by C. C. Ekeke
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, beside 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’s, 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 happened 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 sup
erhuman 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 sponsors. Quinn scoured her list for the businesses that Hamza had listed, finding none.
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 more 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.
The families spoke animatedly in Amaranthine, meaning Greyson understood nothing. Rodrigo translated when possible.
“Lady Nadia wants the betrothal made public before War Games,” the young man whispered out of the side of his mouth, hands folded. “Lord Gaspar wants to wait until after War Games. That way, Côte Royale won’t try anything funny.”
Greyson snorted at the fiction. He took another inspection at the guards, fearsome and hard-boiled men. He fought the urge to adjust his restraint collar. Once Lord Gaspar gave the signal, he and Rodrigo would need to act fast and slaughter these guards. Greyson steeled the self-loathing behind a blank mask and maintained focus.
“Okay,” Rodrigo whispered. “They're talking about us. Saying we be part of Thuraya’s wedding dowry.”
“Them? What about Skylord?” Lady Nadia scoffed in accented English. She gesticulated mockingly with one flabby arm at Greyson. He tried not to be offended by her disgust, since she’d be dead soon. “One is a child. The other looks like that Moby singer person.”
“Consider me unimpressed,” Landon agreed unenthusiastically. They addressed Greyson and Rodrigo with the same patronizing eyes as the Carneiros—just for being supers.
Dad would’ve loved this island. Greyson swallowed more flagrant intolerance.
Lady Martine leaned forward, taking Nadia’s hand, like a friend. A friend ready to knife her from behind. “Trust me.” She eyed Greyson and Rodrigo adoringly. “These two pack more power than our Skylord.”
Lady Nadia gave the pair a second look, much less contemptuous. “Now that’s a start.”
As the parents began speaking in Amaranthine again, Thuraya’s eyes met Greyson’s. Her hungry gaze crackled through him. Then she resumed making eyes with Landon like nothing had happened.
Greyson shook his head to clear it, yet the energy rush lingered. Startled, he did a slight test. Greyson floated half an inch off the ground. He powered down and nudged Rodrigo.
“My restraints got deactivated,” Greyson murmured under his breath, scanning the guards cautiously.
Rodrigo smiled. “Relax. Follow my lead, yea?”
His nonchalance unsettled Greyson. Rodrigo knew something and suddenly wasn’t sharing. Before Greyson could ask, a distant rumble shook the walls of the palace, almost like an explosion. The second thunderous boom halted further conversation, rattling Greyson’s skull. The guards tensed, many speaking on their comm devices.
Lady Nadia frowned at her son, annoyed. Landon barked at the guards in rapid-fire Amaranthine, no doubt asking about the tumult. The Carneiros remained the opposite of alarmed.
Lady Thuraya eyed her parents with fiendish glee. “Sounds like fireworks,” she intoned in English.
Lord Gaspar scratched his beard with a bite of impatience. “They started prematurely. No matter.” He turned to Greyson, twisting a ring on his right hand to deactivate the restraints. “The guards, please.”
Greyson raised both hands, connecting to the gravity fields of every guard in this room. He drew on his reservoir of power and clenched his hands into fists.
A discordant symphony of crushed bones, crumpled metal, and screams filled the room. Moments later, all eight guards imploded into compacted balls of flesh and armor, oozing blood all over the polished floor. Greyson gazed upon his gruesome action, remembering Dad’s compacted corpse. The memory tickled.
His admiration was broken by Lady Nadia screaming, “NO!” Her son Landon rose, mouth agape.
Nadia turned to Gaspar and Martine, appalled. “You’re attacking Bellazul…” She shook with smoldering hatred. “Two-timing bastards!”
Lord Gaspar chuckled, standing. “Did you believe I’d forgi
ve anyone sabotaging my mines, Nadia?”
Landon looked from his mother to Thuraya blankly. The betrayal hadn’t sunk in. “Thuraya and I aren’t getting married?” he whined.
Lady Thuraya offered a rueful smile. “Apologies. I’m just not that into you.”
Her sneering tone cut so deep Greyson felt it across the room. Lady Martine nodded at Rodrigo. And he rocketed forward into a shimmery ball as if launched from a cannon.
Rodrigo smashed Landon’s torso with a sickening crack, smacking Bellazul's heir out of his chair and into a far wall. Rodrigo boomeranged back, landing in a crouch beside Greyson. Landon’s flattened corpse slid to the floor beside a few crushed soldiers.
Lady Nadia shrieked in heartrending grief. Greyson might have felt similarly if his heart wasn’t already dead. A shift in motion caught his attention. Some translucent figure, masked and clothed in all-white, rose from the floor behind Lady Nadia like some ghost out of a movie. An instant later, the ghost’s lithe frame turned brick-solid.
Greyson was too stunned to speak as the ghost drew a serrated knife and opened Nadia’s throat.
Bright red sprayed across Lord Gaspar’s and Lady Martine’s faces. Lady Thuraya clapped in approval.
Greyson stumbled back against the wall as Lady Nadia slumped to the floor. The ruler of Bellazul lay on her side gurgling, red rivers gushing from her slashed throat.
The Lord of Dourado took a napkin, daintily wiping the blood splatter from his face. He eyed his wife admiringly. “One of yours?”
“Nope!” Rodrigo crowed before Martine could answer. Tucking into a shimmery ball again, he hurtled across the chamber superfast.
The crunch of Thuraya’s skull and ribcage hit Greyson like a mule kick. The heiress’s seat toppled backward, decorated by a crushed, red ruin.
Lord Gaspar popped out of his chair. “THURAYA!” Lady Martine drained of color and clutched her pearls.
Greyson gaped at Rodrigo, seeing but not believing. “Rodrigo, What the HELL!”
Lord Gaspar shivered with volcanic hatred. “You abominations just committed suicide.” He twisted his wedding ring.
Greyson cringed back, waiting for the excruciating electric jolt.