by Angel Lawson
She opens her mouth to speak, to tell him that there is more. She wants to tell him about the bond she and the others share and how it makes them stronger—more attune to one another and their cause, but his jaw tightens and she’s fully aware that he already knows.
“Draco—”
He shakes his head and she’s surprised when he reaches for her, tilting her chin so he can brush his lips over hers. Fire ignites and spreads through her limbs but he pulls away as quickly as he started. His chest heaves with self-control and one fist balls into the towel around at his hip.
“There is one thing you need to know about me, Astrid.”
“What?” Her knees are a little wobbly.
“I’m willing to be part of a team, but when it comes to women? I don’t share.”
His words drop like a truth-bomb, one Astrid’s not ready for. It’s good he doesn’t wait for a reply before he turns and walks back into the bathroom and closes the door, because she’s speechless.
Twice today, men on her team have walked away from her and shut her out. Twice she’s felt their hearts race at their decisions, knowing they were drawing a line in the sand.
Chapter Seventeen
Quinn
The tip from Luby came in after ten. Nothing major, just a text that said: The Swamp Needs Eyes Tonight.
He didn’t reply to Astrid’s follow-up texts and Owen had crashed for the night, beat from his day of training. She held the phone for a second and said, “Wanna hit the streets?”
It took five minutes for them to change and slip out the door on the rooftop. Now they’re walking down a side street in the Swamp doing what Luby asked. Keeping their eyes open.
Astrid walks beside him, her shoulders tense since she got home. It took him a while to get it out of her. The firing range with Jensen. The almost-encounter with Casper. And then something about, “Mr. Fucking Perfect and His Fucking Standards.”
He didn’t touch that one.
“I’m sure they’ll both come around,” he says, following her down a dark, gravel alley. The area used to be industrial but now most of the buildings are abandoned. It’s only a matter of time before the Harbor Line spreads this direction. “You think there’s any validity to the terrorist rumors?”
Astrid’s hair blows in the wind and she pushes it off her face. “I don’t know. It could be people just trying to stir the pot in Crescent City due to all of our recent bad press, or someone who doesn’t like what’s going on here.”
“Or it could be someone who does know what is going on here. People that know about us.”
She stops and faces him, her eyebrows furrowed. “Did you just toss out a conspiracy theory? I thought you were raised on facts and science.”
“I was,” he admits. “But the facts say someone blew up our group home, killed our mentors, and there are more survivors than we realized. We certainly didn’t see Blaze coming. The chaos in the city and the public behavior of the task force could provide whoever has been looking to take us out all these years with an opportunity.”
“Wow. That is a lot of conjecture.”
He shrugs. Quinn doesn’t like unanswered questions or puzzles missing pieces. The terrorist threat seems credible to him. “We just need to be careful.”
Loud voices cut their conversation and Astrid holds up her hand. They wait a beat, figuring out which direction its coming from. He activates his mask, pulling up the infrared and heat tracking. Astrid does the same and they creep toward the voices, climbing to the top of a crumbling stone fence. When they push the overgrowth aside, they’re looking over a large, abandoned parking lot of a former factory.
The scene below is chilling.
Large metal lights shine down on a group made up of residents of the Swamp. All ages are present, including a few faces familiar to Quinn. Astrid makes a sound in her throat. She probably knows more people down there than he does.
“What is this?” she asks.
People mill about, including children. It seems a little late for a community meeting but something about this seems off. Quinn’s eyes shift to the front of the lot, toward the men and women in familiar black uniforms.
“I guess the Task Force told them to.” He’s about to say something further when the squeal of a bullhorn echoes off the pavement. Astrid covers her ears, wincing at the harsh noise. Quinn reaches for her, touching her shoulder until it stops.
A man stands at the front holding the bullhorn and he speaks. His voice is instantly recognizable. Rowe. “Thank you for coming out tonight. Taking back the streets of the Swamp is important to you and to us. The city doesn’t like what is happening down here. The fires, the break-ins, and business men and women using your community for their personal gain.”
This sparks a round of cheers and clapping. Rowe nods, feeling the energy.
“We do not want this to be about violence. In fact, it’s the other direction. The incident at the parade was despicable and we hope to never see something like that again. So no, we do not want anymore bloodshed, what we need from you is your eyes and ears so we can stop the actual criminals. The vigilantes.”
The reaction to that is more mixed. One woman steps up and Astrid reaches for Quinn’s hand when she recognizes her. The woman she saved from the fire.
“These people saved me and my baby. They protect us.”
“No ma’am,” Rowe replies. “They’re breaking the law. We have police and fire departments to help you.”
“They don’t come down here! Those people, the vigilantes, as you call them, they’re here first.”
Pride swells in Quinn’s chest and Astrid’s hand tightens in his. That’s all they want, is to help people.
“I saw them on the float. They were part of that craziness!”
“My son got a broken leg that night!”
The energy shifts back and forth. Obviously, the community is mixed. Rowe calls for everyone to calm down and their voices settle.
“I know things haven’t been great down here. It’s why we want to help. We’re increasing patrols in this area and building community watch groups.”
The teenagers grumble about that. They’re not interested in being watched.
“But we need your help. We have to take the vigilantes off the street. They’re untrained and dangerous.”
Astrid scoffs at the word ‘untrained.’
“We’ve set up a tip line, and any agent you see on the street is happy to take your information. All arrests of the vigilantes will result in a possible reward.”
That gets everyone’s attention.
Astrid stands and pulls Quinn with her. “Come on. I’m done with this bullshit.”
He looks back down, thinking they should listen, but she’s already vanished in the overgrowth. The Task Force is declaring war; he doesn’t need to know much more than that.
He follows Astrid down the hill and back into the streets. She doesn’t slow once he catches up to her, but he lets her lead. She seems to know where she’s going and as soon as he spots the blue metal ladder, he realizes where they are.
The water tower, where they first kissed.
They climb up quickly, the old ladder clanking as they go. When they reach the top it’s cold, and the wind blows off the harbor in the distance. Astrid leans her back against the metal and stares out into the distance. From up here there’s no sign of the trouble below, everything is twinkly like starlight. Crescent City is beautiful. Just like the woman next to him.
“Do you think I’m a bad person?” she finally asks.
“You know I don’t.”
“Do you think I’m bossy and pushy and collecting Lost Boys for my own purposes?”
He stares at her for a minute, watching her hair blow and her gloved hands clench by her side. “Collecting seems like a harsh word.”
“Are we idiots for doing this?” He’s not sure what ‘this’ means, considering all the stuff she’s said. Does she mean him? Him and Owen? The work they’re doing? Someh
ow, he suspects this goes back to Draco. Maybe Casper. Quinn knows he can’t control those two. She’ll have to figure that out on her own time, but he is aware that he can assure her in his own way. He steps forward, peeling off his gloves.
He stashes them in his pocket and reaches one hand for her hip and another to her neck, sliding it under the warmth of her hair. Her blue-green eyes flash beneath her mask, daring him closer.
“We’re not idiots,” he tells her. “And we’re not wrong, and although you’re a little bossy and pushy, I like that, so don’t change.”
He blocks her from the wind, pushing his body against hers, and when his lips meet hers it’s just as powerful as the first time they were up here. Maybe more so, because now they’ve built something and it’s not based on just lust (although that’s running hot in his veins.) No, this is real, damn real, and she takes his breath away.
His lips trail down her neck and she sighs in his ear. When her fingers push under his jacket he realizes they’re bare, her gloves stashed away somewhere, and their intimacy doubles, triples, because touch—it’s like Astrid opening a door to herself, and it kick starts his heart.
“What’s that for?” she asks him. Her hand snakes up his shirt, fingers grazing over his nipple, and she splays her fingers flat over his heart.
“You,” he replies, as there’s no other answer. Her hips press into his and there’s no mistaking that she feels the other part of him turned on by her proximity. He pushes her into the metal wall.
The next few minutes are filled with the sound of their breathing and the rustle of leather. Quinn unzips the front of her jacket and slips his fingers under her tight tank. She shivers at his touch or maybe—“Too cold?”
“No, god no, my skin is burning.”
He laughs, but he understands; his entire body is on fire, hungry with want. His cock strains against the leather pants and when she touches him over the top, he groans. “I don’t think getting caught up here by a mob of angry citizens is going to help our case. Especially if we’re naked.”
“We don’t have to be totally naked,” she says into his ear. Her breath his hot and tickles his neck, making him laugh. Lifting his head, he takes her face in his and smiles.
“What?”
“I love that even in the middle of a crisis you’re willing to have fun. We need more fun in our life.”
“Dude, we just played bocce ball. We’re total partiers.”
Again, he laughs, but stops when he hears a beep in his ear and the screen on his mask flip on. He groans and Astrid sighs.
“What’s going on, Casper?” she says. Quinn zips up her jacket.
“I need you both back at the Lair.”
“What for?” Quinn adjusts his pants, knowing his hard-on won’t easily fade.
“I’ve got a hit on the terrorist threat.”
He doesn’t need to say anything else. He shouldn’t. It’s dangerous information, too important to transmit over the frequency. With one last look over the illusion of a quiet city, they head back to the others.
Chapter Eighteen
Astrid
Casper is waiting for them when they return to the Lair. He’s patched Draco in, whose hair is sticking up on the side. He’d obviously been asleep. Quinn changes and rouses Owen, who also looks like a zombie.
“I hope it’s the end of the world. Otherwise, I don’t know why you’d wake me up like this,” he says, tucking his head in his hoodie and falling into a chair facing the computer wall.
“It’s not the end of the world,” Casper says. “At least not yet. But yeah, the intel I have is the kind that can level the entire city.”
That wakes both Draco and Owen up.
“I’ve been following some data in the dark web. This place is where the lowest of the lows dwell. It takes forever to get through the bullshit, government secrets, payoffs, black market trading. Don’t even get me into the perverted shit. You don’t want to know. What I discovered is that the Elites have become more and more of a topic in some of the forums.”
He clicks a few buttons and pulls up a variety of photos, articles, chat boxes. Echo at the fire. Charger fighting at the parade. Pan leading people to safety when the dragon crashed through the streets. There’s an image of Draco standing at the foot of the dragon, shield out. Astrid leans closer, trying to read the comments. Unsurprisingly, they’re varied, swinging from supportive to criminal.
“I’ve been tracking this content and removing any details that get close to your true identities and keeping an eye on the extra-nutjobs that seem to have a hard-on for you.”
“I don’t even want to know what that means,” Owen mumbles.
“I do,” Draco says.
“It means Demetria’s antics and your involvement haven’t just caught the eye of the Mayor and Jensen. People all over the world are watching and a few are bad guys. Really bad.”
“Like a terrorist?”
He nods. “Two weeks ago, I made contact with someone nervous about a transaction they’d made. They’d been the middle-man with some explosive-grade material. I made nice, dug a little deeper, and found the electronic paper trail connecting back to one of your online detractors.”
“Good job, man,” Quinn says. “Do you have a name?”
“No names. This place is completely anonymous. But I got a date. October 17th. They made it clear it would be an event you wouldn’t miss.”
The number sounds familiar and Astrid glances at the others for help. Before she can speak, Draco pushes his hair with one hand. “The soccer match.”
Casper pulls up a digital version of the poster.
“You’re fucking kidding me,” Owen says. “Even with Demetria locked away, we can’t have a public event without it turning into a crisis.”
“This is more than a crisis, Owen,” Draco says. “We’re talking about a catastrophic event.”
“Someone is going to bomb a stadium of fifty thousand people just to get to us? What kind of fucked-up plan is this?” Astrid asks.
“We don’t control the psychos, As,” Owen says, reaching for her hand. She can’t help but marvel over how someone touching her makes her feel better, not worse. So much good and bad has come from their finding each other.
“Maybe Jensen is right,” she says. “Maybe we step back. We’re causing more harm than good. We can let them take care of this.”
“And what? Book a vacation a thousand miles away on the day of the threat?” Casper asks.
Everyone stares at him, knowing he’s the least likely to go anywhere even with the threat of a terrorist event.
Quinn exhales. “Is that what you want to do? Step down? Give the appearance that we’re no longer an issue?”
“Disband?” Draco asks in a tight voice. “You’d have to make a public announcement.”
Owen adds, “Which means caving to Rowe.”
She clenches her jaw. “I’ll do it.”
“This is bullshit,” Casper laments, but she can tell by the set of his jaw and shoulders, he’s resigned, too. That’s when she realizes she’s making a choice for all of them, not just herself.
“I think it’s the right thing to do,” she tells them. “But we’re a team. I don’t get to make the decision unilaterally.”
“She’s right,” Draco says. “My biggest regret is not stopping Demetria. If we have the opportunity to save people by not going out there, we need to do it.”
He may be across the city but Astrid feels his emotions right in the room. He gets it.
Quinn nods his agreement and Owen sighs dramatically but says, “Fine. But I’m not quitting the recruitment program. I’ve worked too hard.”
“You don’t have to,” she says, squeezing his hand. “And you’re crushing it.”
“So, what’s next?”
“I also have to tell someone about what’s coming. Give them a chance to stop it,” she says. “Do you have any actual proof, Casper?”
The grim set of his mouth gives the answe
r to that. Astrid’s not entirely sure how Casper’s gift works, but he manipulates computers the way she handles emotions. It’s instinct. Same with the others. It’s built into their system and although his intel is probably completely accurate, there’s no way to hand over proof to the authorities.
Astrid sighs. “I’ll deal with it.”
“How? Jensen?” Quinn asks.
“He may be a little pissed at me right now but he’ll believe me, especially when I tell him I’m quitting.”
The words ring hollow in her chest, and looking around the room at the men who have supported her unconditionally, she’s never felt so alone.
*
It’s three a.m. when they leave the Lair. Draco and Casper blip off the screen. Owen heads straight back to bed, catching whatever sleep he can before training in the morning.
Harry meets her at her bedroom door and she picks him up, pressing her nose into his soft head. He purrs in reply until he grows bored and jumps from her arms and vanishes into Owen’s room.
That makes her laugh.
“Only a cat picks the person that hates him the most to snuggle with.” She leans against the wall and looks up at Quinn. “This has been a stupid, crazy day.”
“Tomorrow will be better.”
“It’s already tomorrow. I may have to wait one more for things to settle down.”
Quinn’s scent changes at the same time his eyes dilate and he reaches for her. When his mouth crashes into hers, it’s like she relaxes for the first time in hours. All the pent-up anger and stress fell away under his touch. He guides her into her room, stepping over the shoes and laundry piled on the floor, knocking over an empty bottle of soda until her knees hit the edge of the bed. He kisses his way down her jaw, working his way to her lips. Pushing at his shirt, she lifts it over his head, revealing his muscled chest and abs.
