Allied: A Superhero Reverse Harem Romance (The PTB Alliance Book 3)

by Katelyn Beckett

  "We can't possibly allow you to go running around like this. You'll stay here in recovery, especially while we get those psychic powers under control," Mom said, all but floating over to me. She took my hands in hers and continued. "And you can settle on one of these nice young boys you've come to like so much. Not the Reed boy, of course. But perhaps the doctor, now, he'd make a perfectly fine catch."

  "Nate's a nurse and part-time EMT, Mom. He's not a doc-"

  "Close enough," she snapped.

  That time, I did roll my eyes. "It's a completely different thing and what you want doesn't really bother me. I'm leaving within the next ten minutes one way or another. I'll submit myself for whatever psychic bullshittery you people want to put me through after I get back, but we all know I'm not one of you."

  But God, I wanted to be. There was a flicker of hope that just wouldn't die. What if I had finally Awakened? What if I was on my way to becoming the greatest Psychic superhero that had ever lived? Finally, I'd be worthy of my family. I'd be worthy of being a -Clark-, and maybe I'd get some stuff changed around here.

  If I really were a Psychic, shouldn't I have been able to pull myself out of the Dream?

  I didn't dare ask that question. If my parents figured out that they were wrong, they'd probably go back to practically shunning me again. And though I was loathe to admit it, it was incredibly nice to have their attention even if it was just for a little while. I hadn't had any other siblings, but they'd always found other ways to shuttle me off to the side when I'd been a kid. They'd mentored my cousins and other Psychic kids that turned up. They had found ways to tell me that I hadn't mattered as much as other things.

  Yes, there'd always been food on the table. I'd always had clothes on my back. But it was a benevolent sort of neglect that haunted me throughout my early years and had left me feeling a little bit jealous of those cousins when I was around them.

  Allison hadn't been the worst, but she'd certainly been pretty far down my shitlist.

  My phone rang again. I recognized Adam's ringtone and sighed, getting to my feet. "I'm sorry. I just have to go. I'll try to make it make sense in the near future."

  And I walked out on my parents without another word.

  If you've never done that, you don't know how anxious it makes you. When you're young, you get the feeling that your parents can move mountains. That's awe-inspiring, but also kind of terrifying. It's why kids hide things from their parents, avoid talking about stuff with them; because if they don't approve or if you really fucked up, you're pretty certain that you could have that mountain dropped on your fucking head.

  I called a taxi to Harcourt Mall and arrived a scant few moments later. I could have run it, but I was tired, sore, and stressed out. The cab dropped me off at the food court entrance, but I walked around the back and saw no one present.

  "Adam?"

  His head popped out from behind the dumpsters, his face swollen as if someone had kicked his ass. And maybe they had. It wasn't like him to call me to come rescue him. We were partners, lovers, boyfriend and girlfriend, and I was happy to do it. But Adam was the kind of guy who liked to do things himself and, the longer I stood there, the more I realized how weird it was.

  "I'm not okay, Cass."

  I went to him, because that's what friends do. More importantly, it's what lovers -should- do. The dumpsters were scentless, having long since been left to rust to pieces behind the abandoned theater. I sat down beside him, careful not to cut myself on the broken glass. It was clear that whoever had been drinking in this hidden nook, smashing bottles had been their favorite pastime. Idiots.

  Adam wrapped his arms around me and clung to me. "We have to get out. We have to get out of here before it's too late. I have to run, Cassie. I have to run and I have to run. I have to run."

  I ran my fingers through his dark, silky hair and to try to calm him. His voice shook like a leaf in a hurricane and he was repeating himself. My man smelled like a distillery and I felt his emotions ping throughout my body. And I was thoroughly unprepared for what I felt, what I instinctively knew was going on inside of him. Adam was terrified.

  "What scared you so bad?" I whispered.

  He shook his head. "Allison's still inside me. I killed her. I killed her but she won't die. God, I killed someone and I wanted to. I wanted to do it so bad and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Something's wrong with me. I'm going to Thomaston. They have doctors at the PTB Alliance building over there, ones that can fix your brain when it gets all messed up. I'm going to Thomaston and then they'll put me somewhere where I'm safe."

  My third cousin worked at Thomaston as one of those doctors and that was exactly what he did. He worked with superheroes after they'd experienced trauma, the sort that left a stain on your psyche. And all he did was gently remove it, tuck it into the back of your mind so you'd be able to cope with it. He was a few years older than me, but we'd been good friends growing up.

  "I'll get you to James if you can just slow down a little bit. We can get you back into the building here, report the murder to Scribe," I said.

  Adam shuddered. "Scribe knows. He covered it up for me, said that I owed him for it and that I was supposed to meet him for something secret tomorrow morning. You don't have to come with me. I can go alone. I can walk a really long way."

  He sounded like a child bragging about a stick that they'd found on the ground; the biggest stick in the world. I kissed his forehead and held him as best I could. It was like trying to hug an elephant, but I still tried. "I'm coming with you and I'll let the others know. You come home with me, okay? We'll do it quietly and we'll get out of there before anyone knows we've been in. Maybe Edwin will let us borrow is car."

  What was I pledging myself to? Adam was a murderer with no real cause to have done it, not if Scribe had covered it up. And what the hell was going on there? He wasn't supposed to do things like that, even if it was for the benefit of the Alliance. That wasn't his job.

  But it was someone's I was close to.

  "Hold on a second," I told him, dialing Nate.

  There was a brief pause, and then, "Hey. Your parents are going nuts because you left. You okay?"

  "For now, but Adam's not. You know anything about that?"

  Another pause. "I've heard a couple of rumors wandering around the building but nothing solid. Do I need to know what's going on?"

  "Yeah. You do. Can you meet me in my room in the next hour? Or are you out on the ambulance?"

  He snorted. "For you, Cassie, the world."

  And then he hung up. I looked back at Adam and nodded. "We sneak in through the roof, if you're up for a flight."

  "I'll do what I can," Adam said, idly wiping his nose.

  His sleeve came away soaked with blood, as if he'd dipped it in red paint. I gasped and turned on my phone's flashlight, grabbing his chin to look him over. His face wasn't just dark with punishment, it was covered in crimson. If that nosebleed was any indication, he'd been damn near hemorrhaging for the past however long.

  Nate would know what to do with him better than I would, but I still pinched his nose and made him tip his head back.

  "That's completely pointless," he said, his voice stilted.

  I shuddered. "It's all I can do. You aren't flying. I'll hotwire something and the Alliance can just pay for it later. You'll die if you take off."

  "Pronbab-bee," Adam shrugged.

  I left him there to try to stem the flow while I headed back around to the food court entrance. Due to the recent outbreak of horrors against the poor mall, Harcourt had seen fewer customers than usual. The news had been trying to encourage people to visit, but it clearly wasn't working. A dozen cars sat in the parking lot, most of them older than I was.

  That would play to my strengths. I'd had hotwiring class a long time ago and it had primarily been on vehicles like those. I approached an old Plymouth and punched myself in the face.

  Look, it isn't as strange as it sounds. I had to build up some pain to do w
hat I needed to do next. I ripped the driver's side door off its hinges and dropped it next to the car. The adrenaline died quickly, leaving me seeing stars that I tried to ignore. Down and under the driver's side, I found the wires I was looking for and began my work, muttering to myself as I went along.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket and I had to nearly break my spine to reach it. "Hello?"

  "Keys to my car under your dresser. Has my apartment in Thomaston's keys on it, too. Edwin and me will meet you there. Love you."

  Nishelle hung up before I could answer her, even so much as to tell her I loved her, too. I let out a sigh, tucked the phone away again, and went back to work. It didn't take me very long; the older vehicles only really need a couple of wires to spark against each other. I slid into the driver's seat, buckled myself in, and drove the car around to meet Adam.

  It took him all of a second to get in. We drove back to the building and I paused. We couldn't get up on the roof from the outside; not unless we had one hell of a set of climbing gear. Somehow, I doubted the owner of the vehicle would be invested in that kind of hobby.

  The second possibility was to go right through the front lobby, but that was possibly suicide. Truth be told, I thought my way through the manners in which Scribe could have us all killed if he wanted to. It wouldn't take much to rationalize it to the press. I was a convicted, former murderer and it didn't matter to the press that Nishelle had returned. Adam's prints would turn up on Allison's neck and, well, if Nate went down with us, that was just one more tragedy that the Alliance could play up to help its reputation.

  I imagined it. The newspapers splashed with our corpses, all about bemoaning the sorrows of the loss of Savage, the tragic turn of Strikeout and Creed. My parents would be interviewed, my family burned to ashes in the public vision for an eternity to come. Or, perhaps not. They'd make a hero out of Allison and that pissed me off so much I couldn't see straight.

  A horrible crunch pulled my attention back to reality. The steering wheel was nothing but a pretzel, wrenched into oblivion by someone who had a terrible temper and no real control over it. Definitely not me, I was totally in control of my absolutely fucked up life.

  "You don't have to come. I can do this."

  I sighed at Adam. "You know I can't just let you go running off into the night. You're perfectly capable, but you aren't... you're sick. I can look at you and tell that. Besides, how am I going to explain it to your sister if you never come back? I'd rather be gone, too."

  That surprised a laugh out of him. It was sick and nasal, due to him continuing to hold his head back and pinch his nose, but it was there.

  I parked in Scribe's designated parking space just to piss him off. I wasn't entirely certain why I was so angry with him, but I was. He was playing some kind of game with Adam, I wasn't positive as to what, but it had to stop. Edwin could play on Scribe's level, Adam couldn't. It wasn't like my boyfriend was stupid, he just didn't do mind games very well.

  We walked into the Alliance building via the parking garage's elevator, using my apartment key to get us to my floor. We'd get what we needed from my room and wait to meet Nate, then head back to Adam's room and get what he needed there. Some small part of me hoped that Nishelle had stopped by my apartment already, gotten what I needed, and carried it along with her and Edwin.

  Nate waited in my room, the television already on. The news, again. He got up and wrapped his arms around me, crushing me to his chest. That couldn't mean anything good.

  "We are saddened to report the villainry of more members of the PTB Alliance tonight. Unfortunately, we have evidence of recently released murderer Strikeout and her partner, Creed, stealing a vehicle from Harcourt Mall. Watch what happens next."

  I slid out of his arms and did as the television told me. All we'd done was drive back to the Alliance building, but that certainly wasn't what was happening on the screen. A perfect imitation of me leaned out the window, cackling as I ran down some innocent person. I hit them like a speedbump and kept on going, driving a heavy duty truck into a department store's entrance. We backed up, shot off toward the streets, and were gone.

  The news continued. "If anyone has spotted these superheroes-turned-villains, we request that they call police before trying to engage them on their own. They are considered armed and dangerous. In our next segment; The PTB Alliance has been compromised multiple times within the past few months. What can you do about it? And what are they doing to prevent it? Right after this."

  A commercial for our action figures came on, but never quite got the chance to finish its sales pitch. I picked up the television, carried it to the window, and dropped it out to the street below. I couldn't change the lies it had shown, but it felt good to do something about it, regardless of how illogical it was.

  "Edwin and Nishelle already left. They grabbed their stuff and some of yours. She told me to have you go through everything before you take off to Thomaston," Nate said.

  I turned to him. "You aren't coming with us?"

  "Someone has to stay and try to stop this from within," he said, drawing me into his arms again. "I'll be there as soon as I can, but I have to do what I can here, first."

  "You're going to kill people," I said, chewing the word in my mouth.

  It was one thing to know what Nate did behind the scenes. It was another to hear him reference it in such a casual way. Yes, I'd accidentally killed people in the past; but we tried to avoid it. Nate had a license to do what was necessary, regardless of the situation. But, to the best of my knowledge, he only killed when he had to, too.

  Nate kissed the top of my head. "I'm going to do whatever it takes to prevent the Alliance from falling apart."

  I could nearly smell the blood on his hands.

  Chapter 4

  I gathered what I needed; mostly mementos that had been stored away when I'd been in prison, spare clothes, and my suit. Sure, I was pretty unstoppable as it was, but I needed to be at the top of my game. My suit made me pretty much bulletproof, fire resistance, and, most importantly, relatively resistant to electrical shocks.

  Zaps were illegal. When Izzy had tossed Scribe, a man who had been able to make things happen with a little ink and a couple of pages, into an electrical substation it had scrambled his abilities. He no longer re-wrote reality how he saw it; he was stuck with powers of electrical manipulation.

  The irony was that he was one of the ones who had helped to make Zaps illegal in the first place. Apparently, my sweet cousin Allison had been a Zap, too. She'd had the psychic powers that made her a golden girl in my parents' eyes, but the electrical manipulation hadn't been something I was aware of until recently.

  Maybe the electricity had fried her brain and that was why we were where we were. Allison, alias Dreamweaver, was the root cause of all my problems since my return. She was the problem that had ruined Adam and she'd nearly gotten his sister killed. That wasn't particularly surprising. Isabella and Adam Reed were likely to never hear the end of it if their parents got wind of them being friendly, in one way or another, with a Clark like me.

  The two families had been fighting for generations to be the top superhero family in the PTB Alliance. Our family trees were simply enormous, constantly breeding more and more superheroes to try to beat the other group out. That meant that we turned out a few powerless people every now and then.

  And I had to admit, that would have been preferable to the absolute insanity I was going through now. Again, I was being chased from my home. Again, I was being thrown out on the street to fend for myself because the Alliance couldn't keep itself put together.

  Or ours couldn't, anyway. With thousands of locations around the world, I supposed that there were probably some that weren't run by such a fuck up like Scribe.

  Even as I thought it, I knew that someone else was in my head. I wrinkled my nose at the weird feeling of invasion. Like someone dripping water in your ear to wake you up at night, the sensation never quite went away. Maybe my parents were right. />
  Of course they were. Better than my parents, for certain. Aunt Linda and Uncle Robb? Never made their way out of the smalltime fights. You had all the power in the world, all the privilege, and what happens? Your powers Awaken when you're old and dried up, a cinder of a person with no real future left. The world just isn't the most rational place, but I do like seeing you suffer.

  I sighed at Allison's telepathy and briefly wondered how many other Psychics had left behind such a mouthy imprint. Those with powers in my family had created a sort of telepathic network to speak through, but until now? I'd never heard anyone. I tried to think back at her. You were much less annoying when you were alive.

  You know I have your boyfriend under my thumb?