He winced at his own word choice.
“It’s not going to be a reunion, Malcolm,” said Rose. “I’m not leaving you for him. I feel like I shouldn’t even need to explain that.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder.
“Rose…” Malcolm considered his words carefully. “You don’t know what you might remember, when you see him. If the two of you were happy together, if you had a life together… It might not be that simple.”
Malcolm remembered something Rose had told him back in the first few days they’d met. She’d said that all she really wanted was to settle down and live a normal life.
Maybe she did. Maybe that life has just been waiting for her to remember it, and come back to it.
“You’re an idiot,” said Rose. “And I think I know my heart better than you do, even taking the possibility of long lost memories into consideration.”
She kissed his neck softly, her lips hot against the sensitive skin. Malcolm hesitated, letting her take his cheek into her hand, but making no move to pull her into an embrace.
“Kiss me,” she whispered.
“Rose,” he said. “I feel… weird about it, right now.”
“So do I,” she said. “But not so weird that I’m not aware of the fact that we’re both sitting on your bed.”
She unzipped her sweatshirt and let it slip off her shoulders. She hadn’t bothered to wear anything other than a bra underneath, and she pulled Malcolm’s hand around to rest on top of a clasp, like an older woman walking a young virgin through his first time.
“I make my own choices, Malcolm,” said Rose. “And each time we’ve been together, it hasn’t been because I’m confused, and lost my memory. It’s because I wanted to be with you.”
“But…” Malcolm frowned. “I can’t forget about this. I know that you have a fiancé, now.”
He let his hand fall away from her bra. Rose scowled at him and pushed him back on the bed, one of her hands coming close enough to his shoulder to send a small twinge of pain through him. She let her hands slide under his shirt and caressed his stomach before slowly making their way down to his crotch and kneading his burgeoning erection.
“It’s obviously not that much of a turn off for you,” whispered Rose. “Maybe it’s the opposite? Maybe you’re intrigued by the idea of taking another man’s fiancé and having your way with her.”
She brought her face down to his hardness and rubbed her cheek on it through Malcolm’s pants. Rose slid the rest of her body up until she was lying on top of him, and then kissed him passionately.
Malcolm felt his reluctance fading as heat kindled between them. He finally let his hands unhook her bra. Rose sat back up and let it fall off her, the edge of it catching for a split second on her dark nipples and causing her breasts to bounce as they came into view.
Rose kissed him again, her hands working quickly to unzip his jeans and slide them down. Malcolm hesitated as he felt her slip her fingers into the waistband of his boxers. He pushed Rose back slightly. She pouted for a moment, and then turned the corners of her mouth up into a mischievous smile.
“So this fiancé of mine…” she said, casually. “You said he was handsome?”
Malcolm glared at her. Rose’s smile widened, daring him to punish her for the comment. He felt suddenly aggressive, and took her by the shoulders to flip onto the bed underneath him.
He practically ripped her sweatpants off her, followed quickly after by her panties and his own boxers. It was stupid, and he knew that Rose was teasing him to elicit this exact reaction. He didn’t care. Primal instincts surged through Malcolm, and he wasn’t gentle as he pushed his shaft into her.
“Oh!” Rose cried out. She arched her back and ran her hands over his chest, taking care to avoid his wound. Malcolm seized her hands and pinned them over her head on the bed, sliding back and then pushing into her hard.
Several of Rose’s shadow tendrils curled out from the corners of the room. Instead of using them to playfully wrestle with Malcolm, or caress some part of his body, Rose twisted them around his and her hands, tying them together. His fingers were laced through hers, and the shadows made it so that he couldn’t let go without a struggle.
Malcolm kissed Rose, and felt her lips passionately moving in response to his. She was softly moaning as he moved inside of her, and the noise had a hint of emotion to it.
It’s not just me. Rose is uneasy about what her past could hold, and what it could take away from her.
Malcolm kissed her deeply, pulling his hands back from hers and breaking the shadow bonds. He groped at her breasts, pushing into her with all the energy he could summon. Pleasure echoed through him in time with the hard rhythm of their sweaty bodies, and he savored it.
In the relatively short time that he and Rose had known each other, they’d been friends, enemies, and lovers. There was an emotional momentum to their relationship that couldn’t be denied. Malcolm felt the fear of losing her, and it pushed him to give her more of himself. He slammed into her roughly, almost too hard. Rose cried out in ecstasy.
He kept going, even as he felt her muscles releasing tension, and Rose melting back into the bed. He kissed her deeply, spearing into her, questions reverberating in his head. So what if she was another man’s fiancée? Wasn’t she naked, in Malcolm’s bed? Willing and open, both sexually and emotionally.
The illicit thought sent tingles of arousal through him. Malcolm pumped into Rose harder, letting his rhythm intensify until his body began to overheat, like the engine of a car pushed too fast and too far. He leaned his head against the nape of her neck as he unloaded, and felt her wrap her legs around him, locking him in.
“I’m here,” whispered Rose. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Malcolm heard her words, and believed them.
CHAPTER 14
Malcolm fell asleep with Rose still in his arms. At some point during the night, he was dimly aware of her rising and pulling her clothes back on. She sat down next to him on the mattress and kissed him on the forehead.
“I’m going to meet with him tomorrow at four,” whispered Rose. “You are welcome to come with me, if you’re worried. I mean it.”
She kissed him again in the same spot and ran her hands through his hair affectionately. Malcolm feigned sleep, and listened as she walked across the room and climbed up the ladder and out the hatch.
He managed to get a few more hours of sleep, and woke up feeling rested. His shoulder wound was aching, but in a good way that told him he was healing. He changed the bandage and ate a couple of granola bars from his dwindling pantry.
Malcolm’s mind was still on Rose and her fiancé, but he forced it in a different direction. Multi was still as much of a threat to him and the city as ever. He thought back to the previous day, remembering both the encounter on the bus and Shield Maiden’s intel. He texted Second Wind.
MALCOLM: Interested in stopping a fertilizer truck heist this morning?
A couple minutes went by.
SECOND WIND: Will it stop Multi from shitting Vanderbrook up?
MALCOLM: Yes.
SECOND WIND: Then yes.
Malcolm left and met up with his copy in their usual spot in the park across from his old apartment. It felt very strange watching Second Wind walk out from his apartment’s entrance, almost as though he was having an out of body experience.
Despite the relatively upbeat tone of the replies he’d sent Malcolm through text, Second Wind looked tired and stressed. Malcolm frowned as he walked toward him. Second Wind looked away when their eyes met.
“You don’t look so good,” said Malcolm.
“Lack of sleep,” said Second Wind. “So… Fertilizer? That seems like a relatively pedestrian way for Multi to make his bombs, given his background.”
Malcolm nodded, but recognized his own tactic of changing the subject by bringing up work.
“What happened to make you miss out on getting enough sleep?” he asked.
Second Wind shrugged.
“Too much thinking, not enough drinking.”
Malcolm rolled his eyes.
“Funny,” he said. “Seriously. What’s on your mind?”
Second Wind gave him an odd look. He was trying to keep his expression neutral, but Malcolm could see anger brewing underneath the surface.
“Shouldn’t you know?” asked Second Wind. “You’re me. The original. Shouldn’t you have a perfect understanding of how I’m feeling?”
Malcolm raised an eyebrow.
Am I equally transparent when I get into a sulky mood?
“Okay,” he said, feeling a bit testy. “You’re in a bad mood, and you’re me. Were they out of classic crust frozen pizzas at the grocery store?”
Malcolm wasn’t sure if he’d meant it as a barb or a joke, but Second Wind didn’t seem to take it as either. He just shrugged and looked away from Malcolm, signaling that the conversation on this topic was over, for now.
“I got shot,” Malcolm admitted. “A second time, after the shoulder graze Tapestry gave me.”
He forced a cheery smile onto his face and gestured to his shoulder.
“Jesus, man,” said Second Wind. “By who?”
“The police,” said Malcolm. “I escaped from them by flying through a sewer tunnel, but I fell into it first. Yes, as in… into it.”
“That’s disgusting,” said Second Wind. “I’m surprised your wounds didn’t get infected.”
“Yeah, so am I,” said Malcolm. “Look, we both have it hard. I don’t know what’s bothering you, but trust me, the last few days have sucked for both of us. I was also held hostage on the bus yesterday by a Multi in a bomb vest.”
That took Second Wind by surprise. Malcolm couldn’t quite place the look on his face. It wasn’t fear, or concern, but rather, a curious anticipation. He looked down after a moment, again avoiding Malcolm’s gaze.
“We’ll have to assume that he’s everywhere,” said Second Wind. “Every public place. Either watching us, or waiting for an opportunity for another suicide attack.”
“This wasn’t a suicide attack, though,” said Malcolm. “That’s the only reason I’m still alive. He wanted something else.”
Malcolm hesitated, unsure of whether to tell Second Wind about Multi having discovered that he had a copy, and the relevant questions he’d asked. He felt a little ashamed over the fact that his instincts were urging him to keep that part to himself.
I haven’t told him about Rose, and the man claiming to be her fiancé, either.
He exhaled slowly.
“Anyway…” said Malcolm. “We should get moving. The fertilizer truck Multi is trying to hit will be coming from a farm outside of town. Quickest way for us to get there is to fly.”
Second Wind’s expression darkened.
“So the conversation is over?” he asked. “Just like that? No more questions from your pesky copy. And now, we’re off on a mission, with you in the lead.”
Malcolm felt a sudden surge of anger.
“Are you going to help with this or not?” The question came out with more whip to it than he’d intended.
Second Wind glared at him, his nostrils flaring slightly. He didn’t say anything, but when Malcolm pulled his vigilante mask over his face and kicked off into the air, he followed after him.
Flying, as Malcolm realized early on in his career as a champion, does wonders for the mood. His method for it, and by extension, Second Wind’s method, was more about using concentrated bursts of wind to throw himself into the air repeatedly, almost like a child bouncing with a pogo stick, but higher up, and on a grander scale.
Free flying, drawing upon his wind manipulation without reservation, created too much of a body load for Malcolm to maintain for long. He’d tried it a couple of times before, and the euphoria and confusion had almost led him into dark territory, power abuse that would end with him turning into a monster.
Malcolm hummed a Nirvana song under his breath as he gazed upon the scenery down below. Vanderbrook always looked so small from above, sleepy and serene, full of trees and grass and stories carved by streets. Second Wind was to Malcolm’s left as they traveled, and he saw that his copy had a wide grin on his face.
Nobody can stay mad for long when they’re literally flying. But I’ll have to talk to him more about what’s bothering him.
The two of them maintained their height, and for good reason. It would ruin the reputation of “Wind Runner” for him to be seen in the company of the “Gifted Vigilante”. They both had their roles to play. Malcolm could see it, and he knew that Second Wind could too, even if sometimes less than willingly.
The farm Shield Maiden had mentioned to him was miles down the road from Vanderbrook, but they flew in a straight line at speeds that no car could have matched. Malcolm got a glimpse of Second Wind, his hair wild and tangled in the wind, clothes flapping like a flag on a windy day. He felt an odd sort of pride in him, which made him wonder if it was a sort of arrogance, to feel pride over one’s identical copy.
They descended onto the farm, and at a glance, Malcolm knew that they were too late. A man wearing overalls with a red stain on his back lay face down in the middle of a freshly plowed pasture. They walked over and checked to see if he was breathing. He wasn’t.
“He hasn’t been dead for more than a few minutes,” said Malcolm. “We can still catch them.”
Second Wind nodded.
“We already came down one length of the road, and didn’t see the truck. There’s only one other way they could be going.”
Malcolm looked at his double and raised his eyebrows. The silent tension that followed announced the race as clearly as any starting pistol. The two of them took to the air at the same instant, both of them drawing upon the limits of their wind manipulation in a mad rush through the sky.
They were even for the first few seconds, both of them flying into the current, trying to reduce their drag profiles by pulling in their arms and straightening out their legs. Then, Second Wind pulled ahead.
Malcolm pushed himself harder, drawing upon his powers a little more than he knew he should. Second Wind did the same, extending past his usual limits to maintain his lead. Malcolm knew that it must be taking a toll on him. He slowed down a little.
I’m going to let him win. And he’s going to be mad that I did. But what am I supposed to do?
A real race between them, with both putting all of their abilities into matching each other, would have tested the limits of their stabilizers and possibly their minds. Malcolm had seen a champion turn into a monster before. It really didn’t take that much, and he wasn’t interested in flirting with disaster for the sake of his pride or Second Wind’s.
CHAPTER 15
The truck appeared as they overtook a curve in the road. Malcolm gestured to Second Wind, and they dropped like birds of prey. The truck consisted of a small cab with a tank on the back. The tank was cylindrical and looked like it once might have been painted green. Even from the air, the odor of manure was pungent.
Two black cars, one in front and one in back, were escorting it down the road. Malcolm landed on the front vehicle, forcing the convoy to a stop, while Second Wind landed on the truck.
As soon as the car came to a stop, several bullets tore through the roof, one of them missing the edge of Malcolm’s foot by less than an inch. He leapt onto the road, rolling to dodge more bullets as four Multis climbed out to face him.
Malcolm deflected their bullets as they opened fire, all of them wielding pistols of a similar model. It was tricky to use the wind to divert so many bullets at once, and his focus was so concentrated that he almost missed the grenade they rolled in his direction.
He reacted on instinct, falling to the ground and throwing the grenade, using a powerful blast of air to launch it even higher into the air. Even so, the force of the blast flattened his already prone body against the ground. It also stunned the group of Multis, and knocked loose at least one of their
weapons.
Second Wind let out a roar of anger, and then a second grenade blast shook the ground. Malcom saw that this one hadn’t detonated in the air, but in the midst of a group of Multis. A red spray pattern surrounded by bits and pieces of body parts was all that remained.
Malcom puzzled over Second Wind’s decision to heave the grenade at the ground instead of the sky. Both he and Second Wind had been put in almost the same situation, up against the same opponents. Copies fighting copies. Both groups of Multis had opened fire, and then attempted an attack with a grenade.
I launched mine into the air. He launched his back at his opponents. Was that just a fluke? A random variation caused by some otherwise insignificant detail?
One of the Multis rushed toward him in a suicide charge. Malcolm had just enough time to assess that he wasn’t wearing an explosive vest before he pulled from his body’s heat reserves to form a fireball and pushed with a gust of wind toward the attacker. It struck the Multi in the chest, dealing a painful, disabling, but probably not fatal injury.
The remaining three Multis opened fire on him. Malcolm dodged instead of deflecting, putting the lead car in between him and their bullets. He heard the whoosh of wind manipulation as Second Wind cut through the air, slamming into the Multis head on.
He was in the middle of them, too close for a regular opponent to risk shooting in fear of friendly fire. The Multis didn’t care. Two of them took aim and fired. Second Wind ducked, and instead of just deflecting the bullets, he redirected them into the body of the Multi nearest to him. Malcolm had considered trying that move, but was sure that he had never actually done it before.
The door of the fertilizer truck opened, and an additional Multi leapt out, wielding a shotgun and taking aim at Malcolm. That made nine in total, for a job that could have theoretically been done by a single person. Malcolm rushed at his new opponent, fearing that his wind powered bullet deflection would have trouble up against a scattershot.
The shotgun clearly didn’t belong to the Multi. He pulled the trigger and nothing happened. He was in the midst of checking the safety when Malcolm slammed into him.
Chaste Widow (Vanderbrook Champions Book 4) Page 7
