Gluttony

by Lana Pecherczyk

  Just thinking about everything she had to do made her head giddy.

  Since she couldn’t find a phone at Tony’s place, she needed help to call a cab. Stopping near the front door, she lifted her face to the kitchen speaker like she’d seen Tony do, and awkwardly said, “Hi AIMI, it’s Bailey Haze.”

  Nothing.

  She tried again. “AIMI? Just wondering if you could call me a cab so I can leave?”

  Immediately, AIMI answered. Funny that.

  “Greetings Bailey Haze. I will arrange for a Cardinal City taxi to meet you downstairs. Where would you like to go?” AIMI’s voice was saccharine sweet with a touch of computerized inflection.

  “Home. Please. The address is—”

  “I know where you live. One moment please.”

  She knew where Bailey lived? Freaky.

  “Wait,” she said. “I think it’s best I head to the hotel to collect my car, first. Then I can drive it home. That makes more sense.”

  “One moment please.”

  A pause that lasted a few seconds, and then AIMI responded. “Your cab will be waiting for you outside the lobby in T-Minus five minutes and counting.”

  “Thank you.”

  No response. Right. Well, guess it was time to go then.

  Bailey let herself out and took the elevator down to the lobby entrance where Gus manned his desk. That was a slight overstatement. He sat behind, engrossed in a book with the words Treasure Hunter Security on the cover. He had no idea Bailey had arrived.

  “Evening, Gus,” she greeted.

  He jolted, as though he’d been caught stealing. He hid the book beneath the bench and smiled. “Miss Haze, I didn’t realize you were still in the building.”

  Heat flushed her cheeks at the implications, but it was another thing she’d have to get used to. “I’ll be back later.”

  “You need help with any bags?”

  “I’m good thanks, Gus. Didn’t bring much with me. I’ll see you tonight.”

  He touched the tip of his Aviator style hat in a salute. “Until then.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw him retrieving his book and getting right back to the story. Must be a good one.

  The cab ride to the hotel was a short one. Bailey had no time to prepare herself for the very real possibility that she’d be accosted by paparazzi camped out since the previous day, and when she caught sight of the cluster of photographers parked where the public sidewalk met the valet driveway, she cringed.

  “Great,” she mumbled. She tugged her baggy shirt to cover the yoga pants. She wore no makeup and no sunglasses. She didn’t even have a bra on. She felt naked. If they recognized her—she shook the thoughts away. Just get it done with.

  After paying the cabbie, she got out and went straight to the valet.

  The man was different to the one who’d parked her car yesterday. This guy was white, looked about the age of the kids at Hudson House, and had blemishes on his new growth stubble chin. His crooked name tag said Angus.

  She smiled at him as she approached the desk. “Hi Angus, I have a car parked here since yesterday.”

  “Do you have a ticket?”

  “No.” She hid her apprehension and folded her arms when his gaze dropped to her chest. There was no way for her to even pay the man, but perhaps she could bill it. She added, “It’s listed under Nightingale Securities. I lost the ticket yesterday.”

  “ID?”

  Now that she could do. She pulled out her security license from her pocket. Being on a clip, it was the one thing on her body yesterday that hadn’t disappeared into the sewer. She handed it to the man. While he searched on the computer system, she asked, “Could you bill it to Nightingale?”

  He nodded. “It’s all paid.”

  “Nightingale paid it?” Wow. Max was onto it.

  “Um…” he frowned, scanning the screen. “Cardinal Studios paid.”

  “Oh.” She’d not even considered the studio had validated her ticket. Who would have arranged that?

  “I’ll be right back,” Angus said as he retrieved her keys from the rack.

  Casting a nervous glance down the driveway, she checked on the paparazzi. The group had failed to notice her. Thank God for small mercies.

  When Angus drove her car up the driveway, a cold feeling settled in her bones. He got out, slammed his door and sauntered over to her with the keys held out, completely oblivious to the state of her car.

  “Um,” she said through gritted teeth, barely containing her anger. “What the fuck happened?”

  He gaped at her, and then back to the car.

  The word “Slut” had been keyed repetitively into the side panel.

  “Wasn’t that there before?”

  “Are you insane?” she snapped, voice raising. “Do you think I’d willingly drive around in that thing? No, it wasn’t there before.”

  “I… um,” he spluttered.

  “How in hell did a car in five-star valet protection get keyed?” She tapped her foot. “I’m waiting.”

  He went pale. “I can get my manager.”

  “I don’t want you to get your manager. I want you to explain!”

  The poor kid took the brunt of her temper. She’d been calmed all day by Tony’s soft words and seductive tongue, but now everything wanted to come out, and he was the focus. She opened her mouth to say more, but noticed the paparazzi coming to attention. One of them squinted at her and slowly raised his camera with the large telescopic lens.

  “Never mind,” she growled. “I’ll call the manager later.”

  As quickly as her feet could carry her without raising more suspicion, she collected the keys from him and got into the car. She planted her foot on the gas and drove away, hiding her face as she passed the cluster of attentive photographers.

  She fumed the entire drive to her apartment, cursing Tony’s stalker—it had to be her—before she finally cooled her jets enough to realize that she’d received a vital clue as to the perpetrator’s identity. The stalker was someone with access to the studio expense account. Must be. If they’d been able to pay her bill and get close to her car, then surely, they were part of the staff. Nobody else would have been allowed to get down to the garage, unless someone asked to check on it.

  Once Bailey had returned to her condo, she quickly showered and dressed in a Nightingale Securities uniform. It reassured her to wear the dark, familiar attire. She wasn’t due back at work, but she felt as though, if Tony was going to be out protecting the city, it was the least she could do to find his stalker. She packed an overnight bag with essential items, and maybe a set of lingerie or two, and then headed to her small kitchenette.

  Looking around, she took stock. The wooden cupboards and stainless steel appliances were modest, but new. She opened a cupboard. One lone martini glass sat next to a stainless steel cocktail shaker.

  The accident that cost her friend’s life happened years ago. So long ago that she’d lived the same amount of years since the accident than before. She was sixteen then, now she was thirty-two. How long was she going to keep this ruse up for? It was time to either accept the fact she’d made her own decisions that fated day and not blame the alcohol, or keep using it as an excuse.

  She slumped. Deep down inside, she’d always known the alcohol wasn’t to blame; she was. All these years she had pretended it was the other way around so she could live with herself, but the truth was, she had made the choice to get drunk. She had ignored her intuition to not get into the car whilst intoxicated. She had chosen to do as her friend asked, even when she knew it was wrong.

  Come on, Bailey, just one drink. Your parents won’t even know we’re missing. Don’t be a stuffy old matron.

  Memories assaulted her mind.

  To capture the attention of her parents, she had made a mistake, a deadly one, and she’d been making up for it ever since.

  But was she confident with her choices now?

  Was she still that blundering girl?

  W
as it okay to forgive herself?

  Tony may have been the one who rescued her from the sewer, but their time together had shown a vulnerability in him she’d never seen before. He needed her to be strong. She had to stop worrying about destroying lives and start building them.

  Bailey took the martini glass and then walked over to her trash can. She lifted the lid and dropped it in.

  Twenty-Five

  Tony came to the door of the operations room with a sinking feeling. All the old expectations were exactly where he’d left them. But this time it was different. He had Bailey. He had his new power. So he straightened his spine and continued further into the room. The open space took up a few hundred square feet. Television screens on a wall flickered with the latest from the news networks. Paper, office documents and various computer devices covered the central strategy table. Two of the seven battle suits housed in the glass cabinets on the far wall were missing. At first, Tony assumed two of his family were already out in the city, causing havoc for criminal kind, but then he noticed Parker in the adjoined workshop area, already wearing his suit, hood down. The second suit was laying flat on the bench, interior exposed, and with some wires out.

  Flint watched avidly, his spectacles down to the tip of his nose. Sloan was also there, sitting on a stool. Dressed in some grease-stained casual clothes, it appeared as though she’d been working with Flint on some sort of tech repairs.

  Damn. Tony had thought he was on time. He should have known Parker would be early. The three of them appeared to have been at it for a while. A minor splash of guilt hit him when he thought of how he’d spent the afternoon, but then he shoved it aside. He’d needed the time to prepare himself mentally for what was to come.

  He’d not been patrolling in months.

  Sauntering up to them, he leaned on the bench. “Wha’cha doin’?”

  Parker flicked his judgmental gaze at Tony. “Good, you’re here.”

  “I said I would come, so here I am.”

  The two men shared a tension-loaded look. Parker, no doubt, thought of some condescending response, but kept it leashed beneath a clenched jaw and blazing golden eyes.

  Tony’s fists flexed at his side. Tonight was not going to go well if the dude glared at him the entire time. Tony’s patience was already worn thin, and he had the inexplicable urge to chase down Parker’s disappointment with a stiff drink.

  The moment Tony thought it, he became acutely aware of how much of his drinking had been bolstered by the weight of expectations pushed onto him. Parker’s comment to Bailey about Tony being the best fighter wasn’t a slip. It was meant to get back to Tony. It had been a round about way to let him know that he had a responsibility, and he hadn’t been filling it.

  Maybe it was just a compliment.

  Problem was, Tony failed to recognize a genuine compliment these days. Most people he came into contact with always wanted something out of him. A selfie, a kiss, The Smile.

  Except Bailey.

  Sure, she liked his company, but this past afternoon, she’d let him make the demands.

  At the thought of his mate, a warm feeling washed through him, releasing the tension knotted in his shoulders. He relaxed with a slow exhale through the teeth.

  There were many issues floating between Parker and Tony. They used to be good friends. Parker’s public identity was just as much as a playboy as Tony’s. Parker left others running the day-to-day business of his billion-dollar tech empire, while he partied hard and pursued wayward entrepreneurial interests like opening clubs and restaurants, or adrenaline junky seeking activities.

  Lately though, Parker had been less of a party boy and more of a workaholic. During his days, he went to his office, then came home and worked, either in the workshop or out on the street.

  Tony shoved his thoughts down and shifted his glare to the suit.

  Sloan smirked, eyes dancing between her brothers. “You both forget to wear your tampons today, or something?”

  Parker bared his teeth at her.

  Tony kissed the air in her direction, and she replied by putting her finger down her throat and pretending to gag. Good to see some of them hadn’t lost their humor.

  Flint watched over the actions of his children with wary tolerance. He cleared his throat. “Right, well, I’m about to head off for something to eat. Your mother has cooked Jamaican jerk chicken and I can already taste the flavor. Do you need me anymore, Parker?”

  Parker shook his head.

  Sloan’s gaze locked onto Flint, slowly widening as though his words had just passed her brain barrier. “Did you say jerk chicken?” She licked her lips, eyes turning desperate. “How much did she cook?”

  “Why don’t you and Max come over and find out?”

  She hopped off her stool and jogged to the doorway. Leaning on the jamb, she shouted down the hall, “You hear that, Max?”

  “What?” came a distant voice.

  “I said, jerk chicken!”

  Moments later, Max appeared in the doorway, red-faced and breathing hard in sweaty gym clothes. Wiping his face with a towel, he glanced over at Parker and gave a curt nod. He did the same to Flint and Tony. Then his eyes turned soft as they took in his woman, now rubbing her hands up and down his slick arms with amorous intent.

  “What did you say?” he asked.

  “Huh?” Her eyes glazed as she took in his curved biceps. “Did I say something?”

  Max laughed and shook his head, an action which prompted a scowl on Sloan’s face.

  “Don’t make fun of me for liking this,” she said. “I can’t think straight. First, it was the jerk chicken, and then you come in looking all... that.”

  Max whispered something in Sloan’s ear that had her cheeks turning beet red. Tony wanted to laugh.

  “We’ll be there, Flint,” Max said with amused eyes.

  “Someone needs to be on comms,” Parker pointed out gruffly. “And I thought you could let your crew know about what we spoke about earlier, Max.”

  Max’s face hardened, and he nodded. “Yes, I’ll let them know tonight.”

  “Know what?” Tony asked.

  Although Max met Tony’s gaze, it was Parker who responded. “Since we all agreed we need more resources, I’ve asked Max to bring the rest of his team into the fold. Half of them already know our secret.”

  “Oh.” Would have been nice if he’d been consulted.

  Sloan pushed Max out the door, shouting parting words to Flint over her shoulder, “See you in thirty, dad. And you two, stop being such tight asses. Go out and have some fun.”

  Tony slid a tentative look to Parker.

  Maybe that was where his problem lied. They used to hang. Chat over a drink. Base jump off a cliff. And then Parker grew the carrot in his ass.

  Parker pointed at the suit. “I made some modifications since your powers came in.”

  “Oh?” Tony’s brows lifted, and he shifted for a closer look. The suit seemed the same to him, but he’d never really taken a close look.

  With a mini screwdriver in hand, Parker indicated a line from the shoulder to the cuff. “Since power directs from your torso and arms to your hands using a focused photon blast, I’ve replaced the inner lining with kinetic absorbing fabric engineered to redistribute the flow so the buildup of power is enhanced at the end of the sleeve.”

  Tony blinked, comprehension dawning. “You made it so any power that leaks through my body and arms is captured and sent to my hands.”

  “And of course, I’ve tested the flame resistance to your standard. You won’t be catching fire, and neither will the tech built into the suit.”

  Tony peered at his brother. He didn’t have to do all this extra stuff, but he did. For all his pride and ego, Parker was the steady rock who pushed their little group forward. Or his pride was making him do it. Either way, Tony’s ire at the man had been misplaced. He owed Parker an apology.

  He coughed. “Thanks, bro.”

  Parker lifted a shoulder in acknowledgemen
t.

  Good. Glad that was out of the way.

  “Put it on,” Parker ordered.

  Tony undressed right there. None of them were ashamed of their bodies, or prudes in the least. They’d been stuck with needles, poked and prodded as kids, and they’d spent the rest of their youth conditioning their bodies to be lethal weapons.

  Removing his clothes, he stepped into the enormous, seamless outfit. It looked ridiculous unfitted, almost like a baggy garbage bag. Once he got his arms and neck in the right hole, he hit the form fitting button. Air whooshed out as the fabric retracted to hug his frame. He tested the fit by doing a few squats, feeling Parker’s assessing eyes on him the entire time.

  “Feels good.” Felt familiar.

  He retrieved his orange face-scarf from the mannequin and tugged it over his head. The elastic fabric could be pulled to cover his nose and mouth, or pool at his neck if he needed to breathe easier. Parker watched Tony reacquaint himself with the suit, and Tony could almost feel Parker’s need to add his two cents. When Tony lifted the hood, Parker said, “AIMI’s patched in now. And have you tested the syncing ability?”

  Tony nodded. “I remember the demonstration.”

  “Right. You just haven’t taken it for a spin.”

  “I was with you at the black site, remember?”

  Tony took Parker’s underlying snark on the chin. It was Tony’s fault after all. He’d taken a job with little flexibility and slowly forsook his duties as one of the Seven. Maybe his fear of failure had something to do with it. Either way, it was time he started making up for lost time. He fixed his posture.

  “Let’s get kitted out.” Parker waved him into the weapon’s room, down the hall.

  Inside was a veritable treasure trove for the battle inclined. Floor to ceiling racks of weapon’s grade steel, in all shapes and sizes. Swords, guns, rifles, grenades, accessories. Tony spied his old katana on the rack and lifted its weight to balance in his hand. Testing it, he rotated his wrist. Yep. Just like old times.