by Angel Lawson
Astrid frowns. “What are you talking about?”
“Harry stares at me at night. He comes in and just watches me. It’s freaking me out.”
She and Quinn share a look, her eyes wide with amusement, and she bursts out laughing. “Dude, it’s a cat.”
“Yes, and he’s always freaked me out. Even when we were kids, he would attack my feet when I walked by the porch.”
“Wait, what?” Quinn asks. Owen stops and blinks. “What did you say about the cat?”
“I said that even when we were kids…”
“You remember Harry from the group home?” Astrid asks.
“Yeah, uh…” His face pales. “I remember the backyard and Harry as a kitten. And the screen door when it slammed shut. Shit, shit.” He clutches his head. “I remember that kid with the fireball and the one lifting weights.”
“Junior and Devin,” Quinn says.
“Junior! He was in the garage in the memory I had with Demetria.” Owen faces him, fingers still tugging at his hair. “I remember you fucking with the lights. Setting off all the alarms.”
Astrid stands between them, clenching her hands into tight fists. It’s clear she’s agitated but it’s probably from the wave of emotions coming off of Owen. Even Quinn can feel it.
“You okay?” Quinn asks, putting his hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t acknowledge him, instead keeps her focus on Owen.
“Do you remember me?” she asks.
Owen shakes his head. “No.”
The information leaves her visibly shaken.
“It’ll come,” Quinn tells her, pulling her in for a hug. He smiles at Owen. “Who knew a cat would be the thing to bring your memory back?”
“Trauma, probably,” he jokes. “I think it’s going to take me a minute to process all of this.”
Overwhelmed, Owen walks down the hall, poking around the game room and empty bedrooms. Quinn hasn’t taken his arm from around Astrid’s shoulders, but when the other man is far enough away he says, “What’s bothering you so much? I’m sure the memory will come. His brain may not be able to handle any more right now.”
She walks into the kitchen and opens cabinets, checking to see what’s inside. They’re mostly stocked with pots, pans, and whatever else people would need. She leans against the counter and crosses her arms.
“I guess I wanted to feel that connection like I have with you and Casper. The fact our relationship goes back so far—that our experiences were similar.” He’s standing inches away, almost pinning her to the counter. She splays her right hand over his heart, which she has made clear always races when he’s near her. “It’s hard not having bonds with people. No family. No long-term friends. But what we have is special, like really special, and I just want to have that with him too.”
He wraps his hand around her slim waist. “Today was progress. He does remember and soon he’ll get a vision of that scrawny girl in three hats and wonder how the hell he ever forgot.”
She tilts her head and smiles. “I wasn’t that scrawny.”
“You were ridiculously small. A brisk wind could blow you away.” He presses his forehead to hers. “I think you wore all those clothes to weigh you down.”
His hips are against hers, and there’s no denying his attraction to her. She does this to him, makes him hard and unbelievably horny. Astrid’s body responds, her nipples peaking under her shirt. He sighs. Having Owen around in that small apartment makes it hard to find a chance to be together.
“Maybe we should all move up here,” he says. “Give us all a little more space.”
“You think?”
“You want to build connections? Increase your power?” He bends his head and kisses her slow, hoping to give her a little reassurance. “A little one-on-one time between all of us is more likely to happen up here, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Owen says from the door. They both look up in surprise, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “I really do. But I have one request?”
“What’s that?” Astrid makes no attempt to move away from Quinn and smiles at the man in the door.
“For the love of god, do not bring that cat up here. I can’t take it.”
Chapter Twenty
Astrid
The cold air burns her lungs and her muscles are tight, but the blue sky overhead is worth the discomfort.
She had to get out of that building.
After two more days of media circus, Quinn placed Mick at the front entrance of the gym. Once it’s clear she’s not doing any more interviews and they’re not getting past her new guard, the reporters give up. It doesn’t hurt, Casper tells her, that the President threatened to bomb an ally country, giving Astrid a reprieve and the media a new focus.
With Quinn and Owen busy working on their new living and training quarters, and Astrid’s new recruit class not starting for another few weeks, she decided it was time to stop hiding and get some fresh air.
She’s finishing up her second down the Harbor Line when a silver car slows beside her. Dammit, she thinks, if a reporter steps out of that car or a camera flashes in her face, Jensen will have to use his leverage to get her out of jail.
Because she’s not holding back.
At the end of the block she gets in a tight spot, forced to either wait to cross a busy road or turn back. Neither is a good option with the car idling next to her. If only she had Quinn with her so he could mess up the cross walk. With her eyes away from the car, she decides to turn around and run back down the road.
She times it well, right when the light changes, and ducks between a few pedestrians and circles a baby stroller. A dog sniffs at her feet and she makes the turn quick, dashing back the way she came. The car is stuck at the traffic light.
Her heart pounds and the sound of the engine fades; she dares a glance over her shoulder and sees that the light has changed. A horn blares, demanding the silver car go. She smiles, laughs actually, and crashes into a brick wall.
“Mother effer!” she shouts, falling backwards. A pair of strong hands keeps her from landing on her ass. She’s struck dumb at the sight of the man. Sheer physical perfection. His face, his light brown hair, the muscles of his arms strained and bulging as he holds her. His teeth are perfectly straight. Not a scar or wrinkle mars his face. His heart rate is a steady beat, cool and calm. And his smell. God, he smells like rain on a summer day. The instant after an orgasm. Cookies.
He’s an alien, maybe. Or a supermodel, and instantly her guard drops.
Terrible mistake.
“Astrid Petta?”
“Yes. That’s me.” Her voice comes out a breathy whisper. It’s like it’s physically impossible to lie to him. He’s the embodiment of good.
“My boss has requested to see you.”
“Sure,” she replies, her senses knocked completely out of her. She stands. His hand is on her elbow, holding her steady. “Uh, who is your boss?”
His face gives away nothing but he does answer. “Demetria Holmes.”
*
The car ride is quiet. As is the entry through the building’s garage and ride in the elevator. Astrid has never been in the WIND-E Corp building, but she does feel her running tights and sweaty hoodie are probably not standard dress for executive offices.
“Should I go home and change?” she asks Mr. Perfect, knowing it’s a stupid question. “I’m a little gross. You know, from the run. I’m sure you’re familiar with this—working out. You work out, right?”
What has this man done to her?
He keeps his eyes on the elevator doors. “Ms. Holmes won’t mind. She’s very eager to meet with you.”
The elevator bell chimes, declaring they’d reached their floor, the twenty-third. She grabs on to his arm and says, “Does she know who I am? Like who I really am?”
He smiles. It’s kind and she’s pretty sure he’s not a supervillain. Or maybe she’s just sure that he’s pretty. God, he’s pretty.
The lobby stretches across one side of the buil
ding, giving a wide view of the city sprawling below. Along another wall are photos of WIND-E’s most popular toys. Rainbow-colored unicorns. Glittery fairies. All things Astrid has seen in the aisles at the store. One unicorn catches her eye in particular and she’s checking it out when the receptionist says, “She’s waiting on you.”
“Thank you, Marissa.”
“You’re welcome, Draco.”
Draco. Of course his name is something bad-ass like Draco.
She follows and just before they enter, she acknowledges to herself that she should be nervous. But she’s not. She’s excited about seeing her old friend. Her only friend way back when things were scary.
The step across the threshold stops Astrid cold.
Holy shit.
Demetria’s office is…her. Totally her—well, at least the twelve-year-old girl that Astrid knew. The walls are painted a shiny silver. Glitter is infused with the paint, giving it a sparkly sheen. Tall columns stand in each corner of the room, wrapped in rainbow-colored silk. Massive glass cases line the walls holding every toy WIND-E has ever produced. Tiny figurines, lunch boxes, backpacks, and everything in between.
“Draco,” a familiar, comforting voice says. “Thank you for being so prompt.”
Astrid peers around his hulking figure to see Demetria standing behind a massive purple and pink desk. A pink velvet chair sits behind her and frames line the wall. Astrid, ignoring the woman she came to see, stares at the pictures.
“You drew those,” she finally says, looking at Demetria.
“I did.”
“You drew every day. All day. Those hung in our room.”
“Ones like it, yes.” Demetria smiles, as if enjoying the memory. Her smile is calming, peaceful. A shock of undeniable grief rolls through Astrid’s body. Demetria moves from behind the desk and walks around it. “Obviously the originals were destroyed, but I’ve always saved as many things I could. I think it comes from losing my home—twice.”
Without warning, she takes Astrid’s gloved hands in her own.
“Thank you for your assistance, Draco. You may leave.”
“My pleasure,” Mr. Perfect says, leaving the room.
“I thought you died that day,” she says to Demetria, holding back a sob. She’s not sure why this is making her so emotional. “And then I saw you at the Gala and everything was so crazy.”
“Darling, come sit, I know this is a lot for you.” She directs Astrid to a sitting area across the spacious room. More velvet, this time purple. The chairs have gold fringe hanging from the bottom. A tea set sits on the table and Demetria pours her a cup. Astrid picks up the cup and takes a sip. Anything to calm her nerves.
“How did you know how to find me?” she finally asks.
“I’ve known there were others with unexplained powers around for a while. I’d heard about the vigilantism in the Swamp. Obviously the attack on my Pixie Dust warehouse. But at the Gala, I knew for sure. Things did not go as planned that night. It was unfortunate.”
Between Astrid, Owen, and Quinn, they made certain of that.
“But when you approached me at the Gala and took my hand in the dark I felt something. A kinship. We shared something in that group home, Astrid, a bond no one else can explain. I felt you. I sensed the others. But when the lights turned back on, you were gone.”
She pauses to drink from her own cup of tea before continuing. “I knew for certain when I watched the news the other night. The child from the home invasion explained it perfectly. That a superhero saved him. She touched his hands and all the bad things went away. I knew it was you.”
“Why?” She’d only recently tapped into that power.
“Oh, Astrid, even as a little kid you had a lack of awareness of your strengths. You used that skill at the group home.”
“I did?”
“Of course. More than once you settled my mind and helped me go to sleep. You brought peace to Rosalie when she was about to pull her hair out. You controlled the moods of the house—good and bad.”
An uneasy feeling builds in her chest. “Bad?”
Demetria laughs. “Oh yes, bad. Your anxiety was through the roof when you first came. The entire house was on edge. The others acted out. The boys harassed one another. The girls became catty and insecure. I sunk into my toys and drawing just to escape the noise.”
“Yeah, that sounds like me. I was definitely a basket case.” She holds the tea cup in her hands.
Demetria smiles. “Me too. But it did get better and you helped us, so when I heard about this little boy who went from terrified in one moment to peaceful in the next, I had a feeling I’d finally found you.”
Astrid looks around the room. At the toys and drawings. The grandeur and scenic view over the Harbor Line. “I don’t understand what you’re doing, Demetria. I don’t get the Pixie Dust and the attempt to steal from the patrons at the Gala. You have so much here. You’re wealthy, smart, talented. You’re a famous and important CEO. You want to help your community but why the drugs? The theft?”
Demetria places her cup on the table and gives her a reassuring smile. Or tries to. “My mother was killed when I was a kid. Just like yours. I was taken, housed and tested on. My body was manipulated. My mind probed. They tried very hard to turn me into a weapon. You, too.”
“Tried, Demetria. They didn’t succeed. Look at you, everything you do makes people happy. You fight for the people in the Swamp. You’re a good person.”
“Thank you. I think that I am, but I’m scared, Astrid. What if they did turn some of us into weapons? What if they come back and try to kill us. What if they turn us on one another?” Her voice raises as she speaks. “The people that did this to us are still out there. The doctors and organizers behind Project 12. They live in this city, in the shadows. They’re wealthy. Powerful.”
“That seems a little dramatic.”
She chuckles. “They’re hunting us, do you know that?”
“I do. They killed my mentor as well as the mentors of the others I’ve been working with. But we’re strong and we’re working together.”
“Yes. I see you’ve been collecting my Lost Boys.” His tone shifts, as does her scent. Jealousy. “Are they well? Happy?”
“They’re not lost and they aren’t boys, Demetria. They’re men. And yes, they’re trying to rebuild their lives. But none of us are set on vengeance. That was not the aspiration of our mentors.”
She leans back in her purple chair, crossing her long legs. She wears a skirt made of shimmery chiffon. The fairy pin Quinn described is on her shoulder. “When you realize how foolish you are, you’re welcome to come home. Neverland is always open for the Lost Boys and Wendy will always be here to take care of them. Tell me, how is Peter?”
“You mean Owen? He’s better.”
“He was my favorite you know.” She leans in conspiratorially. “He can fly, you know.”
Oh jeez. Astrid now understands the psych evaluation a little better and as much as it saddens her, there’s also something terrifying about it. She doesn’t argue, instead she changes the subject.
“I’m glad you tracked me down because there is something going on that I think you’ll be interested in.”
She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. “And what is that?”
“We have a common enemy who is trying his best to take down the swamp. Brutus Kincade.”
“Bastard,” Demetria spats. “He approached you? What does he want? Your gym?”
“Blackmailed is the more accurate word.”
Her eyes narrow and her hands clench. Her nails are painted hot pink with rhinestones on the tips. “He wants my buildings—I’m fighting with the city right now to keep that property away from him. Code violations,” she mutters. “He wants to get rid of all of the affordable housing in the Swamp.”
“I know. And he wants me and my team to help him clean up the area or my building will be next.”
Demetria studies me for a moment, her mind running faster than a ha
mster on a wheel. She sits up straight and there’s no mistaking the gleam in her eye. “This may be the perfect opportunity for us to work together, Astrid. A common enemy and a mutual goal. Together, we’ll bring down Kincade and protect the less fortunate in the Swamp.”
“I’m down with that,” Astrid agrees. “But I’m going to need some assurances from you.”
The woman eyes her skeptically. It’s obvious she’s not used to making deals. “What do you want?”
“You have to promise to leave my team,” she swallows, “the Lost Boys alone. You have to leave the gym and programs alone. And this is a one-time arrangement. We’re not joining up with you, not while you have a vendetta.”
She pouts. “Fine. I’ll leave the Lost Boys alone.” She looks up at me under her thick lashes and holds out her hand. “Deal?”
With only the slightest hesitation they shake, Demetria’s firm hand against Astrid’s gloved one. “Deal.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Demetria
Before
They found her with blood on her hands. She was in the yard playing with a doll, a marble, a rusty Matchbook car, and a chipped cup from a child’s tea set.
“Miranda,” she said to the doll. “It’s time for your nap.” The baby’s glass eyes fluttered and she yawned. Demetria wrapped her in a dirty blanket and cradled the doll in her arms.
The blood was dry but sticky.
She heard the men in the house. She knew one uniformed woman stood by the back door keeping an eye on her. She’d given her a purple lollipop and told her not to come inside. The police officers would check on her mother.
Demetria knew her mother was dead. She’d watched as her eyes glazed over and she slid to the floor from her spot at the kitchen table. The girl waited to see if it was like the other times when she’d used the white powder to feel better.
It wasn’t.
Her mother was dead. No matter how hard Demetria tried to force her to come back. To smile. To stand. To walk. It didn’t work.
She heard the rattle of the van before she saw it. A frazzled woman stepped out in a brown skirt and blue cardigan. Her hair was brown-messy—and pulled back behind her head. Demetria knew this was the person coming to get her. She’d have to leave her home. Probably the Swamp. There was no way they’d let her stay here. Not with what she can do—her mother always knew that. She’d say, “Be careful, little one, they won’t want you to have powers like that.”
