before.”

  “Cuz you lied to her about Fall Fling when you should’ve kept quiet,” Hugo snapped. “Continue.”

  A flush stained Baz’s complexion. “I saw her arguing with Jen Thomas. Dunno why. Jen and Spencer left afterward.” He brushed back sweaty dark locks. Guilt lingered in his eyes. “Then Lia kept feeding Brie drinks until she got plastered.”

  “Your teammates were passing Brie around like a weed joint,” Hugo pressed. The visual still turned his stomach. Anger at Baz and his teammates’ grossness soared. “And you let it happen?”

  “They were just making out with her. I stopped them once I found out.” Baz stared at the asphalt. His shame was as tangible as the humidity. “I can’t…couldn’t believe they’d do that.”

  “Martinez!” one of the players called. The slim boy had a dour face, arms spread irritably. “Hurry up!”

  Baz glanced over and waved him off. “Three minutes!”

  Hugo kept questioning. The sooner this ended, the sooner he’d get away from Baz. “Did you know about Harlan Mills sleeping with Brie while you two were dating?”

  The sharp pain on Baz’s face cut through Hugo. He didn’t ask to be mean, just to learn the truth behind Brie’s social demise. “Not till the video,” Baz answered after recoverin
g. “I got her away from those scumbags and into a bedroom. I was pretty wasted, too.” He grew emotional, resembling the Baz that Hugo had once befriended for the first time in years. “Brie and I apologized to each other, saying how we missed each other. We start kissing, then it’s a blur.” He clutched his head. “Lia wakes me up and said she’d take care of Brie. Never thought…she’d betray her.”

  Hugo pursed his lips. Lia’s betrayal had shocked everyone. He then asked the pivotal question. “Were Abby Dunleavy and Lia hanging out that night?”

  “Abby helped Lia carry Brie out.” Baz looked confused. “Weird, since Abby and Brie hate each other.”

  Goddammit! Hugo bucked his teeth.

  Baz wasn’t done. “I tried being there for Briseis.” His voice was low and rough. “When everyone abandoned and harassed her. She pushed me away.” His eyes glistened. “Now...she’s like a zombie.”

  Hugo watched his nemesis, mouth ajar. He still loves her.

  “Then there was…” Whatever Baz almost said stuck in his throat. He frosted over. “Brie’s suffered enough. Leave her alone.” He jogged back to his impatient teammates.

  Weighty shame stayed with Hugo well into a blistering afternoon. He sat atop the Jamba Juice skyscraper in costume, losing himself in San Miguel’s urban sprawl. From the silhouetted slopes in the east to the coastlines along the west, the City of Wonder teemed with activity.

  Yet Hugo’s thoughts kept returning to Briseis. Somewhere in the city, she was alone and suffering. And throughout sophomore year, ignoring Brie had become easy.

  She disrespected me constantly, Hugo countered. Abby’s revenge made sense. Two years ago, Brie had launched a devastating slut-shaming campaign after Abby slept with Jordana’s ex-boyfriend DeDamien. “Why do I care?” Hugo shouted at nobody.

  Regardless, he needed to confront Abby. Then, the guilt would go away.

  “Patrol time.” Hugo leaped off the roof, hanging in the air several seconds before landing on another roof. Zooming ahead, he leaped again, landing on a shorter building.

  On a lower roof, Hugo dialed up his hearing to get in sync with the city.

  San Miguel roared back ferociously.

  Hugo straightened, not believing his hypersensitive ears. “What the fuck?” Every radio signal, cellphone, and news report spoke in unison.