Villainous

by Brand, Kristen

  “I doubt she’ll want to bother.”

  “Then make her.”

  “And why should I bother?”

  I took a deep breath. The air smelled of fish and salt. “I’m asking nicely.”

  “You lost the right to ask me for anything when you left,” he all but hissed.

  “You don’t understand. I’m asking nicely because you and Mary are family. I feel like I owe you that before I grind your business into dust. Call it a sentimental streak.”

  His sharp eyes studied me. Yeah, I had his full attention now.

  “You’re really prepared to move against your own family? Make sure you think hard about this, Valentina. You know how we deal with our enemies.”

  “And you know how far I’ll go to keep my husband safe.”

  “White Knight locked up in the Inferno with the very people he helped incarcerate…” My father rested his skeletal hands on the arms of his chair, and a rare look of pleasure livened his face. “I’d be curious to see how long he’d last, brutalized mentally and physically on an almost daily basis.”

  His gaze went to my hands. The pain of my nails digging into my palms made me realize I’d clenched them into fists. Behind me, a jogger pushed impatiently past a group of people standing, and loud profanity filled the warm summer air. My anger was bleeding over into other people’s minds. I took a moment to rein it back in.

  “But I can see why you wouldn’t want to let that happen,” Dad went on. “You don’t have to start a war between us, though. There’s another way.”

  I didn’t ask. He was going to tell me anyway.

  “Come home,” he said. “Come back to where you belong, at my side, and you can order Mary to do whatever you want.”

  An ocean breeze rustled my flowing skirts around my ankles, and I put a hand on my hat to keep it from blowing into the water.

  “Dad—”

  “I’m old, Valentina,” he went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “It won’t be much longer before this body gives out on me. I can feel it coming. I need someone to take over the organization.”

  “You have Joey for that.”

  Speaking of Dad’s constant shadow, Joey Giordano was conspicuously absent today.

  “That was my original plan, but this is a family business. I like the idea of a Belmonte running it after I’m gone.” He paused. “Call it a sentimental streak.”

  Actually, the original original plan had been for Joey to secure his place as heir by marrying me, but I didn’t have time for that patriarchal bullshit.

  “I’m not your only child,” I said.

  “Sonia’s too emotional, Bianca’s a flake, and Mary doesn’t have the experience. None of them have your brains, your nerve, or your reputation. You were groomed for this.”

  Inside my purse, my phone vibrated. I ignored it, debating whether I should at least pretend to consider Dad’s offer. No, I had to be absolutely clear. Allowing him to think he had a chance of swaying me would only be more dangerous in the long run.

  “Not interested. Do you think I still want to be plotting crimes when I’m your age? I had a good go, and I’m done now. I’m enjoying my retirement.”

  His face darkened, which was an impressive feat in the afternoon sun. “I can’t tell you how much I hate seeing you do this to yourself. You’re like a captured tiger growing fat and lazy at the zoo. You should be in the jungle hunting.”

  “Well, I think I’m done here. You’re not going to help me, and I’m pretty sure you just called me fat. See you around, Dad.”

  I walked back toward the shore, keeping an eye on his men in case they tried to stop me.

  “Think about it,” Dad called after me. “How long do you think you’ll be satisfied with retirement? You’re wasting your potential.”

  My potential. Sure. What had I expected? Of course he wasn’t going to help me. Now the only option left was to deal with Mary directly, and that was probably exactly what he wanted. He’d try to pit us against each other in a sick attempt to control us, not caring that it could end with one of us killing the other. Manipulation was his forte. He used to be able to do it more directly, to possess people’s bodies and force them to do whatever he wanted. A team of DSA telepaths had obliterated his powers years ago, and that would have been the end of any other supervillain’s career. But not Dad’s. Not Mr. Lucifer’s. He was as deadly now as he’d ever been.

  I headed for the parking lot, spotting Eddy twenty yards to my right inconspicuously doing the same. It turned out that I hadn’t needed him, but it was nice to have him all the same.

  Oh, right. My phone had vibrated, hadn’t it? I dug around in my purse. Gun, makeup case, wallet—there, phone. One missed call from Elisa. Had today’s migraine finally kicked in? She’d made it through a full day of school and had even gone over to a friend’s house afterward, which was a definite improvement over her recent track record. Nice to know someone was having success today.

  I called her back. “You need me to pick you up from Haley’s?”

  Her voice was a whisper. “Um, not really. I’m not…exactly at Haley’s.”

  “Not exactly at Haley’s? You’re either there or you’re not. Which is it?”

  “I’m not.” Her wince was audible. “I know you told me not to, but I talked to Reese—he’s the dealer at school—and—”

  I stopped walking. “Where are you?”

  “His apartment.”

  “Elisa Lucrezia Belmonte Del Toro.”

  “I know! I know. I’m texting you the address. I’ll stall him until you get here, okay? He’s coming back now. I gotta go.”

  “Don’t—”

  She hung up on me. My daughter hung up on me. Forget what I’d told Dad; I wasn’t done with my life of crime yet. I was going to murder my only child.

  But first, I called her father.

  Chapter 8

  Eddy pulled up the car to a cheery blue apartment building. I immediately scanned for Elisa’s mind, and my relief at finding her safe managed to hold off my anger for maybe one-sixteenth of a second.

  “Wait here,” I told Eddy, getting out. “Call me if anyone suspicious shows up.”

  I marched to the door of 3101, lizards scattering from the sidewalk into the bushes at my approach. A wind chime decorated with seashells hung over the door, jingling lightly, and a fold-up beach chair sat on the small front porch. I ignored the doorbell and telepathically contacted Elisa, my words like a whip.

  Let me in.

  She hurried to the door and pulled it open. But before she could say anything, something crashed behind her. The dealer was trying to run out the back.

  “Hey!” Elisa shouted.

  I froze the boy with a thought and turned my attention back to Elisa. “You’re grounded. No computer. No phone. I don’t know for how long. I’ll be discussing this with your father. How could you do something so stupid?”

  Elisa stepped aside as I swept into the apartment. “There’s nothing to worry about, Mom. I had it all under control.”

  “You can’t—” I stopped. Her shirt had a hole in the shoulder, the skin beneath it purple and bruised. “What’s this? What happened?”

  She glanced down at where I was pointing. “Oh. He shot me.”

  “He shot you?”

  Elisa rolled her eyes. “It’s fine. It just stings. I’m bulletproof. You’re overreacting.”

  “I am not overreacting. You’re lucky something worse didn’t happen.”

  Elisa huffed. “Nothing would have happened. I told you—he’s only small time. But if you follow the chain up through his bosses, you can—”

  “I told you to let me handle that. You deliberately disobeyed me. You lied to me.”

  “So? You do that kind of stuff all the time.”

  Well, shit.

  Dave pulled into the parking lot. Thank you, my love, for your impeccable sense of timing. I was about three seconds away from an explosion that would have left the Combuster in awe.

  “C
ome on,” I said.

  Elisa, who had been cringing in anticipation of said explosion, blinked at me. “Huh?”

  “Your father’s here. He can’t come in—there are steps in front of the door. So we’re going out.”

  Elisa glanced back at the dealer, who stood near the back door with a vacant expression. “What about Reese?”

  “I’ll deal with him later.”

  We walked outside (and back into the heat) just as Dave had finished unfolding his portable wheelchair and gotten out of the car. His gaze immediately found Elisa, and she gulped. Nobody wanted to be on the wrong end of White Knight’s “I’ll punch you in the face so hard your skull will burst like a water-balloon” look, but sometimes his “I expected better from you and am disappointed” look was even worse.

  “Take her home,” I told him. “I’ll tie up the loose ends here.”

  He took his gaze from Elisa and frowned at me. “That sounds murdery.”

  “I’m just going to erase his memories. Don’t get your boxers in a bunch.”

  The taunt bounced off him like a bullet. “Come on,” he told Elisa. “You and I are going to have a talk on the way home.”

  She looked down at her shoes. “I was just trying to help.”

  “I know,” I said. “But this…this isn’t helping.”

  Her shoulders slumped, and she trudged to the car as if she was getting into her own hearse. I resisted the urge to smack myself. Parenting shouldn’t be more difficult than gathering evidence to convict a super-powered drug lord. My mother-of-the-year award would probably show up in the mail any day now.

  “She’ll be fine,” Dave said. “You’ll see.”

  I gave him a weak smile in response. He gave me a strong, reassuring one before getting into the car and leaving.

  Back inside, the dealer was waiting where I’d left him. I scanned his mind on the off chance he might know something useful, but he was at the very bottom of the ladder. His supplier came by once a week with new inventory, and that was it. He didn’t even know the man’s real name, much less where he got the drugs from.

  I did a quick sweep of the room. There was a small, twisted ball of metal on the floor near the couch. I picked it up and realized it used to be a gun. The metal was crushed as though a certain super-strong someone had squeezed it in her hands. That went into my purse. A small drug kit was spread out over the coffee table: syringes with orange caps, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and several baggies of silver powder. I picked up the one syringe that had something in it and read the dealer’s mind again. He’d just prepared it as a demonstration for Elisa. I took that, too, just in case. Then I had the dealer lie down on the couch and started erasing his memories.

  Elisa hadn’t spoken to him after school. He didn’t even know who Elisa was, other than having vaguely seen her face in the hallways. He’d come home and taken a nap. After staying up until three a.m. playing video games last night, it wasn’t surprising that he needed one.

  I gazed down at him, taking in the faint stubble on his young face and his rumpled black T-shirt. He’d shot my daughter. I should kill him for that. I’d killed people for less in the past. Instead, I left him unconscious on the couch and returned to the car, where Eddy was waiting. Charles was right, after all. I was going soft. But it was worse than that. Killing the dealer wouldn’t cure Elisa’s depression, and it wouldn’t protect Dave. I could end him so easily. I had the power to ruin lives and take what I wanted on a scale most people only dreamed of. I should be able to keep my daughter happy and my husband out of jail. So why couldn’t I?

  “Home?” Eddy asked.

  “Just a second.”

  I scrolled through my contacts list and pressed call.

  “This time, I’m calling to get information, not give it,” I greeted. “I’ll meet you at my place. Bring me everything you’ve got.”

  • • •

  When I got home, she was already there, sitting in the living room with Dave over two glasses of lemonade. His was almost finished; hers hadn’t been touched. Moreen Lee was smart enough not to drink anything that had been prepared in my house. She was altogether average-looking, with chin-length, graying hair, and I’d liked her better when she’d been director of the DSA. She was much more reasonable than the guy who’d taken over after her, for one thing. But more importantly, someone had seen to it that she’d worn stylish tailored pantsuits when she’d had the job. Left to her own devices, she’d put on a pair of khakis, the ugliest boxy brown shoes I’d ever seen, and a polo shirt a shade of orange usually reserved for highlighters.

  “You’re late,” she said, not bothering to stand to greet me.

  “I’m the paying client, so I can’t be late. You’re early.” I sat down on the couch across from her, Dave’s chair positioned between us. “And I think I’m paying you enough to be nicer to me.”

  “I think you’re seriously underestimating how hard you are to be nice to,” she countered.

  I put a hand over my heart. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed your insults. I keep trying to get banter out of Agent Lagarde, but it’s like trying to rob a Blockbuster.”

  “She doesn’t want to engage with you. It’s a sensible decision. Here.” She tossed a thick black folder onto the coffee table, rattling the lemonade glasses. I picked it up and immediately started skimming the pages.

  “So,” Dave said to Moreen. “I’m surprised you took the job.”

  “I started business a week ago and have no clients. Desperate people do stupid things.”

  The folder’s contents were organized chronologically. I flipped past marked maps and floor-plans, photos of Mary outside of buildings and getting into cars, and detailed descriptions. Moreen had recorded the times of Mary’s activities down to the second. And she’d color-coded everything.

  “So I guess you decided not to take that offer to teach college classes?” Dave asked.

  “Best decision I ever made,” Moreen answered. “Do you know how I spent the last two days? Going through trash, tailing people, nearly dying from heatstroke on a five-hour stakeout. It’s been incredible.”

  Several of these addresses would be very useful, indeed. Moreen had found where Mary lived, where she stored her inventory of psyc, but not where she brought the drugs into the country. I suppose it would be too much to hope that she’d do all my legwork for me. But this was a start. Yes, if I couldn’t make something out of all this, then I didn’t deserve to be called a supervillain.

  “Fieldwork was the whole reason I joined the DSA,” Moreen went on, “not to manage people and explain my every decision to those idiots in Congress. I should have quit and become a PI years ago.”

  “I’m happy you’re happy.” The smile in Dave’s voice was audible.

  I closed the folder with a loud thump. “This is good. Thank you. I’ll call you if I have any questions.”

  The easy, pleasant manner Lee had with Dave disappeared as she turned to me. “There’s information in that folder that can help the DSA stop a drug ring. I’ll give you twenty-four hours to make a trade with it. Then I’m handing it over myself.”

  These people and their principles. “Fine. But I won’t pay the rest of your fees.”

  “I understand,” Dave said, more graciously. “Thank you, Moreen.”

  Her glare softened. “Try not to end up in the Inferno, Dave.” She stood up and gave me one last look, and there was nothing soft about it. “Try not to cause wanton death and destruction, Belmonte.”

  I smirked. “No promises.”

  She was already heading for the front door. She waved a hand in vague acknowledgment of my comment, and Dave maneuvered after her, not willing to let any guest show herself out of our house. I opened the folder again to go through every word from start to finish. Plans were already forming in my head, but I wasn’t going to set anything into motion until I knew every detail. I didn’t notice that Dave had come back until he spoke.

  “I still can’t believe you hire
d Moreen.”

  “She gets shit done.” I didn’t look up from the page. “Always has.”

  She’d managed to arrest me on more than one occasion, which was an impressive feat. And the fact that she was competent enough for me to overlook her being Dave’s ex-wife? That was the best endorsement I could possibly give.

  “And I can’t believe she agreed to work for you,” he said.

  “Mm…” Her desire to keep Dave out of jail was stronger than her dislike of supervillains in general and me in particular. Which meant it was strong enough to lift a car.

  Dave put a hand on the folder before I could turn the next page, forcing me to turn my attention to him. “What can I do?” he asked.

  “Nothing. Nothing yet.”

  His mouth tightened. “I hate this.”

  “I know. But…” I glanced down at the folder again. The page was open to a picture of Mary getting out of a car. She’d cut her hair since the last time I’d seen her, the sides shaved to buzz-cut length, leaving her with a soft, stylized mohawk. Not everyone could pull that off, but it was a good look for her. My baby sis had style.

  “You can listen.” I looked back up at Dave. “Talk this through with me. Lee’s information is good, but it’s not enough. I can give the DSA the warehouse where Mary is storing the psyc, but she won’t be stupid enough to leave evidence there that ties it to her. She may have even messed with the guards’ memories so they don’t know they’re working for her. We still don’t know where the psyc is coming from, or who’s making it, and…”

  “And?” His voice was gentle, his brow wrinkled in concern.

  I sighed. “I need to give the DSA someone of equal or greater value to you as a trade. If I have to, that person will be my sister, but I’d much rather hand over whoever Dr. Sweet taught how to make psyc.”

  “You want to talk to Mary, ask her to give that person up.”

  Sometimes, I swore he had telepathy. “Yeah, but it’s probably not even worth it. You know how my family can be. You should have heard my father this morning when I tried to ask nicely.”