The Pantheon Saga | Book 4 | Gods of Wrath

by Ekeke, C. C.

  Quinn sucked in a loud breath. “Even with all your dirt on Packer?” Just verbalizing that made no sense.

  Helena scratched her head. “Maybe Cross doesn’t care what Packer did and wants me silenced.” She looked so broken and drained of joy. “That, plus everything else had to seal my fate. Packer and Jono are probably celebrating.”

  Quinn zeroed in on one target. “How could Doyle betray you? After swearing she’d keep quiet?”

  Helena sighed. “Don’t blame Naomi.” She took a long sip from a water bottle. “When Doyle came over last night, I was so drugged up…” Helena massaged her forehead. “Who knows what I said or did?”

  Quinn opened her mouth to say more. But more angry diatribes felt unhelpful. She reached forward, clutching Helena’s hand. “What are your options?”

  A silent tear rolled down Helena’s cheek. “Sit out the rest of my contract or they buy me out with a golden parachute and NDAs on both sides.” Her expression grew pained. “If I refuse either option or contest in court, I get nothing, and details for my ouster are made public. Which will ruin my credibility in news media.”

  Quinn winced. No wonder Helena had surrendered. Then another injustice came to mind. “The NDA keeps you from going public with Packer’s corruption.” Quinn was angry and guilty all over again. “This is some sexist bullcaca. I’m so sorry, Helena. I wanted to protect you when Leslie Prentiss called me in—”

  Helena waved off the account, resigned to her fate. “The only one to blame is me.” She gritted her teeth. “I should’ve seen a goddamn doctor for my shoulder.”

  Quinn couldn’t let this be the end of Helena at SLOCO Daily. Not after everything she’d given this company. “I will do everything in my power to keep fighting for you—”

  “No,” Helena interjected sternly. “Keep your head down and do as you’re told. At least until the dust settles and the new editor-in-chief has marked their territory.” She noticed Quinn’s trembling and softened. “One of the first things Packer and his lackeys will do is target anyone openly loyal to me.” She shook her head. “You don’t want to be made an example of and have your career ruined this early in.”

  That splashed cold water on Quinn’s indignation. That titanic shift of SLOCO Daily without Helena Madden left Quinn queasy. She cradled her head. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  Helena rubbed comforting circles on her back. The irony…

  Quinn slowly sat up once the nausea passed. “What are you going to do now?”

  Helena looked to the heavens for answers. The brightest stars dotted the encroaching darkness. “Figure out my next move.” Her gaze found Quinn again. “I have something for you.”

  She pulled something from her pajama pocket: a red-colored thumb drive.

  Quinn furrowed her brow, confused, but accepted the gift. “What’s this?”

  “Data and articles the Spotlight team wrote up on Paxton-Brandt,” Helena said. “Evidence on Packer’s corrupt dealings. My list of contacts around the news industry, including folks you met at those networking dinners I hosted. And other projects.” She closed Quinn’s grip with both hands.

  Quinn felt the weight of the thumb drive despite it being feather-light. “Why are you giving me this?”

  “Because I trust you.” Helena grinned at Quinn’s barefaced shock. “Tell no one at the office. At least until you know who in the senior staff is trustworthy.”

  Quinn was speechless. Her gratitude was a lull from crushing sadness. She placed the drive in her purse.

  “We’ll talk more over the next few days about everything on that drive.” Helena’s voice trembled with emotion. “You have no idea how much working with you has meant to me.” She spread her arms.

  Quinn fell into the embrace. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For everything.” Her heart cracked wide open as she held her mentor for a long while.

  Quinn returned home emotionally spent, plagued by thoughts of a post-Helena SLOCO Daily.

  Therese was in a handstand walking around the living room, wearing short-shorts and a sports bra. Quinn's new normal. Therese had stepped up her physical therapy lately, regaining enough strength to stay at any of Geist’s safehouses. Except neither she nor Quinn wanted that.

  Again, the new normal, which Quinn found exhilarating and terrifying.

  As she shuffled into the living room, Therese dropped to a crouch then rose to a standing position. Flushed and sweaty, she was still a sight for sore eyes. Quinn smiled at her. “Hey, Reese.”

  Therese smiled back, wiping beads of perspiration with the back of her hand. “Petite chère.” Little dear. The archer’s nickname for Quinn.

  Hearing that warmed Quinn’s soul. She pointed at Therese’s midsection. The bandages were less but still needed regular changing. Therese plopped down on the couch as Quinn grabbed wraps and ointment from the bathroom. Then she changed her bandages in silence. Oscar had shown her how. To her delight, the red bruising around the stitches kept shrinking. She felt Therese’s eyes on her while she worked.

  Once she’d finished, Therese guided her jaw up so their eyes met. The archer’s probing stare sliced through Quinn’s defenses with ease. “What happened at work?”

  “Helena’s getting fired. And I can’t help her.” Quinn’s confession sounded as empty as she felt.

  Therese’s face shifted from surprise to concern. “What do you need?”

  Quinn wasn’t interested in relitigating today’s parade of awfulness. She scooted closer, kissing Therese passionately. Her lips and nearness immediately soothed Quinn’s wounded soul.

  Therese eagerly responded. Her hands were roaming across Quinn’s body, unfastening her clothes, fondling her senseless.

  Interlude 2

  He'd been waiting almost an hour in this office for General Anderson’s arrival, these civilian plainclothes itchy. The senior army officer was flying in from Washington to decide The Vanguard’s fate. Meanwhile, the world was less safe every second The Vanguard was out of action.

  This is your fault, Sentinel reminded himself. You failed your team, your fiancée and yourself.

  All thanks to a momentary anger so deep, it had devoured him. Sentinel couldn’t even listen to the news anymore after the Olympian World incident.

  As bad as The Vanguard’s reputation had been before, it was flushed down the toilet now. He leaned both elbows on his knees, staring ahead at nothing. Better that than focus on the three other teammates beside him. Seraph, the ex-fiancée two chairs away who’d cheated on him for a year. She reclined in her chair, in a blue Vanguard hoodie and sweatpants. Her face, which Sentinel once loved waking up to, was a freezeframe of guilt. Good. Let her feel like her heart had been ripped out and stomped to paste.

  Vulcan, a mountainous man carved out of muscle, whose one sin was loyalty. He still moved gingerly after getting beaten with his own hammer.

  Last off was Wyldcat, aka Danneel Wyndham-Wallace, recovering drug addict and alcoholic. She rocked back and forth, long hair spilling messily over one shoulder. Her skin had turned pasty from minimal sunlight during her third rehab stint, made more evident by her dark sweats.

  No one spoke. Uncomfortable tension swamped the room. Sentinel wanted to be nowhere near Mikaela and her betrayal. But he would stay and wait as ordered.

  For some reason, Wyldcat shook with silent mirth.

  Sentinel scowled. “Something funny?”

  Wyldcat’s face had been a beautiful mask with dead eyes since Titan’s passing. “Finally,” Wyldcat admitted in a thick London-English brogue, “I’m not the team's worst cockup.” She doubled over, howling with laughter.

  Her gallows’ humor left a sour taste in Sentinel’s mouth. “That’s not something to celebrate, Danni,” he remarked. “We should be tracking down that Hood psycho who attacked me and Vulcan.” In that one encounter, Sentinel was blown away by this Hood’s immense speed and power. Not a threat they should ignore.

  Seraph finally faced him.

  �
�What?” Sentinel barked.

  There was no affection in Seraph’s demeanor. “That psycho stopped you from killing Blur.”

  The rebuttal hit Sentinel below the belt—deservedly. “That wasn’t my intent.”

  “Yet you brought Vulcan as backup?” Wyldcat asked unhelpfully.

  “I invited myself,” Vulcan rumbled. His mouth twitched from lingering pain. “In case trouble arrived in the form of conflict. Which it did…”

  Sentinel ran fingers through his short blond hair. “I just wanted to talk with Blur, man to man. But after what he said…” The impossible rage that took over was hard to forget. “I snapped.” Sentinel could visualize the blood staining his fingertips from pounding Blur’s pretty-boy face and how he’d enjoyed it. But the sea of horrified faces in the crowd...

  Seraph jolted up from her seat. “You nearly killed Blur. And Quinn.” Her eyes fell. “I can’t believe I’d thought she betrayed me.”

  Seraph’s shame would have been painful to witness, if Sentinel still cared. “You cheated on me with a child, Mikaela. For months!" He stood, hatred roiling. "Why?”

  “I was miserable!” Seraph threw back with more vitriol. “But you’re too obsessed with being Sentinel to love anyone else!”

  The indictment rocked Sentinel back. Witnessing Seraph’s full-throated hatred for him revealed how little he knew his own fiancée. Is she right? But Sentinel’s mind was too clouded from betrayal.

  “Enough!” a voice barked from the doorway. Everyone turned and immediately rose.

  General Garvin Anderson, a three-star general, arrived in full officer attire. He served as liaison between The Vanguard and the military. The short and bald man had a forceful presence that dwarfed even the tallest men. Anderson swept an accusing look at every occupant. “Stop bickering like children and act like heroes!”

  Sentinel and Seraph sat back down as Anderson rounded his desk to sit down. For the first time in a while, the supersoldier felt helpless. He hated that.

  Anderson took a long look at the four Vanguard members. His gaze lingered longest on Sentinel, with clear disappointment. “You four have royally fucked this team,” Anderson began bluntly. “One screwup is fixable. Replaceable. Four?”

  Sentinel interjected. “Please pardon Vulcan, sir,” he pleaded. “He only joined me out of loyalty. I’ll accept any punishment you feel is justified.”

  Anderson inspected him again. “You’re no longer field commander, that’s for sure. And even though Blur won’t press charges, OWE is suing you personally. Right now, you are radioactive, soldier.”

  Sentinel had expected embarrassment. But the verdict ripped his very soul out worse than Seraph’s infidelity, Morningstar’s betrayal or Titan’s death. Sentinel was about to become a man without a mission. He accepted this with a nod. “I understand, sir.”

  Anderson’s gaze flitted over to Seraph, who reflexively cowered. “Same goes for you, Seraph, after what you did.” There was no hiding Anderson’s disgust.

  Seraph lowered her head, on the verge of tears. “I’m so sorry, sir.”

  Laughter exploded out of Sentinel. “You’re just sorry you got caught.”

  Wyldcat grinned, eager for more. Vulcan looked sad.

  Seraph gasped at his temerity. “Excuse me?”

  Anderson slammed a fist on his desk. “QUIET!” he roared. “The Warguard is greener than a golf course, but we have no choice but to replace you with them. Robbie Rocket will serve as field commander.”

  That drew united pushback. Wyldcat was no longer amused. “God, like Robbie’s ego isn’t big enough.”

  Sentinel’s stomach flip-flopped. Robbie Rocket was competent, but selfish and arrogant. A horrible choice for field commander. “This team’s doomed,” he murmured.

  “Let’s not drop the hammer yet, soldier.” The clear, feminine voice turned heads.

  Anderson rose from his chair in surprise. Wyldcat and Seraph appeared joyful.

  Sentinel clutched his chest. “Libby,” he breathed, like a drowning man taking in oxygen.

  “That’s right,” Lady Liberty announced, standing in the open doorway. “I’m back.” The legendary hero nicknamed the Glorious Glamazon stood in her red unitard costume, those long and athletic legs going on for weeks. Her silvery crown gleamed as she stepped inside.

  Sentinel then recalled Lady Liberty disappearing for weeks, never answering his offer to rejoin The Vanguard. He was livid and on his feet. “Where have you been?”

  “We’ve been searching all over for you, Libby,” Anderson added in calmer tones.

  “Sorry for my absence,” Lady Liberty replied. Fleeting sadness on her full and regal face was replaced by a battle-ready expression. “An urgent matter took longer than expected. But I’m here now.” She glanced around the four disillusioned heroes. “How can I help?”

  For the first time in months, Sentinel felt hope. Maybe Vanguard still had a fighting chance.

  Chapter 37

  “Seriously?” Quinn exclaimed, then grasped how unprofessional she sounded. The mid-morning sun bathed her in warmth as she roamed downtown carrying a mic. Sidewalk Confessionals had been resurrected per the new Managing Editor. Another worrying change since Helena’s ousting last week.

  And, the Paxton-Brandt exposé remained on hold.

  Quinn repeated the absurd answer to her question. “So, between The Elite and The Vanguard, you’d choose The Elite to protect Earth from an alien invasion?”

  Three teen girls nodded in unison. “Definitely The Elite,” said Taylor, the prettiest in the trio, with a flippant hair toss.

  “Yea, they’re brooding and violent,” Larsen said, cute yet pudgy. “But The Vanguard sucks.”

  “Especially after they protected that pervert, Titan,” added Sarah, curly-haired and button-nosed.

  A sonic boom drew all eyes to the skies.

  Tomorrow Man soared overhead, a swift and sudden bullet, fists pointed forward, orange cape flapping behind him. Pedestrians stopped and pointed, jabbering excitedly. Typical response to a superhero flyby. Luckily, Colin focused his camera on Tomorrow Man’s flight and not Quinn’s eyeroll. Titan used to fly by in that exact same pose. Of course, Tomorrow Man would mimic. In a shivering whoosh, he hurtled out of sight.

  Taylor, Sara, and Larsen watched him with awestruck stares.

  Quinn swallowed her annoyance. “And Tomorrow Man? Would you trust him to protect Earth against an alien invasion?”

  Taylor blinked off her stupor and snorted. “I’ve seen goldfish smarter than Tomorrow Man. So, no.” That won giggles from her friends and Taylor.

  Quinn spoke to twelve more pedestrians, three undecided and nine that chose The Elite. All regarded The Vanguard like a parent who’d disappointed them. That saddened Quinn more than she’d expected.

  “The Vanguard's done,” Colin remarked on the drive back to the office.

  Quinn nodded, still processing her interviewees’ vitriol. “They still haven’t said much outside of the public apology for Sentinel’s and Vulcan’s actions.” There were all kinds of rumors and speculation, but no concrete news about The Vanguard’s future.

  “Heard from Seraph?” Colin probed.

  The codename produced a dull ache in Quinn’s heart. “And Sentinel.” The supersoldier had called two days ago to personally apologize. Quinn held her phone up, showing Seraph’s text.

  Mikaela: I’m so sorry for what I said. Please forgive me.

  Colin glanced at the cellphone. “You calling her back?”

  “Not sure.” Quinn couldn’t forget Seraph’s knee-jerk indictment. “She has bigger concerns.”

  Colin arched an eyebrow. “By the way, this is my last week at SLOCO Daily.”

  “Nooo!” Quinn cried.

  Colin made a rueful face. “If Rhonda hadn’t been fired, I’d stay. But not with Jono as Managing Editor.” He smiled. “I got gigs lined up with the Tribune and some other projects.”

  This gave Quinn no solace. In fact, it made her fur
ious at Colin. At Jono. At everyone… She stared out the window as the city rushed by. “Everything’s falling apart.”

  “You’ll be fine, QB,” Colin assured while making a left turn. His features darkened. “Be careful around the office.”

  Quinn said nothing. He hadn’t been the first to warn her. Once they’d returned to SLOCO Daily's offices, Quinn beelined for the Spotlight room to find Boyd. By now, the veteran reporter had spoken to Jono about the exposé.

  To her surprise, Quinn found Boyd packing his desk. The other desks were cleared out.

  “How’d the meeting go?” She gave the room a cautious inspection. “Where is everyone?”

  Boyd looked up, the room lights reflecting off his bald head. He seemed unusually tired. “The exposé is dead. And while you were out, the Spotlight team got dissolved.”

  Quinn’s knees weakened. Grabbing a desk was the only thing keeping her upright. Jono’s purge of Helena’s legacy continued. “Bu-but…” she sputtered out. “Months of investigation and work.” Quinn had only hopped on board five months ago. The other Spotlight members had been involved over a year. “We were ready.”

  Boyd gave a tired sigh. “The team will be taken care of. Lenny’s getting Michael Hale’s job as US News Editor. Maureen will help her rebuild that department. Pablo’s getting the Washington Bureau Chief position.” His shoulders slumped. “I’m…taking the severance package.”

  Quinn stared. “Jono fired you?”

  Boyd glanced away from the wording, leaning against his desk. “I was mad at first. At least the team will be fine. And my wife’s been wanting to see Europe.”

  Quinn was boiling, steaming, fists trembling. “This is not okay.” She turned to the door.

  Boyd, sensing her intention, crossed the room and blocked her. “No!” Quiet terror filled his kind eyes. “Jono’s got the backing of Packer and Hamilton Cross. Don’t fight this!”

  Quinn shook her head. She couldn’t allow this latest injustice. “I have to!” She stormed off, seething.

  Jono was in his office, reclining on his seat like a king, toying with an iPad. Quinn barged past his squawking secretary and threw the door open. “How could you?”