by Angel Lawson
Sitting across from one another, she eyes Quinn and the feeling of dread takes over the anger. His explosive concerns her more than the others. One outburst or misfire from his electricity and they’ll go up in a hail of fire and guts. “You okay?” she asks quietly.
He works his jaw. Beneath the anger there’s something flickering in his eyes. A question. It’s been there since Rowe showed up.
They hit another bump, then lurch to a stop and her body crashes into Draco, who’s sitting next to her. She uses her feet to stop the movement but even the grip on her boots doesn’t help much. He pushes back with his shoulder, helping her straighten up.
The driver rolls down his window halfway and leans out.
“I’ve got a delivery for the concert tonight.”
“What kind of delivery.”
The driver glances over his shoulder. He grins. What a psycho. “Sound equipment. Here, I’ve got my ID.” He pulls out a card and gives it to the security guard.
The guard checks his clipboard. “Got it. Okay, go around the side, then to the underground entrance. Take the elevator to the broadcast room.”
“Thanks, man.”
None of them speak during this. They are quiet. What would happen if they alerted someone? The asshole in the front seat would take them all out. At least that’s what Rowe said after he loaded them with explosives and slammed the back doors on the group at the marina.
It’s his stupid, arrogant face that we see first when the doors open again.
The driver walks around, fussing with his jacket. Even Rowe takes a step aside and gives him a sharp look. “I didn’t have time for introductions before, since your little friend was probably calling the cops to come to the marina. Yeah,” he says, with a smirk. “I know about him, too.” He gestures to the man. “I thought you guys had a spidey-sense with one another, this is one of yours—”
“Rex,” Quinn says. “It’s you, isn’t it?”
Rex? Astrid racks her brain and his name seems vaguely familiar. The man nods at Quinn. “Sure enough. Thought maybe you forgot about your old roommate.”
Roommate! Quinn mentioned him when they talked about living in the group home.
“You weren’t there for long but yeah, you made an impression.”
“What kind of impression?” Draco asks. It’s clear he doesn’t remember him either.
“He’s wearing those explosives because they won’t hurt him. He’s invincible.”
Owen perks up. “Like he can’t—”
“Die. No. I’ve seen it.”
“Dude tried to electrocute me,” Rex says with a laugh. “We tested it at night. Most kids would be jerking off or sneaking to the girls’ room. Nope. We were experimenting with how much electricity he could throw at me. The answer is a shit-ton.” He nods at Astrid. “Where’s my suit? Don’t I get one?”
“Not if you blow up the stadium,” she retorts, before shifting her interest back to Rowe. “So what’s this about?”
“It’s about what my boss wants.”
“What do they want?” Draco asks. His voice is clipped, patience waning.
“You. Off the streets and back where you belong, as test subjects, working for the government.”
His announcement renders all of them speechless. He takes that as an excuse to keep talking.
“My boss—obviously not Jensen. That guy has been a clueless pawn for years—has been looking for you for a long time. And no, we don’t want to kill you but if you’re out of control? We will.”
She touches the collar. “You think this will control us?”
“Yeah, I do. And the fact we’re going to publicly frame you for the attempted terrorist event at the stadium. The whole city will know who you are and what you’re capable of.”
“And then what?”
“Then we tell the world you’re in jail—super max—and lock you away, retrain you and use you as intended. As weapons.”
“That is not what we were made for,” Draco says.
“Maybe,” he says with an obnoxious shrug, “but this machine is bigger than you and me and everything put together. You won’t win this one. I told your mentors the same thing and they wouldn’t listen. Look what happened to them.” He cocks his finger like a gun and mimics firing.
His statement and the causal way he says it brings Astrid to her feet. She dives over the others, tackling Rowe. He doesn’t expect the wild, feral attack. He should. He just admitted to killing Atticus. Holden. Emma.
Fuck. This. Guy.
He lands on the ground and she falls on top of him; she rips off her gloves and grabs his hands, wanting the truth, all of it. His echo floods through her.
Dark rooms. Shadowy figures. Military medals on a broad chest. Photos of Astrid, Quinn, Owen, Demetria, Draco… flipping past quickly. First of them as small children, next older, then now. Three clear words from an unfamiliar voice: “I want them.”
She’s shaken loose—tossed across the room, landing at Rex’s feet. He glares down at her and she scrambles up to her knees. “Who are you working for?”
“It doesn’t matter. They own you. And when he’s ready to make you work, you’ll work. Got it?” He walks over and without warning, punches her in the face. She hears scrambling from the van and guns positioned. She rocks back but holds her ground and shakes her head at the guys. They’re frothing.
“Here’s how this goes down,” Rowe says. “Rex is indestructible. He can set off those explosives whenever he likes. It will kill everyone, including me, including you freaks, in a flash. There will be nothing left of your body but charred ash. But I know you, Astrid. I do. I’ve watched you, I’ve studied you, and I’ve fought you, and I know you will not go down until Rex is neutralized. That’s why you’re loaded up. If you make any sudden moves, I will activate your bombs with a flick of the switch.” He holds up a small remote. “Play nice and you’ll just be charged and revealed as terrorists, no one gets hurt. Deal?”
He touches her chin and raises his eyebrows, looking for affirmation.
That’s when she smells it rolling off Rowe like a wave of cheap cologne. He’s scared. Terrified. Not of them, but whoever is orchestrating all of this. Maybe his boss really is scary. Maybe she should bow down and let Rowe have his way, but Astrid doesn’t operate like that.
Except…she looks over at her men—her team—fuck, her lovers…and damn she cares for them so much and the feeling, the actual feeling is mutual. She feels it from across the dingy garage. They care for her. She cares for them, and once upon a time she was alone and this answer would have been easy. She would have said a quick fuck you and destroyed this place, but not anymore. Not after Demetria and the pain she inflicted on the city. Not after having Quinn in her bed and snuggling with Owen and Harry Styles on the couch. And certainly not after the breakthrough with Draco; small but epic.
“Okay,” she says, keeping her eyes on Rowe and shoving the conflict from her heart. “But I have one request.”
He raises his eyebrows.
“Five minutes alone with my team before you send us out there. That’s all I ask.”
He thinks it over and nods. “Sure. I’ll give you five minutes when the time comes, but if you fight? It’s over.”
She nods.
They have a deal.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Casper
Jensen is a shit driver.
The car swerves around two others, narrowly missing a fire hydrant. Casper mutters under his breath, thinking they’ll probably never even get to the stadium alive to save the others.
“What’s that?” Jensen asks. The man’s hair is wild, his eyes panicked. When Casper called him, he freaked out. Not that it’s unreasonable. If the Goblin calls you, shit has hit the absolute fan.
“N-n-n-nothing. Watch the road.”
Rowe is an idiot. He has no idea the masks have high tech in them and he hasn’t forced them to take them off. Casper has watched the whole thing go down, from the marina to t
he van ride to the theatrics in the belly of the stadium on his tablet. He doesn’t get worried until Astrid agrees to Rowe’s plan.
“W-w-who’s in charge?” he asks Jensen. “W-w-who does he work for?”
“A higher up. I have no idea. I never reported to anyone directly. It’s why I had so much freedom with the recruits. I should have known better.”
“Yeah, you f-f-f-ucking should have.”
“I thought it was under control. I had no idea Rowe was a mole. None. I just thought he was a prick that would be really good at taking out terrorist cells.”
Casper laughs.
“I didn’t realize,” he continues, “that he was part of a terrorist cell. He got past all of us.”
“W-w-what do you know about Rex?”
Jensen blasts through a yellow light already shifting red. Casper holds on to the car door. He’s not used to being out in a car. Two times lately. He’s making progress. Too bad he’ll probably be dead before the night is over.
“That’s the catch. There are a few Supers showing up that I never knew survived. Rex, Blaze…god knows who else. We lost track of people after the fire. Everything was chaotic and very discrete. But…”
“B-b-but what?”
“But I think maybe we mis-calculated. Not dead, but taken. And unfortunately, being raised with a different mentality. You have to admit, the ones they took? They’re deadly.”
The stadium is up ahead. The road’s packed with cars, traffic, police, and everything else expected at a major event like this soccer match. Anxiety builds in Casper’s chest. He’s never been around this many people—this much humanity. He gulps for air.
“You okay?”
“I c-c-can’t breathe.”
“Slow down,” Jensen says, his eyes softening. “Take it easy. You’ll be okay.”
“D-d-doesn’t feel like it.”
“Let me tell you something. You may not know this but you’re built like the others. That special juice you all have? It doesn’t stop with your brain. Your whole body is a muscle and if you work it, you’ll see results. Genetically superior results.” Casper rolls his eyes skeptically. “I’m serious. You all have a boost. All of you, just some things work better on one person than the other. That’s what the shots did. They amplified your personal traits and then boosted the hell out of the rest of your body.”
Jensen runs his hand through his hair.
“What I’m trying to say is that I know this is scary as shit for you, but you’ve got this. You’re as good as they are. You’ve just got to stop hiding.”
The lecture hits him hard, but he feels the clunkiness of his tongue and sees the skinniness of his legs and knows it’s mentor bullshit. The hand holding the tablet trembles and he focuses on the scene from Draco’s mask. It doesn’t matter whose mask he looks through, they’re all focused on one thing: Astrid.
He gets it. He only wants to watch her too. Has been for months, years. Is it creepy? Maybe, but he never meant it that way. He was hidden away. He had no one. She—via Atticus—was his only connection to the world. His world.
At first, he thought she was spoiled. Annoying. Dramatic and dumb in the clothes and hats and gloves. But he was just jealous. She had her demons under control while he hid away—protecting himself with four walls and technology. She learned to fight, how to use her body. She’s strong, and then when the others showed up she learned how to do the unthinkable—trust and love someone new.
Fuck fuck fuck he was jealous, of all of them.
A car slams on the brakes, nearly hitting Jensen’s car. He sighs and reaches under the seat for a blue light. “I held off as long as I could,” he says, opening the window and sticking it on top. The lights flash and are followed by the blip of a siren. They ease into the median and head toward the stadium entrance.
“W-w-will they let us in?”
The older man smirks. “They don’t have a choice.”
Casper glances at the screen, staring at Astrid once more. She’s huddled on the ground, the collar restrictive around her neck. If she’s scared, she doesn’t show it, and that’s what bothers him the most.
“H-h-hurry,” he says, feeling the need to get there faster. Get to her—them—faster.
No, Astrid doesn’t look scared. She looks resigned, and that’s the most terrifying thing he’s ever seen.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Astrid
Even in the bowels of the basement, she can feel the crowd above. Thousands of feet tremble against the cement floors. Voices vibrate, absorbed into the walls, the beams, traveling through the stadium, making it feel alive. The energy is palpable. Excited. This is the kind of place she avoided her entire life. Too many people. Too much emotion.
Rowe left them down here to carry on with whatever nefarious plan he has set up. Public humiliation? Prison? More testing? It’s the stuff of nightmares, but she will not risk the lives of millions to save herself.
Rex sits on a metal chair, his foot bouncing up and down, and he peels the paper wrapper off a water bottle.
“You nervous?” she asks. She doesn’t remember him. Not really.
“Bored,” he says, wadding up a strip of the paper and tossing it in Owen’s face. It bounces off his forehead. Rage flares under the surface. “Ready to get this party started, you know?”
“Not really.” She bends her knees and then flattens them again. “So, what’s your story? Did you know we were alive? Did you care?”
“I didn’t know at first—not during those first few years.” He swallows and she catches a hit of a raw nerve. “Thought you probably died or you’d be with me and Blaze.”
“And where was that? Exactly?” The others don’t speak. They just watch this exchange carefully; the anger and distrust rolling off of them feels like a blast of heat.
Rex eyes her, taking in her face, her position. “It sure as hell wasn’t with some loving father-figure or a little mommy or auntie tending to my psychic wounds.”
“Then where?” He makes an annoyed face and she adds, “Look, we’re either all dying in the next hour or we’re going to be working together. Make nice. Tell us your story.”
Rex is handsome in a stone-cold kind of way. The lack of light in his eyes makes him dangerous. Chilling. He sizes her up for another minute and says, “I grew up in a mansion. Bigger than the place he lives in,” he points to Draco. “All marble and shiny floors. There were servants and a big pool in the backyard. A kitchen that was always stocked and beautiful gardens in the back.”
“Doesn’t sound so bad,” Owen says. His house was nice but he lived in a rough neighborhood.
“Yeah,” Rex says, his voice dark and hard, “except I didn’t describe my mentor. Or the basement.”
Finally, an emotion—the first that’s cracked through his tough barrier since they met. Talking about the past haunts him. Whatever went on in there was bad. So bad, and she actually feels sorry for him.
“What happened in the basement?”
He doesn’t reply for a moment. His boot scuffs on the floor. Looking up at her, he says, “The tested me. Over and over. I died a million times. Each time, I wanted it to be the last. Just not wake up. But they taught me how to use my strengths. How not to be afraid and do what needed to be done.”
She swallows around the weight of her collar and chooses her words carefully, “I’m sorry that happened to you. All of this sucks. We’ve been used and abused for so long and it sounds like what went on with you and Blaze really, really sucked.” She doesn’t dare look at the boys. “Maybe it’s time to put an end to it.”
She struggles to stand, using the wall for leverage. She doesn’t risk touching him but she can try to use her ability and pushes good stuff his way. Love, laughter, smiles around the dinner table at Rosalie’s. She digs in her own well of memories...using things like Atticus and Harry. Her team. The way she feels about them and their bond. He could be part of that—or could have. They’re tied, there is no denying that.
<
br /> Except his barrier is too strong. The wall—as impenetrable as his skin.
“Let’s stop this. We don’t have to be pawns. We can just be people, Rex. People. Is that too much to ask?”
Rex’s eyes are glue to the floor and she think’s maybe, maybe he’s considering it, but she feels a flip in his emotions; the wall slams back up and a vicious curve lifts his lips.
“You think I regret my time at the mansion? My training?” He laughs but it’s bitter and dark. He reaches for Astrid, slipping his hand behind her neck. He pulls her close, right up to his body—his face. The men behind her tense and she will them to stand down. “You don’t get how much power I have. I’m not a pawn, Astrid. I don’t play superhero games; darting into burning buildings and waving at kids from parade floats. I’m not playing video games and fucking around with whatever friends with benefits kink you guys have going on. I’m a tool for powerful people—a powerful person—and I like my job.”
“You like being a terrorist?” Quinn asks.
He releases her and touches his collar, something that makes him look way more like a pet than he realizes, but there’s zero fear. No regrets. “My job is to get things done. Make shit happen, and if that involves blowing up a stadium of people, so be it. No skin off my back—literally. It won’t be the first time I’ve done it and it won’t be the last. I’m given a job. I do it. I get paid. I survive.”
“Jesus,” Owen says, “you may be more of a prick than Rowe.”
Rex laughs, his teeth white against his dark skin and the dimly lit room. A door out of sight opens and he says, quietly, “Speak of the devil,” and Rowe walks back in the room. He rubs his hands together, the detonator remote in his fingers.
“The game starts in ten minutes. We’ve got forty minutes until half-time and here is how this is going to happen.” He smiles gleefully. “When I say go, you’ll leave here and make your way to the field for half-time. If you don’t make it or do not show, you blow up. If you run away or try anything? You blow up. And if you try anything tricky, anything at all, and do not appear in the middle of that circle the minute the field clears…”
