Renegades: Book Two of the Scottstown Heroes Series

by A A Woods

  And began to climb.

  Chapter Thirty-Four: Flirting with Danger

  Aquila’s patience was running out. He’d wandered through the vast sitting room, the entrance hall, the living area with three fireplaces. He’d picked up food that he couldn’t bring himself to eat and, with some guilt, had left untouched on the waste tables scattered throughout the party. He’d smiled through clenched teeth and hoped he didn’t look as aggressive and unsettled as he felt. And he’d ignored, sometimes with a herculean effort, the whispers that trailed him like so many snakes.

  But no one had come up to him.

  Looks like Hans was wrong, Aquila thought moodily as Victor drifted between groups, wry, charming, and everything Aquila couldn’t be.

  Would they hate me so much if I was more like him?

  It was hard not to feel envious of the man. He had everything: worldly success, a hot girlfriend, normalcy. Or, at least, as normal as one could get in a crowd like this. Aquila lifted a glass from the tray of a passing waiter, watching as Victor entertained a group of drop-dead gorgeous women, all laughing at whatever he’d just said.

  It was hard not to hate him.

  “I have to admit, it’s a surprise to see you here.”

  Aquila tensed at the voice. This was it. But when he turned to face the source of the soft, feminine greeting, all thought of espionage and infiltration flew out of his head like fog in the sun.

  She was beautiful. But no, that wasn’t the right word. Tall, narrow, with piled black hair and a long swan neck, she was dressed in a formfitting blue gown that seemed to shimmer when she walked. Attractive, yes, but there was something more to her than just good looks. Aquila couldn’t tear his gaze away. It was as if her eyes, her face were magnets holding him there, capturing his attention with the simple grace of standing, cocking her head, watching him.

  He could have stared at her all day.

  “You’re one of those Vagabonds, aren’t you?” she said after a long moment that might have been awkward if Aquila’s brain had been working.

  “Um, yeah,” he croaked out, clearing his throat.

  She smiled. There was an infinite elegance in the way her lip curled and her face pinched in all the right places. “It’s horrible, what they’ve done to you. I mean, anyone with eyes can tell these are real.” She reached out a long-fingered hand to stroke the feathers of Aquila’s left wing.

  He usually hated it when people touched his feathers. He’d once explained to Eliza that it was like someone running their fingers through your hair; too intimate and personal for casual contact. But that hadn’t stopped people in the real world from asking. The nurses at the Scottstown hospital, the reporters they’d spoken with at the beginning, anyone who saw him in the street. First, they wanted a selfie, then they wanted to feel the wings for themselves. And, grudgingly, he’d let them. After all, they didn’t know how it felt. To them it was like stroking tree leaves.

  But something about the way this woman’s hand lingered on the ruffled ridge of his bone made Aquila wonder if she knew exactly what she was doing.

  He took a step back, thinking of Eliza. “Who are you?” he asked, voice rougher than intended.

  Her smile didn’t waver, but she withdrew her hand. “Scarlett Hill.”

  “From Instagram?” Aquila blurted without thinking.

  “I do have a significant following there, yes.” She swirled her drink. “Among other places.”

  Fighting the urge to shake himself like a dog, Aquila watched her. He’d never spent much time online, ceding the digital realm to Moose, Tero, and Daisy. He and Otto had always been more interested in the physical world, enjoying time outdoors or wrestling matches. But he’d heard of Scarlett even before they’d all been jettisoned into the public eye. She’d come out of nowhere a couple of years ago, somehow snagging major deals with fashion lines and producers, despite her age. He remembered reading headlines about the youngest person ever to get signed by this or that label.

  It was a reminder of who he might be dealing with.

  “And how do you know Victor?” Aquila asked, struggling to keep his head clear.

  She glanced over her shoulder to where Victor was bowing out of a group, gesturing toward the hallway that Aquila had been informed led to the bathrooms. “Please excuse me…” Aquila heard him say as he disappeared.

  “We’re something of an item,” Scarlett said, turning back. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard. The tabloids are almost as excited about us as they are about you.”

  “I don’t read them.”

  “Probably wise.”

  “So?” Aquila said, folding his arms, fighting the muzziness of his thoughts. “Is there a particular reason you approached me?”

  Her smile seemed to speak to him, as if to say transparent idiot. But despite the cat-like smugness, he couldn’t turn away. He wondered if he could refuse her, if she asked something of him.

  The fact that he didn’t have a clear answer was enough to make his neck tingle.

  “You’re a curiosity,” Scarlett said at last, stroking the stem of her wineglass. “I enjoy curiosities. And power.”

  Aquila snorted. “I don’t have much of that.”

  “Ah, but you do. You just choose not to use it. Do you even realize how many headlines have been printed with your name in them? How much free publicity you and your brothers have been given?”

  He winced. “Yeah, bad publicity.”

  “You know what they say.”

  He eyed her. “I really don’t.”

  Her eyes became, if possible, even more magnetic. “The thing about fame, Aquila, is that it’s a choice. Not for everyone, sure. Many don’t get the opportunity. But when you do, when everyone in the world has your name on their lips, it’s a choice to lean in… or not.” She spread her fingers, as if to make it perfectly clear what she thought of his choice.

  “I don’t want to be famous,” Aquila said, hating how petulant he sounded.

  “Many don’t, when it comes down to it.”

  He released a loud, “Ha!”

  Scarlett didn’t react. “The dreamers can dream, but they’ll never realize how few have what it takes. What it really takes. You see, the choice to lean in, to grab what’s lingering beyond the tips of your fingers… well, it isn’t as simple as smiling for the right camera. There’s a cost. A crossroads that you can’t walk back from.”

  Aquila frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Not yet perhaps. But you will. Your crossroads will come.”

  He clenched his fists. “What are you saying?”

  If she noticed his feathers rising or the cords of his muscles standing out, she didn’t show it. “Nothing of consequence. I’m only offering a bit of friendly advice. Pay attention, Aquila, because if you don’t then your threshold will come, and you might walk the wrong way.”

  “I told you, I don’t want to be famous.”

  “No, but you want control.” Her smile widened, showing teeth. “We all do.”

  Aquila opened his mouth to deny her, but unwelcome thoughts popped into his head, as if loosened by the magic of her gaze. He thought about having the ability to make people leave him alone. To force strangers to respect the privacy of his home, his body, his wings.

  How a part of him secretly wanted Hans’s help, because Hans was the kind of person who could do what he couldn’t.

  He took a step back. “I need to go.”

  Scarlett tilted her head. “Of course. But remember me, Aquila. We might meet again.”

  Muttering a hurried goodbye that bordered on rudeness, he spun around and dove into the crowd. He’d never been so grateful for the way people parted in front of him, letting him through without issue.

  Fuck this, he thought viciously, coating his fear in angry thoughts. Fuck Hans. Fuck Moose. I’m done with this shit. I’m going home to Eliza and I’m going to tell her everything. I can’t do this without her. I can’t puzzle through this on my
own.

  He paused at the door, his spine tingling with some kind of instinct.

  He looked back.

  Hans was staring right at him from across the room, expressionless, blue eyes hard as stones.

  Aquila met his gaze for a moment, trying to hide the maelstrom of his thoughts.

  But he couldn’t.

  “I’m sorry,” Aquila said. Hans couldn’t have possibly heard him, but Aquila knew he’d get the message.

  Then, bursting out into the night, Aquila threw out his wings, ignoring the gasp and the flashing snap of pictures, and leapt into the darkness.

  Chapter Thirty-Five: Plots, Schemes, and Expectations

  Waiting on the rooftop of Victor Smith’s mansion, Moose was trying to focus. This was a mission, and it was important, and he was here to help. But Joe’s words kept circling in his mind, over and over and over.

  How do you know you’re not working for the bad guys?

  How dare he? How dare Joe just show up and try to lecture Moose the way Aquila always did? The way Ian always did? Moose didn’t need to be lectured anymore. He was an adult, living by himself in the big city. He wasn’t some dumb kid.

  He was a hero.

  Or at least on his way to becoming one.

  But the problem digging under his skin like so many splinters was that Moose didn’t feel very heroic. He felt dirty and secretive, hurried through the kitchens and up the elevator to hide on the dark roof, waiting for some unknown meeting that felt an awful lot like it fell under Ian’s nothing good happens after dark rule. Victor hadn’t told him why this meeting was important, which was beginning to feel like a larger and larger omission. If it was for the good of the world, then Victor should be able to talk about it, right? If it was meant to take down the big bad guy and his team of cronies, then it shouldn’t be a secret.

  Should it?

  Moose wondered if it was part of the hero gig, to feel so small and lost. Was Batman afraid and lonely when he was kicking butt? Did Ironman ever doubt if he was on the right side? It must be normal, to wonder if you’re fighting for the right thing, the right person.

  But wouldn’t it be nice to have someone to talk to about it?

  Moose shook his head.

  No, he was not going to miss Aquila of all people. Aquila was the reason he was here, the reason he had to basically sneak out of his own home because Aquila was too careful to even try. If Aquila was here, he’d lecture Moose even worse than Joe, tell him to go home and let the authorities do their thing.

  The same authorities who had let Hans Schneider rise to power over all these years and never done anything to stop him.

  Nodding with grit teeth, Moose crouched down in his spot and waited for Ricardo and Victor to show up. They should be coming back any minute to prepare for the meeting. Moose decided to pass the time by examining the rooftop for potential pitfalls, which was a difficult enough task to keep his busy mind occupied.

  Like every other part of Victor’s home, the roof was ridiculously extravagant. Instead of the classic industrial top of a New York building, up here was landscaped and decorated in the style of an old-world garden, like something that might be found outside a castle in France. Even in the dead of winter, it exploded with color and warmth, red berries on green trees, kept warm by huge heaters and wood-burning fireplaces. The furniture was draped in plush blankets, no doubt set up for this very occasion, and luscious spreads of appetizers graced every table. Moose wondered at the pretense. Did Victor plan to invite guests up here after he was done? Or had they already been up here and shooed out at the opportune time? No, nothing was touched. The plates were full, the blankets folded.

  Was it all a show for whoever was coming?

  Wouldn’t the person have to enter through the mansion anyway?

  Maybe not.

  Moose’s gaze darted from shadow to shadow, wondering how and when the stranger might appear. Would they come by helicopter? Moose doubted they’d be bundled through the kitchens like he had. Maybe Victor had some private entrance up here that he hadn’t told Moose about?

  For some reason, that wouldn’t have been very surprising.

  A flicker of movement on the far side caught Moose’s attention. He focused, unable to squint but mentally drilling into the dark smudge he’d just seen drop from the ledge. A body? Or a shifting pile of snow? Why couldn’t his massive eyes give him night vision as well as speedy reflexes…

  The elevator doors dinged open, distracting Moose. He straightened, shrugging off whatever had happened—probably just nerves—and turned to greet Victor and Ricardo as they strode toward him, both dressed in tuxes.

  “You two look snazzy,” Moose said, doing his best to channel utmost confidence in his brown jacket and running shoes. “Hope I’m not underdressed.”

  Victor flashed him a distracted smile. “You’re fine.”

  Moose’s own smile flickered. He hadn’t exactly been expecting the red-carpet treatment, but the way Victor’s eyes skimmed over him like he was one of the help…

  Moose shook himself, leaning against the nearest outdoor couch while Ricardo positioned himself on the other side of the small square of furniture. Victor strode to the middle, hands folded behind him, eyes on the sky.

  “So is this dude gonna fly here or something?” Moose said, trying to get Victor to look at him.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh. Sweet.”

  The night was going from bad to worse. Moose had to convince himself that Victor was just having an off night. Dude was distracted. Tense because of this important meeting. Maybe something had happened at the party as well, some snub or challenge. Something Moose didn’t know about.

  Glancing at Ricardo, Moose tried to find a tactful way to phrase the question. Ricardo, at least, was his equal. They were both standing in the back, flanking the famous news anchor. Maybe Ricardo would be honest with him.

  Unfortunately, tact had never been Moose’s strong suit.

  That was far more in Aquila’s territory, if even then. After all, they were a bunch of teenage boys, raised for most of their lives without a female influence. Manners had been quick to go by the wayside.

  But right when Moose opened his mouth, ready to blurt the first thing that popped into his mind, he heard a sound so familiar that he’d have recognized it in his sleep.

  The thumping of massive wings.

  Spinning around, Moose looked up to find a figure blotting out the sky. It was a man, sprouting enormous, white wings fluffed with feathers. His were less sleek than Aquila’s, more downy than streamlined. They were also strangely silent, even for their size, as if the fluff dampened the soft but recognizable sound.

  The man dropped onto the rooftop, feet barely making a noise, and straightened. He, at least, wasn’t wearing a suit. In fact, his clothing was even more eccentric than Moose’s, with thick gray fabric wrapped in what looked like packing twine, bunched at the wrists and ankles where gloves began. The man reached up and pulled down a heavy scarf that covered most of his face, revealing a sharp nose and huge, round eyes with yellow irises that were almost as creepy as Moose’s.

  Aww yeah, Moose thought, feeling more cheerful than he had since he arrived at the mansion. This was exciting. This was supernatural.

  This is what he’d come to New York to find.

  Vibrating with anticipation, Moose watched as Victor spread his hands in welcome.

  “Ramison,” Victor said, his voice light and coy and back to normal. “Nice to finally meet in person.”

  The winged man, Ramison, straightened and folded his appendages against his spine. They were larger than Aquila’s, taking up noticeably more room on the roof. Moose wondered if Ramison might even be taller.

  “Tell me why I’m here,” Ramison said, voice like salt on rock. The way he stood reminded Moose of Eliza these days, slightly on his toes and wide-eyed, as if he might bolt at any moment.

  If Victor sensed the tension, he didn’t show it. “A straightforward m
an of business. I like that.” He pulled his hands in, folding them behind his back again. “Ramison, you’re here because I have a proposition for you. One I think you might find quite tempting.”

  Ramison didn’t move, didn’t even blink. He only stood, poised and ready to flee.

  “You see, I’m building a coalition. An association, shall we say, of people with abilities far beyond my own.”

  “Abnormals,” Ramison interrupted, the word blunt and brutal in his mouth.

  “Yes,” Victor said slowly, carefully.

  Ramison seemed to grow, if possible, even more tense. “Like Hans?”

  Victor smiled. “No, not like Hans. You see, I don’t believe in subjugation and rule by fear. I want a team, not an army of minions.”

  Ramison sniffed in disbelief, but Victor went on over the sound.

  “There are more versions of the world than those cultivated by Hans Schneider, as you well know. His hand on all our throats holds us back, keeps us muzzled.”

  “Not me.”

  Victor inclined his head. “Perhaps not explicitly, but even you can’t step out of Hans’s shadow.”

  Ramison seemed to shift and Moose could almost imagine him fluffing his feathers in interest. “What are you proposing?”

  Victor gestured first to Moose, then to Ricardo. “A future without Hans. Without secrets. You could live in the light, Ramison. You and your precious Alphas.”

  Ramison’s lip curled, but he didn’t leave. Moose glanced at Ricardo, wondering why the strange, silent man had been lumped in with himself.

  Was Ricardo Abnormal too?

  How many were there?

  “Hans will never allow it,” Ramison said, folding his muscled arms. “He’ll stomp it out before you’ve even started.”

  “Only if he’s alive to do so.”

  Ramison froze.

  Victor grinned. “Let’s just say that Hans is the guest of honor at my soiree this Friday.”

  “I heard that’s supposed to be a big party. Lots of people.”

  Victor shrugged. “Sacrifices must be made.”

  All at once, Moose’s blood ran cold.