by C. C. Ekeke
Paxton-Brandt’s role made sense: provide funding and legit sheen. But how did Montgomery Major figure into this?
Quinn eyed her laptop clock. Half past six in the morning.
“Wow.” She rubbed her eyes and noticed her grumbling stomach.
While Quinn was cooking scrambled eggs and sausages, the guestroom door creaked open. She stiffened. Annie shuffled into the kitchen, puffy-eyed and wild-haired, definitely hungover. The blue hoodie she wore had Syracuse University across the chest in orange letters, loose and oversized on her tall frame. The hoodie belonged to Colin, an awkward sight for Quinn.
She pushed down her anxieties and smiled. “Hi, sweetie. I made breakfast.”
Annie squinted at the bright kitchen lights and scratched the back of her head. “Water,” she grunted. Quinn grabbed a cup and filled it from her refrigerator water filter. Annie downed the cup in greedy gulps. After that, the two friends sat in the living room eating in silence. Well, Quinn ate. Annie took half a dozen bites before pushing the food around her plate with her fork. The strain between them felt so thick with unresolved issues. Quinn hated it with every cell in her body.
“How’d I get here?” Annie spoke after some time, her voice low and hoarse.
“Lauren told me where you were hiding,” Quinn explained, failing to keep the disappointment from her words. She stacked her utensils on her plate and reached for Annie’s.
Her friend waved away the offer. “How bad?” Her frown deepened.
Quinn cringed, recalling Annie’s reaction when her drinking had been critiqued. But after last night, there was no way to sugarcoat this problem. “We had to carry you out.”
Annie leaned forward, face covered in her hands. “God, I’m so embarrassed.” She let her hands drop, turning to Quinn with a brittle yet appreciative smile. “Thanks for finding me.”
Quinn didn’t smile back. “Johnny told me about the breakup.”
Annie narrowed her eyes warily. “You two are friends again?” she inquired rigidly.
“I guess,” Quinn replied, shrugging. “That’s not what's important right now.” Taking Annie’s hands in her own, Quinn met her gaze without flinching. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest as she spoke. “Giaconda, you have a problem. And it’s gotten out of control.”
Annie straightened, looking ready to shut Quinn out like at Mistura months ago. Then, her shoulders sagged. “I know,” Annie admitted, eyes glistening.
What followed was a long, frank dialogue about Annie’s burdens and issues, especially after Mistura. The best friends went deep, shedding tears, occasionally raising their voices. Quinn listened when Annie poured her heart out over work and family obligations or worries over Quinn's recklessness. Hence Annie's drinking to numb the stress. The latter revelation was a gut-punch to Quinn, who then detailed the worries that she and Johnny shared. Annie agreed most of the time, except about her moneygrubbing family.
“Paying your parents’ debt is one thing,” Quinn stated, giving her friend’s hand an extra squeeze. “But your siblings?” Her anger boiled at anyone taking advantage of Annie. “Time to cut them off. Sorry not sorry.”
Annie was conflicted, slumping onto the couch and running fingers through her messy locks. “They’re family.” Her rebuttal sounded wavering and weak. “I can’t just abandon them.”
Quinn shook her head at the miscommunication. “I’m not saying disown them. But they need to be adults and live within their means with their own money.” It was unfair that Annie doing well meant she had to shoulder her entire family’s financial weight. Quinn drummed her chin, thinking of a more diplomatic way for Annie to cut off these leeching relatives. “Your money shouldn’t be theirs just because you’re related.”
Understanding filled Annie’s lovely face. Her shoulders hunched a little less. “Johnny says that.”
“Johnny’s right,” Quinn threw back, arms spread.
“He’s been so patient,” Annie admitted, haunted and pale. “I didn’t want to breakup. But life has been…suffocating.” She clutched her head as if to tear her hair out. “When he started lecturing me over the Irish coffee, I just snapped!”
“Everything’s a lot right now,” Quinn sighed, parroting Helena from last night.
Fresh tears sparkling in Annie's eyes. “I’m so in love with him, Quinnie,” she confessed huskily. “How could he take me back after I was such an asshole?”
“What do you see when you look at him?” Quinn probed.
Annie wiped her tears and stared off at some horizon only she could glimpse. “A house filled with laughter. A shared passionate life. A family.” Annie smiled peacefully. “I see my forever.”
As Quinn suspected. She smacked Annie on the forehead, startling her. “Then swallow your pride and get your man, Giaconda!” Another important note bubbled up. “And please, please see someone about your drinking.”
Annie sniffled. “I will.” Her eyes widened in awareness. “I need to grab my shit from Archipelago and get to work.”
Quinn glanced at her watch. Ten minutes past seven. “Right!”
The two friends stood and embraced for several minutes. Delicious warmth seeped through Quinn’s skin.
“Thanks, Quinnie,” Annie murmured. “For being here.”
“Sorry I wasn’t here sooner.” Quinn held Annie tighter. “Won’t happen again.”
A sharp knock jolted them apart. The pair eyed the door. “Early morning booty call?” Annie asked.
Quinn scowled at her. “Stay here.” She reached under her couch, producing a midnight-black shock baton. Housewarming gift from Geist.
Annie’s jaw dropped. “Is that a—?”
“Yes,” Quinn replied curtly and scurried to the door. “Who is it?”
“Bauer? Its Kurt,” a military-like voice announced. “Kaylie’s Kurt.”
Quinn looked into the peephole for confirmation and staggered back several steps. “What the…”
Sentinel. At her apartment. After a long moment, Quinn realized the reason this legend was at her door. She tossed her shock baton to a confused Annie and mouthed who it was.
Annie turned bone-white. “I’m barely dressed!” she whisper-yelled.
“Whose fault is that?” Quinn hissed back, turning to the door. “Hold on!” After undoing three locks, she opened her door.
Sentinel’s six-foot-two inches of chiseled muscle dominated the doorframe, even out of costume. The supersoldier wore a tan leather jacket over a grey shirt with loose blue jeans. His short blond hair wasn’t buzzcut or spiky, styled with minimal product. Quinn found herself giving him a lingering onceover before regaining her wits. “Hi!”
Sentinel’s self-deprecating smile flattered his handsome face with that impossibly square jaw. “Sorry to drop in like this.” His eyes tightened upon noticing Annie. “Oh, you have company.”
Annie, in only an oversized hoodie holding the shock baton, looked ready to jump out of her skin. “I can leave.” She made for the guestroom.
Quinn froze her in place with a stare. “Not happening.” She turned to Sentinel. “Come in, Kurt.”
Annie clumsily placed the baton on the coffee table as Quinn and she sat side by side. Sentinel took the lounge chair, leaning forward. He came off so nervous—in her apartment. Quinn still couldn’t process this.
“I’m in town to speak at a juvenile delinquent center and…” He clasped his hands to stop fidgeting. “I need to talk about Mikaela.”
Knew it. “Sure,” Quinn replied, ignoring Annie’s questioning look.
Sentinel sighed, as if caught stealing from a cookie jar. But Quinn doubted this law-abiding patriot would ever commit such an act. “You know Kaylie and I split up.”
Annie gaped at Quinn, who gave a warning glare. Her friend knew about Seraph and Blur’s affair while Kurt didn’t. Quinn planned to keep it that way. “Mikaela told me.”
Kurt nodded and continued. “We’ve had rough patches before. But after the Titan and Morningstar scan
dal, things imploded. With the avalanche of bad press, sponsors cutting ties, Ray leaving, Robbie’s rebelliousness, Wyldcat’s slow-moving self-destruction.” Bitterness laced those indictments. “Then there's leading Vanguard and saving the world. I’m barely keeping above water.”
His blue eyes, usually so alert, held a fatigue Quinn hadn’t seen before. “I knew Kaylie felt neglected. But I’d been telling her that would change when things calm down. Then, Kaylie dumps me out of nowhere!” He sat up, sounding defiant. “She says there’s no room in my world for her anymore besides being a teammate. Doesn’t she understand everything I’m facing?”
Quinn kept her expression blank listening to this bullheaded alpha used to everyone following his orders unquestionably. “Kurt,” she interjected as Sentinel kept ranting. “May I speak?”
He swallowed his knee-jerk annoyance and gestured at Quinn. “Please. It’s why I’m here.”
“I get everything is happening at once,” Quinn began. “But remember saying that Seraph is your MVP?”
Sentinel furrowed his brow while fishing for the memory. “Yes…” He smiled after a moment. “Kaylie’s still my MVP.”
“That’s the problem,” Quinn replied. “She needs to be your partner, not just an important player.”
Sentinel was lost. “She is…” He flinched, visibly pained. “Was my partner.”
“Your partner in everything.” Quinn pointed at him to drive home her argument. While she pitied Sentinel, his mindset had driven Seraph into the arms of another guy. And ultimately away from him. “Share each other’s burdens. Be a team within the team.”
Annie gripped Quinn’s shoulder with a questioning look. The reporter nodded for her to chime in.
“Don’t say you love her once in a while or on anniversaries,” Annie said. “Don’t change things to win her back and then return to status quo after a few weeks.” Her eyes grew unfocused as she no doubt pondered her own messy relationship. “Tell her in little or big ways. With words and actions.” Annie’s gaze refocused on Sentinel. “Every. Day.”
Quinn grinned proudly, rubbing her friend’s back in slow circles.
Sentinel leaned back, looking like someone who’d never seen the world in color until now. “This is a lot to consider.” When he stood, Annie and Quinn followed suit. “Thank you.” He shook the reporter’s hand with bone-crunching strength. Sentinel then turned to Annie with a questioning frown. “Sorry, I never got your name.”
“Giaconda,” Annie cooed, batting those long eyelashes. Her grin was pregnant with lust.
Oh, good Lord. Quinn briskly guided Sentinel to the door. “Good luck, Kurt. I’m rooting for you.”
“Me, too!” Annie called from the living room.
Once Quinn locked the door behind Sentinel, Annie was fanning herself with both hands. “I'm changing my freebie five list. Sentinel is much hotter in person. I mean, his arms are thicker than my thighs.” She slapped her curvy bottom for emphasis.
Quinn rolled her eyes and laughed. “Girl, you’re so extra! I’m over it.” Annie had zero chill about her celebrity crushes. But seeing her friend back to her sassy, flirty self was worth it.
An urgent buzzing from Quinn’s phone interrupted their giggle fest.
She gaped at several missed texts, emails, and calls. One work email from Helena had a last-minute request for to replace Jono on a noon N3 panel. Quinn cringed, knowing Jono wouldn’t like that. She then eyed her texts.
Colin: Where are you? Missy got her ass kicked this morning by a telekinetic named Earthshaker.
Quinn scoffed at the awful codename and kept reading.
Colin: He dropped a store on Missy and bolted. She’s banged up but ok. Saved a little kid.
Quinn glowered, this Junction conspiracy burning through her brain. And suddenly the endgame grew clearer. They’re going to level The Junction, then rebuild it into the pricey high-rise heaven it was supposed to be. Would Damián Hazard turn certain high-rises into crime havens? And what about those sponsors’ stores that remained undamaged in Missy’s battles?
Speaking of Missy…. Quinn skimmed through news app headlines showcasing a bruised yet resilient Missy emerging from the rubble with a child in her arms.
Quinn gasped, the realization a cold slap to the face. The courageous superhero fighting to save Junction residents from an earthquake. That sight would reframe Missy into a top-tier superhero. And make every fledging hero want to be managed by Super Solutions.
“Sweet lord...” Quinn's brain swimming. The cellphone slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor.
Annie was at her side immediately. “What’s wrong?”
Quinn hid her nausea behind a harried grin. “Work’s gonna be a bear today. I’ll explain on the car ride to your hotel. Go shower.” She shooed her friend toward the bathroom.
“Cool,” Annie stated, walking backward. “Can I crash here tonight? I need a day before talking to Johnny.” Her voice caught at the end.
“My home is always your home,” Quinn agreed. “Text Johnny so he knows you’re okay.”
Annie brightened. “Luv ya, Quinnie.”
Quinn didn’t fake her smile this time. “Love you more.”
“Love ya most!” Her friend twirled about and disappeared into the bathroom.
Quinn stopped smiling. Upon hearing the shower start, she snatched her phone from the floor. Thank God for protector cases. She activated an encryption app and made a call.
“Quinn,” a growling voice answered.
“Geist,” Quinn said, not hiding her panic. “I think I know Damián Hazard’s plan.”
Chapter 41
Cool drafts buffeted Greyson’s face. His heart drummed from euphoria as he levitated high off the earth. The attack on Merenwjick began today. Should House Bowen fall, then House Fourmon in Côte Royale would certainly surrender.
Yesterday, AmeriForce had laid out Greyson’s role in their strategy. But he had devised his own plan with Connie and CJ to counter the rogue team's forthcoming dictatorship. Whether it would work…Greyson had no clue.
He inspected his armored military fatigues. Beneath that was glowing neon paint from the fighting pits, a tree-like emblem covering his torso and a bright forehead dot. Far beneath his feet, lush jungle sprawled in every direction. Somewhere in that sea of tropical shrubbery, AmeriForce’s army waited for the signal to attack.
Jutting out of the jungle were tiny greyish concrete gun turrets protecting Merenwjick from intruders. From this high, the towers resembled buttons. Greyson had to be over ten thousand feet up, hidden in fluffy billows. On one side was a massive Noordaal warship which dwarfed Greyson. The rusty, iron-grey battleship had to weigh several tons. But thanks to Greyson’s gravity powers, the floating ship was lighter than a bubble. An identical warship hovered on his other side, its gravity also negated. Carrying its absent weight was Solomon Shen, looking so tiny beneath his gigantic cargo.
Despite his immense tasks, Greyson watched Solomon curiously. “You okay, big man?”
Solomon looked thoroughly tickled. “It’s so light, yea,” he exclaimed. “How ya do it?”
The boyish innocence in that question made Greyson smile. “Magic,” he called over a loud wail of wind and winked. The time for levity, figuratively speaking, was brief. “Tigre?” Greyson declared over his earpiece. “Whenever you’re ready.” He swallowed his vitriol for AmeriForce. Strike when the time's right, he reminded himself.
“Almost in position,” the AmeriForce leader purred over the comms. “Drawing the Bowen and Fourmon forces further out.” The plan was to place a small AmeriForce unit three miles outside Merenwjick, with scant ordnance or organization. Easy pickings for Houses Bowen and Fourmon’s military. Or so they believed.
Silence ensued, interrupted by sharp breezes. Greyson and Solomon waited.
“NOW,” Tigre roared.
Greyson turned to Solomon. “Drop!”
The Amaranthine tossed the gigantic warship down, as Greyson quintu
pled its gravitational pull. Solomon plunged after to steer the ship in the right direction. Both shrank quickly until the blanket of green jungle swallowed them up. A distant boom echoed across the land, mushrooms of dust rising from where the battleship struck.
“Payload delivered,” Tigre confirmed.
Greyson’s smile was grim. No doubt thousands of Fourmon and Bowen soldiers had been crushed by the airborne surprise. He clenched a fist, restoring the second warship’s gravity times ten.
The huge warship dropped with a whoosh, almost sucking Greyson down too, until it landed on an invisible barrier above the forest.
The forcefield. Greyson reached out with both hands, clutching the tether of the warship’s gravity, amplifying it. Crackling light started flashing, the forcefield straining under the warship’s increasing weight. All gun towers swiveled, peppering the warship. Greyson increased the ship’s gravity times twenty-five. His muscles burned from the strain, sweat beading his forehead before the winds cooled him off. The forcefield held...
Until a thunderclap sounded below, as loud as if Greyson stood on the ground. The forcefield ruptured under the strain in sparking showers. The warship crash-landed in the middle of Merenwjick. The impact echoed even louder across Amarantha than the first warship.
Greyson released both ships and sagged in exhaustion. “Did it work?” he gasped.
“Forcefields are destroyed,” Frostknife confirmed, joy in her voice. “Forces east of Merenwjick, move in and breach the gates. Scorcher. Pummel the backup forcefields now that the main one's crippled. Hirsch, you know the drill. Enter, seek, and destroy.”
“On it,” Greyson said with a nod. He increased his own pull to the earth, floating hundreds of feet down in minutes. Greyson landed light as a feather on a gun turret.
All around him, Merenwjick bled. Eruptions of war spouted from every corridor of the jungle-based city, brutal yet strangely beautiful. AmeriForce’s military had breached Merenwjick from two sides. AmeriForce's airborne supers fought House Bowen's supers, flooding the sky with energy blasts and brawls. Below, the warship’s mangled iron carcass left a massive ugly gash across several city blocks.