by Angel Lawson
“Same.” He touches the SUV, searching for traces of energy. There’s nothing there. The systems are blown. “If Astrid’s tied to this, we need to get rid of the evidence.”
“The Jeep?” Owen asks. She’ll kill them if they do anything to it. It was a gift from Atticus. “I don’t know…”
“Not the Jeep,” he says. He rests his hand on the top of the SUV. “This. The Task Force can definitely use it against her.”
“What are you going to do? Call Draco to drag it out of here on his back?”
Quinn laughs. That guy could probably do it. He’s a beast. “I’ve got this. Cover me?”
He rubs his hands together, charging electricity. Owen understands and tosses up a manipulation shield, blocking them from view. His fingers tingle, firing up with the current and sparks. When the ball is strong enough, he places both hands on the car and fries it. Completely.
The metal shivers, quaking under the current; smoke billows from under the hood, the dead engine twists into a melted heap. When Quinn is finished, there’s nothing left but the scent of burned metal and a glob of molten remains.
His hands shake from expending so much energy and he wipes them on his pants.
“Quinn,” Owen says, with a nod to the street. He turns and a black Humvee rolls into the parking lot.
“Fuck.” He grimaces. “Can we get out of here without them seeing us?”
“Do you really want to?” he asks, no doubt thinking of what Rowe did to Luby.
Quinn raises his eyebrows and tests his currents. He’s still got some juice. Owen lowers the shield.
The Humvee screeches to a stop and four men in Task Force uniforms scramble out. Rowe exits from the driver’s seat. His standard smug expression is plastered on his face.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same,” Quinn says, crossing his arms in a way he knows makes him look even bigger. Two of the men behind Rowe shift on their feet.
“I was sent out here to check on one of the agency’s vehicles.” He looks around Quinn. Then narrows his eyes. “I’m assuming that’s what’s left of it.”
“We’re just getting some gas.” Owen looks innocently at Quinn. “Should I run in and get Astrid a snack?”
“Good idea.”
Neither of them moves.
“Where is your boss?” he frowns at the Jeep. “Is that hers? Strange that my boss and your boss were both here and their cars look like they survived a bombing.”
“That is weird,” Owen agrees. “You know what else is weird? That our employee Luby is in the hospital after an encounter with you at Crescent Homes.”
Rowe shakes his head, his expression blank. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
“So it’s okay to just fuck with teenagers now?”
“Hey, it’s not my fault all the big boys and girls ran off because they were scared.”
Rowe doesn’t know they’re the Elite. At least Quinn thinks he doesn’t, and Astrid made it clear her meeting with Jensen was off the record, that’s why they’re out here, but something about Rowe is nagging at him. What’s this all about? Why is he picking a fight? Just wanting Owen and Quinn to make a move? Reveal themselves?
Too bad neither are that dumb.
Quinn doesn’t need his gifts to take down Rowe, he’s proved it before, and the prick needs a lesson for what he did to Luby—what he’s doing to Astrid. He steps closer to Rowe and says, “I’m sure the heroes have better things to do than clean up after your messes, but let me tell you one thing: you fuck with Astrid or any of her employees again, and you’ll do it with two broken legs.”
A vicious smile tugs at Rowe’s lips; the others reach for their weapons, ready to arrest him, but their commander holds up his hand.
“You want another go at it?” he asks, puffing his chest.
“Only if you want to embarrass yourself again.”
There’s no warning when Rowe snaps, only the swing of his arm as it hurtles toward Quinn’s face. Good thing his reflexes are fast and he ducks, diving forward, barreling into Rowe’s body. His back hits the Humvee and his men come forward.
“Don’t think about it,” he grunts and they back off. This is an old score.
The pair is evenly matched and Rowe’s fist packs a powerful punch. His knuckles crash into Quinn’s jaw. He gets him back, landing two jabs to his kidneys, but Quinn takes an elbow in his lower back. The blow knocks the wind out of him and his anger brings the current to the surface, but he wills it back.
The two men pummel the crap out of one another. Through blurry vision, he watches Rowe spit blood on the ground.
“Stay away from the gym, the employees, and especially Astrid,” Quinn grunts, swiping at the back of his knees. Rowe doesn’t fall, he feints and snatches Quinn’s wrists with his hands, yanking them securely behind his back. He bends when the sharp point of the man’s knee rams in his back.
Squirming and in pain, he’s trapped.
Quinn’s eyes flick to Owen’s as he grimaces, licking his puffy, busted lip. He’s furious for leaving an opening.
“I could take you in right now for vandalizing that car.” Rowe’s breath is hot on his ear. “They wouldn’t put you in jail, though. Fuck no, they’d poke and prod you to figure out what makes you special; how you destroyed that car. I’ve seen what they do to freaks and trust me, this is not a game you want to mess with.”
“Back off, Rowe,” Owen says. “Quinn’s not one of the vigilantes. He’s a gym rat and you’re just pissed he’s banging the chick that rejected you.”
Quinn can’t help but snort. Rowe twists his wrists even harder.
Whatever he has planned next is cut short by a static-y voice from inside the car. He jerks his head at one of his men and he grabs the transmitter.
Jensen’s voice crackles over the speaker.
“Code-11. I repeat. Code-11.”
“Fuck,” Rowe growls in Quinn’s ear. He releases his grip but not without shoving him hard on the ground. He can’t catch himself but he manages to turn, landing full weight on his shoulder. Two of Rowe’s men kick him on the way to the truck and Owen charges, but a short shake of the head from Quinn stops him.
The Humvee roars to life and peels out of the lot. Just as they turn onto the road, Owen flips his wrist and the vehicle swerves, tires squealing, and careens off the road. Offering Quinn a hand, he helps him off the ground.
“What did you do?” he asks, sagging under his injuries. The Humvee gets back on the road.
“Tossed an 18-wheeler in the way. Fuckers.”
Quinn laughs but it hurts his mouth. His jaw. Everything. Bastard got the best of him this time.
This time, he thinks, knowing it won’t be the last.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Draco
The street is narrow with rows of look-a-like townhomes on both sides. The community is newer, modeled after the housing on the Harbor Line. A coffee shop is three blocks away. A bakery with gluten-free muffins is next to that. The whole city is in a state of turnover, and Draco watches one of the men involved with the changes exit his car and walk up to one of the brick homes.
Even from a distance, Jensen looks tired—whatever happened with him and Astrid took it out of both of them. The way he stealthily eyes the street hints to paranoia. Is he worried about Astrid or one of her team? Or is he worried about his own?
Casper updated him on Astrid’s version of the story; what she saw in his echo. Jensen’s part of the long game. Part of Project 12, and the thought makes his blood run cold.
He should have known.
Draco doesn’t use the sidewalk. He exits the car and leaps over the iron fence separating the street from the houses. Using the side of the house, a fire hydrant, and a gutter, he flies over the obstacles in his way and lands like a cat on his feet, inches from Jensen.
He disarms the agent in two moves, removing the bullets and saying, “We need to talk. But not here.”
> “No, I’m pretty sure I’ve been compromised.”
Draco leads him back to the car and soon they’re climbing the hills back to Demetria’s home. Jensen is quiet for most of the ride but doesn’t seem surprised when they stop outside the massive gates. He doesn’t flinch when he sees the extravagant grounds and over-dramatic landscaping.
When he finally stops the car in front of the cottage, the agent does ask, “Is Astrid okay?”
He’s not sure he believes that he cares, but he nods. “She’s safe and recovering. Weak from her outburst. That may be good for you.”
Draco leads him into the house and points him to the living room. There’s a bar in the corner and he suggests the agent get a drink. Draco walks to the back of the house. His heart pounds when he sees Astrid on the bed, pale but awake. Casper sits next to her. The little goblin didn’t bail on her.
Her eyes perk up when she sees him but he holds up his hand. “There’s someone here to see you. You up for it?”
There’s no doubt she knows who and she swings her legs out of the bed—too fast—and he lunges to help her stay upright. “Sorry, just a little lightheaded.”
He links his arm with hers and glances at Casper. “You coming?”
“I’ll watch from your office.” He holds up his tablet. “I’ve already got eyes on him.”
It’s as much as he can give, but truthfully, Jensen may not know about Casper and keeping him hidden may be a good idea.
“I can’t believe this,” Astrid mutters on her way down the hall. “There was never any sign Jensen was involved. What if he’s an enemy, Draco? I’m not sure I can handle that.”
They enter the living room and Jensen stands by the bar with his drink half drained. He looks her over, eyes filled with concern. He also lingers on their closeness.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Not really. My whole life is a lie, but thanks for making it worse.”
“I never meant for you to find out like this.” He takes a long drink and sits in a leather chair near the fireplace. Astrid takes a seat across from him, keeping her distance. Draco stands by the door, ever vigilant.
“We never meant for you to find out at all. But when things started heating up in the city and Atticus insisted on sending you out…things escalated in a way I never expected. You’re good at this—you all are. We should have seen it coming.”
“Who’s we?”
“The mentors.” He laughs bitterly at their surprised expressions. “Yeah, I’m a mentor, too.”
“Is everyone I know tied into this? And how far does it go?” Astrid asks.
“The project started when pediatricians created a database of special children. Kids who had hypersensitivities or extreme skills. You were being tracked from a young age.”
“And then what? All our parents died around the same time?”
“Obviously not a coincidence. I won’t lie. The physicians knew something was wrong, collected you one by one, and took you off the grid to Rosalie. The plan was for her to raise you while the doctors figured out what was really going on with your special skills.”
“And how were the mentors picked?”
“We were people close to the program. Atticus and I were assigned because of safety protocol. Emma because she was a scientist studying the properties that made you unique. Holden was another genius…the list goes on. Everyone was properly vetted and secure.”
“Until someone tried to kill us at the group home.”
He nods. “We had an emergency protocol set up for a situation like this. Don’t get me wrong. We weren’t naïve. We knew someone would want to exploit you. We just hoped to keep you safe as long as possible. The bomb took us by surprise. Luckily Cedric was paying attention and got many of you out of the house.”
“How many?” Draco asks.
“At least nine.”
This is more than Atticus had documented in his files.
“And you know where everyone is?”
He shakes his head. “No, but I do know that the people that killed your parents and took out the group home are still out there. They want the mentors dead and they want you. That is who killed Atticus and the others.”
Astrid’s eyes narrow. Draco has no doubt she’s scanning him with every sense. “Why haven’t they killed you?”
“Because I’ve spent the last fourteen years playing both sides.”
“You’re a double agent?” she asks.
He nods. “After the group home was destroyed, I was sent undercover to figure out who we were fighting. It’s taken years to establish myself and I had everything under control until you started going on the streets. There was no way I could protect you out there other than making you a target. Do you understand that?”
The look on her face clearly says no, she does not.
Astrid’s voice is wobbly when she asks her next question. He knows it’s coming because he’s had to hold it back himself. He owes her the opportunity to clear the air on her own.
“Who was your mentee?” she asks, her hands balled in her lap. Draco has no doubt about the answer. He’s certain by now Astrid doesn’t either. She just needs to hear him say it.
“Demetria,” he replies, his eyes filled with pain. “I was her mentor and I failed her.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Astrid
Speechless.
It’s not one of the things people say about her.
Messy. Tough. Enigma. But speechless?
She touches her forehead to see if she’s lost consciousness or something. Thankfully, Draco seems to have more of his senses and says, “You’re Demetria’s mentor.”
“Didn’t you wonder?” is all Jensen replies.
Not really, Astrid thinks, but she vaguely recalls watching Jensen go into a building down in the Swamp with at least one of Demetria’s employees. She’d wondered at the time why he was down there. What was his connection? But then she got so caught up in Owen and Quinn and saving lives that the moment faded.
“She said you were dead,” Draco admits. “And I didn’t push further. The odds of her mentor being dead, like the rest of ours, seemed likely.”
“Jensen,” Astrid says, finally finding her voice. “What happened? How did it go so wrong?”
He leans back in his seat, nothing in his glass but ice. “After the group home was destroyed, we quickly removed all of you to safety. We didn’t have much information on one another. Things were chaotic and your safety was our highest priority. None of us wanted your abilities to be used for something evil, and too many of you had not refined your abilities yet. You were dangerous but also incredibly special. The doctors just wanted to know more. In the end it didn’t matter. We scattered.”
“How did you keep up with Atticus?”
“I didn’t. Not at first. I went underground with Demetria and the head of Project 12 asked me to work my way into a particular government agency. One that operates covertly on high risk cases. If anyone was hoping to weaponize you, it would be them.” He clinks the ice in his glass by swirling it. “It took a few years but with my background and skill set, I was able to get up the ranks and found myself in charge of recruits. That’s when I discovered Atticus and his gym. We made a plan to work together to have hands-on access to the people that could become your enemy.”
“So you intentionally trained them to be deadly weapons?” Draco says incredulously.
“And we trained Astrid to be the best of them all.” He smiles at her. “She’s our Super.”
God, this sounds insane.
“Where was Demetria during this?” she asks.
He inhales and exhales slowly. “Demetria came into that house damaged and she left even worse. The slips into fantasy were more and more. She had an incredible mastery over her skills at an early age and her psychosis didn’t help. When she was seventeen she had a complete mental breakdown. When she was eighteen she released herself from the hospital. I tried to get her to come home but she refused
. She cut me off, completely.” He looks at Draco. “When she told you I was dead, she may have believed it.”
Astrid looks at Draco as she attempts to process all of this. His story makes sense but it’s too much. Too tidy. He happens to be in charge of the bad guys as well as having access to the survivors of the Project?
“I don’t know what to do with all of this information, Jensen. I have no idea what you and Atticus want us to do. Or if you even wanted the same thing.” Her hands grip the edge of the sofa. “I don’t trust you anymore. I don’t trust your program and I certainly don’t trust Rowe.”
“I don’t trust them either. They’re not good people,” he agrees. “It didn’t start off like this. I sent the men and women you recruited across the world to fight but then Demetria went off the rails and the Mayor started the Task Force…things are out of control.”
“You let them get out of control,” Draco says. There’s a hard, dangerous edge do this voice. “Your job was to protect Demetria. That’s it, because what has come from your being with the agency? What have you learned? Nothing that can help us. The city is under more threat now than before. There’s a terrorist planning to drop a bomb days from now, and you’ve side-lined your best soldiers. This is complete bullshit, Jensen.”
The anger rolls off him in waves. Dangerous waves, and Astrid half-expects him to pick up a chair and throw it out the window. Or maybe pick up Jensen and toss him. But he just runs his hands over his face and slams his fist into the wall, knocking three paintings to the floor.
Jensen chews on his bottom lip and says, “This bomb? It’s not a threat, it’s not about taking down the city, although they don’t mind making an impression.”
“Then what’s the point?” Draco asks.
“It’s a trap.” Guilt rolls off the man and his eyes hold hers. “For you.”
*
Despite their arguments, Jensen insists on leaving and heading back to try to stop his team. She senses he knows it’s futile. The two of them let a fox in their house. Astrid is just as guilty as Jensen when it comes to Rowe. She knew he was dangerous and she recommended him to a powerful position anyway.
