by Angel Lawson
Astrid perks up at the idea. “The gym’s closed. Why don’t we go up there?”
They change in silence, getting tucked, zipped and squeezed into the form-fitting suit. Astrid pulls her domino into place and presses the button, bringing Casper into her vision. “Hey, babe. Man you sure know how to fill out that outfit.”
“Don’t call me babe.” She wants to swat him like a bug. “And stop being a pervert.”
“Just calling it like I see it.”
With the computer system monitoring Astrid’s vitals and Casper aware of every blip and tick, the fact her body reacts so immediately to Quinn walking out of the dressing room is hugely embarrassing.
“And you’re calling me a pervert,” Casper mutters.
“What’s that?” Quinn says, tapping his ear piece. “Did you say something?”
“No!” she shouts and head upstairs.
They leave the Lair and head up to the gym. She flips on the lights and they click on, echoing through the vaulted room. “You know,” Astrid says. “We really don’t know much about you, Casper, like where you live, what’s your story—”
“What you look like…” Quinn chimes in.
“True.” She pushes through the ropes and enters the ring. Quinn follows. “Do you really look like a little cartoon man in a ghost shirt?”
“Ha, ha,” he says, “hilarious.”
“Seriously dude, you’re going to have to give us a little dirt, or we’re going to have to turn our super skills on you.”
Astrid can sense the eye roll coming from Casper.
“How about this,” the voice says. “You guys go eight rounds. The winner of each one can ask a question.”
“And you’ll answer it?” Quinn asks.
“To the best of my ability.”
Astrid tugs on her gloves and adjusts her cuffs. She feels strong in her outfit, perfectly balanced, which is something she’s struggled with her entire life. She nods at Quinn, letting him know she’s ready.
“No fires or explosions. Okay, Astrid?” Quinn says to her. He hasn’t forgiven her for blowing up the warehouse.
“No electrical surges. Right, Quinn?” she counters.
“No real names in the fight. Just your code names. It’s something you need to get used to.”
She grits her teeth in reply.
“At my buzzer,” Casper says, barely hiding his glee.
They place their toes on the painted circle in the middle of the mat and the buzzer blasts in her ear. She doesn’t hesitate. Neither does he.
Their first instincts are to use their fists, feet, and elbows. In this way they’re evenly matched—to a degree. Charger has so much height on her that Astrid exerts way too much energy blocking his moves. She quickly struggles. Casper whispers in her ear. “Circle around him and press the gold button on your right cuff.”
At first she ignores him. But his face blinks into her vision. “Astrid, we’re a team, like you and Atticus. Would you ignore him?”
The answer to that, of course, is yes, but it makes her think. And when she ducks from an arching swing, she slides under Charger’s legs. She hops up and jams her finger into the button like Casper suggested. A spray of sticky webbing attaches to his back, attached to a rope in her hands.
“Pull!” Casper yells.
She yanks and Charger falls backwards like a tree hitting the ground. She smiles at the whoop in her ear which is followed by, “Take the rope and secure his hands.”
Charger is stunned and she moves fast, using the self-sticking cord to wrap around his wrists, leaving him hog-tied.
“He helped you, didn’t he?”
She shrugs. “I thought that was the point of this. Learning to use the suits and work with Casper.” He frowns and she can’t help but gloat a little. “So Casper, this means I get to ask a question, right?”
“Sure enough. Go ahead.”
Astrid thinks on it. “I already know you’re not going to reveal your location, but can you send us a picture of your office or dungeon or whatever you want to call it?”
Casper doesn’t reply right away and Astrid cuts Charger loose. After a moment, a photo appears on the screens in her mask.
“Dude, really?” Charger says, obviously seeing the same thing. It’s the most extensive computer station she’s ever seen. Video game posters, most with soldiers or fantasy-type warriors are stuck to the walls. A few trinkets line the desk—too small for her to make out. In the center is a video taken from the camera in their mask in real time. Charger waves and the video shows the same thing. “That’s an epic setup.”
“Took me four years to build it.”
“Wow—who helped you? Your mentor?” Astrid asks.
“Ah, sorry sweet Echo, but that’s another question. Win another round and I’ll let you know.”
They square off again, but Astrid doesn’t win that fight. Or the next. Casper switched allegiances after the first one and whispers in Charger’s ear instead. That’s how she ends up lassoed against the corner pole.
“Press that ring to her neck,” Casper says in both of their ears. Charger holds up a ring she hasn’t seen with the P12 insignia on the top. He pushes the metal to her neck. She feels nothing. “Ask her a question. Anything, something dumb.”
“What’s your favorite animal?”
“Cat. Duh.” As if Harry would allow her to have another pet.
In the corner of her screen a small chart blips under her name. “What is that?” Charger asks.
“Lie detector.”
Charger’s lips turn upward. “Oh really.”
“Yep. Holden created it. Made it for you. Echo already has a built in truth-meter.”
“Yeah, but I can’t read him!”
Casper’s cartoon avatar smiles.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Quinn
Holding the ring gives him a new sense of power. Not over Astrid, he has little use in using it on her—seems unfair—but it’s cool tech and he can’t wait to use it on a criminal. Would’ve been handy for the kid in the convenience store a few weeks ago.
“Ask Casper your question,” Astrid says. I’ve released her and she stands, rubbing her arms from the tight binds.
“Where is your mentor, Casper?”
“He’s dead.”
“Like the others? Murdered?”
“Heart attack, two years ago. Natural causes.”
“Oh,” Astrid says, looking at Quinn. “You’ve been alone since then?”
“Sort of. I hacked into his computer after he died. Found all the dirt on Project 12 and the emergency protocol. It directed me to Atticus.”
“I never knew,” Astrid says lamely. “It’s like he was a mentor to both of us.”
“Yeah. We worked together a lot—developing the tech. Building the security and computer systems.” He pauses. “He loved you very much, Echo. You were his life.”
Quinn watches her blink back her tears, desperate to comfort her. Even with new friends and relationships and a better understanding of their life, they’ve all suffered tremendous loss.
“Ready to stop?” he asks, willing to back off the training games.
“No.” She wipes her eyes and shakes her head. “Atticus wanted me strong. He wanted me armed. I need to know how to use every aspect of this suit.”
Quinn smiles and reaches for her, pulling her into a tight hug. In her ear he whispers, “I’m glad you said that, because I’m damn determined to kick your ass.”
*
Casper unlocks more of the suits’ secrets as the bouts continue. Echo learns now to manipulate the grip on her gloves and shoes with cat-like reflexes. After a brief instruction, Quinn watches as she runs toward the metal pole at the edge of the mat, climbs to the top and does a flip back into the ring. She never misses a beat.
“Guess all that parkour training came to use,” she gloats.
He shows Quinn how to harness his electricity into several of the tools attached to his belt. The whip, a kn
ife, and a switch on his gloves that monitors current. It’s how he can keep from blowing out blocks of the power grid as well as managing the output when going after a bad guy. Or as Casper calls them…
“They’re villains,” he says as he and Astrid catch their breaths.
“Drug dealers suck and are super evil, but I’m not sure I’d call them a villain,” Astrid says.
“Never assume you’re dealing with average humans, Echo. If you can be a superhero, there can be a super villain as well.”
“You’re saying they have powers too?” Quinn asks.
“I know they do.”
“How?” He needs proof.
“Owen isn’t in that group by chance. He’s tracking something—or someone—and I’ll bet all of my Bitcoin that is someone with equal or greater power to yours.”
“Someone from Project 12?” she asks.
“Or a similar program.”
“Good,” Echo says. “I’m tired of holding back. Give me someone that can handle everything I can put out there.”
Quinn steps before her. “You’re saying I can’t handle you?”
She smiles, this game play has been going on all day. Little smiles. Jabbing words. Punches to the face. He’s desperately trying to figure out if it’s foreplay or not.
“I think you’re holding back—both of you, and that won’t happen on the street,” Casper says. “Final round. Winner takes all.”
The buzzer sounds before they get to the circle. Fights don’t take place on a schedule. Quinn jumps when Echo is already charging at him. They spin, twist, and fly. Both land punches, both use tech from their suits. Now they are evenly matched, both on a higher level. It’s a dance, physical and unrelenting, and instead of growing tired, adrenaline surges.
He’s not sure when this will end—or if he wants it to. Because here, Astrid—Echo—is at peace. She’s whole and goddamn it, she’s sexy.
That thought is what makes him falter, skidding past his mark and giving her an opening. Echo’s blue-green eyes flash in victory as she pins him against the ropes. He watches her chest heave from exertion. Her eyes narrow, making sure he’s contained. There’s a shift. Something that’s been coming all afternoon and from the silence on the com, Casper knows it, too.
“Do you surrender?” she asks.
He swallows, knowing there’s more to the question than the fight. “I’m at your mercy.”
She holds his eye and touches her intercom. “Casper. Take a hike.”
“What?”
“I don’t think this is something you’re going to want to see,” she says, but then shrugs. “Or maybe you do. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Quinn isn’t sure if that last sentence is to him or to Casper, but as she tears off her domino and tosses it on the floor, he sees the intent in her eyes.
Yeah, he’s definitely at her mercy.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Astrid
Something electric clicks in Astrid during the last bout. Her body, her mind—her wants.
Quinn. She wants him. And there is no time like this, when their engines are high and their bodies are primed.
Their mouths meet and Quinn’s hands touch her unlike any way they have before. He isn’t gentle—he shouldn’t be. They just beat the crap out of one another in bout after bout and they’re well aware of what the other can handle. He’s not violent though, it’s a good touch. Hard, but good, and when she presses her body against his, he groans in approval.
His fingers graze the strip of flesh at her waist and she wastes zero time unzipping his hoodie.
“Take it off,” she demands, wanting to see his body. God, she’s been wanting to see it for days. He doesn’t hesitate, dropping the jacket and the black shirt underneath on the mat. Her hands hover over his chest, ghosting over his abs until she finally brushes the thin trail of hair on his lower belly.
His jaw tenses and he grunts.
“They didn’t skimp when they made you, did they?” she says, eyeing the bulge in his leather pants. He doesn’t reply, but reaches for her, tugging at the zipper on her own leather top. He moves slowly, with determined force. His fingers graze her shoulders and the top drops to the mat. She stands before him in a tight athletic bra and the low-slung pants of her uniform, his fingers are curled over the utility belt.
Two bodies honed for battle stand in the harsh gym light. Every inch of Astrid’s body is on fire. Consumed is the correct word, and part of her wants to run like hell and bundle up. But she knows that’s the sensory speaking, not her mind—not her wants. And she’s tired of allowing that part of her win.
She succumbs when he kisses her again, dragging her toward him. That bulge is now pressed against her stomach. Her senses spark on overdrive; she smells his want. Feels his sweat. Tastes his desire. She’s waited weeks for this. Biding her time. Desensitizing herself with their every interaction.
They pull apart, breathing heavy, and she’s aware of the switch flipped in the dark of Quinn’s eyes. He drinks in her body. He pushes against the top of her pants, struggling to get them off.
“What the hell?” he mutters against her mouth. “Can’t…get off…the …suit…” He sighs, squinting at the buckle. “It’s like a fucking chastity belt. Atticus did this on purpose.”
She laughs. These pants are molded to her body. A perfect fit. “Patience, sweet boy. The more you struggle, the harder it is.”
His eyes flare with delight at the imagery.
But he listens. He does what she says and slowly he’s able to peel off the pants, revealing her long legs and a thin pair of black panties. After another struggle with the athletic bra and his own complicated utility belt, he shucks his own pants and soon they’re naked on the mat, hands roaming, breath ragged.
“Do you think he’s watching?” Quinn asks between kisses. He’s hovering over her and her golden hair splays across the mat. She can’t take her eyes off his chest, off the hard heat between his legs, and he sure as hell hasn’t looked away from her for even a second.
“I don’t care if he is.”
He pauses and runs a hand across her tight belly. He can’t take his eyes off her round, full breasts. “No?”
“No.” She reaches between his legs and that’s enough to make him not care either.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Quinn
“I’m at your mercy,” he said earlier.
Never have truer words been spoken.
He fights a shudder as she touches him. He’s fought his feelings for days—no, weeks—knowing this is where it would eventually lead. Sometimes a guy just knows. He’d just been waiting for her to figure it out, too.
They’re under the bright lights of the gym, both of their bodies slick with sweat from the bouts, from her heating him up. Her mouth tastes sweet, like the sugar from her drinks, and he can’t get enough of the feel of her.
She blinks up at him, no fear, no hesitation and he skims his fingers down her side.
“Are you waiting on something?” she asks. Her lips twist in a smirk. Her knees bend, her body opens. He slides close—they fit, her warmth against his hardness.
“Know I’m not like that other guy,” he says, quietly. “I know you can’t hear me. You’ve got to rely on your gut. But I promise you, swear to you, that I’m worthy. I’m not going to hurt you like that jackass before.”
Her fingertips, soft from being covered most of her life, graze down his cheek. “I know.”
He kisses her hard when he enters her and even harder when she tightens around him. He loves the strength in her body, the softness of her curves. They move together; slow, fast, and everything in between until they find a pace that suits the two of them.
Just like everything else lately, it’s clear to him they are better together than apart.
*
“So what is this?” Quinn asks her the following day. He made her breakfast, one of high protein, bacon and eggs. She smiles apologetically at the plate while re
aching for the box of two-day-old doughnuts she stashed in the microwave.
“What is what?” she asks, taking a bite. Sugar clings to her lips. He resists kissing it off. Mostly because she’s a total slob and he can’t believe she won’t just eat an egg.
“This thing between us. What happened last night?”
“I don’t know,” she replies with a shrug and a gulp of soda. God her eating habits are abysmal, and he tries not to lecture when she feeds the bacon to Harry. “I’d rather not label it.”
He nods. He’s not upset. To the contrary, not labeling it feels right. There’s a lot of uncertainty in their life. This fact is compounded when Astrid’s phone rings and she says, “It’s Jensen,” before answering.
They meet him later, in the gym office. The agent doesn’t seem as surprised to see him there again, but he definitely studies him a bit longer than makes Quinn comfortable. It must be strange to have a friend die and then suddenly a new man shows up in his daughter’s life. He gets it. It’s all off-kilter.
If he only knew.
“I’ve got a lead on the guy you call Captain Hook.” He tosses a grainy black and white photo on the desk. Astrid picks it up and then hands it to Quinn. It’s definitely the man from the warehouse that night. Hipster beard. Even the cane.
“Who is he?” Astrid asks.
“His real name is James Carlyle. He was at the university—a chemistry graduate student—actually, a chemistry whiz. Kicked out when the department figured out he was using the lab to make drugs.”
“So he developed the Pixie Dust?” Quinn asks.
“His professors say he has the capability. Along with a serious case of narcissistic personality disorder.”
“Anything else?” Astrid asks.
“We got a hit on some fingerprints at the warehouse and ran it through the computer. One guy popped into the system. Owen Parsons.”
Astrid and Quinn don’t dare look at one another.
She leans against the desk casually. “Who’s he?”
“He’s got a history of pick-pocketing and petty theft.”
