by Angel Lawson
“What are you doing here?” he asks. His eyes dart around nervously. They met when he was vandalizing an old school as part of Kincade’s plan to destroy the older buildings on the Harbor Line. Astrid read his echo that night and something stuck with her.
“Things went south at the barbershop.” She observes him closely, tracking with all of her senses. “You know anything about that?”
His eyes dart to the side and his pulse notches up. “Naw. Was the crew there?”
“Yes.”
“Then how did it go wrong?”
“Scruggs didn’t want us there. Told us to let the crew go.” She lifts her chin. “Said people don’t want our help anymore.”
“I don’t know anything about that.” But she thinks he does. Not from the guilt he’s emanating, but the fear.
She looks up to the window above. “How’s your grandma?”
“Not great. About the same.” Astrid’s not sure what the problem is—she hasn’t asked, but she knows Luby’s grandmother is very sick and that makes him vulnerable to the players in the community.
“You come to me if you need anything, okay? If she needs anything.”
He looks up from the spot he’s been starting at on the ground and says, “Why are you so nice to me?”
She takes in this kid, skinny with floppy hair that hangs over his eyes; nails dirty, filled with the gunk from the spray paint he tags all over the city—he’s just trying to leave his mark. She knows the feeling.
“We all need people,” she says, thinking guiltily about the team she sent back home. Dammit, now that the adrenaline is fading she’s feeling bad about that. “It took me a long time to figure that out. Don’t be afraid to ask for help, Luby, okay?”
He nods and shoves his hands in his pockets, headed back up to his mom. Astrid climbs back over the fence to deal with the shit storm she left in her wake at home.
Chapter Six
Astrid
After changing, she heads upstairs, ready to face Owen and Quinn. Harry waits for her at the door, weaving between her legs and crying for attention and cheese. She’s aware that the cat is only in it for the cheese these days, but at 14 she can have what she wants.
She thought they’d be in bed by now but the trash talk from the common space says otherwise. Both guys are sitting on the leather couch animatedly absorbed in a video game, controllers shaking and f-bombs dropping. Empty beer bottles line the coffee table.
“Dude, watch out. Watch out! What the fuck!” Owen shouts at someone. Quinn? Himself? Oh, it’s just the guy dressed up like a knight on the screen. She rolls her eyes and walks past them to the kitchen.
Neither acknowledge her, which is fine. She owes them the apology. Unfortunately, this isn’t a strong suit of hers. She buys time, doling out cheese to the demanding cat and shoving two Pop-Tarts in the toaster, giving herself until the buzzer chimes to go back in there and face the music.
Pastries in hand, she walks into the living room and watches the guys beat the crap out of a troll. She bites into the delicious strawberry Pop-Tart and Quinn looks up at her.
“Are you seriously eating that crap?” he asks.
Oh shit. She forgot about the eating better deal.
“It’s been a long night,” she says. “And you had beer. Like, three of them.”
“Mine are gluten-free and low carb.”
Lord, she wants to roll her eyes at him but holds it in. Owen doesn’t, snorting at the man next to him and saying, “He’s drinking piss, As. I don’t think it counts as unhealthy. Gross, but not unhealthy.”
She swallows the Pop-Tart and sits on the chair facing the coffee table. Quinn shuts off the game, making Owen curse and mutter about level eight and booty. “Look, I’m sorry about tonight. I was out of line.”
“You were,” Owen says, stretching out on the couch. Astrid can’t help but think about them—all of them—and what they did on there a few weeks ago. She doubts it’s far from their minds. Her belly flips at the memory.
“You keep calling us a team, Astrid, but you don’t always treat us that way,” Quinn adds. “Do we get full say or is it up to you?”
“I’m not sure I can answer that,” she admits.
“I can tell you this,” Owen says. “That task force isn’t looking at us individually. They’re hunting us together. We have to have each other’s backs.”
He’s right about that.
“Besides that,” Quinn says, “This is more than just positioning. You know that—our bond goes deeper. It’s in our genes. Our history. We can’t forget that. I don’t want to.”
“I don’t either,” she agrees. “I’ll do better. I promise.”
“Just be safe, that’s all we’re asking.”
She notices neither is that angry nor have they asked her where she went. “You tracked me, didn’t you?”
“Fuck yes we did,” Owen says, looking pleased with himself.
Quinn shakes his head and says, “Casper would have if he was talking to us right now.”
She laughs bitterly. “Another failure on my part.”
Maybe that was the problem. Maybe she wasn’t cut out to be the leader of this team. The two sets of eyes watching her say something different and that’s what makes it hard. They believe in her.
Owen stands and walks over to her. He offers his hand and pulls her out of the seat. She rises and lands in his arms. “This shit has been hard since we were kids and no one ever said it was going to get easier, but you going off like that? It just puts us all at risk.”
She nods. “I get it, Owen. I fucked up. Just another in a long line of stupid moves. Aligning with Demetria, trying to work with Kincade, pushing Casper…”
He strokes her back and kisses her gently, letting her know he’s not angry anymore. She feels that in her soul.
“Take it from a lifelong fuck-up, you’ve got to do way more stupid things to qualify for the title.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
Quinn tugs her away from Owen and embraces her in his enormous arms. She feels safe here. Loved. Pushing them away is dumb. It’s what Casper’s doing and if she has to be honest, is why Draco keeps his distance. They need to understand trusting one another makes them better.
“Fear makes us stupid,” she says, acknowledging the truth.
“Good thing you’re so hot,” Owen says, picking up the Pop-Tart and taking a bite. He glances down at the cat and moves out of the way. Harry hisses at his ankles.
“And a total bad-ass,” Quinn adds, keeping his arm wrapped around her.
She knows in that moment it’s okay to make mistakes. These two have her back and everything is going to be all right.
Chapter Seven
Owen
Christian Hightower is his name. Number four out of eight. He runs laps around the gym, keeping pace with the other recruits. From the outside, Owen has brown hair instead of blond. His skin is two shades darker, his eyes match. His body is the same, as is his voice and mind. This program is bullshit and the only thing getting him through this is getting some dirt on Jensen and his project.
Oh, well, and making Astrid pay, as they arranged.
The woman, his woman, stands on a small platform at the edge of the gym. She assesses each one of the recruits, including him, taking notes on her clipboard. Owen knows he doesn’t have to pass but he can’t make a fool of himself out here. He wants to fit in and keep up with the others. He also wants to prove himself to her.
He told her the other night he was the king of all fuck-ups. It’s not a lie. He had a better shot than any of them at having a normal life. His aunt gave him that chance, but he screwed around, using his gift for petty games.
And then she died and he did nothing to save her.
From there he went down the path of vengeance. That too got him nothing but trouble, his name on Jensen’s list. The only good thing that came of it was Astrid following him home.
Astrid pushing back.
Astri
d reaching for him.
Touching him.
Her eyes.
Her mouth.
Her wet and delicious—
The recruit in front of him falls, tripping over a shoelace. Owen stumbles, but stays upright. He glances at Astrid and spots the slightest shake of her head. Smooth dude. Smooth.
He pulls his mind out of the gutter and back in the game.
The recruit class is an even split, four men and four women. They have no information on one another—no backstory. They’re told not to share. Two of the guys are obviously ex-military, as is one of the women. He’d guess the others have a background in athletics and various skills in fighting. One woman already is falling behind on the run. Astrid eyes her. She’ll cut her before the day is over.
Jesus, he thinks, picking up his pace. When is the day going to be over?
Heart pounding, he finishes his final lap and grabs the water bottle off the floor and drinks half of it in one swallow. One of the men, cut like marble but probably doesn’t do enough cardio, pukes into the trashcan next to the wall.
“Circle up!” Astrid shouts and they all walk over to her. Well, everyone but the lagging jogger. She’ll pack her shit and head home.
“Good work on your first day, the testing rounds are the hardest. We push you to the max to see what you can handle.” She eyes the group. “Tomorrow we’ll split into teams for some hand-to-hand drills. At the end of the day we’ll pair off and spar. Losers get extra work. Any questions?”
The group drips with sweat. No one has the extra breath for questions. Astrid looks pleased about this.
“Alright, go home and rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”
The recruits gather their belongings and leave. Owen heads to the locker room and when no one is looking, uses the back door to get to the hallway that heads to their living quarters upstairs.
Astrid waits at the bottom. From the tight set of her jaw, there’s no mistaking why she’s here. “I’m not expecting you to be the best in the class, but I do need you not to blow it, okay?”
“I got distracted.”
“Not an excuse.”
“Even if I was thinking about you?”
She snorts. “Nice try.”
Owen leans against the wall. His legs cramp. He reaches for her hip. “You think I’m kidding? Because I’m not. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“Then maybe we should take a break? Keep things platonic.”
Terror sets in. “What? No. No. That is not what I meant.”
“Then what? Blow off a little steam? Is that the problem? Are you on edge?”
Mercy, she’s trying to kill him. Kill him with that sexy mouth and rocking body. His body is exhausted and his brain turns too much.
“I’ll tell you what,” she says, licking her bottom lip. “I’ve got five minutes. Meet me upstairs?”
The glint in her eye is mischievous. She already knows his answer. “I don’t think I can move my legs that fast.”
“Aww, poor baby. Well, maybe next time.” She turns away.
“You’re just going to leave me?”
Her smile is wicked. “Quinn left you some kind of puke green smoothie in the refrigerator. He swears it will ease the lactic build-up in your quads.”
“Ugh. It probably has kale in it.”
She laughs. “Probably. Drink it, shower, and hit the bed.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Want to do one of the last two with me? Or both? I can lean on the wall.”
“I’ve got to log in my report on the recruits.”
“After?”
“Headed to check on Casper.”
“You’re a busy woman, Astrid Petta.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll find time to fit you in.” She smiles devilishly.
“I’m holding you to it.” He kisses her, wanting a taste before she leaves again. She pulls away and waves, heading back into the gym. Owen grunts, taking the first step up the long flight of stairs that leads to the third floor. Yeah, he’s definitely holding her to it.
Chapter Eight
Astrid
“Where are you headed?” Quinn asks from behind the office desk. He’s comfortable in his position of manager; taking over scheduling and payroll among a few other day-to-day jobs. It’s been a huge help and frees Astrid to handle the recruits and now Casper.
“Draco’s.” His eyebrow lifts and his emotions shift. She’s sensed it before, the mixture of protection and jealousy. “I’m going to try working with Casper a little today.”
“Will he be there?”
“Who?” She knows who. He leans back in his seat, jaw tight, refusing to say his name. Astrid sighs. “Are you really jealous?”
“No,” he replies, but the next wave of emotions is guilt. “Okay, a little.”
“There’s no reason to be jealous.”
“You’re the one that calls him Mr. Perfect, not me.”
“Hey, I can’t help the fact he’s some kind of genetically superior being. He has nothing to do with us.” The relationship she’s built with both Quinn and Owen is something she can’t describe. Their bond to one another is something that seems tied as much to their commitment to using their powers for good as it is the connection of their past. They’ve got something no one else can understand—she trusts them in a way she can’t risk with others. Except, the knowing look on Quinn’s face isn’t unreasonable. The bond she shares with them is one she also may share with Draco. She feels the tug to him, one she finds hard to resist.
She walks around the desk and nudges Quinn’s desk chair back. He gives her room and she hops up on the desk. They’re face to face, or close to it, and it’s the best place to clear the air.
“Tell me what you think is going on with us,” she says. “Do you think you and I are just fooling around? That I’m testing the waters, seeing which one of you I like the best?”
He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think that.”
“Then what?”
Quinn rubs his face and sighs. “I don’t know if I trust him, Astrid. We’ve got a lot of enemies and he works for one of them. Things are rocky right now with Jensen and this task force—the push back from Scruggs last night. I don’t know how much we can let him in.”
We. That means he’s thought about it and he’s thinking about it from the perspective of the group. That makes her happy, because that idea of them being bonded together is what’s getting her through the day. Pushing her to go back and figure out how to help Casper.
She slides off the desk and places her hands on the chair arms, leaning over Quinn. Like clockwork, his heartbeat kicks into gear. “I’m not going to let anyone mess us up, okay?” She holds up her hand and pulls off her glove. She runs her fingers down his face, neck, and down his arm to his hand. When their fingers touch there’s no doubt of his affection for her—his loyalty and commitment. It’s strong and it’s a testimony of what the others need to meet. She presses her lips to his, sealing her promise to keep them safe.
“Okay,” he agrees. “I trust you and your freaky senses.”
“I know you do.” She kisses him once more and then stands, knowing she’s got to get out of here sooner than later or things are going to get heated. “Hey, I need you to do me a favor.”
“Anything.”
She pulls the scrap of paper out of her pocket. “That’s Luby’s number. Give him a call and offer him a job. I want to keep an eye on him.”
He picks up the number. “You think he’s a problem?”
“No,” she says, grabbing her things. “I think he’s in danger and that’s one kid I’m not going to let slip through the cracks.”
*
In a testimony of trust, Draco gave Astrid access to his home. Not Demetria’s mansion but the smaller cottage behind the main house. The one where he lives. He told her that he and Demetria never slept together—that their relationship wasn’t like that. She believes him, but it’s still hard to reconcile the crazy woman and her relationship
with Draco, especially when she approaches the cottage.
It, like everything else on the property, is well-maintained and could be lifted from a fairytale. The wood-shingled roof is covered with green moss. The front door has thick lead windows. A picket fence surrounds the house and she unlatches the gate to let herself in.
He told her that the cottage is closer to Casper’s bunker—a tiny fortress built into the cliffs backing up to the house. It was originally just that—a fallout shelter—but it’s perfect for the paranoid and scared Goblin that watches over her with such care.
Today, Astrid plans on speaking with him directly and laying everything on the table. She has a nagging, nervous feeling it’s not going to go well.
Opening the front door, her senses are assaulted with full-on Draco. Vanilla mixed with sugar and a hint of something manly, she has no idea how to describe it. All she knows is that it makes her want to roll around in that scent—naked.
The next thing that catches her eye is the books.
Books are everywhere.
It’s not cluttered but they line the shelves on the walls and are stacked on tables. Hardback, paperback, fiction, and non-fiction. She recognizes Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings. She spies poetry and Jane Austen.
“Huh,” she says aloud, passing the living room and taking note of a well-worn leather chair in front of the fireplace. A small wooden table is next to it, piled high with more books. In the kitchen, a single coffee cup dries next to the sink.
Draco is out at the sanitarium visiting Demetria. It’s odd without him here, even odder in this more intimate space. At once she feels closer to him while also struck with the reality she knows nothing about this man at all. Entering his home office, she finds what was missing from the office in Demetria’s house. More photos, small knickknacks from his travels abroad. A blue hoodie hanging over a chair. She picks it up and catches his sweet scent still lingering in the fabric. Sneakers sit by the door, the bottoms covered in mud from a recent hike.
