by C. C. Ekeke
Sione tensed and held AJ in his arms. “Sorry, Junior. Something came up.” He threw a salty look at Hugo, who didn’t even pretend to care.
Mom noticed the exchange. “Sione.” She shook her head, handing back his check. “My home is yours as long as you need. And this money—”
“—is yours.” Sione closed his sister’s hand. “I won’t need it anymore.” Goodbyes were exchanged. Sione simply shook Hugo’s hand, stone-faced, gathered his bags, and left once the Uber arrived.
AJ raced upstairs without a word. It grated on Hugo’s soul hearing sobs from inside his brother’s bedroom. He’d let him cool off before ap-proaching.
Mom sat on the bottom of the stairs, openly angry. “What did you do?”
“I forced Sione out.” Hugo saw no point hiding it.
Mom sprang up. For an instant Hugo thought she might slap him. “Why?”
“Sione was gonna launder money,” he replied. “Funded with your donation and have AJ work for him.”
That doused ice water on Mom’s fury. “How would you know that?”
“A good source,” Hugo said with a heavy heart. Not for Sione’s departure, but the effect on his family. “Uncle Sione hasn’t changed. He’s still a burning building. Grab your shit and run like hell.”
Mom swayed a bit before slumping back on the steps. “I’m sorry.” She lifted her head, looking wiped. “I shouldn’t have put you in this position, Bogota.”
Hugo wasn’t upset with her. “He’s your brother. Of course, you’ll want to see the best in him.” He crouched to meet Mom’s sad eyes. “With everything you do for AJ and me, protecting you is the least I can do.” He kissed Mom’s forehead. “Love you.”
His mother’s eyes glistened from unshed tears. “Love you, Bogota.” She drew him into her arms.
A few hours later, Hugo was in one of Geist’s safehouses. He stood behind the vigilante’s hacker, Clint, with his seven huge computer screens and a motherload of footage. “Holy crap!” Hugo exclaimed.
“I know.” Clint leaned back in his seat with a self-satisfied smirk. “It’s crazy the spaces he fit into.” For two days, Clinton had run search algorithms to find any footage featuring the liger as Hugo had meticulously described. They now watched videos of the liger slipping in and out of underground locations near where kidnapped students had last been seen. The hacker handed Hugo a silvery flash drive with all the video.
Hugo excitedly pocketed the drive. “This narrows down where I need to look. Thank you.”
“Always.” Clint fist-bumped with Hugo, wincing from extra-durable knuckles.
“Let Geist’s cop contacts see that, too,” Hugo added, drawing Clint’s surprise. The cops needed to assist here. Though Hugo really wanted to find Mister Quiet first. He turned to go but remembered one more thing. “Thanks for the dirt on my uncle,” he intoned darkly.
Clinton nodded, hands behind his head. “Having skeevy relatives sucks. And your uncle’s a bad dude! No offense.”
Hugo made a face. “None taken.” Driving Sione away held little triumph. As he headed down a corridor for the safehouse exit, Hugo ran into Longshadow. She’d pulled back her mask and hood after returning from a patrol, twirling her bow expertly.
“Hey, Bogie,” she greeted brightly and ran fingers through her wavy, tousled bob.
“Hey, Reese.” Hugo and Longshadow high-fived. “Where’s your guy?”
The lithe archer rolled her eyes. “Geist’s following some lead he’s not sharing. As usual.” She pushed her frustration down quickly. “Get what you needed from Clinton?”
Hugo nodded. “Yup.”
She looked pleased. “Happy hunting, mon ami.” She kept walking.
“Same to you, mon chere,” Hugo replied, knowing Longshadow was right. This was a hunt. But now Quiet Man and his minion were the prey.
Chapter 29
“Indefinitely?” Quinn scratched the back of her neck. She was currently at her Aunt Cecilia and Uncle Alonzo’s house for dinner, seated with her cousins Jordana, Rory, and Roland.
After the Paso High bombing, Quinn had spent two nights there while interviewing Missy Magnificent during the day. “The school district doesn’t know how long Paso High will be shut down?”
Jordana shrugged. “Until campus gets cleaned up and the bomber’s caught.” She wore a blue-and-white Paso High varsity hoodie, hair piled atop her head.
After seeing images of the devastated school, Quinn understood why Paso High wasn’t rushing to reopen. It was a miracle only two kids had died. Thanks to Hugo... Quinn realized. The Samoan teen had said the suicide bomber was a student forced into this by a repulsive monster.
Quinn shuddered. “Has schoolwork been cancelled?”
“I wish,” Jordana grumbled, scowling at her brothers’ teasing. “Our teachers still email our homework. It’s like online school.”
“Our school shut down, too.” Rory smiled, scratching his contoured afro.
Roland cheered until his mother flashed a withering look at both boys. “Don’t celebrate that!” Aunt Cecilia’s fiery rebuke brought out her Dominican-Bronx accent. “Two innocent souls never get to learn again!”
The eleven-year-old twins stared at the table, chastened. The mood grew so awkwardly muted, even Quinn felt like she’d been lectured. The reporter exchanged a quick sympathy smile with Jordana. Aunt Cecilia, caramel complexioned with dreamy eyes, was a fierce education advocate. Born to Dominican immigrants who’d sacrificed for her to attend college and law school, she drilled that discipline into her children. One of many things Quinn loved about her auntie, besides her delicious sancocho stew.
Cecilia turned to her husband, a hearty man with grey in his beard and slight pudge around his midsection. “San Miguel’s getting so dangerous,” she griped. “First superhumans treating the city like a WWE ring. Now schools aren’t safe? We were safer in New York.”
Quinn panicked...loudly. Jordana, Rory, and Roland also shouted their displeasure. The City of Wonder had been their home for five years.
Alonzo placed a calming hand on his wife’s knee. “Everyone, relax. No one’s leaving San Miguel.”
Quinn nodded enthusiastically. “Good. Besides, who will feed me?” That drew laughs around the table.
“You’ve gathered a second family out here, Quinn,” Aunt Cecilia replied between giggles. “Like your friend, Annie.”
“Right…” Quinn fought to keep smiling. After a few texts checking on Jordana, Annie had gone silent again. What was going on with her?
“What’s Missy Magnificent like?” Jordana inquired, her smile revealing white teeth.
“Missy?” Quinn steered her thoughts to another sore topic. She’d held her tongue about Missy until now. “She's very charming. Tries hard. But Missy’s an insecure train wreck.”
Uncle Alonzo snorted. Rory and Roland howled.
Jordana clapped eagerly. “God, this must be like an Extreme Dreams livestream,” she gushed, eager for gossip. “What about Missy’s loser husband?”
Quinn rolled her eyes. She kept any Montgomery Major discussion brief. “Still a loser. But…” Quinn touched on a topic her cousins would enjoy. “I interviewed a few Extreme Teens. Like Blur.”
“Oh my GOD!” Jordana squealed.
“What?” Rory and Roland cried, besides themselves.
As her cousins clamored for details, Quinn chuckled at her aunt’s reaction. “See what you brought into this house?” she mock-scolded.
After dinner, Quinn sat cross-legged on the guestroom bed, catching up on work emails. The Buchanans had retired to their rooms, falling into nightly routines. With Helena’s permission, Quinn had skipped Missy Magnificent’s late-night patrol to spend time with her relatives. Auntie Cecilia and Uncle Alonzo wore fantastic poker faces in front of the kids, but the school bombing had really rattled them. The least Quinn could do was stay close, be supportive.
She texted with Colin about filming Missy’s evening patrol.
Colin: Boring
. Missy signed autographs, posed for selfies and went home afterward.
Colin: Jess RP stuck to your questions.
The less Quinn thought about Jess Richardson-Palmer the better. Remembering her about to bang Packer still left the reporter ill.
And Missy had clearly heard Quinn’s advice. Three nights straight with no barhopping after her patrols. That still left the mystery of who was puppeteering Missy’s opponents. Quinn planned to investigate Montgomery Major’s superhero management firm, Super Solutions—a name as lame as the owner.
ME: Thanks for taking over.
Colin: NP. Is Jordana okay?
ME: Fine but shaken up.
Colin: Should I come over? I’m a great listener.
Quinn cringed. Colin had provided a great friend, among other things. But since staying at her aunt and uncle, a human binky to sleep was unnecessary. Plus, her interest in Colin was waning. But how could she convey this without being an A-hole?
ME: At my aunt & uncle’s again. See you tomorrow.
She stashed her cell, about to review Colin’s uploaded footage of today’s interview/patrol. Then she spied Jordana outside the door typing on her phone. The glowing screen illuminated frustration on her lovely features. Quinn slapped her laptop shut. “Everything okay, Jo?”
Jordana looked up. “Yeah, yeah.” She entered the bedroom. “My friend Spencer finally answered my texts. She’s with another of her boytoy randoms.”
Quinn frowned, trying to recall Spencer among Jordana’s friends. “Is she the ginger or Ms. ‘The Sex?’”
Jordana flung a bed pillow at her. “You’re so stupid!”
Quinn laughed, dodging the pillow. “I know. I’m a child.” She patted a spot beside herself. “How’s Brie?”
Jordana rounded the bed to sit next to her. “She got discharged today. The squad’s taking her to dinner tomorrow.”
Quinn wasn't expecting that. “You two are talking again?”
Jordana nodded. “We’re trying to fix things.” Her face grew emotional.
Quinn winced, knowing what that meant for Jordana’s love life. “Then you and the boy are done?”
Her cousin pulled out her hairband, silky ebony waves spilling down her shoulder. “It’s for the best.” Then she started to cry. “I’m a shitty friend.”
“Jo…” Quinn went into den mother mode, drawing the sobbing girl into her arms. “That’s not true!”
“It’s true,” Jordana moaned and lowered her hands. “I stopped being friends with Abby after she fucked DeDamien. Then I do the same to Brie.”
“Brie wasn’t dating the boy,” Quinn countered.
Jordana rejected any sympathy. “I knew they had some weird relationship.” A shuddering sob seized her. “The night before the bombing, I’m at Apple Farm with my softball team. Jen shows up with Brie, who wants to apologize. I didn’t want her there. Suddenly we’re arguing, then brawling…I punched Brie in the face.” Jordana flinched from the memory. “Then she and the boy almost die in that library.”
Quinn went ramrod stiff. Hugo had been in the library. “Your boy was in the library with Brie?” So much had happening these past few months, Quinn had shelved her suspicions over the identity of Jordana’s boytoy. Better not be Hugo. Jordana wouldn’t become part of his crazy life. “Was he hurt?”
Jordana, oblivious to Quinn’s suspicions, shook her head and sniffled. “Thankfully not. I felt like I’d been shot when I heard him and Brie were in the library.” The teen leaned on Quinn. Confusion dominated her face. “There were over twenty people in the library when the bomb exploded. They all said the doors were locked.”
Quinn knew Hugo had broken the door open. Hopefully no one had seen him. “How’d they escape?”
“Everyone said the explosion threw them from the library,” Jordana replied. “Which makes no sense. But the boy and Brie were in the back of the library, the explosion didn’t reach them.” Jordana shook her head as if to jar loose better explanations.
Quinn probed further, unable to resist. “Okay, what’s this boy’s name?”
Jordana looked ready to deflect. Then she rolled her eyes. “Bogota.”
“Bogota?” Not what Quinn had expected. It’s not Hugo. She hid her relief behind snark. “I’m guessing his sister’s named Cartagena?”
“Smart-ass.” Jordana slapped her arm and smirked. “He was born there.”
The two cousins spoke a little longer. Jordana gabbed blandly about a boy named Brent who liked her. Soon, she was drooping over her own knees, half-asleep.
“Either you’re tired or Brent is beyond boring,” Quinn commented. She guided her cousin onto the guest bed and tucked her in. Jordana immediately curled up and passed out.
Poor girl, Quinn realized. Her cousin had endured a chaotic week. Quinn went to the living room to make follow-up calls with local business Junction owners. Most were closed, but her aim was to see if Missy Magnificent’s patronage had improved business.
After six stores on her list either didn’t answer or hung up, Fry’s Cleaners finally answered.
“Hello, Mr. Hamza. This is Quinn Bauer with SLOCO Daily.” She settled down on the couch and started taking notes on her laptop. “Do you have time to talk about how Missy Magnificent’s presence has helped your business?”
“Not a good time, Ms. Bauer.” The older man’s reply was gruff.
Quinn stiffened but remained professional. “Sorry. Is tomorrow better?”
“Might not be open tomorrow,” he threw back angrily. “my store gets damaged by some Missy battle, and the superhuman disaster insurance premiums skyrocket.” Hamza swore in what sounded like Arabic. “Now I can barely afford to keep this store open.”
Sorrow filled Quinn at this man’s bad luck. “Sorry to hear that, Hamza.”
“Now I’ll end up out of business like these other stores.”
Quinn paused at the off-the-cuff remark. “What other places?”
Hamza grunted impatiently. “Other businesses in The Junction trashed in these superhuman battles are in the same boat.” Bitterness colored his tone.
Quinn narrowed her eyes. Was this a coincidence? “You all have the same provider?”
“Yes.”
“One last thing, sir,” Quinn requested, typing away. “Who was that provider and those other businesses?” Luckily, Hamza provided all the businesses he could think of before ending the call.
Quinn found five businesses with the same superhero disaster coverage.
Ultimax Insurance. Quinn felt a tickle in her skull. “I’ve seen that name before.” She pulled up the sponsors list for the Missy profile.
Ultimax, the largest of Montgomery Major’s chosen Junction spon-sors. Quinn scoured her list for the businesses that Hamza had listed, finding none.
Dread pooled in Quinn’s stomach. “Definitely not a coincidence.”
Dread pooled in Quinn’s stomach. “Definitely not a coincidence.”
Chapter 30
Greyson slept terribly the night before the journey to Bellazul. Since becoming Lady Thuraya’s boytoy, her appetite had been a welcome distraction. Greyson didn’t realize how much until she never came to bed that night.
Lauren featured prominently in his dreams, her features pale and rotting as she faded away in his arms. She then bled into Connie and her devastated face the last time Greyson had seen her. Even more stinging was Richard St. Pierre, aka the Hurricane, handsome and noble even when pleading for his salvation. “You can still be a good man…”
The blinding flash of his death jolted Greyson awake.
So much blood on his hands. And now Greyson had been tasked to kill again.
The following day he was on a private bus traversing jungles and mountains across Amarantha. And Bellazul lived up to its name. A city of marble atop lush mountains, surrounded by frothing waterfalls and viewpoints to anywhere on the island. Inside Bellazul’s walls were European-styled marketplaces and winding roads bustling with activity. The buildings had a mor
e rounded architecture save the odd blocky Paxton-Brandt tower in the city center. A single river ran through the city, crystal-blue and snake-like.
Those glimpses were small pleasures while driving through the city. Greyson mostly sat hunched, dreading his new assignment.
Meanwhile, Rodrigo grew happier. “Can’t wait,” he said, a twinkle in his dark eyes. “Things will get much better after we deal with the Perez family!” His enthusiasm for slaughter put Greyson off considerably. He ignored Rodrigo for most of the trip, staring out the windows.
Lord Gaspar, Lady Martine, and Lady Thuraya took the lead transport, their younger children back in Dourado. Solomon Shen, aka Skylord, Scorcher, and other champions rode in a separate bus.
The three Carneiros arrived at Azure Plaza, the hub of Bellazul’s politics. Citizens crowded a plaza cordoned off by security and barriers, angling to glimpse at Dourado royalty. Greyson then saw Lady Nadia Perez and her heir, Landon. Greyson jerked back. Despite her jewels and fancy raiment, Lady Nadia looked like a walking sofa, homely and pug-faced. According to Rodrigo, her husband had died from a mysterious swimming accident. He’d been an Olympic-level swimmer since childhood.
Nadia’s son, Lt. Commander Landon Perez, was fleshy and not attractive. But the Bellazul heir was well-built in his black-and-crimson military regalia with buzzcut red hair. The meeting between House Carneiro and House Pérez was awash with pageantry. The families exchanged greetings, posing for photos and videos that would circulate around the island all day. Lord Gaspar’s tight half-smile barely lightened his stern face. Lady Martine and Lady Nadia got on like old friends. Lady Thuraya turned on the charm with Landon Perez. With some sultry looks and lively laughs at his bad jokes, Thuraya reduced the heir of Bellazul to putty.
“She’s good,” Greyson whispered. House Perez had no clue what fate awaited their city. Greyson shivered, turning away.
The Carneiro and Perez families then went off to tour Bellazul, leaving Greyson and Rodrigo to wait.
Hours flew by until night fell. Now Greyson stood beside Rodrigo dressed in what resembled copper pajamas. Within House Perez’s palatial home, Montesur, they stood against a far wall inside a windowless dining room. Lord Gaspar and Lady Martine sat across from Lady Nadia while Thuraya sat on opposing sides with Landon. Eight Perez guards in dark-navy armor ringed the room. No Carneiro guards in sight. A false sense of security for Lady Nadia.