Sloth: A Fated Mate Superhero Romance (The Deadly Seven Book 4)

by Lana Pecherczyk

  “You said ‘wow’ two times.” Sloan frowned at her brother’s girlfriend. The pheromones were a reaction programmed into their biological systems, supposedly to help entice their mate to their side… and keep them there. That’s how important it was to have your mate close by.

  “All I’m saying is that, if you want Max, he’ll have a hard time saying no to you. The ball is in your court.”

  Sloan didn’t know what to think.

  The phone pinged again. While Misha checked, Sloan chewed her new red nails.

  “Wyatt. Again. Wants to know how long. What should I tell him?” Misha asked.

  “Not ready yet. Can we, I don’t know, do something else?”

  “Yeah, I’m not ready to have him looming over me again.” After thinking about it for a moment, Misha jumped up and clapped her hands. “I know. We still need to get you a dress for tonight, right? Let’s sneak out the back and give Wyatt the slip. I know a store just a few streets away.”

  “Wyatt will be pissed.”

  “He’d let us go on our own if he knew about your new power. We’ll be fine. If someone attacks us, you can make them—”

  “Cry?” Sloan said wryly.

  “Sure. Let’s go with that.” Misha tugged Sloan out of her seat, whining. “Come on. Nothing will happen. He’s an overprotective father-to-be, that’s all.”

  There was definitely something wrong with her brain, because Sloan nodded. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  She did kick Max’s ass, after all.

  “Yes!”

  But before she left, Sloan swiped a pointy metal nail file. Just in case.

  Five

  In the back of an unmarked van parked somewhere on the streets of Cardinal City, Barry Pinkerton sat under the watchful eye of a member of the Faithful, and Despair—the Syndicate’s enforcer and the boss’s right-hand woman. Most others called her Falcon, because of the birdlike battle mask she wore to hide her identity. But lucky Barry had been privy to her secret for many years. She was the boss’s daughter, the only one of the eight experimented on children who survived the fire at Biolum Tech almost thirty years ago.

  The Faithful was a white robed and masked man holding a semi-automatic. Barry was more afraid of Despair, even though she had no weapon. She only needed to watch him with those unblinking violet eyes, and he trembled inside.

  Like it had almost thirty years ago, the feeling of wrongness festered in his gut. He’d started this genetic engineering project thinking he was helping humanity become better. He could regrow arms and limbs in a petri dish. What better way to help the victims of war or disease?

  Give him two years, and he could replace your broken limb with a new, tank grown one out of your own cells. But a few years ago, he’d learned his research wasn’t going to save humanity, not in the way he’d hoped. The Syndicate had lied to him. And now he was here, in a van with a caged rabid beast he’d created from a few cloned cells. A beast that had no other purpose in life but to hunt down sin and eliminate it.

  He felt sick.

  “I’m not sure this is the right thing to do,” he said to Despair.

  The white-robed man with the white faceless Halloween mask lifted his weapon and pointed it at Barry’s head.

  Despair lifted her hand, and the Faithful lowered his gun. “It doesn’t matter what you think,” she said.

  “But we’ve only tested the beasts against other animals with deadly sin.” Not around chaos like a city park. Not around children. What if it was his daughter out there? What if they were testing in another neighborhood? Or at her school? This wasn’t what he signed up for.

  “That’s why we are here.”

  “And what if something goes wrong?”

  “If the Deadly Seven don’t stop the slaughter?” Despair reached into a tool box and retrieved a canister filled with acid. Her solution was to destroy the evidence?

  Barry’s stomach rolled. The Syndicate were constantly pushing the buttons of the Deadly Seven. It was an obsessive game of theirs. The ultimate goal was to push them over the edge, get them falling prey to their sin, and becoming insatiable beasts themselves. Becoming unstoppable.

  Barry wasn’t blind. He wasn’t stupid. He knew the boss was trying to prove that he could still manipulate and control the Deadly Seven, even though they weren’t in their grasp. But the real question was, who was he trying to prove it to?

  “Need I remind you who will suffer if you don’t do this, Mr. Pinkerton?”

  Stuffing his doubts deep inside, he adjusted the dosage on the drip feeding into the sleeping beast’s vein. Immediately, the animal awoke and snarled at them, knocking against the cage.

  Despair opened the door and released the beast.

  Six

  Midday heat reflected off the sidewalk as Max walked along, tracking the GPS on his cell. He could have stayed at the office where Wyatt had ordered him to remain, but he’d been hired for security, and he took orders from Parker. Security was what he’d damn well provide.

  Protect the Lazarus brood during civilian activities was his goal. If any of them gave away their powers or abilities, their identities would be compromised, and they wouldn’t be able to fight to protect those the system failed. He’d gone against his better judgement once, and a life was lost. A life very important to him.

  Never again.

  Sometimes these Lazarus siblings were their own worst enemy.

  Coming up to a block of retail stores, Max checked the tracker. Looking up at the street sign, he knew he was close. This was the Quadrant, the lifeblood of the city. Four shopping and cultural districts surrounded an enormous park enjoyed by many, especially on a clear summer day. It was the perfect place for Sloan and her usual brand of hijinks to ensue.

  AIMI’s voice came across his ear-piece, directing him as he walked. “Turn next right and you will find your destination in twenty feet.”

  Max packed away his cell, stuffing it into the pocket of his fatigues. Despite the heat, he wore a denim jacket to conceal his Glock. It still amazed him how easy the license had been to obtain. In Australia, it was unheard of to walk around with a gun strapped under your arm.

  He approached the shop window and stopped, pretending to be enamored with the mannequins dressed in evening attire. He searched beyond into the store. Sloan was in there with Misha, somewhere. Unless this was one of Sloan’s pranks… nah. He dismissed the thought immediately. Sloan had been conspicuously silent since the incident on the gym mat. She was as rattled as he was. A fact that tugged at his curiosity, and concern.

  His heart clenched at the memory. He still had no idea how he’d made her nose bleed. Didn’t even touch her there. That first kick she’d planted on him had been professional and ruthless. He was surprised she didn’t break his nose. She wasn’t fragile. She was strong. He liked strong women. Strong, funny, and with long black hair.

  The question now was, should he go inside and let them know he was there, or keep watch from a distance? He used his cell to check the map displaying all the Lazarus GPS signals. Wyatt’s location had him at the café across the street from the salon a few blocks away. It was odd that he’d let Sloan and Misha go without him. The dude had been savage with his protection tendencies lately.

  Max had better go inside.

  Pushing the door open, he almost sneezed from all the perfume in the air. Racks of expensive-looking dresses lined the walls. A chandelier hung from the ceiling. Pastel blue patterned carpet lined the floor. Bloody hell. Looked like a sherbet candy had puked in there. Women drank champagne on pink velvet ottomans, laughing and talking as their girlfriends came out of dressing rooms to show off their latest clothing acquisition.

  Where are the girls?

  A few of the champagne-drinkers stopped laughing and eyed him. He moved to the far end of the store. Misha’s curly blond hair was hard to miss, but the woman standing next to her… it took him a moment to recognize Sloan. Her usual messy nest of hair was cut just below her shoulders. It shone in
a glossy stream, vibrant red tips at the end, almost as if they’d been dipped in paint. Instead of the usual blunt cut, the baseline of her hair was an arrow—shorter on the outside, longer down the middle as it kissed between her shoulder blades. She did love her arrows. She always picked the bow during their online games. He wondered if she knew how to use one in real life.

  Probably.

  He still had a lot to learn about her.

  As he drew closer, their conversation came into earshot. Should he interrupt?

  “… he’s not always going to be like this, right?” Misha asked Sloan, who only seemed to be half listening. A small frown and distant look marred her face. “Sorry, Sloan,” Misha continued, “I usually vent to Lilo but she’s been so busy with this latest story. All that stuff you uncovered on the you-know-who has really got her journalist instincts firing.”

  “All good,” Sloan replied. “Vent away. I’m happy to hear about someone else’s problems rather than mine.”

  “You’re amazing. I’m so glad we did this. It’s nice to feel independent again, if only for a few minutes. Oh, wow. That dress is simply stunning.” Misha gushed over the dress the attendant folded into a bag. Rubbing her belly, she added, “I’m so jealous. Soon I won’t be able to fit into something as sexy as that. You’re going to look incredible.”

  What would Sloan need a sexy dress for?

  Unease flittered in his stomach when he remembered how he’d looked her up after his discharge, hoping to reconnect, only to discover she’d been dating someone else. The online picture showed some wanker at this gaming convention with his paws all over her. The image had burned into his memory. He could still remember the sick feeling when he’d realized she hadn’t waited for him. At a time when he’d needed her like no other, she’d moved on with her life like he’d meant nothing to her. Like she never cared about him.

  That cut deep.

  “Well, you can go to the gala instead of me, how’s that?” Sloan’s dry humor leaked through her voice.

  The gala. Of course.

  He cleared his throat.

  The two woman turned around, surprise lifting their brows.

  “What are you doing here?” Sloan’s blue eyes narrowed on him.

  Misha sighed, resigned. “Did Wyatt send you?”

  “No. But he’s going to be spitting mad you left without him.”

  “Please don’t tell him,” Misha begged. “We’re going to go back to the salon, and he’ll never know. I promise.”

  That far off look had returned in Sloan’s eyes. She gazed toward the window. He pivoted, tracking her line of sight. Nothing out there.

  “You okay, Sloan?” Misha asked.

  “Something… isn’t right,” she murmured. “I sense… negligence. Someone is feeling mighty guilty about not doing something.”

  She reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out something long, silver and pointy.

  “Is that a nail file?” he asked.

  “Shh. Something’s out there.”

  They all turned to the window again. This time, a low black shadow darted past. Alarm jolted through Max. “Did you see that?”

  Too big for a dog. Too small for a person.

  Brows puckering, Sloan eased toward the window, watching as she passed the giggling customers. When a scream shook the window, she turned to him with alarm in her eyes.

  “Stay here,” he said and unclipped his firearm.

  “No. You stay here.” She mumbled something Max couldn’t quite catch, but it seemed like she was trying to convince herself. She flexed her fingers. “Yeah, I got this. You need to stay with Misha.”

  Before he could stop her, she pushed through the glass doors and ran down the street.

  “Shit.” That was his job. Shit, Sloan. He turned to the shop keeper. “Lock the door after me. Misha, stay here.”

  Max burst onto the sidewalk. He pushed past people running in the opposite direction and followed Sloan and the black blur. A feeling. A creeping feeling of foreboding hammered inside him. All he needed to do was follow the screams.

  His jog slowed as he came to his first blood stain, two shops down.

  Blood splattered the street. A sidewalk tree had been cracked in half, like a car had run into it, but there were no tire marks. No damaged vehicle. He unclipped his gun from the holster and proceeded with caution. Where was the screaming coming from?

  Bloody hell, Sloan.

  Gritting his teeth, he pushed on, following the trail of evidence to the next store. The front window was smashed in and shards of glass had sprayed the inside. Clothes were ripped from racks and littered the floor. People screamed and huddled against the wall. A body lay ripped open on the floor. It may have been female. Viscera and blood and gore assaulted his senses. For a moment, his memories of other bloody scenes flashed before him.

  Gale’s pale eyes a shock of blue against a bath of red.

  He winced. Not now.

  You wanted to feel useful again, Max, well, here you go, mate.

  He kept moving.

  A snarling growl rumbled from further in the store where a flash of black tumbled around with a human attached to its mouth. The human was Sloan. With the dog-thing latched onto her leg. She tried to pry its jaws open. Sloan was strong. If she had trouble unlocking that jaw…

  Heart in his throat, Max aimed his gun, but couldn’t risk shooting. They rolled too fast. One minute, Sloan was on top, the next the animal twisted to the side. He might shoot Sloan by mistake. Instead, he lifted his weapon and shot into the ceiling, hoping to draw attention.

  The dog lifted its head. Sniffed.

  Fuck me.

  That’s not a dog.

  Maybe it was—once. Resembling something like a Doberman, its short black ears pointed skyward, but it was huge. The sharp fangs and roped muscles belonged on a dragon. Lethal claws flashed. It twisted and wrestled in Sloan’s hold, getting loose, trying to come at him.

  He fired the gun again. Come on beastie. Come to Maxie.

  It snarled and broke free from Sloan’s grip. Teeth and saliva came at him. He froze, petrified. But it didn’t attack. Its sights were on something else. It launched past Max, through the window and onto the sidewalk. Shit.

  Shaking himself from his stupor, he aimed. It wove through the street, making it hard to get in his sights. Max leaped through the window and pounded after it. Sloan’s footsteps thudded behind him. She soon overtook him, running faster than he thought her capable. They passed the store Misha was in, and the dog—beast—suddenly stopped, skidding as though it caught a scent. Snarling, it turned its attention to the shop’s glass window.

  It battered the glass window, using its head as a ram. It wanted something or someone inside.

  “Shoot it, Max,” Sloan shouted. “Now.”

  Max trained the animal in his sight. He fired.

  The crack echoed in the street and the beast jolted—shot, but not down. It didn’t even slow, but launched at the window with single-minded viciousness.

  He fired again. This time, the beast moved too fast. He missed.

  Sloan darted forward.

  “Out of the way, Sloan!” he roared.

  But she didn’t listen. Fuck. She was going to wrestle it down, to attack with her fists. Darting a glance around, he noticed they had spectators. She could reveal her secret if she wasn’t careful. There was no way a normal woman had the strength to fend that beast off.

  “Sloan.” He moved around the animal, to get a better shot. He lowered his voice. “Don’t compromise your identity.”

  “I got this, Max.”

  Once again, it sounded like she was trying to convince herself, more than anything else. What was she trying to prove?

  As they moved closer, the animal stopped attacking the glass and snarled, aware the two of them were circling, surrounding it. Sloan darted forward, and it ran. Right toward Max.

  “Run!” Sloan shouted. “Run, you dumbass.”

  Adrenaline surged through
him. He pivoted, boots pounding the pavement, muscles pushed to the extreme. It chased. He had to get it away from the public. He darted into an alley, hoping the animal would continue its pursuit of him. With Sloan chasing its tail, it did.

  Breath burning his lungs, he ran, jumping over fallen crates, nearly tripping. Hot beast breath tickled his neck. Paws pounded the pavement. Slobbering snarls snapped. Panting, panting. Slobbering. Snarl. Snap. Jaws clicked perilously close.

  And then he came to a brick wall dead end. There wasn’t enough time to climb. Turning, he pointed his weapon and fired as the black blur launched at him. In the space of a blink, he caught two black demon eyes, white fangs, slobber. It didn’t stop coming. The bullets did nothing.

  Jaws locked onto his wrist, over his jacket. They careened into the wall, hitting hard. The gun went flying. Panic swamped him, and he thought, This is it. This is the end and I haven’t had a chance to tell Sloan…

  A piercing squeal came out of the dog like he’d never heard before. Its body seized, paralyzed, as though being stunned. For a moment, Max thought perhaps Evan was there with his electricity, but when he pushed the beast off, he only saw Sloan with her furious gaze intent on the beast. Alley wind buffeted her hair as she stabbed the nail file into her palm, blood dripping onto the pavement. Max’s gaze darted to the beast, whining in agony, then back to Sloan. She was doing something. Something supernatural.

  “Sloan?”

  “I don’t know how long this will last. Whatever you can do, do it now.”

  His gun was too far, kicked out from their collision, but he had a knife strapped to his leg. He reached down, released it, and launched onto the beast, driving the blade deep into its heart. Two-seconds later, the animal stopped seizing. It stopped all together.

  Panting hard, the two of them looked at each other, eyes wild. What the holy fuck?