Two of Dad’s men stood to either side of the tall, engraved door, one of them holding it open for those who entered. You could almost mistake them for ushers if not for the telltale bulges of the guns under their somber suit jackets. The Belmonte Mafia might not know who’d killed my father, but they were on high alert in case he or she struck again.
We’d almost made it through the doors when Sonia, standing just inside the foyer to greet the attendants, spotted us. She cut off mid-sentence and stalked toward me. Dave moved to intercept her, but I put a hand on his arm.
Let her get it out of her system, I told him.
He reluctantly stepped aside, and Sonia stopped in front of me. Picture a slightly younger, slightly less breathtakingly attractive version of me, and you’ll have Sonia. She wore a prim black dress, expensive pearls, and had her hair pulled back neatly. A proper, grieving daughter all around.
“Stand up,” she said.
I stood and raised my short, netted veil to give her a clear shot. My hat was pinned to my hair at the perfect angle, you see, and I didn’t want her to mess it up.
She punched me, and Dave put his hand on my elbow to steady me as I lurched back. The intensity of the whispers around us rose to a peak, as traffic on the steps had completely stopped. Sonia threw another punch, but I caught her by the wrist.
You only get one, I told her.
She pulled her wrist from my grasp. That was for Mary.
I know.
She regarded me for a second, her eyes red from crying. Then she leaned forward and hugged me tightly.
I patted her on the back. “I know,” I said.
She was sniffling when she pulled away from me, and when she saw Irma and Eddy, she sniffled louder and went to hug both of them. Elisa got a hug, too, plus a speech about how everybody died and it was okay to be sad, to which Elisa, who wasn’t really all that upset about the whole thing, agreed somewhat confusedly. Dave got ignored, which was probably for the best.
Sonia led us inside, where soft organ music was playing and people were studiously pretending they hadn’t witnessed our little scene outside. My other sister, Bianca, was leaning against the wall next to a painting of St. Joseph, a bag of ice in her hands. Her version of funeral attire consisted of a Victorian-inspired gothic dress with more ruffles and lace than you could shake a stick at. Her dark eyeshadow wouldn’t have looked out of place as part of a Halloween costume, and her earrings were jewel-studded skulls. Sonia homed in on her like a heat-seeking missile.
“You’re back,” Sonia said. “How’s everything in the hall? Is there enough silverware? The caterer remembered the vegetarian dishes, right?”
“Everything’s fine. I thought you were going to pre-drink so you wouldn’t stress out.”
“I did,” Sonia muttered, “It’s not helping. Oh God.” She looked out the door and groaned. “Is that Corpse-Maker? Is he wearing a cape?”
Through the glass panes in the door, an old man in a billowing black cape was visible ascending the stairs.
“It’s fine,” Bianca said. “It’s black, isn’t it? Look, he’s even got a suit on under it. A suit that looks like it’s been in his closet since the eighteenth century, but still.”
Sonia had closed her eyes and was massaging her temples. “You’re not the one I want to talk to about proper funeral attire, Bianca.”
“Suit yourself.” Bianca held up the bag of ice and grinned at Dave. “Hey, Dudley Do-Right. Think you can stop hovering protectively over my sister for five minutes? Her black eye’s got an appointment in the ladies’ room with an icepack.”
Dave glanced down at me. “The rest of us will find a place to sit.”
Sonia’s eyes snapped open. “No. You have reserved seats. Everyone has reserved seats. I’ve spent the past forty-eight hours trying to figure out a seating arrangement where no one is anywhere near anyone they have a murderous grudge against. It’s been the nightmare of all logic puzzles. Do you have any idea how many people here want to kill you?”
Dave gave her a flat look. “I have a pretty good idea.”
Sonia hooked her arm around his. “You’re all in the front row. Follow me, and for the love of God, don’t make eye contact with anyone.”
She marched my family off, and Bianca and I went to the restroom after pausing to say hello to Corpse-Maker. (He was one of Dad’s oldest friends.) The ladies’ room was a droll shade of pale pink, and there were carnations in a vase atop the sink countertop. The mirror didn’t show any swelling around my eye yet, but I pressed Bianca’s proffered ice bag to it anyway.
Bianca sat on the countertop, her platform boots dangling an inch above the tile floor. “I offered to help with the arrangements, but Sonia went all control freak on me. I think she’s still mad about the band I booked for the reception after Mary’s funeral. But they were Mary’s favorite, and they brought down the house. You should have been there.” She paused. “Of course, if it weren’t for you, she wouldn’t have needed a funeral in the first place…”
I took a deep breath. Do you want to punch me, too?
No, you don’t get off that easy, not with me. Brief flashes from her mind leaked through the telepathic connection, hammer-strikes of grief and anger. When I texted you to say Mary was handling psyc, I didn’t think I was signing her death warrant.
I didn’t plan to kill her. The first thing I did after I got your text was go to Dad and ask him to persuade her to work with me, but he flat-out refused. He wanted the two of us to fight.
Bianca jumped off the countertop. You should have come to me. Mary and I were close.
I used to think the same thing about her and me. She was different. Dad changed her. When I asked her to help me keep Dave out of prison, she attacked me and locked me in her trunk—
Oh, boo-fucking-hoo.
I know. I lowered the ice bag so I could look at her with both eyes. That’s nothing. Sonia probably would’ve done the same thing if I’d asked her. But Sonia wouldn’t have tried to drive me to Dr. Sweet to trade me for more drugs. You remember Dr. Sweet, right? He’s the reason Elisa had night terrors for the entire year she was eleven? The guy who kidnapped me two months ago?
Bianca didn’t answer. I pressed on.
But that’s fine. The family business can get a little rough at times. You and I both know that. But there are lines you don’t cross, and Mary bulldozed that line when she threw my daughter out a six-story window and tried to kill my husband. You have every right to be angry at me, Bianca, but don’t pretend you’d have done anything differently. If Mary had tried to hurt Sara the way she did Dave, you’d have done the same as me. You’d have hated it, but you’d have done it.
Bianca turned abruptly as though she was going to storm out the door but then stopped. After a moment, she turned back to me, breathing heavily. I put the ice bag back on my eye and waited for her to work out her emotions.
You said Dad wanted the two of you to fight. Her thoughts felt calmer than I’d expected.
He told me that if I wanted her help, I’d have to come back to his side or some bullshit. And from the way Mary talked, killing me was how she was going to prove she was worthy to be his heir. Three guesses who put that idea in her head.
Bianca absorbed that. And now he’s dead.
And now he’s dead, I agreed.
I checked my watch. Seven more minutes until the ceremony started. Bianca had better wrap this up, or Sonia was going to come barging in.
Joey’s been trying to get the DSA’s files on Dad’s murder investigation.
Bianca didn’t let any emotion leak with that statement, and it threw me. I’d thought she’d wanted to talk about Mary.
And he’s been interrogating people, but so far, nothing’s turned up. She looked at me intently, her shadowed eyes searching. But with how far you two were out on the pier that day and the wind from the ocean…only a really good sniper could have pulled off a shot like that.
Then that should narrow down the list of suspec
ts, I replied. Anyway, the sniper wasn’t that good. He—or she—only grazed me.
Bianca was silent for a long moment. Eddy could pull off a shot like that.
I focused on the cold pain of the ice and the dull throbbing beneath it. If Eddy was planning on betraying me, I’d know. There’s no way I wouldn’t know.
I’m not insinuating he took the shot without your permission.
Ah.
And what would be my motive? I asked.
Bianca crossed her arms. Do you want to take over the organization?
Hell, no. Do you?
No.
I removed the ice bag from my eye and pulled some concealer out of my make-up bag to hide any blossoming bruises. Then if Sonia wants it, she can kill Joey and have it. Or marry him, I guess. Or marry him and then kill him. Whatever she wants.
She doesn’t want it.
Then Joey gets to keep it. Good for him.
I focused on my make-up for a moment as Bianca stood behind me. The condensation from the ice had smeared my mascara, so I had to fix that, too.
Did you do it for Mary? Bianca asked.
I paused, the mascara wand hovering a centimeter from my eye for a second before I resumed. I should have done it a long time ago, before Mary was left alone in the house with him for all those years. Then it would have meant something.
Bianca stood silently as I put my make-up bag back into my purse and turned my chair toward the door. After a while, she sighed.
You scare me sometimes, Val, you know that?
Coming from Lady Nightmare, that was quite the compliment. Are you going to rat me out to Joey and the boys?
No. No, of course not. She looked over her shoulder as though she was afraid one of them might be eavesdropping. But watch your back. They’re out for blood. And don’t tell Sonia.
I wasn’t even planning on telling you.
We left the restroom just in time for Sonia to descend upon us in a panic and herd us toward our seats. I spotted Dave in the front row, defying Sonia’s orders by not only making eye contact with but speaking to Bianca’s wife, Sara. But she was one of the few people in the church who didn’t have a reason to kill White Knight, so it was okay. When he saw me, he smiled, and I could survive the funeral and the speech therapy and whatever else life threw at me as long he was there at the end of the day to smile at me like that. I parked the wheelchair beside him, and Bianca slid into the pew behind us next to Sara.
Elisa sat next to Dave, her phone in her lap as she texted Carlos discreetly. She’d had her ups and downs over the past few months, but it finally seemed like the worst was behind her. To her right sat Irma, who had knives up her sleeves just in case any of the other mourners mistook me being in a wheelchair for weakness. And then there was Eddy, who despite a long and complicated history with my father had said it was harder to bring himself to graze me than it had been to kill his former boss.
I looked at my father’s coffin and couldn’t regret putting him in it. Bianca had been right when she’d accused me, but she’d been wrong when she’d assumed I’d killed him for Mary. Really, I’d done it for them: for Dave and Elisa, and to a lesser extent for Irma and Eddy. Now Dad’s plans were done. There would be no more attempts to manipulate me into taking over after him, no more times that my family would get caught in the crossfire of his schemes. He’d never try to have Dave killed again or twist Elisa the way he had Mary. The threat of Mr. Lucifer was over.
I guess that means I’d beaten the bad guy and saved the day. How heroic of me.
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, a big thank you to everyone who read Hero Status. I didn’t expect there to be nearly so many of you, and your support made it possible for me to publish Villainous, so thank you! I hope you enjoyed the sequel as much as the first book. An extra big shout-out to everyone who left a review or comment online. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.
As always, I need to thank my marketing team—er, family. I mean family. All kidding aside, I always knew you’d support me but was blown away by how enthusiastically you promoted my book. You’re all amazing, and I love you. <3
Ashley and Jillian have my eternal gratitude for beta-reading this on such short notice. It would be a much worse book without your feedback.
And finally, thank you to Shelley Holloway for editing and AngstyG for cover art. You guys make me look like a pro!
Note from the author
Val and Dave will return in book 3 of the series, Almost Invincible. Visit www.kristenbrand.com for news on that and other projects.
Continue reading for a preview of
Fight Crime! (A Love Story)
A free online serial coming in early 2016
Part 1
Valentina Belmonte was waiting for a police van. She stood in an alley between two warehouses, drinking a mango smoothie as she watched cars pass by. The other side of the uneven, pothole-filled street had some kind of office building. She should have talked her way in there so she could have waited in the air-conditioning. The shade of the warehouses brought the temperature down from ninety to maybe eighty-eight. Summer in Florida. How the heck did other supervillains work here?
If this was any other job, she’d be in costume, but her costume had long pants, knee-high boots and no small amount of black leather. She’d have gotten heatstroke twenty minutes ago if she’d worn that thing. So today, the Black Valentine was breaking the law in her civvies: the shortest pair of denim shorts she could find and a sleeveless shirt that showed off most of her midriff. And as a bonus, she didn’t have to worry about anyone spotting a masked supervillain lurking in an alley and calling the cops.
Not that there were many people around to notice her. Two men had come out of the warehouse for a smoke break about twenty minutes ago, but Val had telepathically convinced them to ignore her and hadn’t had any trouble since. She sucked on the straw of her smoothie, trying to get the last bit of mango goodness from the bottom of the cup. Sweat dripped down the nape of her neck despite her hair being pulled up in a ponytail, and her skin felt sticky and gross. Once this job was over, she was celebrating with a dip in a pool somewhere.
A wolf whistle cut through the ambient noise of the street, directed at a woman passing on the sidewalk. “Hey, honey!” the younger of the two warehouse workers called. “You’re looking sexy today. Where you going?” The woman sped up, her mix of anger, shame, and fear hitting Val’s telepathic senses like a wave. “You’re just gonna ignore me?” the man hollered after her retreating back. “Learn to take a compliment, bitch!” He went back to talking with the other man, who was chuckling.
Val looked at the cat-caller’s smug, entitled face for a moment. Then she went inside his mind, found his bladder control, and knocked it out. A smell like ammonia filled the alley, and the other man’s chuckling stopped.
What he felt wasn’t quite the same as the woman’s mix of emotions, but it was close enough.
Oh, and there was the police van. Val’s afternoon was looking up. She tossed her empty smoothie cup onto the ground and strode out of the alley. The street’s speed limit was only thirty-five miles per hour, not nearly fast enough for the van to get out of the range of Val’s telepathy in time. She found the driver’s mind, could feel the cool air-conditioning blasting his face and the steering wheel grasped in his sweaty hands.
Stop, she thought.
The white van stopped with a screech of brakes. There were only two other people in it: the prisoner in the back and one guard. It was honestly a little pathetic. Val had seen shopping malls with better security. She stepped into the street, sending a telepathic urge to the three other drivers on the road to take an alternate route. Then she told the police van’s driver to go to sleep. His mind vanished from her senses, and she focused on the van’s other occupants. The guard was banging on the wall separating him from the driver, frantically trying to get a response. The prisoner was...waiting. He sat in his seat, his stomach feeling like he was on a
roller coaster.
Be a gentleman and get the door for me, Val told the guard.
The left-most of the two doors on the back of the van opened, splitting the POL from the ICE written across them in bold blue letters. The guard stared at her dazedly, but Val looked past him to the prisoner.
A lanky, teenage black boy sat slouched in the seat, wearing khaki pants, a button-up shirt that was just a little too baggy on him, and a patterned necktie. He looked like a student on the way to a spelling bee, not a juvenile being transported to his court hearing. He raised his head in Val’s direction, giving her a view of his sightless white eyes.
“I guess you’re the Black Valentine, huh?”
So he’d known she was coming. Good. He probably wouldn’t be worth it if he hadn’t.
“And you must be the Prophet Kid.” She gave him her best smile. “Congratulations. I’ve brought you your very own get-out-of-jail-free card.”
Villainous Page 17
