by Ekeke, C. C.
Samson was crawling toward Hugo, one arm cradling his stomach. The unstoppable monster tossed back his thick braids, eyes shiny from still-burning fires. “I’m not…done with YOU.” Samson coughed through clenched teeth wet with blood.
Hugo gulped, knowing he ran on fumes. Then, something falling from above caught his eye. “Nope…” He smiled. “You are finished,”
So fixated on reaching Hugo, Samson never saw Thor until before his teammate landed on top of him. The shuddering, crunching impact sounded almost musical. Neither Samson nor Thor moved.
Hugo stepped back, simple movements shooting painful spasms up his leg.
Cheers erupted up and down the streets again as Hugo glanced up in silent thanks.
The celebration was short-lived. Not just from the roar messing with his hearing. Ten or more OSA vehicles arrived, forming a wall around Hugo. The teen blinked in surprise, realizing too late that he should’ve fled. Two dozen OSA agents in tactical gear emerged, their futuristic-looking rifles aimed at him.
The new threat jarred through Hugo’s mental haze. Clearly to OSA, he was no better than The Elite. By the whomp-whomp of OSA choppers circling above, leaping away was a no-go. Hugo cursed under his breath, feeling so weak.
I’ll have to fight. But he stood his ground, fists curling for one more battle.
A motorcycle engine cut the tension, the vehicle itself swerving between Hugo and the OSA. Justice Jones sat astride his motorcycle in a leather vest and jeans, bandana wrapped around his head.
The tattooed biker spat out chewing tobacco and glowered. “Beat it, spooks!” He pointed at Hugo. “The youngblood just saved the city.”
Geist, trench coat flapping, landed in a crouch on Hugo’s left. His blood-red eyes held a sinister gleam. “He’s with us.”
A streak of motion braked beside Justice Jones. “And us!”
Despite the dark spots filling Hugo’s vision, he recognized Blur in his sponsor-slathered costume. He glanced over his shoulder, neck muscles cramping.
Starchylde hovered in the air. Rushmore, large as a boulder with stony flesh, guarded their rear. Beside him was the metallic Cyberpunk, Vendetta with her razor-sharp claws, and golden-skinned Sunrider atop her floating surfboard. The Extreme Teens had arrived. The gesture cut through Hugo’s vertigo. I’m one of them.
The OSA agents were visibly shaken by this united front.
The whoosh that sounded above rippled with power. Whoever just arrived drew voluble awe from the crowds.
Lady Liberty touched down. Burn marks smeared her red costume and face. Still, the Glorious Glamazon oozed supremacy. Both heroes and OSA agents gave her respectful berth. Budding wrath welled up in Hugo’s battered torso, adding to his nausea. He remained silent. And the roar in his ears grew louder.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lady Liberty addressed the OSA agents, hands on hips. “I assume you have more important tasks than arresting the man who did your job.”
Several agents murmured unkindly under their breaths. Others looked away in shame.
“Our mistake, Libby,” one agent said, glaring in Hugo’s direction. The OSA spread out toward Samson’s and Thor’s motionless bodies.
“Now I’m furious!” Tomorrow Man touched down beside Justice Jones in a rush of fury, soaked cape dragging behind him. He smelled of saltwater. “The Elite?” Tomorrow Man’s head swiveled, blue eyes wild, splashing water everywhere. “Where are they?”
Hugo’s laughs became wracking coughs, dropping him to a knee.
Everyone stared at Tomorrow Man like some idiot stepchild. “They’ve been defeated, boy,” Justice Jones snorted.
Tomorrow Man’s gaze narrowed. He couldn't grasp his own uselessness. “By The Vanguard?”
Sunrider whispered in Starchylde’s ear with an eyeroll, prompting both girls to laugh.
“Nope.” Blur pushed up his goggles, revealing the still-healing bruises on his face. He pointed at Hugo. “Him… What’s your name?”
Hugo rose, waving off Justice Jones’s help. His insides were feeling worryingly numb.
Starchylde resembled no human on this planet with her greenish, cloud-like hair. She watched Hugo with great interest.
"Huh." Tomorrow Man studied Hugo with a fake smile. “Thank you for your service.”
OSA swarmed the scene to restrain the felled Elite. News crews were arriving, many beelining for Hugo.
The Extreme Teens crowded Hugo, whose knees were wobbly again.
“Sorry for coming late,” Sunrider apologized, tossing her beachy locks. “We thought The Vanguard had this.”
Blur was the epitome of humble when addressing Lady Liberty. “Is Seraph okay?”
“She’s alive,” she remarked cryptically. “No one was unscathed. I rushed here as soon as I came to.” Lady Liberty reached Hugo’s side, shooing off the Extreme Teens. “Keep those vultures away.” The Extreme Teens scattered obediently to handle the media.
Now Hugo stood alone with her. “Hugo.” She spoke softly enough for only him to hear in her Ms. Ortiz voice. “Sorry I wasn't here sooner. How bad are you hurt?”
Vitriol crawled up Hugo’s throat. He couldn’t be anywhere near Lady Liberty. The numbness kept spreading, as did the roar clogging his ears.
“Hugo, talk to me,” Lady Liberty mouthed with concern.
Hugo parted from her, gesturing at OSA agents carting Apollo and Nike into an armored car. “Worry about The Elite,” he’d meant to say.
Lady Liberty nodded. “We are.” She moved into Hugo’s personal space, hand on his shoulder. “I’m more concerned—”
Hugo shoved her, almost falling over in the process. That drew stares. “Get them secured!” he snarled.
Lady Liberty steadied herself and paled.
Hugo barely heard her response, the roar blanketing everything. Everything swam together, the flames and the crowds and other heroes. His senses went crazy, smothered by pain. He had to leave. Get some air. Or else he’d pass out. Hugo crouched and leaped into the air with an expulsion of force. The downtown rapidly shrank beneath him, but an exchange between Lady Liberty and Geist caught his ears.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Betty,” the Midnight Son whispered with unusual softness. “He knows the truth.”
Whatever came next, Hugo was too far. He landed on a building heavily, pitching forward. He couldn’t stay down. Helicopters were tailing him.
He pushed up with barely-there strength, racing toward the skyscraper’s edge.
He positioned himself for another leap to the next building…
And his body shut down. Hugo had nothing left, stumbling forward on rubbery legs.
The roar in his ears overpowered every other sensation as he toppled over the edge.
Winds whistled past his masked face, smelling of strawberries.
A human-sized shadow with burning eyes raced down from Heaven toward Hugo. A moment after, Hugo was rising up toward blissful nothingness.
Chapter 54
Fifteen minutes after Hugo had leaped off into the night, Quinn’s heart still hadn’t slowed.
She sagged on the couch. “That was…” She searched for the right words, but her brain was fried. “WOW.”
Onscreen, Lady Liberty, Justice Jones, and the Extreme Teens helped rescue efforts. News anchors analyzed the fallout. Paxton-Brandt’s business center had been leveled save for one tower. Countless buildings were damaged or flattened. The body count…best not to be repeated.
Cameras and drones had attempted and failed to follow Hugo’s exit.
Quinn already visualized the headlines. Superhero team going rogue. Old superhero team defeated. New hero triumphs. Helena would've salivated at such a multi-layered story.
No, wait… She remembered Helena’s current situation. Anguish tore at her heart.
No sign of The Vanguard beside Lady Liberty. Quinn filed that worry away for later, mainly concerned for Hugo. The teen looked in rough shape post-battle.
The autho
rities were restraining The Elite and packing them into armored vehicles.
She noticed Jen Thomas had been fixated on the screen since the fight ended. Her awestruck face confirmed Quinn’s suspicions.
Jordana uncoiled from her fetal ball. “Best. Superhero. Battle. EVAH!” she exclaimed.
Jen snapped out of her trance, blinked away tears. “Totally!”
“That fight was batshit bonkers amazing!”
“Jordana!” Uncle Anthony chided.
Jordana tilted her chin in defiance. “You know I’m right, Papa.”
Uncle Anthony caved and chuckled at the TV. “The city owes that new hero big time.”
Aunt Cecilia wasn’t as complimentary. “Those Elite pendejos confirmed what I’ve been saying, Anthony.” She was on her feet. “San Miguel isn’t safe.”
Jordana opened her mouth to protest.
“Not again, Mama.” But the pushback wasn’t from her. Rory and Roland huddled by the base of the staircase, granting easy TV viewing.
“You…!” Auntie Cecilia barked. “Why aren’t you upstairs!”
Roland shrugged unapologetically. “We had to watch the end!”
Rory pointed at his mother. “You loved it, Mama. We saw!”
“If you don’t get to your room…” she warned, chasing the twins upstairs.
Uncle Anthony, Jen, and Jordana were excitedly discussing the battle.
Quinn attempted to stand. But several days of physical and emotional exhaustion struck at once. She sank with a moan.
Uncle Anthony and Jordana rushed to her side. “What’s wrong sweetie?” Her uncle held her.
Jen watched in concern as Jordana chimed in. “The city’s safe, thanks to the new guy.”
“That hero…” Quinn felt so tired, struggling to gather strength. “He’s my friend.”
A quick look found Jen slaw-jawed and wide-eyed.
“For serious?!” Jordana exclaimed.
Uncle Anthony was equally stunned, helping Quinn up. “Which hero don’t you know?”
Jordana's eyes grew thoughtful. “I gotta talk to Bogie. He’s a superhero encyclopedia.” She grimaced, recalling something. “J-Tom? You were gonna tell me something about Bogota earlier?”
Quinn’s blood ran cold.
Jen was a deer in headlights. “Just…” She glanced at Quinn. “We're both done with Spencer. Permanently.”
Quinn relaxed. Her cousin didn’t know.
“Oh…” Jordana brightened. “Definitely calling him now.” She ran for the stairs.
Uncle Anthony patted Quinn’s cheek. “I’ll calm your auntie down.” He followed his daughter.
Jen followed him, until Quinn caught her arm. The girl stiffened.
Quinn waited until they were alone downstairs. “I don’t know how you know,” she spoke with low menace, “but you won't tell Jordana or anyone else. Do you understand?”
“Yes!” Jen squeaked.
“Do you fucking understand?”
“I'll never betray him.” Jen was shaking all over. But her gaze remained steady.
Strangely, Quinn believed her. She let go. Jen darted upstairs as fast as her long legs could move.
A buzz startled Quinn out of her rage. She found a mass email from Jono McGowan with assignments. Quinn was to cover ground zero, getting interviews. Colin and Shelley were already heading there.
“I gotta go work,” Quinn shouted upstairs to her family, then headed for the door.
On the Uber ride downtown, Therese texted.
TL: You safe?
Quinn’s heart warmed.
ME: Yes. You?
TL: Tres bonne, petite chère.
ME: Where’s the rest of The Vanguard?
Therese’s replies provided grisly updates.
Vulcan, battered but alive. Sentinel, legs shattered. Without that enhanced physique, he’d be dead. Seraph, various injuries and burns. Robbie Rocket, spinal injury. Wyldcat, dead.
“Jesus…” Quinn remarked. Poor Wyldcat's death struck painfully as she texted back.
ME: And Aegis?
The minute that passed before Therese replied tripled Quinn’s chances of a heart attack.
TL: Unsure. I’ll be in touch.
Quinn frowned at the non-answer. Worst-case scenarios filled her brain. Was Hugo in a coma? Dead?
But Quinn had little time to nurse her fears. Her driver reached downtown briskly, somehow avoided most of the standstill traffic. Quinn thanked him effusively, planning to write the best review.
The next several hours were nonstop interviews in the downtown corridor. Quinn had spoken to so many people, the interviews blurred together. No sympathy lived in her for any Paxton-Brandt employee.
Hours later, she reached SLOCO Daily’s offices to find journalists running about like their hair was ablaze. She then got sucked into countless meetings while churning out articles. No sleep, some food. Nonstop work, work, work with so much to report. The Vanguard’s and The Elite’s downfalls. San Miguel's new savior. Downtown’s damage. Wyldcat’s death. Paxton-Brandt’s unethical experimentation.
Early next afternoon, Quinn found a couple free hours before another meeting. She snuck into an empty office, locked the door, and curled up on the couch.
A cellphone ring rudely interjected.
“Motherfrakk!” Annoyed, Quinn almost sent the call to voicemail.
Seeing the BLOCKED ID, she hurriedly accepted. “Hello?” Her voice was throatier than expected.
“Quinn.” The guttural voice electric-shocked her into sitting position.
“Geist.” She scanned the room for eavesdroppers before continuing. “Are you and Longshadow okay?”
“We survived,” the Midnight Son replied, chatty as ever.
“And Hugo?”
“Alive. And recovering.”
Geist’s answer, subtly tender, struck Quinn in the gut. Hugo was okay.
“Thank God.” This time, Quinn wept tears of joy.
Chapter 55
“You’re kidding?”
Greyson blinked from Alonzo’s loud reaction after his recap. “Wish I was. Rikki betrayed us.” Loathing boiled at even thinking about that rancid creature. He clutched his cellphone tight. “I watched her shoot Saed dead.”
Greyson leaned on the balcony of the rental villa that Hernando had loaned him and Connie. It was easy to get lost staring at a lush blanket of Yucatan jungle. A blocky Mayan pyramid loomed in the distance, silhouetted by the burning sun. Not Chitzen Itza. One of the others Greyson couldn’t name offhand.
“God.” Alonzo’s grief was an open wound. “I’ve known them for years. How could she?”
Greyson shrugged, uninterested in overthinking. “Guess she hated me that much.”
“Did you kill her?” Alonzo sounded cold and clipped, like a switch had been flipped.
“Delgado did. One to the dome.”
“Good,” Alonzo remarked with the same detachment, then changed topics. “Great work on Diablo.”
Greyson smiled. Finally, a topic he enjoyed. “It was a pleasure.”
“When you return to Nicaragua,” Alonzo continued, “we can discuss more jobs.”
Greyson flinched. After his and Connie’s work for the cartel, money wouldn’t be an issue for a while. “Probably not. Time to move on.”
“To rid the world of superheroes,” Alonzo scoffed but wasn't mad. “Well, you’ve lost two targets.”
Greyson disliked his tone. “Meaning?”
“You didn't hear?” Alonzo laughed. “The Elite destroyed The Vanguard!”
Greyson straightened, overwhelmingly stunned. “What?”
“Yeah,” Alonzo continued. “Wyldcat’s dead. Robbie Rocket’s crippled. Then The Elite got curbstomped to hell by some random newbie.”
“Who?”
“No idea,” Alonzo replied unhelpfully. “It’s a crazy mess.”
After finishing the call, Greyson strolled inside to find Connie lounging across their king-sized bed. Her ravenous grin stirre
d the loins. A satiny bedsheet was all she wore.
Greyson savored the view before speaking. “You hear about this Elite defeating Vanguard?”
Connie nodded, tugging Greyson by the waist into bed. “I’m not surprised about The Elite breaking bad.” She considered him eagerly. “Anyways...” She snuck in a kiss. Then another.
Greyson reluctantly pulled away. “Anyways…” He chuckled, which made Connie giggle. “Let’s not do long-distance again.” His heart hadn’t felt whole in her absence.
Connie wrinkled her nose. “I wasn’t a fan either.” She traced a gentle finger across the stitches on his cheek where Tom had sliced him. That death stung more than the wound. And Izzie…
Greyson turned away from the pain, heat shooting up his chest. “You were almost too convincing.” Part of him had started believing that Connie had flipped for real.
“Had to,” Connie admitted. “Or I'd still be in jail. They needed to think I’d betrayed you.” She grinned.
“Hmmm.” Greyson preferred to relish her body than reflect.
Connie guided his gaze to her, no longer smiling. “What about Lauren being alive?”
Greyson’s stomach clenched. He should’ve known that was coming. He considered his next words. “Part of me will always love Laurie. Knowing she’s alive…makes me happy.” No longer carrying the burden of her death had buoyed his soul in too many ways to verbalize. Greyson looked deep into Connie’s eyes. “You’re my today, my tomorrow, and every day after.”
Connie beamed, pinning him to the bed with excited kisses.
Greyson happily lost himself between her thighs a fifth time today.
Sharp knocking at the door interrupted. The pair disentangled. Greyson tensed in alarm. Few people knew they were in the Yucatan.
Connie wrapped herself in a robe. Greyson threw on pants and answered.
Hernando Delgado stood at the door in an impeccable tan suit, hair slicked back. Behind him were half a dozen armed guards.
The Delgado cartel's new leader had certainly adjusted to his role, exuding a detached façade.
Greyson nodded. “El Patron.” He stood aside to let Hernando in.
The cartel leader waved off the pleasantries. He greeted Connie cordially, kissing her hand like a gentleman.