Lust

by Lana Pecherczyk

  Despair had caught the underlying tension between the two earlier, but now it felt palpable in the air. Lust’s gaze darkened upon landing on her brother. She took a step forward with clenched fists, but her partner stopped her. He whispered something in her ear, and she calmed.

  Treasonous longing slashed through Despair. To have someone so trusted in her corner, like the way Lust’s mate was for her, it begged the question of love without boundaries. Did they have them? Did they put caveats on their love, the way Julius had kept Despair striving harder and higher for his? From the way they looked into each other’s eyes, the way they softened from a simple touch, yes, she believed they loved freely. She knew this because she’d never experienced the same.

  “You have some nerve,” Lust said to Pride.

  He sat back on his stool, leaned an elbow on the table, and arched a righteous brow as if to say, This should be interesting.

  Lust seemed to bite back words, and instead said, “I got suspended.”

  “Good.” Pride strode to one of the white mannequins in glass cases surrounding the operations room walls. Each held one of the Deadly Seven augmented suits. One looked pristine and untouched. The one with the fuchsia face mask. He opened the cabinet. “You can finally try on your suit. Flint and Sloan have worked around the clock to make the upgrades.”

  A sort of grumble broke from Lust’s throat, but she dragged her feet over to Pride. While she did, Envy approached Joe and shook his hand.

  “I suppose welcome to the family is appropriate if you two are walking in together like this.”

  Joe gave a curt nod of acknowledgment, and then Sloth gave a “Wassup” from her spot. Flint also greeted Joe with a smile. Pride’s inaction toward Joe was as good as recognition. Their acceptance of the new stranger was troubling. They put so much faith in this soulmate business, that they simply accepted a federal agent into their secret headquarters. They’d also accepted her. A killer. A thief. A liar. Such was the stringent loyalty this family showed for one another. Such was the power of their love and devotion. Their hope.

  Despair looked down at her tattoo. The black seemed a little less.

  Her heart kicked in her chest. Sweat broke out on her brow. The vague warbles of conversation flittered into her perception, but it compounded with her heartbeat rushing in her ears until everything became a cacophony of voices, those long silenced from within, and those without. She ripped the electrodes from her chest.

  “Enough.”

  All eyes swiveled her way. Perhaps she’d overreacted. Her mind scrambled to come up with a solution, and then she remembered the tail end of Pride’s conversation with the agent.

  “… we need more hard evidence before we can entertain some kind of conviction against the Syndicate.”

  Perfect.

  She turned to their expectant faces and straightened her spine, but the dizziness in her mind still threatened to topple her. Her words intended to come out firm, but instead breathed like the wind. “I think I know how you can get some.”

  A stillness came over the room. Pride left Lust at the cabinet and strode to Despair. “You said you knew nothing.”

  “I can’t give you locations where the replicates are held because I don’t know. That’s the truth. You confirmed with the polygraph.”

  “Anyone in this room can beat one of those tests.”

  “So why give it to me?”

  His face deadpanned. More secrets he was unwilling to share.

  “Give her a break,” Sloth mumbled. “Let’s see if her intel pans out and go from there.”

  Lust nodded. “I agree. Daisy made the first step, it’s our turn to trust her.”

  “What do you call bringing her into our homes?” Pride replied, didn’t wait for a response, and turned to Despair. “What’s your intel?”

  “I know where a Faithful hideout is. There’s a single replicate tank on display.” She turned to Joe. “Will that be sufficient evidence?”

  His expression turned thoughtful. “It will depend if we can link it to the actual Syndicate organization somehow. If not, at least it’s proof of unlawful activity by someone.” He leveled his gaze on Pride. “Genetic modification and cloning of humans are illegal. It might give us probable cause to open an official investigation.”

  “Great,” Envy said, looking more excited than he should. “Let’s suit up.”

  Pride slapped him on the chest. “Tonight. For now, we prepare.”

  Today, tonight, it didn’t matter. Despair was ready with the next phase of her plan. She just needed as many of them as she could out of the building.

  23

  Joe had wanted to join the Deadly Seven and their raid of the Faithful hideout, but first had some loose ends to tie up at the precinct. He had a serial killer to catch, and he had to figure out a way to get his director to drop the investigation against Liza and her family. The best way he could think of was to steer him in another direction, toward the Syndicate.

  Before he’d left Liza this morning, he’d spoken briefly with Sloan. As their resident computer guru, she had records of interactions and evidence they’d gleaned from Syndicate sites. The ringleader, Julius Allcott, worked out of a tall building in the city’s Quadrant, but it was filled with unassuming business corporations, and was seemingly innocent. They could be fake companies, but Sloan couldn’t find evidence of fraud. For all intents and purposes, the offices were real. So it wasn’t the Syndicate base of operations. Not the scientific base, anyway.

  Joe’s laptop had pinged continuously during the day with more information from Sloan. He knew they kept their cards close to their chest, but the documents she sent were incredible, and nothing he’d be able to obtain without many months of hard work. Some files contained data from the black site the Seven had infiltrated. It showed experiments of all sorts going on, but none of them were the replicate program. He filed them away for a time he could get tech forensics onto it.

  Joe looked up when a knock came at his office door.

  “Come in.” The door opened and gestured for Geoff to enter. “What did you find?”

  Geoff ambled in and dropped a file on Joe’s desk, then opened it to show a rap sheet with a mug shot of the man who’d pressed charges against Liza.

  “You didn’t get this from me,” Geoff said.

  Joe studied the sheet.

  Gareth Smith. He looked like a junkie. Hollow eyes, bad skin, long face with scarring on one side.

  Geoff took a seat and started talking. “Two DUIs, a bunch of misdemeanors, one aggravated assault, which was later withdrawn, and a slew of unpaid parking tickets.”

  “Who withdrew the assault charge?”

  “His father. Seems like Smith comes from a long line of Meat Royalty.”

  “As in cattle and a slaughterhouse?”

  “Yep. Except, he was disowned after that last assault. From what I gather, Gareth’s shenanigans cost his father a meatpacking plant. Had to shut the whole thing down and declare bankruptcy to cover his son’s debts.”

  Joe whistled through his teeth. “This is the guy who pressed charges against Liza?”

  It wouldn’t stick.

  “He came in with pictures taken at a hospital and claims a witness can verify his assault.” Geoff leaned forward and flipped the case files to the next page, pausing at the picture of a heavily beaten face. You could hardly reconcile it with the man in the mug shot.

  “Shit,” he murmured.

  “You think Liza did it?” Geoff asked. “I mean, I don’t know her from a bar of soap, but you do.”

  Joe studied the picture. He knew what Liza had been thinking—not much at all. She’d said she blacked out. This was brutal, in his face, evidence of Liza’s deadly potential. The same went for her entire family. And this assault had nothing to do with their superpowers. If the Syndicate had their way, or if one of the Deadly Seven lost their marbles, then this violence was only a taste of what was to come.

  A moment of doubt hit him. Sho
uld he be supporting this vigilante family, or making sure they were carefully quarantined and safely secured away until a failsafe could be put in place? The latter had been his original instinct, but after the night he’d spent with Liza, he knew it wouldn’t be possible. They were too strong, too clever, and if he supported the capture and charging of the Lazarus family, they would be spirited away to some undisclosed location, put under a microscope, tested, poked, and prodded. He couldn’t do that to Liza, especially since she was born in that environment. It would break her.

  And he’d never see her again.

  Once the notion sank in, a profound protective instinct surged. He would do anything to keep Liza safe, even if that meant becoming the thing he hunted. He would break the law.

  “We’ll let the investigation decide that,” he said to Geoff. “In the meantime, this man is a person of interest in the Ripper killings.”

  The moment Joe found Gareth Smith, his life was over.

  “Why?” Geoff asked.

  “A day before the Ripper victim disappeared, Liza intercepted this man from taking the victim.”

  “That’s a definite link,” Geoff said, eyebrows raised. “And motive to pull a stunt like claiming police brutality. Why didn’t she say anything?”

  Joe couldn’t exactly tell him the truth, that Liza was more interested in following Gareth Smith to the source—the Syndicate. If they arrested him now, they’d never find out who he sold the body parts too.

  “What did you find at the shelter?” Joe asked.

  Geoff leaned back and blew a raspberry out slow. “Not much. We asked around. The girl said nothing while she was there. No one noticed anything strange about her. But if you ask me, we’re fishing in a basket of empty water.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The only person at the shelter who wanted to talk to us was a woman who claimed to have escaped aliens who tried to impregnate her. She was high as a kite.”

  Joe rubbed his forehead. “All right. Let’s keep digging into Gareth Smith. See if anything else comes up. Let’s get eyes on him too. Geoff?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Keep this between us.”

  “You got it.”

  Geoff went to take the case file, but Joe stopped him. “Leave it.”

  When Geoff left, Joe flipped back to the pictures taken at the hospital. A name on the report caught his attention. Gareth’s witness was listed as Wyatt Lazarus.

  Late afternoon, Joe arrived at the Lazarus House basement garage. It felt strange to drive in, have a computer recognize his vehicle, and allow entry. Only days ago, he was pinning pictures of vigilantes to his bedroom wall and trying to ascertain how to gain proof of their criminal activities. That Joe was naïve. He hadn’t understood how deep the conspiracy went—beings with powers had been created by a criminal organization. Right now, they were contained, but in the future, they could become the norm. And unhinged. And the Syndicate had military backing, possibly up to the Pentagon.

  There was no turning back.

  There had to be a way to get the government on the right side, and he was yet to figure out how to do it. The first step was obtaining irrefutable evidence. It was why he was going on the raid with the Seven, to mop up, and then call it in as though he’d been tipped off anonymously.

  After being let inside through a side door, he found the Lazarus family in full battle gear, gathered around a central table in the operations room. It was a sight to behold. A wall of television screens depicted news network and CCTV footage. Glass display cabinets around the room were empty, except one. Who hadn’t put the suit on?

  He searched the cluster of uniform-clad bodies gathered around the table... there she was. Liza as he’d never seen her before. As no one had.

  Even with her back to him, he knew it was her, dressed in a skin-tight dusky gray suit made of some sort of fibrous material that hugged her like a second skin. She cocked her hip to the side and put weight on one leg. There was no fault to her shape.

  For a few beats of his heart, he stood on the outskirts of the room, admiring Liza as she watched her family discuss the best points of entry to the Faithful hideout. She stood back with her arms folded, an opinionated eye on Parker as he gave a speech. Daisy stood quietly to the side. She wore a white hoodie and jeans. Somehow, Joe didn’t get the sense she was humbled or submissive as her posture projected. Intelligent eyes took in everything.

  The men in the group were ominous shadows, standing silent but with piercing gazes. But Joe’s eyes kept tracking back to Liza—he would marry her one day. The notion was a certainty.

  Sloan looked up with a secret smirk that said she knew what Joe was feeling. He cleared his throat and approached the table. Parker frowned.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Joe scoffed. “I’m going.”

  “Like hell you are,” Parker replied.

  But Joe was prepared for that. While he and Liza had discussed it that morning, he’d asked that she not share the news with her family. He would do it himself.

  Liza smiled at him but said nothing. Her confidence bolstered him.

  He met Parker’s fierce gaze and said, “You’ll let me go because you want an end to this hiding and fighting in the shadows. You want the law on your side. The only way to get that is to let me gather evidence in an official capacity.”

  “If you’re caught working with us, it will be the end of your career,” Parker warned.

  “I won’t get caught. I want to come with you. You do your thing, and then I’ll call it in. I’ll say I received an anonymous tip.” He shifted his focus to Griffin who, without his spectacles, looked oddly different. “I think between Lilo and myself, we can expose the Syndicate. She can handle the press, and I’ll handle government intelligence. If we go for this double-pronged way of getting the information out, then having it discredited, or swept under the carpet will be difficult.”

  “No,” Parker said. “You can stay here with Daisy.”

  Daisy shifted uncomfortably.

  “Screw you, Parker,” Liza snapped. “You don’t get to decide for all of us. This is a democracy, not a dictatorship. Let’s vote. Hands up for Joe’s plan.”

  Everyone raised their hand, except for Parker. He fumed.

  “It’s your funeral.”

  24

  Liza was the last of her family to leave. One after another, they roared out of the garage on black, unlicensed motorcycles. It was late afternoon; the sun was still up. Usually they avoided daytime missions, but they wanted to catch the Faithful in the act. Daisy had said they congregated at the hideout to socialize. If they left it too late, no one would be home.

  It was one thing to raid and find a replicate tank, but another to find suspects that tied the tank to the white-robed terrorists Joe needed to build a case.

  While Liza preferred to go by road, some of the Seven had jumped from the roof, preferring to use the wingsuit capacity of their uniform to weave between Cardinal City buildings. Combined with grappling guns, the wingsuits almost gave them the capacity to fly and, even though they were probably seen by a few bystanders, they were too fast to be caught.

  The same went for the motorcycles. They could weave in and out of traffic, cover their heads with helmets, and abandon the bikes if need be. Being caught by the cops was a risk they had to take.

  Joe stood by the open door of his car, about to get in. But the gentleman waited until she was ready to leave.

  She gave a trembling exhale, stomach squirming with nerves, and climbed onto a motorcycle. But as she took hold of the throttle, she couldn’t rev. Her gloved hands froze on the handlebars.

  Joe shut the door and walked over.

  “You look like you’re about to be sick,” he said, eyes full of concern. “Are you okay?”

  She flattened her lips. “Yep. Just give me a second.”

  “Is it nerves?”

  She had thought so, but the unsettled feeling in her stomach had started the moment
she’d put her suit on. It should be gone by now.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. “You go. You need to be ready for when it’s safe to enter.”

  A divot appeared between his brow. He went to leave, hesitated, and came back to take her jaw in his hand. His thumb grazed over her cheek. A responding ache of longing echoed in her chest. She wanted to stay with him. She wasn’t afraid to go, far from it, but some far away intuition urged her to stay. She feared after this night, everything would change, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.

  The raid was simple enough. Daisy had given them an address. She was also left under the watchful eye of Flint and Mary. Wyatt and Misha were locked safely in their apartment. The team would be gone for only an hour or two, tops. So why weren’t the nerves quelling?

  “Be careful,” he murmured.

  She forced a smile on her face, for his sake. “I’ll see you there.”

  A curt nod, and then Joe got in his car and drove out. She watched him leave and had the sense it could be the last time she saw him.

  What a stupid thing to think. It was only because of her self-sabotaging tendencies. She’d found happiness, and a part of her didn’t believe it.

  She shook out her arms to dispel the tension. Hardening herself, she covered her nose and mouth with her fuchsia mask, and then lifted her hood to hide the rest of her identity. She’d decided against the helmet. People would see her weapons, anyway. At least this way, she’d be unimpeded if she had to launch quickly into action. Two revs on the throttle, the engine roared in the hollow chamber, and then she surged out of the garage. She drove down the side alley and then stalled at the main street intersection. A look to the left showed patrons entering Heaven for their evening meal. She looked right and saw a patrol car coming down the street.

  Shit.

  She used her boots to back peddle and hugged the shadows next to a dumpster. If the officers looked down the alley, they’d see her. She had no helmet. Her bright face mask would be a red flag. Heart thumping in her chest, she kept her head down and waited. This was why she hated daytime missions. It was much easier to act as a cop. Goddamn suspension.