by A A Woods
Aquila released an exhausted breath. “Guess all I needed was a bit of terrorism to get away with it.”
Moose winced. Terrorism. That was what he’d done, what he’d been a part of. An act of horror, a power-play. A coup.
Aquila turned to him, eyes unreadable. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” Moose answered. “Are you?”
“Not permanently,” Aquila said, rubbing his jaw. “At least I hope not.”
“That Ricardo guy’s an asshole,” Eliza growled, clenching her fists.
“Yeah, I didn’t like him either,” Moose said, trying to force a smile. It didn’t work, especially not when they both turned to look straight at him. “I know, I know, I’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”
“You do,” Aquila agreed. “But not tonight.”
“Where’s Joe?” Eliza asked, looking around. “Wasn’t he supposed to be at this party?”
Moose swallowed. “Um… he’s gone. His parents….”
He gestured helplessly at the body-bags.
Eliza’s mouth fell open. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Oh God, no…”
Aquila tried to enfold her in a hug. “It’s ok. We’ll figure it out.”
“I’ll call him,” Eliza said, pulling back, shaking loose hair out of her eyes. “I need to talk to him, to make sure he’s ok…”
She whipped out her phone and strode away from them as she dialed.
Aquila watched her. “He’s not going to answer, is he?”
“I don’t think so,” Moose said, rubbing his arms. The cold hadn’t bothered him so much before, but suddenly the whole city felt like a freezer. “I think he wanted us to leave him alone.”
Aquila nodded, as if that made perfect sense. “Moose,” he said, turning back. “Can we go home now?”
“I thought you’d never ask—”
But Moose was interrupted by a buzzing, coming from Aquila’s pocket. His own jacket was vibrating too. Moose took out his phone, reading the name. Why was Tero calling him?
“It’s Dad,” Aquila said.
Moose shrugged, wordlessly asking which of them was going to answer.
Aquila did.
“Hey Dad, now’s not really a good—”
Moose watched in silence as Aquila listened to the voice on the other end, talking so fast that Aquila didn’t even have a chance to speak. With every second on the call, Aquila’s eyes got wider and wider.
Moose couldn’t help himself. “What? What is it?”
Eliza returned, shaking her head. “Joe’s not answering his—”
“Shh!” Moose said, gaze fixed on Aquila.
Finally, Aquila lowered the phone. He looked at Moose, then at Eliza, who appeared to be holding her breath. There was a dense, awful silence in which Moose understood with perfect clarity that they weren’t about to get the rest they all sorely needed.
“We need to go back to Scottstown,” Aquila said at last. “As soon as possible.”
“What happened?” Eliza asked in a breathless voice, both her and Moose leaning in. Everything around them was still, quiet, waiting for Aquila’s answer.
“There was an attack at home. On Otto. Apparently, it won’t be the last.” Aquila clenched his phone so hard it was a miracle it didn’t break. “And Dad’s right. Whatever this is, we need to face it together.”
Moose was gratified when his brother looked up, right into his goggles, and he felt the tiniest inkling of reconciliation. They’d get past this. For their brothers, for themselves, and for whatever new threat stood in their path. They’d work together, keep each other safe. It would be ok.
Because the world was a dangerous place, and if Moose had learned anything it was that he couldn’t do things alone.
Moose nodded. “I’ll follow you.”
To his immense relief, Aquila smiled. “Good. Now let’s go.”
Chapter Fifty-Five: Contingency Plans
The landing in front of the high-rise apartment building was swarmed with paparazzi when the limo pulled up. They’d been there for hours, lying in wait, almost dormant. But the arrival of the vehicle worked like an electric current on the crowd, sparking them into motion. As the car pulled up and a burly security guard stepped forward to open the door, bodies began to stir. As a gorgeous, long-necked woman with mascara streaks down her face stepped out, voices rose into shouts.
“Scarlett, did you know Victor Smith was planning such an atrocity?”
“Did you have any idea he was a terrorist?”
“Did you come from the hospital? Do they know what he overdosed with?”
“Are you relieved he killed himself?”
Scarlett Hill walked with a straight spine, staring at the double doors of her building. Tears streamed down her face and her hair, half-loose and falling out of its tasteful bun, snapped in the wind. She was the image of a mourning girlfriend, the perfect snapshot of a woman bowled over by the actions of someone she thought she knew.
Ignoring the question, she thanked the guard holding the door for her.
To everyone’s surprise, Scarlett paused in the entrance.
She faced the gathered reporters and photographers, lifting her chin. “I’m so sorry for what Victor did. You must believe me, I didn’t know. I had no idea what he was doing until it was too late.” Her words thickened and for a moment she couldn’t continue. “I’m so very sorry for the lives that were ruined tonight. I’ll do everything I can to make up for my role in what happened. I promise.”
Bowing her head, Scarlett turned away from the surge of flashing cameras and volleyed questions. The thump of the closing door was like a blanket thrown over the noise, plunging her into silence.
“Do you need anything, Miss Hill?” the guard asked, his expression proud and protective.
“No,” she said, voice still quivering. “Just some rest. Thank you.”
Making her way to the private elevator in the back, Scarlett nodded to the men Victor had hired to protect her. She’d picked them out, spent the last six months making sure they were loyal.
Still…
She cried the whole ride up, letting the tears fall, letting the mascara continue to smear. She knew grief looked pretty on her.
Everything did.
Finally, the doors dinged open.
She stepped into her apartment and, at last, let herself drop the act.
“Urg,” she said, snatching a tissue to wipe off the streaked make-up.
Pan was waiting for her, lounging on the couch and flipping her butterfly knife with lazy carelessness. “Took you long enough. Think they appreciated the hysterics?”
Scarlett scoffed, continuing to clean her face. “Please, it was hardly that dramatic. I know my audience.”
“Bunch of saps.”
“You more than anyone should hope my little act was convincing, since both our skins depend on it.”
Pan grinned at her. “Hey, my skin can grow back.”
“Don’t be crass,” Scarlett said, examining herself in the hall mirror. “And don’t get blood on my couch.”
She looked like a mess, but a good one. The right kind of mess, the kind people feel sorry for. Scarlett had learned long ago how much the world will bend for an attractive woman in need. It had taken some time to test the limits of this understanding—she could push further than most, thanks to her adaptations—but Scarlett had been playing the role for so long that it was second nature now. She wasn’t worried.
She was just pissed.
“Well that was a shit-show,” Scarlett said, tossing used tissues on the floor and grabbing a wineglass. She was underage, but that didn’t matter when you knew how to ask for things. When you had the greatest of all powers.
Influence.
“It gets better,” Pan said, smirking.
Scarlett froze in the act of grabbing a bottle of Merlot. She lifted one eyebrow in question.
“Oh Tox,” Pan called in a playful, singsong voice. “Come out and tell our girl boss what
happened.”
Scarlett followed Pan’s gaze to see a disheveled Ricardo stepping around the corner from her second sitting room. His hair was standing on end, his shirt wrinkled, as if he’d flown there.
Scarlett’s eyes narrowed. “What happened?”
Ricardo flinched at her tone, but he stood straight. Like everyone who had escaped the Circus, it would take more than harsh words to bring him down. “There was a problem at the mansion.”
“What kind of problem.”
Ricardo flinched again. “A kidnapped-teenage-girl kind of problem. She saw me kill Victor. And she escaped.”
Scarlett glared at her wineglass, fighting the urge to whip it into the artistically tiled wall. She’d told Victor that kidnapping Elizabeth Mason was a bad idea. Well no, kidnapping her had been a necessity when she’d overheard Victor practically shouting their plan from the rooftop. Ricardo, or Tox as she knew him, had made the right call there.
But the wrong call was keeping her alive.
The girl was incriminating evidence, a liability that could talk and walk and fight back. Corpses were so much easier to handle.
Scarlett’s lips twitched as she thought of Victor.
At least he was gone.
Straightening, Scarlett grabbed the wine bottle with calm fingers and poured herself a glass. “Then it appears you’ll be of no use to me for some time. At least not in public-facing roles.”
Tox bristled. “I can do more than play the dumb assistant.”
“Oh, I know,” Scarlett said, swirling the wine. “And perhaps that’s exactly right.”
Pan perked up. “What do you mean?”
“I wonder,” Scarlett went on, as if to herself, “if maybe it’s time to accelerate things.”
Pan was on her feet now, both her and Tox drifting toward the counter where Scarlett stood, pondering her beverage. It was strange to her, the different things people responded to. Out in the world, they wanted her to be beautiful, weak, lighthearted and glittery. Like a flower or a shiny object they could pick up and put down whenever it suited them. But these two, her own kind, were drawn by power and strength, lured by the flame of Scarlett’s ambitions. And oh, it was such a relief to be around them, to let her pretenses fall away and be wanted for who she really was.
Or rather, who she longed to be.
“What did you have in mind?” Pan asked, close now, the butterfly knife clicking manically. But Pan wouldn’t hurt her. No, Pan was the last person in the world Scarlett needed to be afraid of.
Not that there were many.
Scarlett used one long, manicured fingernail to pull her phone close. She pulled up the YouTube app, which she’d had open in the limo.
Silently, she pressed play.
Pan and Tox watched the video she’d spent the whole evening analyzing. It was a short clip, barely thirty seconds, but perfectly crisp and detailed. It depicted Aquila slamming Scarlett into the wall. Aquila’s fingers tightening around Scarlett’s throat.
And Aquila flying away right as the cannister blew.
“So what?” Pan asked when the clip was done. “Or are you pissed someone could say no to you?”
Scarlett’s lips tightened once, in warning.
“He must have been going after that little bitch,” Tox growled, ignoring the exchange.
“And attacking America’s sweetheart,” Scarlett said in her most girlish voice, flashing them both a media-ready smile. “I mean, no one really knows who was behind the attack. Sure, Victor was the leader. But clearly those Vagabonds were involved, right?”
“That’s true,” Pan said, tapping the knife against her chin and slicing open the skin of her jaw. She didn’t seem to notice. “Do we have any evidence?”
“We don’t need it,” Scarlett said, stepping away from the counter with the click of stiletto heels. “I mean, look at how that beast lost his temper. The important question here is if it’s safe to have people like that out there, uncontrolled. Who knows who he might attack next? Really, we must worry about the children.”
A smile was blooming on Pan’s face, cold and cruel and everything Scarlett wanted. “Yeah, yeah that’s one option. But how can we be sure the backlash won’t hit our own?”
“You said it yourself.” Scarlett toasted. “No one can say no to me.”
And really, Scarlett didn’t care about their own. She cared about Pan in a distant sort of way. Tox was a useful ally.
But the rest?
Pawns in her game, pieces to be moved around a board of her making, controlled by the sound of her voice and the brightness of her eyes. No one else was real, not like her. How could they be when they bowed to her every whim, twisted like string around her finger? The only person who had ever thrown her off, ever really stood up to her, was Aquila.
And she was going to destroy him.
Scarlett stepped up to her window, looking down at a view that had long ago become mundane.
She had bigger dreams now.
Holding her wineglass with easy elegance, Scarlett smiled. “I think it’s time America understands how dangerous the Vagabonds really are.”
To be continued…
Thank you for reading!
Renegades has been in the works for some time now (more months than I care to admit!). Turns out writing a sequel is just as challenging as everyone says it is. I re-worked this book from the ground up three times before I finally felt like it was good enough to share with you all. Oof! But it was so, so important for me to get Moose's story right, and to do justice to the characters I fell in love with while writing Vagabonds. More importantly, I wanted to give you, the reader, the best quality work I have to offer.
I sincerely hope that my efforts paid off :)
If you enjoyed Renegades, please consider leaving an honest review on Amazon or Goodreads. Reviews are the single best way to support budding authors, so if you have time, it would mean the world to me. Also, if you can think of anyone who would enjoy this story, I'd love it if you sent Vagabonds their way. The first book will remain free for the forseeable future, so there's no investment needed!
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Keep reading for a teaser of Runaways, out now…
Chapter One: Bullies
Tori had begun to hate this place. It wasn’t that she’d liked it before, exactly. Back when she’d been popular, Meru Academy still felt like a straitjacket she had to wear 24/7, a heavy hand forcing her into a box she’d accepted but wasn’t really sure she wanted. Then Eliza had dragged her into that whole mess last October and she’d met the Vagabonds—met Otto. She’d thrown off that straitjacket, been herself for once. And it had been so glorious, like breathing fresh air after drowning.
But it turned out that her old group of friends hadn’t appreciated the transition as much as she did.
“Look, it’s the freak-lover,” sneered Brett as Tori shoved through the exit and into the school parking lot.
“Gee, how creative,” Tori answered, rolling her eyes. “Did you think of that all by yourself?”
Brett’s face purpled and a Tori was gratified by a moment of silence. These idiots had forgotten what had made her popular in the first place, the sharp tongue and cruel aloofness she’d wielded like twin whips.
But Brett, unfortunately, didn’t take long to recover, egged on as he was by a trio of braindead jock friends. “You know it’s not real, right? It’s all made-up. Or did those weirdos knock you on the head so hard you didn’t realize it was all fake?”
Tori grit her teeth. This was the new narrative, wasn’t it? That the Vagabonds were just a bunch of attention-seeking teenagers who got bored of their small-town life in the woods. That they’d somehow rigged up wings and used special effects to convince the poor, innocen
t army privates that they were super. Who cared that half the brothers were still recovering from being kidnapped? Who cared that Tori’s own brother would suffer the consequences the rest of his life? No, the public didn’t want to deal with the fact that anyone might actually be special and different, especially someone outside their control. So the major news channels had been working overtime for months to make everyone think the whole mess at Fitzgerald Base was nothing more than a big hoax.
She gripped the strap of her backpack, stepping around Brett and his posse. To think she’d once wanted to date him for the social standing it would bring her.
The thought revolted her now.
Brett moved to stand by Joe’s rusty old pick-up, left with Tori on an indefinite loan.
She folded her arms, lifting one eyebrow. “You’re blocking my car.”
Brett only leaned in, face twisting with a strange blend of cruelty and forced sympathy. “Are you sure you’re ok? Or are you as crazy as they are?”
Tori matched his faux-concerned tone as she responded, “Are you ok, Brett, or are you dumb enough to believe everything you hear on the news?”
He frowned, opening his mouth. But a new voice floated over the parking lot full of fancy muscle cars and Teslas. “Leave her alone, guys. She needs professional help.”
Tori closed her eyes. Not now, she thought desperately. But when she opened them, Greta was there, sauntering toward them like the Queen of Sheba.
Tori and Greta had been friends before, if you could call it that. Greta was rich and Tori was good at pretending to be, so they’d made a good match. Both hard, witty, and capable of shockingly casual cruelty, they used to rule the school. And a part of Tori missed it. Even after becoming friends with Joe and understanding that there was a person behind the nerdy redhead that used to be their favorite target, Tori missed the power and security of having a position. She missed being someone to these people, even if that someone hadn’t been a person she’d liked very much.
“Greta,” Tori said, not quite able to inject the greeting with her usual frostiness.
