by Angel Lawson
Rogues:
The Supers of Project 12
Book 3
By
Angel Lawson
Before
Face pale from the blue light of the computer, Cedric’s eyes never moved from the screens. He’d spent a week working to get through the firewall of Project 12, then another three days hacking into whoever was spying on them—an offshoot of the government. Not military. Not CIA. Something different. Secret. Lies upon lies upon lies seemed to be what the project was based on. Twelve kids, twelve different abilities, twelve doctors, and one common goal.
Pushing these kids to the limits.
Cedric knew computers. He knew them intimately. Intuitively. He knew the first time he saw one on his father’s desk and when he grabbed the smartphone out of his mother’s hand because it called—no, spoke—to him.
He understood that the computers had brains. They calculated and programmed and built and destroyed. Cedric could do those things, too. How? He hadn’t quite figured that out. The doctor seemed to want to know, too.
He has six monitors around the room. His doctor gave them to him. Some are for them to track his abilities. Another is for gaming—he’s super into an RPG right now; in fact, he hears the crackle of a teammate over the headphones by the computer across the room. They call his code name: Casper. Shit, he thinks, glancing at the clock. He was supposed to be in the game fifteen minutes ago, but he got this alert.
An alert for what?
The laptop hooked up next to the desktop pings and a new series of information fills the screen. He’d been following a trail of cryptic messages between servers for the past twenty-four hours. Something big. The data is filed under the name Operation Blackout.
Another screen pops up and the schematics—blueprints of an object—appear.
“What the heck are you?” he says to himself, looking at the round ball. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was a new design for a Star Wars movie. A smaller version of the Death Star. Round with multiple layers. He scans the code with his eyes and closes them, replaying them back in his head.
Yeah, his brain works faster than a computer, too.
The numbers translate into coordinates—map coordinates, and Cedric’s eyes pop open the second he realizes what they are.
“Sh, sh, sh…it,” he mutters and hops out of his seat. His language is trash. Too much time on the forums and playing video games. “Fuck.”
A timer pops up under the blueprint and immediately begins counting down. Five minutes.
Five minutes.
He yanks the laptop off the desk, dragging the cord behind him. He grabs a few photos off his dresser mirror and opens his bedroom door. He’s never spoken in this house before. Never engaged with the other children. His life is online, his friends, his communities, his games, but now that he understands what is happening—what is coming—he knows it’s time to break the silence.
Taking a deep breath, he fights against his body and shouts, “Ev…ev…ev..everybody g…g..get out! The house is gonna blow!”
Chapter One
Astrid
The sound catches her attention first; footsteps pounding on the track. Then the smell of sweat, covering the familiar scent of roses. She watches from above, using the observation deck just over the gym floor. He stops when he crosses the mile marker, eyes darting to the timer on the wall.
“He shaved off six seconds,” she says, marking it on her clipboard.
“Is that enough?”
“If he can do the rest.”
Owen moves to the next rotation—he has no idea he’s being tested. Astrid just gave him a circuit to work through on this bright and cold winter morning. With Mick spotting him, he goes through a series of weights, obstacles, and cardio. She ticks each off the list, giving him a score next to each one.
Quinn looks over and shakes his head at her Big Slurp-sized drink she’s guzzling through a red straw. “I thought you were cutting back on the caffeine and sugar.”
“I am.”
“It’s eight a.m. and that is like, 64 ounces.”
She holds it up and says, “Taste it.”
“Don’t make me.”
“No seriously, try it.”
He’s hesitant but takes a small sip through the straw. He makes a terrible face. “What the fuck is that?”
“A new drink mixture. Half lemonade, half Mountain Dew.”
“It tastes like piss.”
She laughs. “How would you know?”
“Just a guess. And how is that any better?”
“Less caffeine, duh.”
“There are tests with artificial sweeteners in rats that—”
She holds up her hand. “Don’t.”
He gives up the argument—he should, she’ll never concede fully on her vices—and takes the clipboard from her. He studies the paper, counting the numbers under his breath.
Quinn is handsome when he’s thinking. He’s handsome all the time. He carries deep intensity in everything he does, from harassing her about her food choices to having her back on the streets. She takes in his blue eyes, dark hair, and every other perfect part of his body before steadying herself and looking back to the floor. “If he can unarm Mick in thirty seconds, he’s in.”
Owen takes a short break before he gets in the ring. He drinks half a bottle of water and wipes the sweat off his face. His cheeks are red but he’s not overwhelmed. This part of the test will be the hardest for him. It’s based on simple skill—he’s not allowed to use his abilities in any way. He has to out-match Mick by getting the fake gun out of his hands using nothing but speed, reflexes and hand-to-hand combat. If he fails, this will be the moment.
The two men enter the ring. Owen is smaller than Mick, but he’s lithe and strong. Newly developed muscles cord his back and curve down his shoulders to his arms. Physicality wasn’t a big deal for him before they brought him in, but it’s important if you’re going to be part of the team.
Astrid gets a peek of his lower abs and the dimples in his lower back and knows there are other, personal, perks to his increased strength as well.
The men face one another and the timer starts. The red numbers flash by and they jump into full contact. Mick takes the first swing, jabbing Owen in the ribs with his elbow, but he goes with it, swinging around his back, grabbing Mick’s arm and twisting it backwards. He nails him in the back of the knees, dropping him to the ground, the whole time keeping his hand wrapped tightly around the hand with the gun. Two more hits to the arm holding the weapon forces Mick to drop and Owen scoops it up, turning the tables.
The buzzer rings.
A smile breaks across Owen’s face. It matches her own and she and Quinn high-five.
“He passed,” her partner says, shaking his head. “He’s going to be furious when you tell him.”
“I’m expecting a meltdown of epic proportions.”
“Good luck with that.” He walks to the observation deck floor. She’ll need to go down and tell Owen soon that his training with the recruits starts tomorrow. Training he has no idea Astrid’s signing him up for.
“You’re not coming with me?”
“Nope. Your idea, you get the pleasure of the fallout.” He pauses and comes back over. “I can give you a kiss for luck.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t fight when he slips his arm around her back and pulls her against his hard body. His kiss is perfection, firm but soft, and she feels it down in her toes. When he releases her, she fights the wobble in her knees and looks back down at Owen, pretending the man doesn’t affect her so much.
“He’ll get over it,” she says, unconvincingly. “Things
have changed for us and we’re all going to have to do things we don’t want to in order to keep the city and ourselves safe.”
“You think he’ll buy that?”
She shakes her head, knowing it’s going to take more than inspirational speeches to convince Owen to join the recruits.
*
“Hell no.”
“Come on, it’s important. I need you to do this.”
He strips off his shirt and walks past her. She can’t help but stare at his body. Two bruises form on his ribs from the hit he took from Mick. They’ll heal quickly—it’s part of the deal with their jacked-up bodies. But that’s not why she’s staring. He’s leaned out even more over the last few weeks and the ladder of muscle up his abdomen is crazy defined. Owen is hot. Stone-cold hot.
He leans against the bathroom counter, crossing his arms over his chest. His blond hair flops in his eyes. They’re in the private locker room off the main office.
“You want me to infiltrate a secret government program.”
“I want you to enroll as one of my recruits. Most don’t make it into Jensen’s program but you can at least make some connections—listen for gossip or actual intel.”
His jaw clenches. “Jensen is looking for me. Specifically. And you think it’s a good idea to flaunt myself in front of him?”
“Of course not, you have the ability to shield and disguise yourself.”
He snorts. “I’m not one of your standard beef-heads that rolls through your program, Astrid. I’m one of the punks the task force is taking off the streets. I’ve seen your recruits. They want this. They hunger for it. Quinn could maybe pull it off. He has the right intensity.” He gives me a lopsided smile. “There’s a reason Demetria dubbed me Pan.”
“Peter Pan was a shit-stirring troublemaker. He led a group of boys into war, bested the evil Captain Hook, and had three women in love with him. Don’t act like you can’t do this.”
His smile falters and he reaches one of his long arms for her, hooking his fingers around the stretchy waistband of her leggings. The backs of his fingers graze her stomach and a burst of butterflies wreaks havoc in her belly. She watches his eyes as she allows herself to be pulled close to him. His eyelashes are dark and thick, his green eyes mesmerizing. She’s never sure if it’s the actual color or part of the tricks he can play. Most men aren’t this pretty.
“Is this a tit-for-tat situation? I concede on this and you owe me later?”
“Depends on the terms.”
“Hmmm.” He rubs his chin. “How about I join your program and when the time comes, I get to ask a favor from you.”
She narrows her eyes and feels the sweat of his body coming through her shirt. “Is this your way of getting me to do something freaky in bed?”
“I don’t think it’s going to take much convincing to get you to do freaky shit anywhere, babe.” He rolls his eyes. “But no. I’m not about bartering for sexual favors. I want that shit to be real.”
“Then what?”
He shrugs. “I’ll let you know at the time.”
She’s not a fan of being in the dark, but she knew he’d be a hard sell on the project. Any concession is a good one, even if it means she’s on the hook for some kind of Owen whim in the future. “Fine, but don’t be a dick about it.”
He smiles and dips his head to hers, taking her mouth in hard, salty kiss. She doesn’t fight back because she loves this—loves the feel of him—and he deserves a reward for passing that test.
“What is that?” he asks, licking her lips. “Lemon?”
She laughs. “My new drink. I’m trying to appease Quinn.”
He grunts and reaches for her again; there’s no doubt from the shift under his shorts, he’s ready to take this further. She’s ready too and grips the hard muscle of his hips. The next kiss is stopped by the buzzer on her watch. “Fuuuuuck. What’s that about?”
“Meeting with Draco.”
He wrinkles his nose at the name. “Skip it.”
She shakes her head and gives an apologetic smile. “Can’t. It’s about Casper.”
Casper. The one thing they all agree on.
He kisses her once more. “Okay. Go. We’ll discuss these terms further later.”
“Got it.” She squeezes his hand with her gloved ones. “Thanks for joining the program. I really do appreciate it.”
“I know, and I’ll do my best.”
She has no doubt. They’re a team and working together is their biggest asset. Which is why she’s on her way to Draco’s. They need Casper back and whole. She’s just not sure how long it’s going to take.
Chapter Two
Astrid
She’s pulling out of the garage when the phone rings. It’s Jensen, and if she expected pleasantries, she’s not getting them.
“Can we meet?”
“Yeah,” she says, easing her Jeep into the street. “I just left the gym. I have a little bit of time before my next appointment.”
“Come to my office—it won’t take long.”
She stares at the phone after he hangs up and mutters to herself, “Yeah, this can’t be good.”
Jensen’s office is about twenty miles away, just outside the city. It’s a big building—governmental, boxy with few windows and non-descript. She and Atticus used to come out here to handle recruit details, but this is the first time since her mentor’s death and she’s uneasy.
The guard checks her ID and gives her a pass and she parks in the lot most familiar to her. At the front desk, she waits for Jensen to come out. She’s not sure who to expect; the man she’s known her whole life, or the director of the mayor’s task force. Relief washes over her when the former appears with a smile on his face and arms open for a hug.
“I think I know why you usually come to me,” she says, going through a second set of security. “This place is a pain in the ass to get into.”
“When you’re doing the kind of work we are, it pays to be safe.”
Astrid knows some of what happens in this building. The recruits that she trains at her gym end up here where they are pushed deeper, further into specialized training. Here, they learn how to use tactical weapons, explosives, and special skills to take down specific, dangerous groups of people. What she knows now is that she and her team are considered one of these groups. And although she and Jensen have danced around the obvious for weeks, if not months, it’s time to lay it all on the table.
His office is five levels up and through six more security guards. They pass a receptionist and enter the solid wood door that closes behind him. There are no windows and few decorations other than framed awards and certificates.
He directs her away from his desk to one of two cushiony chairs with a small table between them. On the table is a copy of the Crescent City Ledger, the city paper. The headline in bold: Can the Mayor’s Task Force Work?
Jensen nudges the paper with his hand. “Mayor Steed has some high demands.”
“I’m sure.”
He sits across from her. “Astrid there’s something we need to talk about. Just you and me. Clear the air.”
“Okay, I’ve been expecting this.”
“Atticus was my best friend. He was a powerful ally in the programs we have going at the agency. The recruits that come through Elite are some of the best agents in the world.”
“He was good at his job. He believed in it.”
“He did, and I believed in him, even when he started his side project—the one with you.” He gives her a tight grin. “I knew you back when you were a little runt in cat ears, rain boots, and gloves. I accepted Atticus’s explanation about sensory issues and PTSD from losing your parents. I supported his decision to help you by making you stronger—more confident and capable. I tried not to judge when he encouraged the crazy outfits and borderline vigilantism. Hell, you know me, I was part of it. I was there when you took down that building with the Pixie Dust. I’m complicit.”
“Get to the point, Jensen.”
&
nbsp; “When it was just you out there I was okay with it. Atticus kept me close and we worked together, but since his death things have changed. You’ve cut me out and gained two more partners.” He eyes her carefully. “Dangerous partners.”
“They’re no more dangerous than I am.”
As far as Astrid knows, Jensen is unaware of the Project 12 side of Astrid’s background. He doesn’t know what Atticus and Holden had planned all along. The relationship with Casper and the building of a larger, more organized group. It was never her mentor’s intention for it just to be her out there. He’d planned for the day when they all would come together and combine their gifts and abilities.
“What can you tell me about Demetria Holmes?”
Is that what this is about? She doesn’t think so, but she plays along anyway.
“No more than you know.”
“She’s not a friend of yours? Because I saw you up on that float.”
“After the Gala, I became aware of the threat that Demetria posed on the community. I secured a spot on her float to keep an eye on her. I had no idea what she had planned.”
He nods. “How did she do that? Make the dragon?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know but I think she’s in the right place, a mental facility, and you’re definitely on target about something else: she’s incredibly dangerous.”
“But you don’t think your friends are dangerous? They show up and trouble seems to happen.”
“Atticus knew these people. He wanted them out there with me. Do you think he’d put me at risk?”
He knows the answer to that and it’s hard for him to swallow; even so, this doesn’t cut through the real reason she’s here: the Mayor and his Task Force.
“You’re an adult and I trust you to make your own decisions about who you bring into your life, but that’s personally. Professionally, I have to let you know that the Mayor is serious about this Task Force. Any and all vigilantism has to stop. I’m required to turn over anyone interfering with the police or anyone with suspicious behavior.” She understands his meaning. Anyone with unexplained skills or gifts.
