Maximus: #1 (Luna Lodge: Alpha Squad)

by Madison Stevens

  “I always like to keep an open mind, but I’m not promising anything.”

  “The Phoenix Corps is pretty much finished,” Titus said. “There’s only one major guy out there according to what I was just told. They didn’t know who yet, but I’m looking into that on my end.”

  Maximus leaned back in his chair, nodding thoughtfully despite the pounding in his heart. The Phoenix Corps had been the main people responsible for his people’s imprisonment, and Alpha Squad spent most of their time targeting the Corps’ operations.

  Titus grinned, the expression lupine and hungry. “Anybody who was linked with the Horatius Group directly or indirectly is feeling the heat. It’s like every government out there is trying to outdo all the others in hunting down people like the Corps and the Group, at least publicly. I’m not ready to have tourists flood my island, but it’s nice to know those bastards are the ones afraid now.”

  Maximus scoffed. “In other words, governments are trying to clean up before anybody else realizes how knee-deep they were in trying to score some supersoldiers themselves?”

  “Whatever works.” Titus shrugged. “I’m not enough of an optimist to think this means it’s all over, but it does mean your men are going to have a lot more free time on your hands.”

  “So? Gives us more time to work on hobbies.”

  Titus leaned forward with a thoughtful look. “I’m thinking you should all relocate to Isla Luna full-time.”

  “That’s stupid,” Maximus replied. “Sure for the guys who aren’t infected, but the rest of us—”

  “Spare me that shit,” Titus growled. “Rachel’s kept me in the loop on everything. You’re not infected with anything.”

  “It doesn’t change the fact that we might be dangerous.” Maximus pointed to his nose. “Not every Luna hybrid has their Vestal yet. I told Rachel that too, but I think she’s more obsessed with solving the mystery than thinking through what else this will mean.”

  Titus’s nostrils flared. “You’re going to need a place to live anyway. I thought we both agreed that the government had been poking around this place too much. It’s time to abandon it.”

  Maximus nodded. “Which is why I started construction on the other place off the coast of Maine.”

  “But it’s not ready,” Titus said.

  “It’s close enough.” Maximums smiled. “We’re hybrids. It’s not like we need five-star hotels.”

  “Why bother?” Titus shook his head. “Just come to Isla Luna, and don’t tell me it’s because you’re infected.”

  “Your people saved us.” Maximus furrowed his brow. “And we’ll always appreciate it, but at the end of the day, we’re not your people, those of with the problem even more so.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way. It—” Titus’s cell phone rang. He frowned and pulled it out of his pocket. “I’m here.” He listened intently only sprinkling in quick questions.. “Yes? What? You’re sure? I’m with him now, and I’ll tell him. No, you did the right thing in calling me.”

  Maximus waited expectantly, staring at Titus.

  Titus slipped the phone back into his pocket. “Do you know the name Doctor Quinen?”

  Maximus let out a low growl. “He was one of the people in charge of the research side of things for us. Total egomaniac who got off on playing God. A lot of the scientists you could tell they might not be moral, but they were there for the research and had the decency to be half-ashamed. He wasn’t. He was always proud of what he’d done, proud that he’d made sacrifices of others.”

  “That meeting with the government is already providing dividends,” Titus said. “A government contact passed along a lead that we were able to put together with some other information. He’s apparently the guy the government says is left and he was spotted in Hawaii. If you move quickly, you might be able to get him before the government does, or we can pass it along to them and let them clean up.”

  Maximus shook his head. “They love frying the ops guys, but the scientists? They’d pardon that bastard, stick him in a basement in D.C., and ask him to keep doing what he had been doing. We both know that.”

  “That’s what I figure, too. We can help you on this. Just because he worked for the Phoenix Corps and not the Horatius Group doesn’t mean he’s not a threat to hybrids.”

  Maximus stood and cracked his knuckles. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got eleven guys already who are perfect for the job. It’s time for us to finish off the scraps of the Phoenix Corps.”

  Chapter Two

  Selena’s hand hovered over the door handle. Her heart pounded, and she nibbled on her lip. One quick twist and a step, and she would be inside the conference room. Maui was supposed to be her site of triumph, but nothing but pain waited for her inside.

  It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Not remotely. Her twenty-fifth birthday had come and gone a couple of weeks earlier, and she thought her new job was some sort of cosmic reward for her hard work. That was the American way, work hard and she’d get what she deserved. She didn’t deserve the idiocy on the other side of the door.

  “You have to move on, Selena, they said,” she muttered. “You’re getting stuck in an area you don’t love, they said. I should have just dyed my hair purple and stayed at my old job like I planned.”

  Even as Selena said it, she knew it would have never happened. She enjoyed being a redhead, both for the look and as an excuse for being feisty, and as much as she enjoyed her old job, there was only so far helping out on nature documentaries was going to take her on her desired career path. Making the shift over to commercials was the first step on a long journey. It was just turning out to be a long, scary drop to the next step.

  Selena gripped the handle, trying to concentrate on the positive. “This should have been the sweetest gig possible. I’m in Hawaii. I always wanted to go to Hawaii. That’s it. I should be happy about that. Somebody else paid for me to take a trip to here. Just because I’m not seeing the beauty of the islands and experiencing anything other than hotel rooms doesn’t mean I’m not here. I’ll go out and have some food at some famous local chef’s place. I’ll drop to my knees and tell them I’m ready to know the glory of Spam.”

  As a junior production assistant, Selena’s daily work and responsibilities varied, but in this case, her main job had been securing the location and working with locals to source additional gear for the job. It was a commercial shoot featuring no extras and only one actor, Chris Silvers.

  That basic reality should have simplified logistics, but Chris’s demand for a particular brand of sparkling water and preferred snacks not available in Hawaii required some creativity and late calls the previous night. The other production assistants had been spectacularly unhelpful yet somehow didn’t earn nearly the wrath she’d been receiving as a new arrival. It was like Chris was determined to humiliate and frustrate her.

  “Can’t the guy just appreciate getting to spend time in a beautiful Maui tropical rainforest?” Selena grumbled. “Instead, he’s whining about snacks like he’s a picky four year old. I’d ask him if he wants a bottle of warm milk and a nap every day at noon, but he’d probably demand that be added to his rider.”

  Selena’s phone buzzed with a message. Her stomach knotted in anticipation. She didn’t need to look to know it was the director demanding to know where she was. It wasn’t her fault that he’d decided at the last minute to change the time of their meeting and everyone neglected to tell her until after it had started. She half-suspected he was trying to mess with her.

  It was like the universe was conspiring to screw her over. She was beginning to believe in reincarnation and that she’d been someone low-key terrible in a previous life, like someone who gave away spoilers in the middle of a movie.

  Selena sighed. Stalling wouldn’t help. The only way out of the pain was through. She would keep reminding herself about how important the job was to her future. The thicker a skin she developed dealing with Hollywood assholes, the further her career could
go. The director and talent were probably saints compared to a lot of people in the industry.

  Training. That’s what it was. No pain and no gain and all that. This wouldn’t suck as much as running a marathon, and there was a bigger reward than a trophy at the end.

  Selena always had a dream of helping in her own small way with memorable movies. Her time with documentary filmmaking hadn’t been unpleasant, but she also worried about ending up in a limited career niche. Now she wondered if a lateral switch to food documentaries wouldn’t have been a good idea. Though plenty of chefs had huge egos, too. There really was no winning.

  With a final resigned sigh, Selena tugged open the door and entered the conference room. The director, Bill, sat at one end of the table. Chris sat at the other, scowling. It wasn’t really resting bitch face when you were just a bitch. The other production assistants sat scattered around the table, desperately trying to not make eye contact with Bill and Chris. Wimps, every last one of them. Learning to tolerate crap wasn’t the same thing as cowering before assholes. That was also part of her training.

  Selena defiantly locked eyes with Bill before heading to her seat. “Everything’s on track with the local permits, but we get only one day for the shoot. They were emphatic about that.”

  “I thought I told you to fix that.” Bill rubbed his temples. “If I recall, I mentioned it three times.”

  “And I told you that it might not be possible. One day, no more.” Selena shrugged. “I did everything short of threaten them.”

  “How am I going to be able to bring out the true glory of the location with only one day?” Bill threw a hand into the air and scoffed. “I should be spending two or three days on location just getting a feel for the lighting, the energy, the dynamic possibilities before we even think about filming, and we’re going to have to do this with, what, a maximum of twelve hours or so? Do you even care about my artistic vision?”

  It probably wasn’t a good time to admit the truth. Selena settled for a compromise instead.

  “I’m sure we can get permission for limited scouting and planning,” Selena said. “But we can’t film there more than the one day. If we—”

  “And how am I supposed to do all that planning without the cameras and the crew?” barked Bill. He glared at Selena. “That won’t be enough. This is ridiculous. I’m very disappointed, and you came so highly recommended.”

  “I can talk to them about one of the other locations,” she said. She wouldn’t apologize for doing her job. She hadn’t promised a location. She’d done her best. “You told me to secure that location, but we have other options. It’s about time we begin to consi—”

  “No!” Bill slammed his fist on the table, rattling it. Other assistants and staff shrank in their seats. He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. “You can’t dangle the perfect location in front of me and then yank it away like some taunting insult. I’m about to direct something transcendent, a piece of work that will resonate in our industry for years, but to do that I need all the appropriate tools, including that location. So, no, we won’t be going with another location. We’ll have to figure out how to get this to work despite your incompetence. Do I make myself clear?”

  Selena sucked in a deep breath. Her heart thundered. The bastard had the gall to say she was incompetent when she’d scouted the location on such a short schedule. If anything, she was too competent. She still worried a little about how they would get all the equipment there, but that wasn’t her area.

  She didn’t look away as the man’s angry glare tried to drill into her. She refused to be afraid of this arrogant asshole who didn’t seem to understand that he wasn’t going to get an Oscar for a perfume commercial with B-List talent. If he wanted to yell, she would let him yell like the petty little man he was.

  “Okay,” Selena said, keeping her voice even. “But there is nothing I can do about getting a permit for a longer shoot. They made that very clear. I told you. I did everything I could, and they didn’t want to budge. I’m a production assistant, not a miracle worker.”

  Bill clucked his tongue. “I suppose I’ll have to compromise my art due to your incompetence, but so be it.” He flung a hand in the air. “The crap I put up with for my art. It’s so painful to be surrounded by imbeciles and philistines, but I’ll stay true to my vision for my art.”

  Selena resisted rolling her eyes. She’d put in so much work for so little reason. Flying all the way out to Hawaii was pointless. They could have hit the L.A. Arboretum and shot the same commercial. There was something almost obscene about using Maui as a backdrop for a stupid commercial shoot.

  She originally assumed the whole shoot was an excuse to expense out a Hawaiian vacation, but over the last couple of days, Bill had spent all his time holed up in his room, continuing to plan out the shots and blocking for the thirty-second spot like he was shooting the single most important film in all of cinematic history.

  There were other holes in the vacation theory. Production staff weren’t authorized to wander too far away from the hotel, in case some sudden jolt of creative inspiration struck the director and he needed to perform some ad-hoc filming somewhere other than his current location obsession. Too bad he wouldn’t give in more to that idea.

  Even their annoying puffed-up talent, Chris, seemed far less interested in exploring the beautiful island of Maui rather than complaining that Hawaii didn’t have all his favorite L.A. specialty snacks easily available. The guy acted like he would die an agonizing death if he didn’t get his hand-prepared organic gluten-free artisan pretzels from one particular shop. Of course, the stupid pretzels required a special mustard made at a different place.

  Who the hell cared so much about pretzels? Selena was beginning to think she preferred some of the deadly animals in the nature documentary shoots. No bear or lion ever complained about their meal having to come from a specific store. They ate what was available. Though, technically, it was mostly organic and locally sourced.

  Chris lifted a water bottle out of an ice bucket sitting on the table. He looked it up and down carefully before handing it to the closest assistant to open with a snap of his fingers. The nervous-looking recipient twisted off the top before handing it back to the star who took a careful sip and looked disappointed.

  It was hard not to laugh at the ridiculous man. He thought he was some sort of god, and not a pathetic nitwit coasting by on fading decent looks and luck. In ten years, he’d probably be on some sad reality show focused on stars with dead careers, talking about how he’d been wronged by Hollywood.

  Selena didn’t see the big deal about Chris Silvers. His face was okay, but his blond mop and smooth features made him a clone of a dozen other on-the-move actors out there, most of who were far more talented. She also liked her men tall, big, and muscular, not pretty boys, especially asshole pretty boys who wouldn’t open their own water bottles.

  Chris sipped at his water, a bored look on his face. “All that location stuff is important, but did you get my pretzels and mustard yet, Selena?”

  She had never understood the phrase punchable face until that exact moment. The guy wasn’t a brilliant thespian with decades of experience on stage and screen. His main claim to fame was a modestly successful premium cable dark comedy series, Flaming Hot. She didn’t think playing a nymphomaniac alcoholic firefighter made the guy a master of stage and screen.

  Her review of a couple of episodes in conjunction with meeting Chris confirmed two things to Selena. First, the show was only successful because of the brilliant supporting cast. Everyone else on the show could outact Chris, and she didn’t get why he was headlining. Second, Chris Silvers obviously used a body double for sex scenes. There was no way the nice butt on the show belonged to him.

  Sure, she hadn’t seen the offending questionable butt directly yet for comparison purposes, but it was obvious from his tight pants that the muscular ass on the show was a fraud. That probably wasn’t the only part of him that was a disappointment, but she
prayed she would never be in a position to find out.

  Selena shivered at the thought and managed not to roll her eyes at the butt fraud. “The shop is out of mustard and won’t have any more until the weekend, but some of your stu… your pretzels will be coming in tonight. I don’t know if you understand the difficulties in getting pretzels made by a specific shop in L.A. over to Hawaii without it costing an arm and a leg. You might want to adjust your expectations given our limited time frame.”

  Another woman at the table winced. A man facepalmed and shook his head. Bill watched impassively.

  That was a good sign. She’d expected the director to shut her down, but he must have been as sick of Chris’s prima donna act as she was, or it didn’t fit in with the artistic vision for the commercial.

  Selena refused to back down. She wasn’t going to get fired over mustard and pretzels. If she let one pampered asshole walk all over her, it would never end for the rest of her career. She needed to establish a mutual respect.

  “I don’t need to understand the difficulty,” Chris said, his voice full of venom. He slammed his water bottle down, splashing some of the precious liquid onto the table. “My rider for this commercial specifies that I’ll be provided with ‘any and all reasonable food and drink requests, including my foods normally consumed on a weekly basis.’” His nostrils flared. “I’m not asking for pho straight on a rocket from Vietnam. What the hell is wrong with you?” He flicked his wrist dismissively at her. “I’m already regretting doing this commercial. I was assured that I wouldn’t need my personal assistant on the shoot and that I would be provided with all the necessary help, but now what’s going on? People are bitching about the simplest of tasks. That’s what I get for letting Sheila take a vacation. Incompetence from idiots.”

  Bill waved his hands in front of him. “Chris, my main man. Don’t worry. She’ll get you your pretzels, but I need you to get in your headspace.” He tapped his temples. “We’re going to have to do this a lot more dynamically than I planned, so you’ll need to be ready. In the zone, ready for the game. You got me? We have to keep the vision alive.”