The Pantheon Saga | Book 4 | Gods of Wrath

by Ekeke, C. C.

  Delgado looked gutted. His guards boiled.

  “Traitorous bitch!” Hernando lunged forward, stopped only by his father’s arm. “Mama would disown you for this treachery!” he screamed.

  Dayanara took her brother’s condemnation in stride. “Who do you think helped u—me—learn how to use and hide my powers, Hernando?” she stated bitterly. “Mama hated this life more than I do.”

  Hernando choked back fury at the mention of his dead mother.

  Delgado purpled. He backhanded Dayanara so hard she toppled over. The slap echoed throughout the derelict facility.

  Greyson glanced back at Connie. She’d caught Dayanara’s slipup, too. He cleared his throat. “Say the word, and she’s dead.”

  “You have to, Patron,” a guard echoed. “She insults you every day just by breathing.”

  “Betraying you,” another lieutenant barked. “She’s killed your men.”

  “Kill her!” Hernando demanded.

  “Cállate!” Delgado shouted. He massaged his temples. “Let me think!”

  Dayanara fought up to a kneeling position. “Daddy,” she pleaded. “Walk away from all this death. These drugs! Be the man who raised me.”

  “What's all this?” The voice turned heads. Cristóbal stood in the entrance.

  Delgado saw his son and blanched. “Return to the car.”

  Dayanara’s horror swelled. “No, Cris!”

  “Diablo’s your sister,” Greyson casually mentioned.

  Cristóbal pushed through the guards and took in the scene.

  Delgado pulled out a gun. But he hesitated, the weapon quaking in his grip.

  “NO!” Light blossomed from Cristóbal. He exploded toward Dayanara.

  Greyson promptly reached out, increasing his gravity times twenty. Cristóbal slapped the floor hard enough to bounce. He lay face down, groaning as his glow waned.

  The room erupted in chaos.

  Connie yelped. Guards swarmed Delgado and a screaming Hernando. Dayanara wept.

  The cartel leader gaped at his twins like diseased strangers.

  Greyson was the only one laughing. “There you are.” He pointed at Cristóbal. “The other Diablo!”

  So Greyson had injured him days ago. Now both Diablos were at his mercy.

  Hernando shoved away his overzealous guards. “Cristóbal?” He was grief-stricken. “You, too?”

  “I’m guessing it’s a twin thing?” Connie quipped. She turned to Greyson for an explanation like everyone else.

  He was happy to oblige, smiling obnoxiously. “I suspected only Cristóbal at first.” Greyson gestured at the younger Delgado son. “Then I took down Diablo tonight and see Dayanara’s face behind the mask. So, I’m guessing that both your favorite children were sharing the mantle.”

  “I hope you die, cabrones,” Cristóbal spat, paralyzed by the oppressive gravity holding him.

  “You first,” Greyson smoldered. The increased gravity combined with his injuries held him down. “Which depends on your father.” Greyson inspected the cartel leader, who looked like someone had run him over. “Say the word.”

  Delgado stared at his gun in a daze, not all there—and pointed it at Greyson.

  Hernando groaned. “No, Father!”

  Delgado’s men punctually aimed guns at Greyson and Connie.

  “Step away from my children, gringo mugroso,” he snarled. His finger curled around the trigger.

  Greyson never flinched. Two thoughts ran through his head. How unimpressed he was and feeling impressed by how unimpressed he was. He pursed his lips. “As expected.” He flicked one finger, oozing unseen power.

  Delgado grunted in surprise when his suddenly heavy firearm dragged him down to all fours.

  The other hitmen all dropped their too-heavy guns in collective surprise.

  Everyone except Hernando.

  Delgado looked so small and scared, desperately trying to pick his gun off the dusty floor.

  “Bad move,” Connie chided, stock-still.

  Greyson loomed over the cartel leader. “That’s two times you’ve pointed a gun at me,” he stated, simmering with menace, “and the last.”

  Dayanara and Cristóbal lay on the floor, sobbing. Greyson couldn’t let them live. “Here’s the thing…”

  A gunshot rang out. Greyson whirled around.

  Delgado slumped sideways, his brains sprayed across the floor. His men were in hysterics without their weapons.

  Hernando stood over his father, holding the smoking gun. His face was a vacant mask.

  Connie blinked. “Whoa…”

  Cristóbal gagged and thrashed helplessly. “Hernando?”

  Dayanara wailed. “Father!”

  Greyson simply smiled. “I knew you’d do the right thing.” Genuine pride swelled inside him.

  Hernando had been the contact he’d spoken with to set up this meeting. That hadn’t been all they’d discussed, like how his father installed power dampeners around the compound.

  “If I’m right,” Greyson had said at one point, “your father will not be able to kill Diablo.”

  Hernando had been confused by that claim. “Why?”

  “Be ready to act,” Greyson had merely said.

  Watching Hernando silence the room with a bark, Greyson saw that his advice had registered. “What are your orders, Patron?”

  Hernando studied his siblings, eyes dead like his voice. “Kill them.”

  Greyson was happy to comply. “My pleasure.” Nuclear power coursed through his hands as he knelt before the Delgado twins.

  Greyson gripped both their heads, his hands alight with searing nuclear power.

  Dayanara and Cristóbal Delgado shrieked as one.

  Chapter 45

  He crouched against a tree in Liberty Heights Park, head in his hands, shivering uncontrollably in the muggy summer weather. Hugo’s mind was steeped in betrayal and ungovernable anger.

  Mom, Lady Liberty, Zelda, Dr. Michelman, Titan, Dad—well, his legal dad. That self-correction made his stomach spasm. Everyone had lied to him.

  Hugo’s whole life had been a lie.

  “I’m Titan’s bastard,” Hugo murmured. Another body blow among several recently. But he didn’t know how he’d survive this gut punch.

  Several yards away stood the fifty-foot Titan statue with hands on hips, staring ahead stoically. Crowds had thinned, but visitors still came to pay homage.

  Hugo seethed. Titan was a lying narcissist who couldn’t keep his pants on. And Mom, a super groupie?

  He itched to charge and decapitate that statue, just to hit something.

  Speaking of hitting… Hugo popped up faster than he should’ve, startling a few bystanders.

  “Rainmaker…” He had forgotten about him attacking northern Washington. Hugo wanted to kick himself. Personal drama meant little with threats like Rainmaker loose.

  Hugo needed his costume. Not from home. He couldn’t face Mom. There was one at Lady Liberty’s HQ below her shop. After today, that could no longer be a gear stash location.

  He strode for the bathroom stalls so he could superspeed from the park undetected.

  His work phone buzzing stopped him. He pulled out the device.

  Zelda: My mom’s back!

  Hugo straightened. He almost replied to ask her whereabouts until a notification pinged.

  A Herogasm.com livestream detailed The Vanguard defeating Rainmaker. The lineup included Sentinel, Seraph, Wyldcat, Robbie Rocket, Vulcan, and…Lady Liberty. Clearly, she had retained her powers after her sojourn.

  Hugo felt like he’d swallowed a dozen ghost chili peppers.

  Pictures revealed the ebony-skinned Rainmaker lying beaten along with his minions.

  Hugo seethed. Rainmaker was mine!

  The livestream showed Lady Liberty smiling, standing among her teammates in the middle of downtown Seattle. Hugo felt sick to his stomach at the ensuing press conference.

  “Rainmaker’s attempt at a race war is over,” Lady Liberty declared in
stately tones to journalists. She was the epitome of regal in her deep-red costume with the gold knee-high boots and gauntlets, showing off her tanned and toned legs. The other Vanguard members stood silent behind her. This was a formidable-looking team. Also noted, Seraph and Sentinel were situated as far from each other as possible.

  “The Vanguard was formed to battle threats like Rainmaker,” Lady Liberty said. “We will keep doing so.”

  “Lady Liberty,” one female journalist called. “Does this mean you are The Vanguard’s new leader?”

  Lady Liberty flashed her famous megawatt smile. “Yes.”

  “But, Libby,” a male journalist inquired. “Will the roster change? Almost everyone in this lineup is plagued with some crime or scandal.”

  Seraph’s gaze fell. Her furled wings trembled. Wyldcat closed her eyes. Sentinel glared accusingly over at his ex-fiancée.

  Lady Liberty remained unflustered. “They have made very public mistakes. And those transgressions will be addressed.” She glanced over her team with sympathetic eyes. “Who among us hasn’t stumbled? Does that negate all the good this team has done?” She cast a sweeping hand at them. “Vanguard has proved for years that no one is better at what we do. Let’s move forward together.”

  “Two-faced bitch…” Hugo squeezed the cell in a flash of anger, crunching it to pieces.

  That startled him out of his fury. Damn.

  He sheepishly stuffed the remnants of the phone into his pocket. With no mission, all this animus churned inside with no release. He couldn’t go home. He couldn’t talk to Lady Liberty—not yet. Hugo couldn’t trust his emotions.

  He wandered the park, rudderless while his senses soaked up the surroundings. And new clues that he’d missed kept surfacing.

  His own name was bullshit since he wasn’t even conceived in Bogota, Colombia, like Mom had said.

  And the day Titan had died, Mom’s grief had felt extreme. Now he knew why. Hugo swallowed a scream.

  Eventually, he found a bench alongside where the Rio Timoteo snaked through the park. He lost himself in the flowing water for a while. The sinking sun painted the heavens dark orange. the sensory stimulation eased Hugo’s wounds considerably.

  He then checked his regular cell.

  J-Tom hadn't replied. Hugo would’ve been more worried if his mind wasn’t scrambled eggs.

  He'd missed several texts, apparently.

  AJ: Are you and Mom fighting again? She’s been crying for hours.

  Goddammit, AJ. Right when his little…half-brother was finally getting better, this happens?

  Jodie: Call me please.

  Hugo’s heart lurched. He definitely couldn’t deal with that now.

  Grace: Coming to the Phenoms’ competition tonight? It’s been ages. We miss you.

  Hugo sagged, struck anew how detached he’d grown from his normal friends. Raphael, Brent, the Phenoms. And Simon was in South Korea for two more weeks.

  Superheroics had been all-consuming. Now that Rainmaker was defeated and Lady Liberty back, real-world time with friends was exactly what he needed.

  Hugo started texting Grace back.

  The collision of metal smashing through stone was loud enough without superhearing. A thunderous splash into the river followed. Startled, Hugo rose and listened closely.

  A car had driven off Harmony Bridge a quarter mile away. Several bystanders gathered at the accident site, some calling 911.

  Hugo’s woes faded. His legs moved as he broke into a sprint, faster than normal but not close to superspeed with so many folks milling around the park.

  After a few minutes tearing down the side of the river, he reached the scene. There was a huge jagged breach in the bridge’s stone barrier where the car had smashed through. Someone must have been driving fast and recklessly.

  A white Camry was almost fully submerged in the Timoteo. Countless people swarmed the river walk, doing nothing. Hugo stuffed his cellphone in his pocket, sucked in some air, and dove into the river.

  He ignored the cold shock, plunging lower. Oxygen wasn’t a concern. Hugo could hold his breath for over half an hour. Reaching Rio Timoteo's gloomy depths, he sped for the car in a trail of bubbles.

  The doors were jammed shut. He spotted four shadows inside, all unconscious. With the windows rolled down, the car was completely flooded.

  Hugo ripped the driver’s door off, tossing it aside. The douchey-looking driver, shaggy hair fanned around his face, was out cold thanks to the airbag.

  He jerked the driver’s seatbelt off and dragged him out. Same with the driver’s-side passenger, thickset yet also unconscious. Another passenger in the rear hovered between them. The moron didn't wear a seatbelt. Pills, beer bottles, and needles floating freely around the car’s insides told another story. No wonder these guys crashed.

  Hugo hauled the trio onto his shoulders before swimming for the underside of Harmony Bridge. Bursting from the surface with sprays of water, he plopped them onto the river walk, ignoring the gawking bystanders.

  The boys were sputtering out water. An older couple pushed through the growing crowd. “Any others?”

  “One more.” Hugo stood, pointing to the bewildered boys. “Help them.”

  Some idiots were pulling out their phones. Hugo dove back in before anyone could record him.

  He yanked off the rear left door and reached for the last passenger, a slim shadow of a girl, hair floating around her head. She looked peaceful and asleep.

  Hugo pulled off her seatbelt, noticing this girl’s arresting beauty—

  He almost gulped down river water. I know her. Hugo instantly dragged her from the car, so horrified he barely minded his strength to not snap her bones. After finding her purse, he swam away in a trail of rippled water.

  He surfaced a mile from the bridge past where the river walk ended, carrying a lifeless Brie.

  Hugo popped onto the side of the river, laying her on the concrete. Her soaked t-shirt and jeans clung to her rail-thin frame. She was frighteningly pale. No bystanders were around, leaving Hugo alone with Briseis.

  Whatever she was doing in that car, Hugo’s fears about her well-being had manifested. “Brie? Can you hear me?” He couldn’t keep the panic out of his voice. Hugo heard no heartbeat or breathing.

  “No…no.” He fought the terror and began CPR. He kept his hands steady and gentle so chest compressions wouldn’t crack her ribcage.

  “Don’t give up, Briseis.” He held her nose and performed mouth-to-mouth. Nothing. Hugo repeated chest compressions, then leaned in for mouth-to-mouth again.

  Nothing but water swishing inside her lungs.

  After forty seconds of CPR, Brie wasn’t responding.

  Hugo shook his head, tears budding again. She couldn’t die. “Please,” he sobbed. “Don’t leave…” Chest compressions, then mouth-to-mouth. Nothing. She lay on the concrete, a corpse.

  The comprehension stole Hugo’s breath.

  Briseis El-Saden, dead. And Hugo couldn’t save her.

  He was quivering. Not today. Not her.

  “NO!” Hugo slapped his hand on Brie’s chest in barely restrained desperation.

  She gasped, arching her back. Violent coughs shook her body.

  Hugo slumped onto his behind in relief. “Thank you, God!” He tilted Brie on her side to cough out spouts of water. Once the coughs lessened, she wilted. Hugo froze for a horrified second, only to relax at the sound of her heartbeat and swallow breaths.

  Still, she needed medical help. Who knew what drugs she’d taken? A hospital would raise too many questions. After the library bombing, Hugo wanted to avoid that kind of scrutiny. He lifted Brie up. Darkness was falling over San Miguel. Back near the bridge, Hugo could hear garbled commotion while many panicked over Hugo never resurfacing from the river. He shut the noise out, focusing on the comfort of Brie’s heartbeat.

  There was only one place he could take her, despite his aversion to it. Choking back bile, he sped toward home.

  Chapter 46


  Quinn examined everything on Hugo’s flash drive thoroughly.

  The Aesir Project which birthed The Elite. Each Elite members’ past lives. Project Jupiter, from cloning Titan to forming the Superior Seven to the clone becoming The Elite’s adversary.

  Quinn knew this data dump wasn’t part of the Paxton-Brandt exposé, making it a separate story.

  “At what cost?” she asked herself. Jono would never let this story publish on SLOCO Daily, and Helena would suffer the consequences. And Therese was now a target because of Quinn. The vigilante had reluctantly retreated to one of Geist’s safehouses to recover, per Quinn’s request. What if they find her anyway?

  “I have to give them everything,” she declared, pacing her living room. In that moment of weakness, Quinn remembered Hugo’s words. The fight’s only over if we win or surrender…

  He was right. And Helena might never forgive her if she folded. Holding onto a sliver of faith, Quinn contacted her East Coast family, extended family in San Miguel. Talking with Devon Strauss became more combative and exhausting than expected. She saved Annie, her person, for last. Speaking to the people she loved most about everyday stuff provided the courage to make her decision. Now Quinn was saying goodbye without saying the actual words.

  “There’s so much to see and do around Berlin, Quinnie,” Annie gushed over the phone. It was four in the afternoon in Germany, nine hours ahead of San Miguel. “So, find time to visit! I need to see your face again.”

  Annie’s simple joy nearly broke Quinn. She fought like heck not to show that. No need to worry Annie. “I miss your face, too.” Her best friend was so far removed from Quinn’s world. Could she ever find her way back to that normalcy? She already knew the answer, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “Anyway, I gotta go, Annie.”

  “Talk soon?” The need in her friend's voice was overwhelming.

  “Definitely,” Quinn promised. Another lie. “Miss ya.”

  “Miss you more.”

  “Miss you times infinity!” Quinn's voice caught with genuine longing.

  Annie scoffed in mock offense. “How am I supposed to beat that?”

  It took Quinn several minutes to recover after the call, knowing that was their final conversation. The clock said seven-thirty in the morning. Work had become an exercise of misery. And by the editorial staff’s plummeting morale, her feelings weren’t exclusive.