Villainous

by Brand, Kristen

  Bloodbath. I opened my mouth for a snappy comment then realized it would infuriate him more if I ignored him, so I did just that. The doors here didn’t have windows, so there was no telling which one he was locked behind. Not that I wanted to see his ugly face, but I itched to know which direction to expect an attack from. Bloodbath had been here for years, so the chances of him escaping during the one time I happened to be visiting were slim. But it would be just my luck.

  Agent Lagarde stopped in front of a door shaped differently from all the others, and the guard moved forward to pull out his keycard again. Agent Lagarde held up a hand for him to wait and then turned her glasses-covered gaze on me.

  “This is your first and only warning. No games. If you try anything that even looks funny, we’ll shoot you and sort out the details when you’re in the ER. Is that clear?”

  “Perfectly,” I said.

  She kept her gaze on me a moment longer then had the guard swipe the card. A small, rectangular room waited on the other side of the door, its only furnishings two chairs facing each other. Separating them was a thick wall made of something clear as glass but presumably much stronger. Dr. Sweet sat in the far chair. His hideous Hawaiian shirt and white lab coat had been replaced by an orange jumpsuit, but otherwise, he looked the same. He was a soft, pudgy man whose gray hair had been long and greasy even before he’d been imprisoned. I stepped inside, barely breathing. I couldn’t afford to let my dread of the Inferno affect me now; I had to be at the top of my game. The door shut behind me with a metal clang, and I lowered myself into the chair and crossed my legs.

  “Ms. Belmonte, what a nice surprise. I hope you didn’t have any trouble getting here.”

  Of course he talked to me. What an honor—a twisted, disturbing honor.

  “I suppose that sorry excuse for an assault was your doing?” I asked.

  He smiled, wrinkles creasing his smooth, round cheeks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  I wasn’t mad at him for sending the goon squad after me. I wasn’t even mad at him for what he’d done to me in August. Under any other circumstances, yeah, I’d be absolutely furious about that, but he’d kidnapped Elisa first, so I didn’t have any rage left for my own abduction. My urge to gouge out his eyeballs with my perfectly manicured fingernails was all for my daughter’s sake.

  “Let’s talk about brains,” I said. “You’ve cut up a lot in your day.”

  The chains on his handcuffs jingled as he shifted in his chair. “None of them as interesting as yours. Why? You’re not here to donate it, are you?”

  “Hardly. But considering how many telepaths you’ve dissected, you must have a pretty good idea how telepathy works. Maybe enough to develop a drug that gives the talent to normal people.”

  “An amazing accomplishment. If anyone could do it, it would be me.”

  “So you did invent psyc.”

  His grin stretched even wider across his doughy face. “I never said that.”

  “But you had ample opportunity. All the free time you must have had between burning to death in your laboratory and offering your services to Starla Strauss.”

  “It bothers you, doesn’t it?” He leaned forward, and I resisted the urge to lean back. There was a wall between us; he couldn’t put a single greasy finger on me. “You and White Knight have killed me twice, and yet here I am. And you have no idea how.”

  He did have an annoying ability to live through what should kill him. But then again, so did a cockroach.

  “That’s not the mystery I’m here to solve,” I said. “And our friends in the DSA back there are going to kick me out if I don’t stay on track. So. If you did invent psyc, it doesn’t really matter in the long run. Someone else is making it now and taking all the credit for it. I don’t suppose you had a lab assistant?”

  “I work alone.”

  “Of course you do. What I want to know is where. Where did you disappear to and cook this up? A private Caribbean island, perhaps?”

  He snorted. “Like your father?”

  “No, you’d want somewhere more crowded, wouldn’t you? A place you could get test subjects. What about Latin America? Honduras, maybe? Though the beaches in Brazil are nicer.”

  “Can you get me out of this cell?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Then I see no reason to tell you anything.”

  It was my turn to smile. “Come on, Doctor, don’t fight your urge to monologue. I know you want to brag about how you’re outsmarting the DSA.”

  “You know nothing about me.”

  I stood and walked slowly up to the glass wall. “I know what it’s like to be inside a cell,” I told him, “to have your entire world reduced to four close walls. Pretty soon, you won’t even be able to dream of the outside world, you know. It’ll be that dull, white room both waking and sleeping. Cooperate, and the DSA can at least allow you some books to pass the time. It’s worth it. Believe me.”

  He remained sitting. “Your attempts to manipulate me are pathetic. I’d explain why it’s pointless, but our intellects are on such completely different levels that it’d be like trying to explain gravity to a dog.”

  “Oh, look. A supervillain who thinks he’s smarter than everyone else. How shocking.”

  He shot to his feet. “You want to know about psyc? Try looking closer to home.” He stepped closer, the prison lights gleaming off his oily face. “Tell me, do you know what your sister has been up to lately?”

  My sister?

  He smirked and pointedly turned his back on me. “Thank you for dropping by, Ms. Belmonte. I enjoyed our little chat.”

  I opened my mouth to argue but then snapped it shut. If he said he was done talking, I wasn’t going to plead. I turned around and waited for the guard to open the door for me. Oh God. The guards, Agent Lagarde, Julio—they were all out there, and they’d just heard Dr. Sweet accuse one of my sisters of being behind the psyc operation.

  You know what? Maybe it wasn’t too late to book that flight to Morocco.

  Chapter 7

  He was probably lying.

  The obvious intent was to waste my time. I’d have to investigate my own family just to be thorough, slowing down progress on finding out who was actually behind this. But this was going to slow me down no matter what I did. Once we left the prison, Agent Lagarde called her superiors to report the development, and then she’d promptly suspended me from the investigation until further notice. Apparently, the fact that my sister might be behind this put my trustworthiness into question.

  Pretty stupid, right? The whole reason the DSA had made this deal with me in the first place was because they wanted to exploit my relationship with Jean-Baptiste. Now they had a chance to make me rat out my own sister—an even closer relationship (depending on which sister it was), and they weren’t jumping on it. Opportunities like that don’t come around everyday. Which was exactly what I’d told Agent Lagarde, but she’d just said to sit tight for now.

  I’d never been good at sitting tight. As much as I didn’t want to believe Dr. Sweet, what he said would explain how the Combuster was killed. Any one of my sisters could have done that by psychic assault, overloading his brain telepathically until he hemorrhaged and died without a mark on him. As we waited at the gate for our flight to start boarding, I texted my favorite sister, Bianca. She mostly smuggled guns, but she did some drugs on the side. Pot, mostly, but she might be branching out.

  Hey. Ever heard of psyc? I typed.

  She didn’t make me wait more than thirty seconds for a reply. Hi! Yeah. Worst drug ever, right? I’d rather smoke something that gives me laser-vision.

  Then she texted this: :=)===

  I squinted at it. The hell is that supposed to be?

  Laser-vision smiley.

  Of course. How had I missed that? Sorry I asked. So are you importing psyc?

  Lol no. If it were me, I’d jack up the $ about 200% and sell to big corporations that want to spy on their competitors.
/>   I didn’t sigh, but only because Julio was right next to me, and I didn’t want to draw his attention. Of course it wasn’t Bianca. She would’ve helped me, and I didn’t have that kind of luck.

  My phone vibrated again.

  But don’t tell Mary I said that. She’d think I was criticizing her.

  I was already getting airsick. Mary?

  Yep. Baby sis is building a drug empire. They grow up so fast.

  Okay. Mary. That wasn’t the best news, but it wasn’t the worst. At least it wasn’t Sonia. Then again, while Sonia and I hated each other, it was the kind of hate that could only be cultivated by two people who knew each other very well. Mary and I weren’t close. She wasn’t even thirty yet, and I was sliding rapidly toward fifty; we hadn’t grown up together and didn’t exactly have a lot of common interests.

  I found her name in my contacts and sent a text asking if she could meet me tomorrow. Unlike Bianca, she didn’t immediately reply. My gaze drifted from my phone to the boarding area, but they weren’t letting anyone on yet. A clump of people with thinning patience had gathered near the gate to wait, and garbled announcements for other flights came one after another over the speakers. I leaned my head back, slouching with a proficiency to rival Elisa’s, and glanced at Julio beside me.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “Dave won’t end up in there.”

  He started. “I wasn’t worrying.”

  “You haven’t said a word for the past half hour.”

  “I was watching our surroundings. Someone tried to kill us earlier today, remember? Just because we left the prison doesn’t mean it won’t happen again.”

  “Yes, I’m sure that spot of carpet you were staring at for five minutes was a huge threat. Thanks for keeping an eye on it for me.”

  He scowled then looked toward the monitor behind the counter as if he was checking the flight status. Three seconds passed before his gaze was pulled back to me.

  “He will end up there,” he said, putting a hand to his forehead. “There’s nowhere else strong enough to hold him. And nobody deserves to be there less than him, but I wouldn’t expect you to—” He cut himself off, glanced at Agent Lagarde, and looked down. “It doesn’t matter. You heard Nicole. Your deal’s off.”

  “I heard her. She said I was suspended, not done. She chooses her words carefully.” I gave Agent Lagarde a brief nod. “And you heard me say that I’m your best bet for getting evidence to convict whichever of my sisters is responsible. And believe me, if one of my sisters is behind the drug ring, you DSA idiots won’t be able to bring her down on your own. You’ll need me.” I folded my arms. “Dave won’t even make it to the courthouse, much less the Inferno. At least, that’s what I’d tell you if you were worried. Which you’re not.”

  Julio’s gaze was a strange mix of vulnerability and suspicion. I gave him a reassuring wink.

  “Now get back to watching that carpet. It just made a suspicious move.”

  I honestly wasn’t sure who I was trying to reassure more with that little speech: Julio or myself. If the DSA decided they didn’t want to make a new deal with me, that was it. Dave’s fate would be in Charles’s and the jury’s hands. I couldn’t do anything if it came to that. What I could do was get the information I’d need to trade for Dave’s freedom if they did decide to deal with me. So an hour after our plane had taken off, I excused myself to use the restroom, the one place I could have a phone conversation without my escorts listening in. And yes, I was using a cell phone after the captain had told us not to. Behold a supervillain breaking the law. Have you ever seen anything so evil?

  “Belmonte,” the voice on the other end of the line greeted. “I know I’m very good at this, but I’m not a miracle worker. You’ve only had me on the job for a day.”

  I leaned against the sink counter—and immediately straightened as water soaked into my skirt. Eww.

  “I’m calling to give you information, not ask for it,” I said in a low voice.

  “That makes me incredibly suspicious, but go on.”

  I reached for a paper towel, but the dispenser was empty. “She-Devil’s running the psyc operation.”

  “So this is a family spat, huh? Pretty big coincidence.”

  “Belmontes don’t have spats. We have wars.”

  “Don’t be over-dramatic.”

  I rubbed the damp spot with a piece of toilet paper. At least my skirt was black. “I’ll be as over-dramatic as I want. Call me when you’ve got numbers, names, and locations.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I grinned. “You just threw up a little saying that, didn’t you?”

  “Just a bit.”

  I hung up and sighed. The claustrophobically small bathroom smelled of cheap soap and less pleasant liquids. The turbulence wasn’t bad enough to make the captain turn on the Fasten Seatbelt sign, but it rocked the room just enough to make me queasy. I didn’t want to stay in here any longer, but I had one more call to make. Under normal circumstances, I’d need a few moments to mentally prepare myself, but I didn’t have time to hesitate, since Agent Lagarde would get suspicious if I took too long in here. So I took a deep breath and dialed.

  I always hated talking to my father.

  • • •

  By the time we landed, it was after midnight and Mary still hadn’t texted me back. Eddy picked me up at the airport, though I’d told the old man I could hire a limo and let him get his beauty sleep. I leaned my head against the cool, hard glass of the backseat window, tired of sitting after having done so for five hours straight on the plane. I was just tired, period. At least traffic wasn’t bad this time of night. Soon enough, I’d be home lying in bed, and God, that mattress was going to feel amazing.

  Eddy turned down the classic rock station he had playing on the radio. “So, you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He didn’t reach for the knob to turn back up the volume. “It’s okay if you’re not, you know.”

  “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

  The music was too low to be able to tell what song was playing, and for a few seconds, that was the only sound.

  “I did five years’ time back in the sixties,” Eddy said. “Didn’t set foot in a prison until almost a decade later to visit Dino Acone. You remember him? Worked for your father in Chicago. Terrible at cards.”

  “I remember him.”

  “Anyway, I started feeling queasy the moment I passed the fence. Long story short, I had a panic attack. Had to hide in the bathroom and smoke the grass I was supposed to sneak Dino to calm myself down. He was pissed.”

  “You’re making that up.”

  “It’s true.”

  I’d never know without reading his mind. “Well, I couldn’t smoke anything. They already had me on exatrin. Got to be careful about mixing drugs, you know.”

  “Assholes. Did you get the information you wanted, at least?”

  “Yeah…” I looked out the window at the passing streetlights. “I’m going to need you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  He always was.

  We got home, and as much as I wanted to collapse instantly in bed, I made myself shower first to wash away the traces of the prison from my skin. I brushed my teeth, braided my hair, and lathered lotion over every inch of my skin until the vanilla scent overpowered even the memory of the Inferno’s stink. Then finally, gratefully, I crawled into bed next to Dave. I’d thought I’d been stealthy enough to avoid waking him, but he rolled over and wrapped his arm around me.

  “Hey,” he murmured sleepily.

  I didn’t realize how tense my muscles had been until my body relaxed. I breathed slowly out.

  “Hey,” I said. “I had a terrible day.”

  • • •

  The next afternoon found me in South Pointe Park walking down the pier. The sounds of waves lapping against the shore and the cries of seagulls mixed with people’s chatter. It was fairly crowded, and the fact that it was a public place was the main reason I’d
agreed to meet here. Fishermen lined the railings, and joggers weaved around those of us who were walking. A mother strolled with her young son, his melting grape popsicle leaving a trail of purple drops on the wood boards. Two of the fishermen plus a man pretending to read something on his phone worked for my father. And those were just the men he wanted me to see.

  Dad himself was about three quarters of the way down the pier. His wheelchair faced the railing, his hands folded in his lap as he looked out over the ocean. The heat had forced him to remove his suit jacket, leaving him in gray slacks, a white button-down shirt, and blue tie. My mental image of my father must have been a few years out of date, because I was always surprised by how old he looked when I saw him. Had his combed-back hair been that thin the last time we met in person? Had his face had that many wrinkles? You expect monsters like my father to continue unchanged for centuries like Dracula or something. Seeing him age like a normal person was disconcerting.

  I stopped next to him, looking out over the water for a moment in silence. I’d dressed much more practically than he had: a long, lacy white sundress, caramel-colored sandals, and a wide-brimmed hat. (Too much sun irritated my scar, but that gave me an excuse to wear fabulous headgear, so I didn’t complain.)

  “I saw Dr. Sweet yesterday,” I said. “Did you know he created psyc?”

  He didn’t look at me. “I know.”

  “And you’re still letting Mary sell it?”

  “It’s a growing market. Never let a grudge get in the way of profit.”

  “A grudge? He kidnapped and experimented on my daughter—your granddaughter. I don’t think ‘grudge’ is a strong enough word. ‘Seething hatred’ is actually looking pretty weak.”

  “Sweet’s in jail. He’s not benefiting from your sister’s business in any way.” Dad deigned to turn his head and look at me. “And that’s not what you’re here to talk about.”

  No, it wasn’t. I didn’t waste time telling him what was going on, because he already knew. He always knew.

  “I don’t expect Mary to stop her whole operation for my sake,” I said. “But there’s got to be a drop-point she can sacrifice, or some intel I can feed to the feds so they can raid a boat and feel proud of themselves.”