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

by Lana Pecherczyk

  Beatrix shrank in the back seat, hugging herself. “What’s happening? Who are those people?”

  “Get down,” Sloan ordered. She took off her jacket, ready to wrap around her fist. “I said, get down, Beatrix. Get down and stay down until I say so.”

  The girl squealed and dropped, lowering herself into the gap between the back and front seats.

  “Cover your head.” With the jacket wrapped around her fist, Sloan pulled back, ready to strike the glass, but Max held out his palm toward her. She paused, frowning.

  Stop?

  Max dipped his head so he could catch her eyes. The brown in them sparked gold with the sun. He held a finger to Daisy, indicating for her to wait, and then strode quickly to Sloan’s window.

  Panting with panic, she forced herself to check his senses, to feel out his emotions. A trickle of emotional energy came through the glass, but she couldn’t grasp the meaning. The sensation was still too weak through the glass and metal insulation of the car.

  Then he kissed two fingers and pressed them on the window. His brows joined in the middle in a pained expression. She touched the window and their fingers met, strengthening the surge of his emotion.

  What echoed at her was… Love.

  Why now? Why…

  Her throat closed up. Her eyes burned. “Max?” she whispered.

  Movement behind him drew her attention. Her sister took hold of Max and dragged him away, and the worst thing was, he let her.

  “Max!” Louder this time.

  No response, only his back turning on her. Only the sight of his broad shoulders hunched as he walked away.

  Sloan struck the glass. Pain engulfed her fist, but she soaked it up, stored the memory of the knifelike sensations for later use. Her skin was protected, just bruised. She punched again, this time, shattering the window, but with all modern vehicles, the glass was tinted. A film held the window together, only letting her wrapped fist through. It was enough for her voice to carry. “MAX!”

  His shoulders lifted, tensed. A whispered word from her sister, a warning perhaps. He kept walking and got into an awaiting car. Range Rover. Black. Dark tint. License plate… no plates.

  The stench of kerosene wafted into the car, snapping Sloan’s attention back to her immediate surroundings. A new sense of panic rose. White robes flashed in her periphery. Two Faithful, one on each side of her car. The moment the car drove off with Max inside, they sloshed kerosene on her car. The horror of what they were about to do dawned on Sloan.

  Max must have made a deal for their safety.

  That damned dumbass sacrificed himself and, despite this, whatever deal he had made, they weren’t going to keep it.

  If she couldn’t get out, they would burn alive.

  Resolve hardened in her gut. Leaning back, Sloan kicked out with her boots. The entire window flipped out of the car.

  Snarling and full of rage, Sloan dove through the gap. Tucking and rolling, she somersaulted onto the concrete lot. She landed awkwardly on her shoulder and pushed the pain outward in a reckless arc, hoping Beatrix would be safe inside the vehicle. She didn’t wait to find out. In one swift movement, she whipped her gun out and aimed at the two sniveling Faithful, moaning on the floor in a puddle of spilled kerosene. Flammable. The puddle connected with the car. She couldn’t shoot. Too dangerous. Instead, she hit the closest Faithful with the butt of the gun. He passed out.

  She tugged the white mask off the second Faithful. Beneath was a scarred and puckered face. He’d already been burned alive. He knew the pain it caused, and he was about to do it to an innocent girl. Anger bubbled in Sloan’s blood and she grasped him by the scruff at the neck.

  “Where did she take Max?” Her voice cut like a knife.

  The man ignored her, just peered vacantly to the right of her face.

  “You wanna do this, asshole? I can make you hurt.”

  He brought his gaze to hers. “Pain is a construct.”

  “Yeah it’s a fucking construct, and I’ll construct it right up your ass if you don’t answer me.”

  “Nothing you can say will make me betray my makers. Nothing you do to me will be carried to my next life.”

  She let loose. Her fist smashed his nose, spurting blood everywhere. She did it again. And again. He laughed through it all, which made her even more furious. “Where did they take him!” she shouted, shifting her hold on his robe to hold him up.

  He craned his neck to lean closer and peer into her soul. “You can’t hurt me.”

  “You’re insane!” Sloan shoved him to the ground. He laughed and laughed, giving her a perfect view of blood covered teeth.

  She roared in outrage and paced up and down next to him.

  She needed him to talk. Gritting her teeth, she pointed her firearm at his head, but he just smiled calmly.

  He wanted to die.

  The knowledge hit her like a sledgehammer.

  A few months ago, Evan had first encountered the Faithful in the streets of Cardinal City, and he’d discovered they’d all made an agreement with the Syndicate. These sick, injured, scarred, deformed and disabled people made deals to become virtual suicide terrorists, all so their DNA would be used to bring them back as healed, and genetically enhanced new beings. Clones of themselves, but better. Replicates, was the name they’d been called. Wyatt’s psycho ex Sara was a replicate. She’d killed herself in a bomb. Her DNA had been salvaged from her dead body, and used to create another version of herself, except that version had an expiration date. The replicate project hadn’t gone according to the Syndicate’s plan.

  Evan had destroyed the replicate lab.

  They thought the replicates were done… but from the sound of this fanatical man, he still believed he would come back as a demigod among men. Then, the only thing that would get him to talk, wasn’t to threaten his life, but to keep him alive.

  A slow grin formed on her face. “Oh, you’ll talk all right.”

  His smile dropped.

  “You’ll only be reborn if you’re dead, right?” Sloan asked. “So… if I keep you alive for years and years… what will happen then?”

  He shook his head. Sloan tapped the barrel of her gun against his temple. “I’ll make it clear for you, asshole. You tell me what I need to know, I shoot you. Kill you dead right now. You refuse, I’ll make sure you die a long, slow and painful death curtesy of our penal system. How much fun do you think it will be in there for a man who looks like you?”

  Doubt flickered in his eyes.

  “Where did they take Max?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She held her chin high, refusing to let him see her disappointment. “Why did they take him?”

  “He’s linked to you and your powers, that’s all I know.”

  Dammit. They knew about the mating bond. They knew about Max being the only thing on this green earth keeping her sane. A dark insidious feeling churned in her belly.

  “How did you lock me out of the car?”

  “We hacked the fob frequency.”

  “Can you reverse it?”

  He set his jaw and shook his head. “I don’t have the equipment. She took it with her. I don’t even know how to do it, I’m just a—”

  “Idiot. You’re just an idiot.” She sent him to sleep.

  She didn’t need that car, anyway. There were plenty in the lot she could borrow. She tapped on the window, getting Beatrix’s attention.

  “You got a laptop in there?”

  Beatrix nodded, eyes wide.

  “Good. Get your shit out. We’re commandeering another car to meet your dad.”

  While Beatrix scrambled out, Sloan stalked to the admin building. Bursting through the doors, she expected to find the dean and others, but found no one. Hiding. Probably a good thing. Behind the receptionist’s oak desk was a key rack. Dangling right there was a set with a fob. Perfect.

  Back outside, she pointed the fob at the lot, pressing the lock button until she heard a beep. There it was, a red
Honda Civic in the dean’s reserved parking spot. Hers now.

  Hurrying Beatrix inside the car with her luggage, Sloan got into the driver side and urged her passenger to get her laptop out.

  “You got a phone?” Sloan asked, turning the engine on.

  Beatrix nodded and pulled out a girly red glitter covered phone.

  “Seatbelt on. Good. Open the Wifi settings on the laptop. I will give you a password that will give you access to the Lazarus Satellite.”

  “Got it,” Beatrix replied.

  “And then I want you to do exactly as I say.”

  Twenty-One

  Six hours later, Sloan pulled the Civic into the basement garage of the Lazarus building. In her haste, the wheels clipped a curb, sending a screech of protest from the tires echoing into the dark cavernous space. In the passenger seat, Beatrix also squealed, her knuckles white as she gripped her closed laptop. Yanking on the wheel, foot on the breaks, Sloan slammed the car to a stop right before the elevator door. No time to park.

  Max was out there somewhere. Alone, possibly hurt… worse.

  Swallowing the lump of fear in her throat, she pushed out of the car. The door stayed open. She strode toward the big metal locked door next to the elevator. Beatrix scrambled to keep up. Sloan had spent the drive placating her, telling her it was going to be fine, but it wouldn’t be. Max was missing.

  A fire had been lit back at that school, but it wasn’t the kerosene that caught ablaze, it was her blood. Full of adrenaline, Sloan had relentlessly used the girl and her computer on the long drive home. The poor girl was probably frightened out of her wits, but she took it in her stride. She hit every keystroke Sloan had ordered, completed every task. They’d traced Max’s cell and discovered it in a ditch not far from the school. If Sloan wasn’t completely wired, scattered and on edge, she might have respect for the girl—taking Sloan’s barked orders like a boss. As it was, all Sloan could think of was the growing list of things to do.

  Leave no stone unturned.

  After AIMI had checked her credentials, Sloan pushed open the heavy metal door. A few quick strides down a dark hallway, and she emerged in the underground Operations Room of their headquarters. Most of her family had gathered around the central strategy table. Evan. Flint. Mary. Parker. Tony…

  And Barry.

  She zeroed in on the man with predatory focus. The sin of sloth wiggled in her gut… and it still came from him. Shouldn’t he feel free from sin now? After all that? Confusion whirled in her mind with anguish. Her wired, scattered thoughts clashed as though on steroids. She thought she had herself under control, but her irrational fury and fears rushed to the surface.

  It was his fault.

  That man.

  Stifling agony wrapped around her throat and squeezed. It lowered to her chest—to her heart. Max. Her Max. Her mate.

  Missing.

  A flash of their fingers touching through the car’s window hit her mind’s eye.

  If he was dead—pain suffocated her chest, solidified in her bones. She froze, rooted to the spot, in silent torment, unable to voice her fears.

  Instead, her eyes glued to the man before her. She was stupid to think she could save him. So stupid. Because of him, Max was gone. Her sweet Max who sacrificed his own happiness to go back into the field and hunt for his missing friend. Her beautiful man who deserved more than this creator of monsters ever did.

  She should never have deviated from Parker’s plan to save him. Instead, she’d listened to her gut, and fucked up again.

  Sloan blinked, and Barry was at the center table, chatting quietly to a smiling Flint. Her father’s happiness was a betrayal to everything Sloan felt inside. And that monster-creator was in the center of it all, looking innocent as he adjusted his spectacles on the bridge of his nose.

  End his sin.

  She blinked, and then her hands wrapped around the man’s throat, shoving him backward, rushing him toward the wall housing flat screens broadcasting local news reports, shaking the foundations.

  She didn’t know how she’d closed the gap, or how she’d even moved, but it happened too fast and the older man responded with heavy limbs. He did nothing to protect himself. Nothing. A lamb to the slaughter… just like he’d led Max. It was Barry’s idea to rescue his daughter. For all they knew it was a trap. A well-played trap, and here he was, sitting in their secret headquarters, no doubt coaxing any precious information he could out of Parker. And then what? Who’s next?

  In her periphery, Sloan vaguely heard protests from her family, but they were just obstacles in her path. Barry deserved to sleep. Sleep forever.

  A feminine scream snapped Sloan’s attention to alert.

  Reality slapped her in the face. In horror, she realized she’d been choking the man so hard that he couldn’t breathe. Why had no one stopped her? Why?

  She let go, stumbled back, and slowly turned around. Everyone in the room was on the floor, moaning, rubbing their head or… still asleep.

  Fuck.

  She did that. She’d caused a room of warriors to drop with a single reckless thought. If it wasn’t for the daughterly love of the teenage girl, now crawling to her heaving and rasping father… if it wasn’t for her, Sloan would be a murderer.

  “I didn’t mean to,” Sloan stuttered. Coldness crept into her body. It all had happened so fast. So goddamned fast.

  One minute, she was walking into the room, intending to have a strong word with the scientist. The next minute, her hands had been wrapped around his throat, choking the life out of him, and sending every person in the room to sleep.

  Get rid of the obstacles.

  That’s what she had done. She got rid of anything blocking the path to end the sin she still felt sizzling in the gut of the man who was at the center of it all—Barry.

  Groans came from the floor. The first to come to was Evan, dragging himself to a standing position.

  “What the fuck was that, Sloan?” Evan rubbed his head. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

  Sloan covered her mouth and backed up. What had she done?

  Then Evan’s green gaze caught on the still rasping figure of Barry, leaning against the wall, holding his daughter. It wasn’t clear who was trying to protect who, but both stared wide-eyed at Sloan, as if she were the enemy.

  Evan’s eyes narrowed on his sister. “You did this?”

  Although it pained her to admit, she nodded.

  Menacing electricity arced up his tattooed arms, crackling and sparking with light. “Move away from Barry and his daughter, Sloan.”

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  Another masculine groan sounded as Parker came to. His fist slammed on the table, shaking the contents as he pulled himself up. Tony was next. Flint and Mary were last. When all eyes comprehended what Sloan had done, they stared at her.

  Just stared.

  She could almost hear their thoughts ticking over. What to do with her? Was she family, or foe?

  “I said, move away from Barry, Sloan.” A divot formed between Evan’s brows.

  She held up her hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. I lost control. It won’t happen again.”

  It was Mary who made the first move. Sloan’s deadly mother smoothed her hair back, but couldn’t hide the tremble in her hands as her eyes locked on her daughter. She was afraid.

  The notion almost floored Sloan.

  Afraid of me. Me, the whiny bitch. The one no one took seriously. The one who slept and gamed away entire days. Me.

  Fear… not respect. She gasped. It wasn’t meant to be like this.

  Mary sidestepped the bench and approached. Her movement was the switch that sent everyone into action. Flint rushed to his old friend.

  “Evan, see if you can get Grace down,” Flint ordered before crouching down and seeing to Barry’s injury.

  “No,” Barry rasped. “I’m fine. She stopped in time, mate. I’m fine.”

  “Mija,” Mary said softly to Sloan. “What happened?”
<
br />   Sloan blinked. “I called you on the drive. You all know. Max was taken. It was a trap. Why aren’t you all looking for him?”

  “I meant, what happened now? Focus on one thing at a time.”

  “Max is the priority.” Sloan shook off her mother’s hand and went to the center strategy table. A laptop was open. Perfect. She needed to start searching. First, she’d source a picture of Max—there must be one of him somewhere in AIMI’s feed—then feed it into the facial recognition databases. She’d have AIMI searching for Max on every camera feed in the country.

  “Mija, you can’t ignore what happened.”

  “I’m not ignoring it. I’m very sorry for what I’ve done, but I’m putting it in a box. Compartmentalizing. If I don’t, you’ll all be drowning in my regret and self-pity. I’ll unpack the box later.”

  Mary’s big sigh brushed the back of Sloan’s neck. “Mija, please relax.”

  “No time to relax.” Her fingers tapped the keyboard at a manic speed.

  “Sloan!” Mary’s curt voice cut through Sloan’s purpose. It was the mother tone.

  “What?”

  “Check your tattoo.”

  Sloan tilted her wrist and frowned. Since she’d met her mate, the Yin-Yang tattoo was meant to be a circle equally balanced, half black, half white. Not this time. “It’s almost all white. I’ve never seen it like that. Why is it like that?”

  Parker moved in and inspected it. “How do you feel?”

  “I feel fine. Ready to find Max. We got things to do.”

  “You look like you’ve snorted a rail of coke through the nose, Sloan.” Tony arched an eyebrow at her. When he took in her confusion, he added, “You look wired.”

  She shrugged. “Sure, I feel a little more energized. Maybe my adrenaline’s still kicking. Wait. Are you saying that I’ve got too much of the opposite of my sin, whatever it is?”

  Parker’s voice lowered as he checked Barry and Beatrix over his shoulder. “You flipped, Sloan. Flipped the switch.”

  “I’m still confused.”

  With the help of Flint, Barry got to his feet. He held his daughter’s hand and stepped bravely toward Sloan. “I think I can explain.”