Villains Pride (The Shadow Master Book 2)

by M. K. Gibson

  “By day, Malcolm Flynn was the billionaire who ran Flynn Enterprises, but by night, he was The Night Watchman,” I said, taking another sip. “Seriously, how did you all not know that? I mean, you can clearly see his lips and jaw. Anyway, as The Watchman, he was extremely paranoid. He had contingencies in case any hero anywhere went rogue.”

  Robert Baron rolled up his sleeve and touched a Celtic weave bracelet on his wrist. Instantly his business suit was gone, replaced by the garish, romantic-era Scottish Highland garb. You know, the type of outfit that causes middle-aged housewife nerds to swoon.

  The Highwayman, complete with a leather mask across his eyes and a plumed hat, drew a basket-hilt claymore in one hand and a rapier in the other. His front-laced shirt billowed open, revealing an impressive, masculine chest.

  Easy, ladies. He’s fictional.

  “I was always more than a match for The Watchman,” The Highwayman said, swiping wide with the claymore and following it up with a lunge of his rapier.

  The Watchman performed several backflips, creating distance from the Highwayman.

  “Scared?” The Highwayman asked with a smirk.

  “No,” The Watchman said, as he pulled a pistol from his belt and shot the Highwayman in the stomach. The masked vigilante dropped both swords and fell to the ground.

  “OW! OW ! OW! OW!”

  “Down like a dog in the highway. Alfred Noyes would be so proud,” I said, leaning over the table and smiling down at the bleeding Highwayman. And if you don’t get the Alfred Noyes reference, then I weep for you.

  “A goddamn gun?! The Watchman doesn’t use guns!”

  “Heh, yeah,” I laughed. “We fixed that.”

  “Malia, now!” Christopher Conrad said as his sub-dermal implants manifested across his face and the rest of his body. As the hero Augment, Conrad’s technopathic abilities allowed his mind to conceive of an infinite amount of new gadgets and to enhance any nearby tech.

  Likely due to Augment’s tinkering, Princess Malia too now had sub-dermal techno implants of her own. Although it seemed impossible, her Golden Lioness battle armor shifted into place, covering her entire form. Servos hummed as her weapon systems came online. Thanks to Augment, her formidable power was vastly enhanced.

  I shrugged and inclined my chin to the duo. “Do your thing,” I commanded The Watchman, who nodded in acknowledgment.

  Reaching into his shaman’s pouch, The Watchman tossed crushed diamond powder and essence of nightshade into the air as he began chanting. Instantly, both Augment and Golden Lioness began screaming in pain.

  I stood up and calmly refilled my champagne, then began walking. Not toward them, but toward the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office. I looked out over the city and sipped at my drink, my back to them.

  “My terms are simple, and in my opinion, very fair. Each of you will sign over a fifty-one percent majority share of your companies to me. I in turn will allow you to continue operations as normal. You can run around and chase bad guys until your heart’s content. Or fight one another, as you superheroes are constantly doing. It must be some sort of big-dick contest between you do-gooders. But considering I confirmed the stuffing situation earlier, I know that part isn’t true.”

  I pulled out a black cigarette and lit it. “But if you don’t sign over your companies, well, then I’m afraid I will be forced to move to Plan B.”

  “What . . . are . . . you . . . doing . . . to . . . us?” Lioness’s digitized voice said as she writhed in pain.

  “Me? Nothing. See, there’s this whole ‘do and do not’ thing when it comes to visiting gods. I won’t bore you with it, but unless you intend me harm, I can’t use lethal force. Hence catspaws and thralls. But back to the matter at hand, The Watchman is using a special healing spell he learned in his youth. See, your bodies are currently rejecting all the foreign matter present. Not just your sub-dermal tech, but every filling, every piercing, every tattoo, everything you weren’t born with. As heroes, I’m sure you have some battle injuries that required surgical rods, screws, pins, sutures and the like.”

  “What’s . . . Plan B?” Augment managed to say.

  “Glad you asked,” I said. “Good Mr. Flynn has a very extensive R&D lab, did you know that? Also, you five have very, very poor physical and cyber security. Well, all things considered. I do have an army of supervillains at my disposal, after all. Thus, I’ve managed to get my hands on a lot of your proprietary data.”

  “That’s theft!” Lioness said.

  “Uh, yeah,” I said, giving her the dumbest look. “Villain.”

  “Right.”

  “With this data, and the legion of lab rats at Flynn Enterprises, I can duplicate your metals, your resources, your medicine, and all your nifty toys. And just to be an asshole, I’ll make, and sell, everything at cost just to undercut you. When your respective companies are hemorrhaging money, and your boards of directors are calling for your heads, I’ll swoop in and buy up everything. After which I’ll level your buildings, burn the rubble, and piss on the ashes of your life’s work.”

  Lioness and Augment continued to writhe on the floor, while Highwayman bled, Dragoness shivered, and Imprint babbled unintelligible insults. I could tell they were considering, but not convinced. I sipped once more at my champagne.

  “But just to show you I have a heart, I’ll make you this one-time deal amendment. Sign over the majority of your companies, right here and right now, and I will not only allow you what’s left of your dignity, but I will also reduce crime in the city. I’ll leak you intel on villainous activities so that you will be greater heroes than ever. I will donate Flynn Enterprise’s R&D team to your companies, and we can usher in a new age of peace, prosperity, and technological wonders.”

  “What will that make you,” Highwayman said, as he tried to stand. A bullet in the gut, with bile, shit, and sepsis spreading through the body made one . . . uncomfortable.

  “What I’ve always been,” I said with a wink. “The power that guides the power. Do you accept, or is this your end?”

  “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I accept,” Highwayman said, pulling himself up to the table.

  Imprint gave a wordless thumbs-up. Dragoness’s teeth chattered too hard for her to speak, but she too slowly nodded. Or she was shivering very slowly. I really didn’t give a shit. What mattered was the power couple who were inches away from having all their implants pulled from their bodies.

  “And you two?”

  “I . . . I accept,” Augment conceded.

  “Yes, god, yes.” Lioness cried out in a voice that clearly wasn’t African.

  “Ha! I knew it!” I said, nodding to Watchman, who ended his spell. “I knew you weren’t from Africa.”

  “Of course not. I’m from Baltimore.”

  “And the country, the accent?”

  “Who the fuck ever heard of Ka’tswaana? What can I say, liberal white people are so gullible. They never question what a brave woman of color says. Say it with an accent and authority, and they basically worship you.”

  I nodded, it was true. White people . . . am I right?

  “Most of my coterie are actors. We manufacture in Taiwan, but import prices are killing us. But regardless, I’ll sign your damn contract.”

  “Excellent,” I said, pushing the contract forward. “Trent, release them. But keep an eye out in case they try and do something stupid.”

  Each of the CEOs signed by their respective names while The Night Watchman stood ready. Once the final pen stroke was complete, I picked up the contract and blew on the ink, letting it dry. Satisfied, I placed the documents in a tan folder.

  “Well, with that messy bit of business behind us, please, let us drink.”

  I refilled my own champagne, then passed the remaining five glasses to each of the beaten heroes with my left hand. Raising my drink in my right, I held it before them.

  “I know this isn’t how you thought the day would go. And let’s be honest, if The Night Watchma
n wasn’t here, you’d try and kill me, wouldn’t you?”

  Each of the despondent CEOs nodded. The Highwayman applied pressure to his stomach while holding his drink. “Hell, I still might.”

  “Heh, well, glad you’re all honest. To your health,” I toasted them, and we all drank our champagne.

  Immediately, all five CEOs dropped dead, as the synthesized poison worked fast. I stood over their bodies, tapping my glass with the ring on my right hand. The ring that neutralizes poison.

  Chapter Fourteen and a Half

  Where I Do So Love Being Me

  HA! Boom!

  Two—count ’em, TWO—Red Weddings (Black Dinner of Scotland) within three chapters! New goddamn record! Suck my murder, Mr. Martin!

  Bet y’all didn’t think I was going to pull the same move again, did ya?! Well, neither did those stuffy billionaires.

  Quick, someone give me another mic just so I can drop that sumbitch!

  But hey, if they hadn’t admitted to wishing me lethal harm, they would’ve been fine. Rules are rules, after all.

  Ahh, good times. OK, on with the show. In the next chapter, I knock over priceless art with my penis. So let’s dive in!

  Chapter Fifteen

  Where I Nakedly Resurrect Disco, Confront My Assistant, and Pass Out

  Dance like no one’s watching. That’s what they say.

  Well, that is just stupid.

  In the age of cell phones, YouTube, and hackers, someone is always watching. Hell, I personally have a team whose only mission is to scour the internet and hack phones to look for potential blackmail footage.

  The Fappening? You’re welcome.

  And for the rest of you non-celebrity types, if you’ve made a private sex tape, sent nude selfies, or just plain acted a fool, I have it. When you actually have enough fiscal acumen to earn my attention, you may get a call from me. And if you’re not embarrassed, you should see what my team can do with photoshop and ad space on mainstream news outlets.

  Me, though, I do dance. And I don’t care. With my power, no one dares to watch. That’s the problem with amassing my level of criminality and power: No one dares to cross you. Well, no piss-ant would-be’s, like national leaders, anyway.

  When I attract enemies, they tend to be more . . . unique. Which is fine. First, because they aren’t boring. And second, when I defeat them, it is so, so satisfying.

  Listen to me ramble. My apologies. I’ve been drinking.

  And I’m naked.

  If you have the means or opportunity, I highly encourage you to dance naked through the ancestral hall of a billionaire. Preferably, as I was, to the Bee Gee’s seminal 1977 classic “Stayin’ Alive” from the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack.

  And where you can, knock over priceless works of art with your victory erection. If you’re a novice at such penile mayhem, start with small statues and crystal decanters before moving onto bigger targets.

  If you don’t have a penis—well, that sucks for you. Enjoy the eighty cents on the dollar. But most likely you’ve made up that difference with all the free drinks and gaudy gold and gemstone pretty things you’ve been given.

  Sigh . . . Look, I’m sorry.

  Again, I’ve been drinking, thinking of my exile, and of Lydia. I’m not usually such a sexist. I obviously have misplaced anger issues. So, my apologies my differently gendered comrades. Use what your momma gave you to use your buxom beauty to boob-bash and butt-bump all the fine art you see fit. No penis required.

  Even if it is more fun.

  I continued my victory lap through Flynn Manor, a cigarette in one hand, a bottle of scotch in the other, and the sweet, sweet falsetto vocals of Barry Gibb backing me. If I saw a piece of antiquity, or something with potential sentimental value, I defiled it with my dong as I danced down the halls of the stately . . . um, estate.

  All the while, The Night Watchman was forced to walk behind me. This time he was wearing a butler’s uniform.

  “Keep up, Trentsworth!” I laughed, while I transitioned from The Hustle into the Disco Finger. “Not bad, eh?”

  “Yes, sir. You’re truly shaking your money maker,” Trentsworth droned.

  “Let’s go to the study! Plenty of beautiful and expensive leather furnishings upon which I simply must sit my nude buttocks!”

  “Very good, sir. This way.”

  “Woo!”

  I flicked my cigarette to the ground, only for Trentsworth to step on it and light me another. Nakedness, while beautiful, did not lend itself to having pockets. Good thing I had Trentsworth. He passed me the fresh cigarette and I took another sip from the scotch while we made our way to the study.

  “Sir,” Sophia said in my earpiece.

  “Hey, hey! Now’s it’s a party!” I said back. “What up, girl?!”

  “Sir, this is not you.”

  “Is now!”

  “Jackson Julian Blackwell!”

  “Uh oh, Trent, all three names. I’m in trouble now!”

  “Oh goody.”

  “Nice one, Trentsworth,” I told my butler as we walked into the spacious study. The broodish room was decorated in dark wood, had hundreds of books, and reeked of seriousness. I took in all the somber gloom of the room and tsked.

  “Wow, who died? Oh, right. Your parents. Ha!”

  Trentsworth said nothing. He looked silently at the giant family portrait over the burning stone fireplace. I stood next to him, naked, and put my hand on his shoulder.

  “You’re dismissed for the rest of the night. Do nothing that would directly, or indirectly, bring me any form of harm or displeasure.”

  “Thank you . . . sir,” Trentsworth said through gritted teeth. With a small bow, he left me alone in the study. I looked up at the giant oil painting of The Night Watchman’s happy family. I manifested shadow tendrils that reached up and took the painting down so I could get a better look.

  Spitting scotch on the painting, I then used the tendrils to throw the painting into the fire. The piece of his childhood burned quickly.

  “He’ll thank me later,” I said, plopping down in a recliner, making sure to wiggle a little so my butt-juice permeated the expensive leather. “No need to keep such ties to a painful past.”

  “Jackson, seriously, we need to talk,” Sophia said in my ear as I nestled into the recliner and pulled a small woven afghan over me while I giggled to myself.

  Heh, butt-juice.

  “Do we?” I asked. “Why?”

  “This behavior is not befitting the Shadow Master.”

  “In about a month, I unified all the major villains of the city under my lead. Through them, the lesser villains and foot soldiers will follow suit,” I said, as I closed my eyes. “After that, I shanghaied a Fortune 500 company, acquired others, and economically crippled the financial support of the superheroes’ major players. Currently, I’m staying in a stolen manor, and made the greatest vigilante hero watch as I literally—not figuratively, but literally—defecated on his parents’ grave. I think I’m being quite the Shadow Master, thank you.”

  “I did like the two Red Weddings,” Sophia admitted. “Even I didn’t suspect you’d pull the same move again that fast.”

  “Always keep them guessing.” I smiled with my eyes closed. “But, you’re going to tell me something I am not going to be happy about. Like a Band-Aid, just rip it off.”

  “As far as this dimension is concerned, you’ve only been gone two days, sir. And please, don’t ask how I can keep tabs and talk to you with the time disparity. The physics is crazy. But Lydia is still fuming from your conversation.”

  “I was in a fight when she called,” I said.

  “That’s no excuse to ignore her.”

  “Are you kidding me? It’s the perfect excuse. I was IN A FIGHT.”

  “One you could have ended whenever you wanted to, sir.”

  In my inebriated state, I had no snappy retort. Mostly because she was right.

  “Lydia wants your exile to last a while.”

&nb
sp; “Whatever,” I said dismissively. “I’m quite content here. With King Stanley allowing me unlimited use of my power here, I won’t age.”

  “I hate to see you two fight, sir. You work so well together.”

  “Then why did you support her, Sophia?” I asked with an edge to my voice. “I thought we had an arrangement.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Isn’t it?” I asked, opening my eyes and sitting up.

  Ugh . . . feelings were bubbling up within me. Feelings of betrayal. Feelings of resentment. Feelings of . . . change.

  “We had a good thing going. You assist me in my enterprises while you plot to one day destroy me.”

  “We still have that, sir.”

  “It doesn’t feel that way, Sophia. It feels like you took her side over mine. It feels like a betrayal.”

  “Sir, with all due respect, fucking get over it,” Sophia said. “You’re going to be a father. You can’t change that. I won’t allow you to change that. With that comes responsibility.”

  “Are you saying I don’t know how to handle responsibility. Me? Djinni, please.”

  “I know you know how to take care of yourself and your business. I respect that in you. But now you will have a child, which demands you put yourself second. And no, I don’t think you know how to do that,” Sophia said tersely before adding, “sir.”

  “And you know this how? Hmm? You’ve destroyed cities and worlds. You are a being of pure chaos masquerading as a woman. You don’t actually have human empathy.”

  “I read!”

  “Whatever,” I said with an eye roll. “You tell her to stop acting like a bitch. And be sure to add that my exile is quite nice. I needed this vacation. I may take on a new lover or two, seeing as we are clearly on a break.”

  “Go ahead,” Sophia said. “She has. Several, in fact. A few trips into some odd realms and she’s come back practically glowing.”

  “But . . . she’s pregnant.”

  “So? She isn’t showing that much. Plus, I understand there is an entire genre of pornography dedicated to those who are aroused by pregnant women.”