by Ekeke, C. C.
Instead of racing home, Hugo walked aimlessly around downtown Paso Robles. The afternoon sun kissed his skin. People chatter and car traffic overlapped with aromas of wine bodegas and fusion bistros typical of San Miguel’s largest suburb. Hugo eavesdropped on conversations, eager to hear people’s random opinions on Aegis. While quite a few sided with him, most had other concerns. Get over yourself, Hugo. During this walk, he mulled over Brent’s harsh but correct words. Hugo had been an absentee friend, even when he did show up.
This sacrifice was what he’d signed up for. Still, the reality was hard to digest. How could he blame Jordana for wanting more with someone else?
Hugo reached his neighborhood before he knew it. The golden sun began to sink, splashing fire across the skies.
As he neared home, there was a visitor sitting on the doorsteps. For a moment, Hugo thought he was seeing things.
Baz Martinez stood, wearing a clingy hoodie and jeans. His handsome face paled when he approached.
Hugo paused, pulse rising, fists clenched instinctively. Of all the motherfuckers to bother him…
“Hugo?” Baz Martinez stated cautiously, hands raised in surrender. “I’m not here to fight.”
“Why the hell are you here?” Hugo snarled, unable to contain his venom. Glancing around the block, he scanned for an ambush. Only Baz’s black BMW was present. He’d actually come alone.
Baz stopped a few feet away. No anger or smirking arrogance dominated his handsome face. “Hugo…” His very carriage conveyed supplication and fear. “I just want to talk.”
“I don’t,” Hugo snapped. “Goodbye.” He sidestepped Baz toward his door.
Baz blocked his path. “I’m not leaving until we talk.” He set his jaw, trembling all over.
Hugo had to laugh. This guy had balls. “Are you begging for another ass-kicking?” He stopped smiling. “Leave.” His growled warning sounded animalistic. He moved around Baz again.
Baz grabbed Hugo’s arm, seething. “We’re not done—”
Hugo just reacted, triggered by years of Baz’s bullying. He whirled quicker than normal but not superfast, slamming a gentle enough palm thrust to his enemy’s chest. Baz went flying, the wind knocked out of him in a pained whoosh. He landed hard on the front lawn.
Hugo loomed over him, a familiar hatred searing through every pore.
Baz stayed down, coughing for air. There was no fight in him.
That reached Hugo. I could kill him without a thought. He unclenched his fists and backpedaled. “Don’t ever come back.” Hugo turned to hide his self-disgust.
“She was pregnant.”
The breathless declaration snared Hugo by the waist, spinning him around. “What?” He didn’t need to guess who “she” was.
Baz pushed up to his elbows. “I got Brie pregnant last year—”
Anger flooded Hugo’s veins. “Bullshit!”
“I’m not lying!” Baz protested.
Desperation dulled his rival’s eyes. It was the same look Baz had on at Fall Fling after Hugo had almost crushed his ribcage. He sank down on his front steps, not trusting his legs for support. “When?”
Baz sat up and pulled those long legs into his chest. “The basketball party,” he admitted. “Brie told me in late spring. She was seven weeks along. I freaked out, needed time to process. But after a few days, I knew I wanted to raise the baby with her.” Tears were budding in Baz’s eyes.
Neither Brie nor her friends had mentioned this. Hugo shuddered at what might’ve occurred. “What happened?”
Baz bowed his head as tears flowed. “Miscarriage…”
“Jesus…” Horror knifed Hugo in the chest. He looked away. That explained why Brie nearly vanished into this ugly darkness late sophomore year. “Why are you telling me this?”
“My parents found out.” Baz lifted his head. His eyes were red from crying, which Hugo hadn’t seen since they were little kids. “They’re sending me to military academy.”
Hugo stared back, hearing but not believing. “Holy shit.” A year ago, he’d have been throwing a block party. But since Baz was so irrelevant to his life, Hugo just felt hollow.
“I know I have no right.” Baz stared at him. “But I need you to watch over Briseis after I’m gone.”
Hugo’s brain nearly imploded. “Of all people you could ask at Paso High…”
A snarl curled Baz’s lip. “I don’t trust my friends, especially after that basketball party.” He was obviously still in love with Brie. “You’ve taken care of her since the summer. Just keep doing that. Please.”
Hugo struggled to find his voice when a woman swearing loudly in the Samoan dialect caught his ear. He stared down the street at an approaching car and shot up. “You gotta go.”
Baz straightened. “Wh…why?” Following Hugo’s frown, he also rose. “Oh shit.”
Mom’s Forerunner pulled into the driveway. Right after killing the ignition, she was out of the car marching toward Baz.
“What the HELL are you doing here?” she shouted loud enough for the whole block to hear. “After you vandalize my house, you have the nerve to show your face, you waste of sperm!”
“Mom!” Hugo strode across the lawn to intercept her. “Please calm down!”
“I will NOT calm down, Bogota!” Mom struggled uselessly in Hugo’s unyielding grip.
Hugo turned his head, catching Baz’s terror. “Go home.”
The basketballer jogged away to his BMW down the street.
Once Baz drove off, Mom focused her rage on Hugo. “Explain.”
He repeated the story Baz had shared once they were inside. Mom wasn't surprised. “Briseis’s parents told me last summer but didn’t know who the father was.”
Hugo flinched. One more secret she’d kept. But this one wasn’t about him. “After her suicide attempt?”
Mom nodded idly. Her eyes sparked again. “Before I pick AJ up, we’re discussing what happened with this Vick Van Violent person.”
Hugo rolled his eyes. Mom had already given her thoughts, meaning she had more. How wonderful. Luckily, Hugo’s phone buzzed.
“Hold that thought…” Hugo pulled it from his pocket and laughed when he saw the caller ID. Speaking of Brie… “Hey, Ramses,” he greeted.
“Hi…” Briseis’s brother sounded anxious. “Are you with Briseis right now?”
Hugo scowled. “No.” Brie was still avoiding him. “Why?”
Ramses let out a worried sigh. “We’re supposed to grab dinner. Now I can’t reach her, and she’s not at either of my parents’ places.”
“You try Jodie or J-Tom?”
“Both of them,” Ramses replied. “Jenny said Briseis and Jodie are hanging out. But Jodie’s not replying.”
Hugo stiffened. That was odd but didn’t set off alarm bells. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
After that, Hugo called Jordana’s house, raising a pausing finger to Mom’s mouthed questions.
“Jodie went to grab Brie,” Jordana’s dad explained. Her brothers were setting the table in the background. “She’s running late. Is something wrong?”
“No, sir,” Hugo replied immediately. He fought down rising panic. “I just want to talk with her.” Unless Jordana had plans with friends or a softball game, missing a family dinner wasn’t like her.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked after Hugo hung up.
“Hopefully nothing. Could be something,” he answered an octave higher than normal. That worry grew as he skimmed through mobile apps. “Just making sure that something is definitely nothing.” He found the phone-tracking app Clint had whipped up in case any friends went missing.
“Aha!” Hugo exclaimed. The location of Jordana’s and Brie’s phones pulsed red waves on the app’s Google-style map. At Cisman Ridge near the riverbed.
“Be right back, Mom.” Hugo kissed her cheek, then raced out the back door.
He reached Cisman Bridge in under two minutes. This dry riverbed looked abandoned save for some vagrant tent cities.
&
nbsp; Jordana’s blue sedan was parked next to the riverbed.
Hugo almost crowed, until he heard no heartbeats or breathing sounds.
He marched up, driven by dread, and looked inside.
Two cellphones rested on the driver’s seat. The car was otherwise empty.
Every alarm bell in Hugo’s brain went off.
Chapter 22
The last few days had been brutal. Local news lambasted the Natural Born Thrillers, detailing eight casualties and fifty-five injured. Pax Humana and other local anti-super groups demanded that the team disband.
Large protests had formed around the compound, picket signs, posters and everything, led by Senator Huntley. The anti-superhero politician was all over the news nowadays. He’d started chants like “Natural Born KILLERS! Natural Born KILLERS!”
After issuing a public apology for their actions, the Thrillers holed up in their compound for the next three days to let things cool off. But Reverb admitted that their corporate overlords had benched them.
Greyson had sat in meetings that became heated arguments. Brightburn blamed Bulldozer, while Bulldozer blamed Shattershot. Erika was barely holding things together. Any meetings with Seneca International management, Greyson was shut out. The situation was glorious. But more damage had to be done.
Thankfully, Erika allowed him a day of leisure. Greyson snuck out the compound’s rear exit with no civilian access, heading back to the Palisades and to Connie.
His first act of freedom was filming a vignette under his masked alias. Greyson initially felt hokey spewing his sermon against the Thrillers using his mask and voice modulator. This corporate-sponsored supervillain schtick wasn’t a snug fit. But Asher Martin’s marketing team compiled footage of the damage caused by recent Natural Born Thrillers battles. The ninety-second promo Greyson and Connie watched had been superb.
Visuals of Shenandoah and the Thrillers in action filled the screen as Greyson’s modulated and menacing voiceover began. “Citizens of Shenandoah. You gave these Natural Born Thrillers permission to be your protectors, which exacted a heavy toll. Did that permission include causing more damage than the villains?” the voice scoffed. “I doubt San Miguel gave their Shield of Justice permission to paralyze a man who surrendered. Your consent makes these heroes arrogant enough to hire a former villain in Shattershot. It’s time that Shenandoah’s residents take their city back.” The visuals faded to reveal Greyson’s masked face with alternating imagery of the Thrillers behind him. “These Natural Born Thrillers must answer for their crimes,” he said onscreen, glowing red eyes opening. “Or Damocles will answer first.” The promo ended.
Greyson was mesmerized. He glanced at Connie. “I love it.”
She was bouncing in her seat. “I know, right?”
“The reveal at the end…”
Asher cleared his throat obnoxiously for their attention. “We’re happy with this?”
Greyson looked over his shoulder and nodded his approval. “When’s it launching?”
“Already launched an hour ago through anonymous social media accounts,” Asher said with a respectful nod. “That codename was a pure genius.”
Greyson offered a proud smirk. Damocles. The name had come from a Biblical parable, and the significance to his crusade was unmissable. “If these heroes feel a sword hanging over their neck, then they’ll be afraid. Fear causes mistakes. And mistakes can break reputations.”
Connie’s proud gaze seared through his loins. “Where does that lead these broken heroes?”
“To their end. By my hand.” Greyson then faced Asher. “Nice work.”
Asher’s expression grew excited. “Ooh, the Natural Born Thrillers’ news conference is on.”
Connie grabbed their TV remote and switched to a local channel. The team stood in costume and somber-faced behind some podium in downtown Shenandoah. Seneca publicists stood behind them. Greyson hadn’t been invited to attend as a trainee. That was a relief, since his plans weren’t complete.
Erika Skye was concluding her drawn-out apology. “Our sincerest apologies for this tragedy.” She looked and sounded genuine, and Greyson pitied her. “And we’ll work hard to regain Shenandoah’s trust.”
Their publicist started fielding questions.
“Many of your fights cause significant collateral damage,” a female reporter challenged. “Can you promise this won’t happen again?”
Bulldozer and Reverb shifted awkwardly behind Erika.
“I cannot,” she confessed. “But…our goal is to lower and prevent these occurrences.”
Brightburn stepped forward, photogenic and charming. “The NBT will pay the hospital and funeral bills for all victims of this recent tragedy.”
That drew gasps and murmurs of approval from the gathered reporters.
Erika Skye nodded, jostling her braids somewhat. “This won’t bring back their loved ones or heal the injured, but we hope it can help.”
This annoyed Greyson. The last thing he wanted was the Thrillers navigating out of this mess. I’ll have to step up my game—
“Erika Skye,” a male reporter asked after being chosen. He had a thick Irish accent. “Is it true that Shattershot is an ex-criminal?”
More murmurs from the gathered reporters.
Their publicist went rigid. Shattershot turned bone-white. His teammates all appeared blindsided.
“Where did you hear this?” Erika pressed.
“A claim by the activist, Damocles,” the reporter continued. “Is it true?”
Greyson stood riveted. Connie guffawed.
The Thrillers’ publicist dove before the microphone to answer, only for Shattershot to grab the mic from her.
“It’s true,” he blurted out. “I worked for the Conglomerate criminal organization in DC.”
More gasps from the gaggle of press with some angrier reactions bubbling to the forefront. This was getting juicy.
“But that’s not who I am anymore—” he got out before the publicist wrestled the mic away.
Bulldozer then yanked Shattershot behind him like a rag doll.
“Why wasn’t this publicly disclosed?” another reporter demanded. “How can the public trust your word when this was hidden?” The entire press corps piled on the team, which stood helpless.
Greyson clicked the TV off. “That was a spectacular shitshow,” he exclaimed, beyond pleased.
Asher grinned. “A reporter we kept from SLOCO Daily. He’ll sell whatever story we feed him.”
Connie hugged Greyson’s waist, hunger in her eyes. “You in the mood to celebrate?”
There was nothing Greyson wanted more. But a glance at the clock revealed how long he’d been away. “Yes, but I should get back.” He leaned in for a long, loving kiss. “Next time.”
After departing his condo, Greyson took a rideshare back through Shenandoah’s derelict streets. God, what a wretched city. From alerts on his phone, news about Shattershot’s past was gaining traction. Even more news outlets were digging into who Damocles was. Let them wonder.
Greyson reached his destination, half a mile behind the compound away from the protests.
As he stepped out of rideshare, his burner phone rang.
“There’s an unwelcome guest in your room,” Connie warned.
Greyson’s brow beetled. Back at the condo, Connie could see footage from the hidden cameras she’d installed. Greyson hung up and ran to the entrance as fast as his legs would carry him.
Once inside, he beelined for his room to find Bulldozer’s massive frame rummaging through his closet.
“What the fuck?” Greyson came this close to gravitationally tossing this clod across the room. Swallowing the urge, he marched forward. “Get out of my closet, asshole!”
Bulldozer spun around in metallic form and advanced. “Who did you tell?”
Greyson was forced to backpedal, too pissed to grasp his meaning. “What?”
“Who did you tell about Shattershot?” Bulldozer jabbed his finger on Greyson’s chest
.
Greyson recovered quickly, clinging to his outrage. “Seriously? I don’t know anyone in Shenandoah!”
Bulldozer took another menacing step forward. “You’re lying.”
Greyson almost got knocked over by Bulldozer. “I don’t care what you believe. I’m innocent.” Outward anger aside, he felt icy fear within. This could all end if he didn’t play it properly.
Bulldozer continued forward, fixated on him. “First, you didn’t help when our mission went to shit.”
“I stopped one of the protesters from escaping,” Greyson countered.
“Then you vanish for hours.”
“Erika gave me time off today.” Greyson was pressed against the wall of his own room. “I walked around the city to clear my head.”
Bulldozer narrowed his suspicious, gleaming eyes. “I doubt that.”
Greyson didn’t enjoy how close Bulldozer was with those sledgehammer-like fists. So he went on offense. “No wonder Nighthawk left if this is how you treat your teammates.”
Bulldozer reared up to his full seven-foot-three height. “What did you say?” The words were like thunder across a plain.
Now I got him angry. Greyson leaned forward, fists clenched for a fight. “Was that a nerve?”
“Hey!” Erika’s arrival into the bedroom forced Bulldozer several steps back. She wedged between her teammates dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, eyes darting between them. “What is going on?”
Bulldozer jabbed a massive, accusing finger at Greyson. “Your new boy vanished when Damocles spilled the beans about Shattershot.” He sneered. “Real convenient.”
Greyson remained calm, locked onto his enemy. “Bulldozer went through my stuff without permission.”
Erika whipped around. “What?”
Bulldozer’s righteous anger wavered. “Only this team and Seneca international knew about Shattershot! He must have told someone.” His accusation sounded petulant now.
Erika was disgusted. “Conspiracy theories, Dozer? You pulled shit like this with Shattershot.”
Bulldozer was looking surly again. “So you’re trusting him without question?”
“He’s being more of a team player than you right now.”
Bulldozer appeared more hurt than incensed. “How dare you?”