by Megan Derr
Turncoat, for treason, murder, and a long list of destruction-related crimes.
Fortune, aka Byron Valentine, mastermind of several attacks on the G.O.D. and high-profile digital bank robber.
Scones, a professional killer who focused on super heroes. He'd already killed seven, the only man alive to purposely kill so many.
Karl watched the news for a few minutes more, but as usual, nothing too informative was provided. And he seriously doubted that building had come from private funds and donations. The city had been too slow, too cheap, and too reluctant of late regarding repairs. He wouldn't be surprised if all of that suddenly took an even worse turn.
More than anything, though, he hoped Trick was okay. That idiot. What was he doing blowing up a building? If not for the invisibility shield—way bigger than the law permitted, but of course nobody was mentioning that—the blast would have done serious damage to surrounding buildings. That kind of thing wasn't Trick's style. But it could be Turncoat's. Why would Trick be working with Turncoat?
Speculation was giving him a headache. "I'm heading home. Hopefully that's all the exploding that will happen tonight."
"Let's hope," Marianna said. "Here, take a hot chocolate for the road."
"Thanks." He kissed her cheek, took the cup, and headed out.
The bus ride home was blissfully peaceful, and by the time he got up to his condo, he was almost relaxed, despite the worry clawing at the back of his mind. Hopefully Trick would drop by that night or the next, reassure Karl he was alive and well.
When he stepped inside, however, the lights were already on and the cats were happily eating. "Stop spoiling my cats." He dropped his bag and jacket by the door.
The hot chocolate was taken away, set on the table on the other side of the door, and then Karl was being kissed like he was candy put in front of a child too-long denied sugar. He moaned, lifted his arms to sink into soft hair as his eyes slipped shut.
When Trick finally pulled away several minutes later, Karl said, "I'm glad you're okay. I saw the news, was worried about you. Blowing things up isn't really your style."
"No, but that building had to go. We've been working on it for quite some time. Only thing we had left was to make sure the protection field would hold and contain the explosion. Those fucking Dogs tried to drop the field at the last minute, but we managed to keep it up."
Ice ran down Karl's spine. "What do you mean they tried to drop the field? Why would they do that? The explosion could have killed people!"
"Because there was no undoing the damage we'd already done, but if they could do more damage to hide our sabotage and blame destruction and who the fuck knows how many deaths on us, they would have gotten permission to do whatever the hell they wanted," Trick said. His voice was quiet, sad, as he continued. "Sometimes I think that stupid meteor did more than just give some people weird powers. I think it fucked with their heads in ways we don't understand yet. You should be able to tell the good guys from the bad guys, right?"
"No," Karl said softly. "History is proof that even before the meteor hit and turned things wonky, people rarely figure out the real bad guys until too late."
"Maybe, but I still wonder what's wrong with all the supers."
Karl opened his mouth, closed it. Turned the observation over and over in his mind. For all he'd never seen Trick, and they hadn't been… whatever they were… for very long, he still knew the man enough to know he wasn't excluding himself because he thought he was better or an exception. "You're not a super?"
A long silence met his words, and then Trick replied heavily, "Yes and no. And I can't—shouldn't—say anything more. I'm already being incredibly stupid." Invisible fingers traced Karl's lips. "You're the kindest person I've ever met. Everyone in my world knows about you: the quiet insurance man who takes care of people, never lets them go homeless or hungry, never leaves anyone wondering how they're going to get by when so-called heroes just destroyed their home and livelihood. Heroes aren't the flashy assholes who can throw sunlight around like knives. Real heroes are like you."
"I'm not a hero," Karl replied, face burning. "I'm the guy who gets stood up every time he manages to get a date. I sell insurance and collect old watches and serve two cats. The only cool thing about me is my invisible, vaguely illegal lover."
Trick kissed him, softly at first, but then with more force, an edge to it that said Trick was trying to convey something for which words wouldn't suffice. The kiss burned, left Karl feeling hollow and wrung-out. He was still trembling when Trick pulled away, nothing to betray his presence but a slight rush of air and the throbbing of Karl's lips. "Everyone who's stood you up is a fool. If it didn't mean putting both of us at such great risk, I'd take you out to dinner every night. Come visit you at your office, come home to you every night. But I can't—I shouldn't even be doing this much—"
He kissed Karl again, hard and sharp and desperate; it wasn't Karl shaking that time. He held on tight, closed his eyes, and happily let Trick have him, groaning and pleading and crying his name when he came, letting out a shuddering breath when Trick slowly pulled off his cock.
Tired of standing, Karl let himself slide down the door to sprawl on the floor, keeping his eyes closed so he could pretend that was the only reason he couldn't see a man he had already grown far too fond of.
Eventually Trick shifted, sat up, and Karl bit his lip to keep from letting out all the stupid, foolish, hopeless things he wanted to say.
"Be careful," Trick whispered and kissed the space beneath his ear. "I don't want anything to happen to you. We're as careful as we can be, but careful doesn't matter much when the bastards chasing us know they can do all the damage they want because we'll be forced to take the blame."
Karl reached out, cupped the back of Trick's head, and just leaned in to the man he couldn't see but knew was there all the same. "You're in far more danger than me. I didn't save your life just to watch you lose it a little later. Be careful, Trick."
"I'll be as careful as I possibly can, I promise," Trick replied. "Believe me, my endgame is to be like an ordinary person someday. House, cats, adoring spouse, crazy kids, complaining about stupid shit like forgetting the milk and not picking up towels."
Everything hurt. Breathing. His beating heart. Thinking about impossible things. "It doesn't sound bad when you say it, even though I know a lot of that gets really boring."
"I don't think you're boring," Trick said in that so-soft voice that made Karl's eyes sting. "I think you're waiting for the person who has the sense to appreciate you and can show that appreciation in more than stolen moments."
"I like stolen moments," Karl replied, shifting to hold Trick tight, blinking furiously so he didn't do something stupid like cry.
Warm lips kissed his throat, then long fingers tugged Karl back enough those lips could kiss him properly. When he eventually drew back, Trick kissed the corners of his eyes, nuzzled against him. "You deserve more than that. Be careful."
Then he was gone, leaving Karl a broken, lonely mess on the floor.
How had he gone from fawning over a distant figure to being so crazy about a man he would never be able to really have at his side? It wasn't fair that he cared so much about someone he barely even knew. If he kept caring, he was going to do something extra special stupid, and god knew what kind of mess that would leave him in.
A soft burr and the rub of a furry head against his chin stirred Karl from his misery. He ran his fingers through Rolex's fur, mustering a smile as the cat gently head-butted him again. "Hey, Lex. Good kitty. Yes, I will be a sucker and give you treats." He petted Rolex for a couple more minutes, then Hamilton when she came to join the party. When they'd been thoroughly petted and he was covered in fur, Karl finally stood and went to get their treats from the kitchen cabinet.
Leaving them to enjoy, he headed into his bedroom. One long, hot shower and several minutes later, he returned to the living room with his ereader and stretched out on the couch, pulling an afghan down to drape over
his bare chest.
He turned on the news, scowled as he watched the latest report on the HQ destruction, including profiles for the two super villains believed responsible for the attack.
Not that there was a whole hell of a lot to say. Trick of the Light: believed to be American, white, and male. Height, unknown. Eyes, etc, unknown. Which seemed… weird. How could they know he was white but not any of his other features?
Turncoat, real name unknown. American, southern accent, black, six foot one, two-twenty pounds. All of that, but they didn't have his name even though he was a traitor who'd once worked for them?
Maybe he just didn't understand the inner workings of a manhunt, but sometimes the G.O.D.'s profiles seemed strangely spotty. At least they seemed pissed off, which meant they were nowhere close to catching Turncoat and Trick.
Turning the news off, Karl flicked on his ereader and read until he was too tired to keep his eyes open.
*~*~*
The worst part of having a secret super villain lover was the terrible stretches of time where Karl didn't see or hear from him for days. Weeks, in fact. Three and a half weeks to be precise, and the only thing that kept Karl from going out of his mind with worry was the occasional gift he found: a box of fancy bakery-fresh cookies on his kitchen counter; a really tacky plastic 'Special Magnificent Sunrise Edition' G.O.D. collectable watch; a beautiful blue, gray, and gold tie with a gold tie bar featuring a blue and white enamel umbrella; the occasional fancy coffee on his desk, a cinnamon bun one morning.
They kept Karl from going insane, but they also made him miss Trick so badly he might just go crazy anyway.
He ran his fingers over the tie, fussed with the tie bar, and then forced his mind back on work as the bell over the door chimed. The day passed with agonizing slowness, to the point he wanted to scream, but even a slow day at work was better than sitting around his apartment imagining worst case scenarios and driving himself insane.
Lunch time was just close enough to taunt him when he heard and felt the explosion. It was so close to his building everything in the office shook and his ears were left ringing, the air thrumming with the kind of energy that only ever came from supers.
Then came the sirens and screams. Ignoring the wide eyes of the new-to-the-city people on the other side of the desk, Karl snatched up his phone and bolted out of the office. He looked around, saw smoke coming from the next block south, and started running toward it—and fell on his face as another, louder explosion rocked the city. Darn it, that was Sunrise. Nobody else in the city was that reckless and uncaring. Didn't the man realize there were civilians?
Anger mingled with his fear, pushed him to his feet and got him running again. When he reached Center Street, it had become a nightmare. At least three buildings were completely gone, sunk down into themselves to contain damage, a special requirement of all buildings over a certain height. But smaller buildings had suffered as well and lay scattered across the street. People were screaming, crying, trying to get out of the rubble or find the people still trapped in it.
The whir of a chopper came from overhead; Karl looked up, frowned when he saw the familiar DeVine logo. That was the second time he'd seen DeVine at one of these fallouts. It was weird; they'd never been at the scene of other disasters, not that he'd ever heard or seen. DeVine was a well-known contributor to G.O.D., provided some the most generous donations, but they didn't actively participate in G.O.D. operations. Why were they showing up now?
Legally, super heroes weren't allowed to profit from what they did. Instead, they subsisted on donations from local and federal governments, businesses, and individuals. Technically, the funds were strictly controlled and could only be used in certain ways, but technically didn't mean a whole heck of a lot to the G.O.D.
If they were in bed with DeVine… That was bad, because DeVine was best known for their technology. They were responsible for all the major advancements, including the protection fields that kept collapsing buildings contained, the invisibility fields that protected various important buildings, and most of the computer science tech the world depended on. It wasn't really a surprise they were a favorite in the Project Starlight conspiracy theory.
Project Starlight was the belief that a meteor wasn't the only thing to have crashed on Earth back in the Dark Ages, that aliens had crashed as well and ever since governments had been using the alien technology to advance Earth's.
He really, really hoped it was just a stupid conspiracy theory, because if it wasn't and DeVine was a major part of it and tangled up with the super heroes…
Maybe DeVine was just there to scope an asset and make certain it was all right. But Karl wasn't getting his hopes up.
Dismissing the helicopter for the moment, he ran down the street to the nearest rubble pile and started helping people down. He pulled out his phone, dialed the emergency number—and wasn't even a bit surprised when all he got was a busy signal.
He shoved the phone back in his pocket and just focused on helping people.
A scream came from somewhere behind him, and he turned just in time to see Sunrise throw a bolt of light into another building even as people were struggling to get out of it. "Stop!" Karl screamed. "There are—" The bolt struck, followed rapidly by three more.
"I'll find you, you stupid son of a bitch!" Sunrise snarled as he lowered himself to the ground, stepping absently over unconscious and dead bodies as he made his way into the remains of the building.
Karl ran toward the injured, three other people with him. Tears streamed down his face as he saw the dead people lying on the street, ignored by Sunrise like so much litter. He was supposed to be a hero. Why did everyone act like his callous behavior was acceptable?
Because the news would be selective with the clips and spin the story oh-so-carefully.
Swallowing the bile in his throat, pushing away the rage all but choking him, Karl started looking for survivors. But when Sunrise came strutting out a few minutes later, his temper snapped. "You murdered them!" he snarled, stalking over to Sunrise. "These people were trying to get to safety and you just killed them! They're people. You're a hero. You're supposed to protect them, not slaughter them!"
Sunrise scowled. "We are trying to catch the men responsible—"
"You're responsible!" Karl screamed so loudly it hurt his throat. Rage turned the world red, and he moved before he could think better of it, fist catching Sunrise on the jaw.
He was pretty sure it was surprise alone that sent Sunrise stumbling back, but it was satisfying all the same. His hand hurt like nothing else ever had, but he couldn't be sorry. "You're not a hero! You're garbage!" He started to swing again, hand be darned, but Sunrise lunged forward and grabbed him by the throat, shoved him up against the remaining bit of wall nearby.
Karl choked, flailed, latched on to whatever he could—and froze as his fingers wrapped around a watch. He moved his fingers even as Sunrise gave him a good, hard shake, slamming his head against the wall hard enough to water his eyes.
He'd only looked reflexively because focusing on something stupidly familiar put a bit of sanity back into his suddenly-mad world.
He hadn't expected to see a 1956 Rolex Submariner 6538.
Because he'd seen that very watch at auction only a few months ago. He'd lost the auction and it had still ruined his life.
Pain exploded in his head as he was slammed against the wall again, and Karl let out a weak moan as the world went dark.
He woke up in the hospital, handcuffed to his bed, remembered fear and anger making him jerk up before his surroundings fully registered.
The curtain around his bed was pulled open and a police officer stepped inside. "All right there, son?"
"F-fine, officer. Why am I…?" He lifted his arm as best he was able and rattled the cuffs.
"Assault," the officer said shortly. "G.O.D. said you was a problem, so once you're rested up, we'll take you down to the station."
"I'm under arrest for punching Sunrise? Wh
at about him? Is he under arrest for all the people he murdered?" Karl asked.
The officer said nothing, lips pinched as he withdrew.
Hot tears ran down Karl's cheeks. He'd never in his life known what it really felt like to hate someone. He'd always despised the G.O.D., but it had been distant, one more necessary evil to live with—a necessary evil he was always aware kept him in funds. And this particular bout of destruction hadn't been better or worse than others.
But he'd never been right up close to see one of the heroes so casually murder people. He'd always stupidly believed that it was accidental, that they got so wrapped up in the fighting that people were mistakenly killed, that they got cocky on occasion and weren't as careful as they should be.
That hadn't been accidental or cocky. Sunrise had straight up murdered people. Like they didn't matter at all. He'd displayed all the warmth and caring of a serial killer.
And Karl was the one under arrest.
He jerked as noise blared, then realized someone had turned on the TV. He stared dully as the news reported that even more streets than the one he'd been on had been destroyed. Deaths were estimated in the hundreds, and very likely the thousands. Supers were being called in from other cities to go on a final, kill-on-sight manhunt for Turncoat and Trick of the Light.
Oh, god. Oh, god. He hoped Trick had the sense to get out of town. It wasn't like he could visit Karl in prison, anyway.
Karl laughed, but it turned into a sob; he buried his face in his free hand and cried until he was wrung out and his eyes were sore and swollen.
The soft slap of shoes on linoleum drew his attention, and he looked up to see a large hand holding out a bottle of water. Karl followed the arm up to a large, muscular… familiar man. "You… you were the one with Mari forever ago, aren't you?"
"Ayah, that's me," the man replied, touching his fingers to the black Stetson on his head. "Take the water. You need hydrating."
Numb and baffled, Karl took the water. His bafflement grew as the man stepped around the bed and pulled out a thin piece of metal, then set to swiftly unlocking the cuffs. "What are you doing?"
