A New Day (StrikeForce #1)

by Colleen Vanderlinden

  “Were you ever?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I was always good at being sneaky.”

  “When did the house robbing start?”

  I took a breath. “I was in high school. Dating this jock from Grosse Pointe. I heard him say the wrong thing about my Mama when he thought I wasn’t listening,” I felt heat creep up my neck, my face. It was a mixture of remembered anger and talking to him, this person who could have been anybody. “He and his family went on a trip to Hawaii for spring break, and I cleaned their house out while they were gone,” I finished.

  “Did they ever suspect you?”

  I shook my head. “We kept dating for a few months afterward. I let him break up with me, rather than breaking up with him. Nobody even looked at me twice.” I leaned forward, rested my forearms on my knees. “It was so easy. And I got so much, and I was able to pay some of Mama’s bills on the sly. It just seemed stupid not to do it again.”

  “You got really good at it.”

  I nodded. And then I laughed. “You’re probably wearing a wire or something, and I just confessed everything to you.”

  “No wire. If the situation was different, I’d be more than happy to let you search me for one.”

  I blushed and looked away.

  A few awkward moments crawled by, and then he cleared his throat. “I’ve been there. Never went the stealing route, but my grandma didn’t have a lot. To this day, an empty cabinet stresses me out.” He paused, and I nodded. “It’s weird, the shit you start to do when you’ve been poor. Do you keep ketchup packets from fast food places?”

  “Oh, hell yeah. Ketchup can make even the worst thing taste better,” I said, and he nodded.

  “Right. Salt, too. And you can’t buy shit like that when you’re wondering if you can even afford bread or flour or whatever that week.” He paused again. “You start hoarding other bizarre shit, stuff any normal person doesn’t even think about.”

  “What do you hoard?” I asked him, sitting up and looking at where I imagined his eyes to be.

  “Canned goods and bandages. My grandma cut herself once, and we didn’t have a bandaid in the house. I remember her wrapping toilet paper around the cut, and the paper stuck to the sore and she had to pick it out later… I don’t know why. That stayed with me.”

  We sat in silence a few moments.

  “Socks,” I said after a moment.

  He glanced at me and raised his eyebrows. “Socks?”

  I nodded. He sat back, head turned toward me like he was listening. “Most of my clothes when I was a kid came from Goodwill, and I had nice stuff, because Mama was really good at grabbing stuff that was like new. Shoes, she bought me new, because she has a foot thing… they kind of gross her out, so she didn’t like the idea of used shoes,” I added, and he nodded again, and it felt completely alien to me to be talking about this to someone. Anyone, let alone this stranger in his mask. Once I started, though, it came out in a flood, as if I’d been dying for someone to ask me about it. I was almost giddy, just from the act of letting go of things that I’d held close for so long. “Shoes, even the cheap ones, were a strain on the budget. I spent a lot of time in shoes I outgrew, because I didn’t want Mama to know I needed new ones.”

  “Socks, though. Nobody sees socks. I mean, nobody sees underwear either, but you have to have at least a few clean pairs around. Socks, not so much. I can remember for a long time, I had two pairs of socks. And they’d get holy and threadbare over time, and Mama would sew them, but it got to the point where the fabric was so thin on the bottoms from being worn so often that there was nothing to sew. It was winter, and we were this close to having our power turned off. We’ve been shut off before, but during the winter, in a trailer… not something you want. So I had the same two pairs of socks, and I’d wash that day’s pair in the sink, let it dry, and wear my other pair to school the next day. The toes got so holy, so thin, I just started folding them under so my toes wouldn’t poke through them inside my shoes. I hate the way that feels.”

  He nodded. “Me too.”

  “My second robbery, right after I paid off these medical bills that were stressing Mama out, I went to Target and I bought all these different socks. Packs of them. I still do it. I have all different colors, weights, lengths. If you were to open my dresser, my sock drawer looks like a sock store went out of business or something, all of these socks, lined up in perfect little rows. And I feel a little nuts every time I open that drawer, but only for a second because right after, I just feel relief. I have socks. How bad can life really be?”

  He leaned over and bumped my arm with his, and then we sat in silence for a few moments. Then he stood up, and I looked up at him in surprise.

  “I should go,” he said.

  “Oh.”

  “I mean… I don’t want to, especially.” He looked down at me.

  “Okay.”

  “But I have this thing I have to do.”

  I nodded. “Does it involve bringing a team to come and take me in now that I’ve confessed my crimes?” I asked.

  “Not even close,” he said. His tone was serious, even though I’d been joking.

  We stood in awkward silence for a while, and he didn’t seem like he wanted to go.

  “I’m glad you told me that,” he said in a low voice, and I nodded, face flushed. I felt like a moron for opening up to him like that. “Hey,” he said.

  I looked up at him.

  “I’m glad to know you better. I want to know more.”

  I didn’t know what to say again, which was new to me. I’m the one who’s always ready with a wisecrack.

  He stepped closer, and my heart started beating wildly in my chest.

  “I’ll see you around, Jolene,” he said, and my body warmed. The way he said my name… unf.

  I realized that I was nuts. In that moment, I just couldn’t seem to care.

  “Okay,” I managed.

  “Well. Let’s go,” he said.

  “Where?”

  “I’ll walk you home.”

  I let out a small laugh. “I’m the super villain here. I don’t think I need an escort.”

  “Well. Then humor me. Let me feel useful for a minute,” he said, and it sounded like he was smiling.

  “You just want to know where I live so you can keep tabs on me.”

  “Is that what you think?” he asked as we walked.

  I shrugged. “Though I guess that based on everything you already know about me, you probably know exactly where I live and what apartment I’m in.”

  “No,” he said.

  I glanced over at him.

  “I stopped tracking you well before that night. It was luck that I ran into you that night. Saw you leave the coffee shop,” he added.

  “And this was luck, tonight?”

  “I’d call it lucky, yeah. Unless you’re regretting talking to me?” His accent was more pronounced, somehow, when he asked questions. Maybe that was why I’d answered so easily.

  Yes, that’s it. Blame anything other than my own stupidity and the way I’d fantasized about what was under the mask. Perfect.

  “I’m not sure yet,” I said quietly, and we walked in silence until we reached my apartment building.

  “This place is almost as pathetic looking as my apartment,” he said.

  “Rent’s cheap,” I answered with a shrug. “Um. Take care. Don’t suppose you want to tell me your name, or anything like that?”

  He shook his head. “Not likely. It’s no fun telling you everything up front. Besides, it’ll give you a reason to want to talk to me again,” he said, and I could tell from his voice that he was likely smiling. Stupidly, I found myself smiling back.

  “Really? You think that’s enough to keep a girl interested?” I asked, raising my eyebrow.

  He laughed and started walking away. “It seems to be working so far,” he said. I watched him walk away from me, taking in the sight of his broad shoulders and the way his pants hung. I’d had no idea
how mesmerizing male asses could be until that moment. I shook my head and walked into my building, throwing one last glance toward where he’d been walking. He was already long gone, and I wondered what his powers were, exactly.

  I climbed the stairs to my apartment and flopped onto the couch, aware that I had a stupid smile on my face. I flipped on the television. They’d have no news about me, but I always watched to see what Damian was up to. With his new super villain team, there was always some kind of news.

  And lately, a lot of it was centered on wondering why we even have something like StrikeForce, if they can’t even manage to catch petty criminals like the burglar.

  Well, that kind of hurts when they said it like that. I mean, petty? Really?

  I waited through the commercials and then the eleven o’clock news started.

  “Our top story tonight, the super villain known as Virus has been apprehended, according to StrikeForce representatives.”

  I sat up, turned the volume up.

  “Early reports indicate that the super villain known as Virus was captured perhaps an hour ago outside of a bank in Birmingham, where police and StrikeForce both assume he was planning his next heist. He was immediately taken to StrikeForce Command, which, as we know by now, is the most advanced containment center in the U.S. for those with powers.”

  There were few interviews about how glad people were that he was off the streets. Some questions about why nobody was with him, but I knew he often did site appraisals on his own.

  I stood up and paced.

  I wasn’t leaving him there. He knew too much, and I still didn’t quite trust that he would keep it to himself.

  Damn it. This was what I got for accepting a partner. Despite just spilling my guts to the guy in the mask, I had this sense that he’d never breathe a word of it to anyone. Damian, though? Damian was unpredictable. And he was, ultimately, all about saving his own ass.

  Shit.

  How hard could it be? Just another heist, really.

  By all reports, the southwest tower of Command was the detention facility. Bust in, bust him out, fly away.

  I put the scarf and gloves on. It was maybe a ten-minute flight from where I was. I forced myself to be careful. To take a bus, to chat with people on the bus, to play the part of the nice young woman. I wore a navy coat over my hoodie and scarf, gloves shoved in my pockets. When I got off the bus near Wayne State University’s downtown campus, I could have been any college girl, going to classes.

  I ducked behind one of the libraries, near the loading dock, and I shrugged the coat off, pulled up my hood, wrapped my face. I pulled my gloves on, dropped my coat on the roof, and flew toward the river.

  Toward the building known as StrikeForce Command. Or, more generally, Command.

  I flew, and it came into sight in what felt like seconds. I got my bearings, focused on the layout of the buildings. The structure was basically five towers, one large main tower that was about thirty stories tall, four smaller, maybe fifteen story towers surrounding that one.

  He was in the southwest tower, one of the smaller ones, which was where the detention facility was. Of course, I had no idea which floor, but it wouldn’t be hard to find him.

  I’d just break shit until I managed it.

  I knew I was being stupid, but I’d also seen StrikeForce in action. They were chaos. They could get the jump on me, maybe, but I knew I out-powered them when it came down to sheer strength. It would just have to be enough.

  All that kept going through my mind was that he could be telling them everything about me, right then. About my mother. Luther. If it would save his ass, Damian likely would rat out his own mother if he had one.

  All I really wanted was to get him out, away from them, where he couldn't blab any of my secrets in exchange for his freedom. Part of me wanted to believe he wouldn’t, but I couldn’t rely on hopes. I’d hope, after I had him away from StrikeForce.

  I flew, and veered in, down toward the base of the detention tower. I heard my phone ringing in my pocket, and I ignored it. Probably Mama.

  This tower, which had once been glass, had been reinforced with steel.

  As if that could stop me.

  I plowed into the side of the tower, heard it snapping, creaking, crashing around me as my fists met the wall. And then I was in, and everything was steel and glass. Sirens and alarms screamed.

  “Got her,” I heard a female voice call out, and before I could even spin, there was a soft hand on my neck, and the next thing I knew, everything was black.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bright lights. An antiseptic smell.

  I couldn’t move.

  I blinked my eyes, trying to clear my vision. Eventually, everything came into view.

  And I remembered.

  StrikeForce. I was in a tiny room. Slick metal walls, maybe six feet square. I was strapped into a chair, my wrists secured to the armrests with thick steel cuffs. My ankles were secured the same way. I started moving, seeing if I could shake my way free. Even the steel shouldn’t have been enough to keep me there. I struggled harder, feeling panic creeping up on me.

  The door made a whooshing sound, and I stopped struggling, refusing to let them see me panic. I watched as the StrikeForce leader, Alpha, walked in. The door whooshed shut behind him, and he stood there, in his full dark gray and black uniform, and crossed his arms. I’d only ever seen him in his mask, but he had it pulled down.

  He looked like an overgrown Ken doll.

  I clamped my mouth shut, looked away as if I was bored.

  “Well. I didn’t expect quite that much damage to my building when we lured you here. You’re freakishly strong. I mean, I knew that already, but really. I’ve never seen anyone Hulk out like that.”

  I keep looking at the wall. The door whooshed opened again, and another guy walked in, this one with dark hair.

  “This is Nightbane,” Alpha said. “He runs the team for me. My interests fall elsewhere, and he’s better at it than I am. I’ll leave you two to get acquainted now.” And with that, he walked out and the door closed behind him, leaving me with Nightbane.

  “You should have answered your phone,” Nightbane said in an unpleasant tone. “I guess this must be him. We found the phone he called from, crushed and tossed into a sewer grate in Detroit. He figured it out, though,” he said. He held up my phone and hit a button.

  “Hey, it’s me. They’re lying. They don’t have me. Okay? Damn it, pick up, Jolene. They don’t have me. I’m gonna lay low until whatever this is dies down, but don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

  My gut twisted with the realization that I’d walked right the hell into a trap. Nightbane set the phone down on the narrow ledge that ran along the door side of the cell. He looked back at me, a smug look on his face.

  “I have to confess, I wasn’t sure it would work. The two of you seemed to have parted ways. Loyalty, huh?”

  I closed my eyes for a second, then opened them.

  “It’ll make a lot of people sleep better at night, knowing you’re off the street. It’ll make our job easier.”

  I knew he was trying to get me to talk, to argue.

  Nightbane sighed. “I’m all for locking you up and throwing away the key. You’re trash, Jolene Faraday. Always have been, always will be. “

  I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response.

  “That was a dirty little trick you played that night, Faraday,” he said, leaning over me, looming. Big man now that I couldn’t get to him.

  “Did you see how many hits that video got on Youtube?” I asked, forcing myself to give him a smirk. “I bet you heard about that for a while. Of course, you all still thought I was a dude back then. How does it feel to know a woman whupped you?”

  He glared at me, and I laughed again.

  “You—“ he began, pointing at me, voice raised. The door whooshed again, and another uniformed person walked in. Woman, this time. She had dark brown skin, a thick rope of long braids pulled over h
er shoulder. Tall and thin.

  “I got it, Nightbane. Take a break,” she said in a calm voice that, I had a feeling, was meant to calm him.

  “Thanks, Portia,” he snarled. He nodded at her, threw another dirty look over his shoulder at me, and I made a kissy face at him, laughed as he stormed out.

  “Well, it’s lovely that you’ve retained your sense of humor,” the woman, Portia, said after the doors closed behind Nightbane.

  I just watched her, and, after a moment, she shook her head. “You should know that everyone on this team, except me, maybe, wants to throw you in a cell somewhere and forget you ever existed. The only reason Alpha isn’t going along with Nightbane’s plan to lock you up is because I pushed hard for this.”

  She paced a little. “Thing is, I’ve been doing some poking around about you since we brought you in and verified your identity, Jolene. You have your own code of honor, messed up though it is. You’ve never caused an injury. You give to charity, and every single one of your neighbors adores you and swears that you’re the kindest person they know. Your mother is proud of the woman you’ve become. She also clearly knows nothing about your powers,” she added, watching me. I kept my face blank. How had they moved so fast? How long had I been out? And what would they do to Mama now?

  “You’ve been here for a little over sixteen hours now,” she said. “We printed you, did a DNA and facial recognition scan. Jolene Marie Faraday, resident of Warren, Michigan, born February 12th, 1991. Salutatorian, Warren Fitzgerald High School, BA in sociology , University of Detroit Mercy, last year. Former part-time library assistant, though you were recently left that position. Full-time thief.”