by Angel Lawson
“Ready.” Charger says.
“Yep,” Echo adds.
Draco chimes in, “Yes.”
“On three,” Owen says, getting everyone’s positions. He braces himself and drops the veil, blocking the others from visibility. The work they’ve done with their powers. It’s made them so much stronger.
“I’m dropping the map,” Casper says and their vision is filled with a blueprint of the building. A red dot shows them where to find the materials they’re looking for.
“There are three people on the left side of the building. I’m tracking their heartbeats,” Echo says.
“On it,” Charger flips off the transformer for the opposite side of the building. It falls dark.
“Thanks, they’re on the move,” she says. “Mr. Perfect?”
“Don’t call me that.” He grunts. “I’m inside.” Owen releases the shield once he’s past the guy working at the gate. Charger emerges from the shadows. Owen creates another shadow, one that gets the guys attention, and he wanders off, curious. Charger follows Draco in.
Once they’re out of view he watches Echo scale the building and slip in a ventilation window near the top floor. She slips inside and touches her com.
“Everyone’s inside. I’ll meet you there.”
He gets confirmation back and turns to scale the side of the building but a shadow moves to his left followed by the loud click of a gun. He feels it pressed against his head.
“On your knees,” a voice says.
He drops and a man in a black Task Force uniform stands before him, gun held to his head. “Don’t even try any of that fancy shit, got it?”
Owen doesn’t respond but when the guy calls in his position he flicks his fingers, making the tiniest of rips in the air just beyond the rooftop wall.
“Yeah, I’ve got one of them up on the roof. Yeah,” he says, “he’s contained. If he tries anything I’m taking him out. What? Fuck, I know the orders but we’re not working under Jensen anymore. These freaks are disgusting. The mayor can kiss my ass. You hear me?”
They argue and Owen takes the chance to expand the size of the tear. It’s not a silent task and the guy looks around. “What was that?” The gun is inches from his forehead. “What are you doing?”
Ah, his ability spooks him. It should, after Demetria and her dragon.
“Wish I could stay,” Owen says with a smirk. “But I’ve gotta run.” He rushes past the solider. Gunfire cracks and the breeze from the bullet flies past his cheek. He dives head first into the hole, pinpointing a spot on Casper’s map in his mind. He has no fucking idea if this will work, but he’s got to try.
Chapter Thirty-One
Astrid
The power fails and she’s left with the blinking little red light that acts like the X on a treasure map. They aren’t looking for gold, but for explosives. Up near the ventilation shaft she catches the tang of fertilizer. Following her nose and the map, Astrid jumps down to the top boat storage platform. Then another.
“I can smell it,” she says to Casper over the com. “If it’s a trap, this is the real place.”
Watching—listening—for anything, she keeps an ear out for heartbeats, footsteps. So far there’s nothing but her breathing, until she spots the stealth movements of Draco and Charger below. A large shadow darts across the open space of the lower level. Too big to be a normal man. It’s one of her boys.
“I’ve got eyes on you,” she says over her com. “Well, one of you. Everyone alive and well?”
“Yep,” Charger replies. “There’s a back room. I’m thinking that’s our target?”
“According to the map,” Draco replies.
“Charger, keep your currents under control. There’s real explosive material down there. I can sense it.”
“Got it, babe.”
She doesn’t hate it when he calls her that.
Wrapping her hand over the edge of the boat, she hangs for a moment and then drops, landing louder than she’d like.
“Smooth,” Casper says.
“Shut up.”
“One more level and—shit. Hold on. Something’s going on with Pan.”
“Casper?” she asks, but he blinks out. “He’s gone. No eyes.”
“Drop down,” Quinn says. “We’re right below.”
If that’s true, he and Draco are cloaked by the shadows, but their dueling heartbeats give her a direction to focus on. She pushes off the platform and says, “Heads up!” before falling into the dark.
Thumpthumpthump
She closes her eyes and falls, letting her senses guide her.
She could adjust, she could land on her feet, she could do many things but instead she sails through the air and lands in two very strong arms.
“Gotcha.”
She smiles up at Mr. Perfect. “You sure do.”
His hands skim over her ass as he releases her to the floor but that moment grounds her—grounds them. They haven’t had sex yet but the intimacy they shared in the bed the night before notched up their connection. Little by little, she’ll chip away at that shield. She can wait.
“You ready to call Jensen once we confirm?” Quinn asks.
“Yeah, once we confirm and contain. We’ll call it in and get everything secured. Then vanish, like we were never here.”
That’s the plan, nothing more. No huge heroic moment.
Draco flashes a light on the door and Quinn pulls a tool off his belt to smash the lock. He whacks it hard, the metal bending and then breaking in two. Astrid stands guard, listening for someone, anyone. But the place is quiet.
Too quiet.
“Hurry up,” she says, not liking the way it—something—feels. “Let me get eyes on it and call Jensen.”
Quinn kicks open the door and a small workroom is revealed. Two long tables sit in the middle of the room. Everything needed to make a bomb lies on the table. Copper wiring, piles of sharp metal pieces and containers of chemicals and powders she assumes is some sort of accelerant.
“Take pictures,” she says, removing her phone from the pocket in her vest. She passes it to Draco and touches her com. “Casper, Pan…we’re in. What’s your status?”
No reply.
“Casper?”
She freezes, feeling the change in the air. Hearing the rip, no, a tear? The hair on her arm stands on end and she senses Draco and Quinn stop as well. “Something’s wrong,” she says, but there’s no time to think about what. The air crinkles, ripples, and right outside the door she spots the shimmer.
The spot expands and a figure, blonde hair, green suit, rolls out fast and hard, smashing into the door frame.
“Pan?”
She races over and checks the air behind her. Draco is already there, holding his shield, waiting for something to follow but nothing—no one—does. The ripple vanishes.
“Are you okay?”
He nods, eyes wide with panic. “I think so. The Task Force is here. They’re coming. I barely escaped.”
“Through a portal.”
“Hell fucking yes! A portal!” his face lights up. “I did it!”
“Get the pictures and get out,” she tells him, helping Owen off the floor. Astrid runs her hands over his body, feeling his chest—heartbeat and his pulse by his neck. She looks in his green eyes and touches his gloved hand. His knees are a little wobbly, god knows what his body is going through.
“Do I check out?” he asks her.
“I think so.”
He tugs her hand. “We need to go.”
“We can’t. We have to secure this.” She waves her hand behind her. Owen and Draco are finished taking photos. “We can’t walk away from this much explosive material.”
Owen looks pleadingly at them. “They tried to shoot me. Kill me. This isn’t a game. We’ve got to get out of here before it’s too late.”
Footsteps shuffle at the door and they all move into a defensive stance.
“Tie them up,” Rowe says. Three soldiers flank him, holding weapons
. He points to Quinn and Owen. “Especially those two.”
Like a well-oiled machine, there’s no hesitation when Owen tosses up the shield, giving both Quinn and Draco a chance to attack. Quinn can’t use his powers but he is still a massive physical threat. Astrid touches her com, “Cas, we need you.”
“Stop!” Rowe shouts, pushing a man forward. Quinn doesn’t stop until he gets a good look at the man and he frowns, frozen, with his arms around the neck of one of the soldiers. Draco is mid-punch, but he pulls back. The man is tall and lean. African-American with smooth dark skin. His eyes are equally dark—hollow. There’s not a trace of fear in them when he pulls the front of his jacket, revealing a bomb attached to his body.
“You’re not getting out of this one,” Rowe says, walking around his human bomb. “And we’re not going to kill you. That has never been the plan, understand?”
“What is this?” Astrid asks.
“This is what you get for meddling in my business.” He nods at his men and they quickly bind each of their hands together. The material on the ties is strong, better than the plastic of zip ties. It feels like something Casper would make. Impenetrable.
He forces them on the floor. Not their knees, but their asses on the hard, cold surface.
“So you’re going to blow up the stadium?” she asks. “I knew you were a dick but I didn’t realize you were a psychopath.”
Owen snorts next to her. He’s punished with a punch to the head by one of Rowe’s men.
“No, sweet, sexy, feisty Astrid, I’m not going to blow up the stadium.” He leers at her with wide teeth. “You are.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Astrid
The weight of the bomb hanging against her neck makes her skin itch. It’s not the fear of the bomb, it’s the odd sensation of having something close around her neck and then the faint scent coming off the explosives along with the fear rolling off her friends.
The bomb itself is a clever contraption. Small and built into a collar. If she didn’t know better she’d think Casper made it. It’s connected to a remote that can start it off a timer or just detonate instantly. Rowe has threatened both.
She grimaces when she swallows back the rage and thinks about how she wants to shove the explosive in Rowe’s mouth and watch him burst into a million pieces.
The van hits a bump and she flinches and closes her eyes.
“Sorry about that!” the driver says. He’s the man that Rowe shoved in their direction. Still strapped, he navigates the van toward the stadium. He’s surprisingly calm.
The four of them are sitting in the back of the van on the floor. In a strange twist, Rowe unbinds them when the collar is secured around their necks—as if wanting an excuse to trigger the bombs. They could act—but they’re living explosives and the fear rolling off everyone in the van isn’t for themselves. Each of them would die to save someone else, but this? This won’t end well for anyone. There’s enough explosive material in the collars to take down the entire stadium and everyone in it. If Rowe’s plan works, the result will be catastrophic.
Sitting across from one another, she eyes Quinn and the feeling of dread takes over the anger. His explosive concerns her more than the others. One outburst or misfire from his electricity and they’ll go up in a hail of fire and guts. “You okay?” she asks quietly.
He works his jaw. Beneath the anger there’s something flickering in his eyes. A question. It’s been there since Rowe showed up.
They hit another bump, then lurch to a stop and her body crashes into Draco, who’s sitting next to her. She uses her feet to stop the movement but even the grip on her boots doesn’t help much. He pushes back with his shoulder, helping her straighten up.
The driver rolls down his window halfway and leans out.
“I’ve got a delivery for the concert tonight.”
“What kind of delivery.”
The driver glances over his shoulder. He grins. What a psycho. “Sound equipment. Here, I’ve got my ID.” He pulls out a card and gives it to the security guard.
The guard checks his clipboard. “Got it. Okay, go around the side, then to the underground entrance. Take the elevator to the broadcast room.”
“Thanks, man.”
None of them speak during this. They are quiet. What would happen if they alerted someone? The asshole in the front seat would take them all out. At least that’s what Rowe said after he loaded them with explosives and slammed the back doors on the group at the marina.
It’s his stupid, arrogant face that we see first when the doors open again.
The driver walks around, fussing with his jacket. Even Rowe takes a step aside and gives him a sharp look. “I didn’t have time for introductions before, since your little friend was probably calling the cops to come to the marina. Yeah,” he says, with a smirk. “I know about him, too.” He gestures to the man. “I thought you guys had a spidey-sense with one another, this is one of yours—”
“Rex,” Quinn says. “It’s you, isn’t it?”
Rex? Astrid racks her brain and his name seems vaguely familiar. The man nods at Quinn. “Sure enough. Thought maybe you forgot about your old roommate.”
Roommate! Quinn mentioned him when they talked about living in the group home.
“You weren’t there for long but yeah, you made an impression.”
“What kind of impression?” Draco asks. It’s clear he doesn’t remember him either.
“He’s wearing those explosives because they won’t hurt him. He’s invincible.”
Owen perks up. “Like he can’t—”
“Die. No. I’ve seen it.”
“Dude tried to electrocute me,” Rex says with a laugh. “We tested it at night. Most kids would be jerking off or sneaking to the girls’ room. Nope. We were experimenting with how much electricity he could throw at me. The answer is a shit-ton.” He nods at Astrid. “Where’s my suit? Don’t I get one?”
“Not if you blow up the stadium,” she retorts, before shifting her interest back to Rowe. “So what’s this about?”
“It’s about what my boss wants.”
“What do they want?” Draco asks. His voice is clipped, patience waning.
“You. Off the streets and back where you belong, as test subjects, working for the government.”
His announcement renders all of them speechless. He takes that as an excuse to keep talking.
“My boss—obviously not Jensen. That guy has been a clueless pawn for years—has been looking for you for a long time. And no, we don’t want to kill you but if you’re out of control? We will.”
She touches the collar. “You think this will control us?”
“Yeah, I do. And the fact we’re going to publicly frame you for the attempted terrorist event at the stadium. The whole city will know who you are and what you’re capable of.”
“And then what?”
“Then we tell the world you’re in jail—super max—and lock you away, retrain you and use you as intended. As weapons.”
“That is not what we were made for,” Draco says.
“Maybe,” he says with an obnoxious shrug, “but this machine is bigger than you and me and everything put together. You won’t win this one. I told your mentors the same thing and they wouldn’t listen. Look what happened to them.” He cocks his finger like a gun and mimics firing.
His statement and the causal way he says it brings Astrid to her feet. She dives over the others, tackling Rowe. He doesn’t expect the wild, feral attack. He should. He just admitted to killing Atticus. Holden. Emma.
Fuck. This. Guy.
He lands on the ground and she falls on top of him; she rips off her gloves and grabs his hands, wanting the truth, all of it. His echo floods through her.
Dark rooms. Shadowy figures. Military medals on a broad chest. Photos of Astrid, Quinn, Owen, Demetria, Draco… flipping past quickly. First of them as small children, next older, then now. Three clear words from an unfamiliar voice: “I want them.”
/>
She’s shaken loose—tossed across the room, landing at Rex’s feet. He glares down at her and she scrambles up to her knees. “Who are you working for?”
“It doesn’t matter. They own you. And when he’s ready to make you work, you’ll work. Got it?” He walks over and without warning, punches her in the face. She hears scrambling from the van and guns positioned. She rocks back but holds her ground and shakes her head at the guys. They’re frothing.
“Here’s how this goes down,” Rowe says. “Rex is indestructible. He can set off those explosives whenever he likes. It will kill everyone, including me, including you freaks, in a flash. There will be nothing left of your body but charred ash. But I know you, Astrid. I do. I’ve watched you, I’ve studied you, and I’ve fought you, and I know you will not go down until Rex is neutralized. That’s why you’re loaded up. If you make any sudden moves, I will activate your bombs with a flick of the switch.” He holds up a small remote. “Play nice and you’ll just be charged and revealed as terrorists, no one gets hurt. Deal?”
He touches her chin and raises his eyebrows, looking for affirmation.
That’s when she smells it rolling off Rowe like a wave of cheap cologne. He’s scared. Terrified. Not of them, but whoever is orchestrating all of this. Maybe his boss really is scary. Maybe she should bow down and let Rowe have his way, but Astrid doesn’t operate like that.
Except…she looks over at her men—her team—fuck, her lovers…and damn she cares for them so much and the feeling, the actual feeling is mutual. She feels it from across the dingy garage. They care for her. She cares for them, and once upon a time she was alone and this answer would have been easy. She would have said a quick fuck you and destroyed this place, but not anymore. Not after Demetria and the pain she inflicted on the city. Not after having Quinn in her bed and snuggling with Owen and Harry Styles on the couch. And certainly not after the breakthrough with Draco; small but epic.
“Okay,” she says, keeping her eyes on Rowe and shoving the conflict from her heart. “But I have one request.”
He raises his eyebrows.
“Five minutes alone with my team before you send us out there. That’s all I ask.”
