The Invincibles (Book 1): Trapped: A girl. A monster. A hero.

by Brittany Oldroyd

  “You can control it.”

  Zane thought so, too.

  They’re both wrong.

  “I have no control!”

  I fall to my knees, bury my head in my hands, try to calm down. Yelling, claws out, snarling. No control. No escape. I can’t do this.

  Alec’s hand is on my shoulder. He’s kneeling next to me. “You’re doing it right now. You snap out of it. Every time.”

  “What about when I don’t?”

  “Don’t let that be a possibility.”

  I sigh. Lift my head. Try to pull myself together, put back the pieces in their right places. “I don’t know if I have that much self-control, Alec.”

  “Will you think about it?”

  “I’m not making any promises, but I’ll think about it.”

  A lie. Because I’ve already made my decision, because I won’t do it. Because if there is one thing I cannot afford, it is the risk of killing someone and becoming the monster Richard Glass wants me to be.

  I refuse.

  Jay

  “Jayden Riggs, a local chef, has been accused of the murder of his late boss, Miranda Brown. Any sightings of Riggs should be reported immediately.”

  -Newspaper article, “Jayden Riggs: Murderer”

  Thirty-Seven

  She’s late.

  Over an hour ago, she left. Over an hour ago, she decided to go for a walk. Over an hour ago, she claimed she needed fresh air. Over an hour ago, I let her go because I knew she would be careful and stay out of sight. And now I’m wondering if that was a bad idea.

  I stand, hold in a groan, ignore the itching pain, begin to pace. I should have gone with her. I should have convinced her to stay. But I just smiled and nodded. Stupid, complacent Jay. I knew she needed space, I needed space, we both needed time alone.

  It was still very stupid.

  I tense, wince.

  The door flies open and Tatyana rushes inside. Her whole body is racked with terrified tremors, her lip split and bleeding, tears streaming down her face, she leans against the door. Trying to get her breathing back to normal, trying to release the terror that constantly consumes her.

  “Tatyana?” Not the time for nicknames, for Tat or Yana or Tater Tot. Not now.

  She looks at me, tears running. “Jay.”

  I step forward, crush her against my chest, hug her tight. “Breathe, Tater Tot,” I whisper, hoping to make her laugh. “You don’t want to freeze up.”

  She sobs and I hold her tighter. “It’s okay,” I say. “Everything is fine now.”

  I don’t have to ask. I already know. They found her. Out on the street. They tried to drag her back to the cage and the labs and the nightmare. Nothing would scare her more.

  “That was unwise,” she half-laughs, half-cries.

  I set my chin on top of her head. “At least you got away.”

  “I had help.”

  I frown. Step back. Help? Who would help her? Help either of us? I study her face. “From who?” I ask.

  She shakes her head, very thoughtful. “I don’t know. An experiment. She had a tail. And the man wanted to take us both.” She shudders. “But this girl, she attacked him. She told me to run.”

  Pull her back in for a hug. “Do you know what happened to her?”

  “No,” she whispers, trembling again. “They were still fighting when I left. Do you think she got away?”

  “I’m sure of it,” I say consolingly. “She must have known what she was doing.”

  “I hope so.”

  I take a deep breath. Everything constricts. Pain. Invisible injury. Agony. The experiment brought this with it. Pain I have to hide, agony I have to ignore. Because Tatyana can’t know, because it would terrify her, because it would destroy her. Because this is my burden and no one will ever know.

  Agony is my well-guarded secret.

  Kate

  “A strange woman in all black has been spotted throughout Chicago. Citizens are advised to stay clear.”

  -Newspaper article, “The Black Kat”

  Thirty-Eight

  INJECTED DNA AND ASSOCIATED ABILITIES

  Cheetah: can run up to 70 mph, light weight, spot prey from five miles away

  Lion: roar can be heard from five miles away, strong compact body, powerful legs, teeth, and jaws

  Tiger: yellow irises, night vision six times a human’s, can imitate the calls of other animals, jumps up to 16 feet high

  Leopard: nocturnal, skilled climber

  Panther: tail, can lift prey up into a tree

  General big cat: flexible vertebrae, lands on feet, claws

  ???: fast self-healing

  Invincible.

  Or so Alec claims. He says between the speed, strength, and healing alone, I’m unstoppable. I’d agree if it weren’t for my short temper.

  He keeps asking me if I thought about it. I keep telling him I’m still thinking about it. I don’t know how to tell him. I don’t know what I can tell him.

  I can’t. I shouldn’t. It’s not safe. I don’t want anyone to get hurt. I don’t want that on my conscious. I can’t risk it.

  “You could do so much good, you know.”

  I’m looking over at him, looking up from the sheet of paper I’ve been reading. “I could also do so much bad.”

  “I don’t think you get it.”

  I’m silent, walking over to the punching bag, starting to hit it, remembering what Zane taught me about throwing a good punch.

  Focus. Stay grounded. Don’t think about it. Act quickly.

  “You have an opportunity to do something no one else can.”

  Throw your hits before your enemy can analyze you.

  “No one can hurt the people you love. Katherine McCallister is dead.”

  Don’t stop hitting that bag.

  “Criminals can’t go after you because you’re dead.”

  Don’t stop fighting.

  “You have abilities that make you the ultimate crime fighter.”

  Don’t stop.

  “Do you realize how many people would give anything to do what you can do?”

  “What about you?” I grunt, still punching, still hitting, still fighting. “I’m supposed to be protecting you. How am I supposed to do that when I’m running all over Chicago?”

  “Do you honestly think Glass is going to risk exposure?”

  I sigh, stop, hold the bag steady. “You’re pretty set on this.”

  “I don’t think you see yourself the way most people do, Kate. You’re a hero. You had a reputation at school for being the girl who wasn’t afraid to stand between a bully and the person being picked on.” He’s smiling. “You’ve never minded using violence to get a point across.”

  “I’m not sure I trust myself to know when to stop.”

  “What happened to that confident girl who didn’t care if it was time to stop?”

  “Are you trying to make me a violent person again?”

  “I’m trying to remind you that you never stopped being a violent person, Kate. It’s who you are.”

  “Not entirely sure how to take that.”

  “Kate.”

  “Alec.”

  He sighs. “You could stop so many crimes before they happened. You could put so many criminals in jail.”

  Stop. Drop it. Forget it.

  But then…

  I remember. I remember Zane. I remember what he said. You’re stubborn enough to refuse your own fear. I think you can handle anger.

  Oh.

  I’ve been refusing to feel fear, pushing it aside, throwing it away, keeping it out of reach. I only come close to touching the animal in me when I’m angry. Could I hide away my anger like I have with my fear? Could I force the monster inside of me to simply not exist?

  I understand. Because if I disappear, if I hide, if I do nothing, I’m letting him win. Glass wants me to return to Glass Tech or completely disappear. Submit or grow so small I’m invisible.

  No. I can’t do that, I can’t let that
happen, can’t let him think for even a second that he’s broken me. He won’t win. Not against me. I will fight him tooth and nail.

  Alec is right. I can, I will, I have to fight, protect this city. I have to prove that his Project didn’t ruin me. It made me stronger.

  “Make him wish he’d never even considered using you,” I whisper, remembering what Zane told me, remembering the words he mouthed to me before they changed me.

  “What?”

  I look at Alec. Stand, smile. “I know who I have to do. My first priority is to save Zane and stop Richard Glass. But I think you’re right. I think Zane would agree. I have to fight. I have to protect people. Use the experiment against Richard Glass. Prove he can’t break me. That the experiment isn’t going to control me. I have to act.”

  Alec studies my face. “This is a very abrupt change from a couple of seconds ago.”

  “Do you want me to change my mind again?”

  “No.”

  I grin. “The thing is, Alec, I realized that hiding, trying to pretend I’m still human, it’s not going to work. And this city needs some help. The police can’t be everywhere. There’s too much crime. They see too little.

  “All those people kidnapped by Richard Glass. The only way to stop it is stop as many crime as I can. And if Glass sees how I’ve turned his Project into a weapon against crime and not as his personal soldier, he’s going to regret making me an experiment.”

  Alec smiles. “Now, that sounds more like Kate McCallister.”

  Thirty-Nine

  I have a routine.

  I’m nocturnal. Sleep by day. I’m wide awake. Train by night. Meditation for a calm mind. Yoga for flexibility. A run on the treadmill for speed and endurance. Sparring against a punching bag for practice.

  And then Alec comes down and we discuss options.

  Alec is turning me into a superhero, into a crime fighter. I have the abilities, the fighting skills, but fine details are complicated. How I will disguise myself, what I will call myself, how I will deal with criminals. There are logistics to heroism.

  A month passes. Weeks upon weeks of arguing, planning, decisions. And now we have it.

  It’s 9:30. Night. I’m standing in my room, eyes closed, body moving as it would if I were sparring with Zane. There is no one to spar with but my imagination. I practice everything he taught me. Focus and use your opponents’ strength and turn them into weakness. I forget nothing.

  Alec comes down at ten o’clock. Carrying a box.

  I stop, watch him carry cardboard down and set it on the cot. “That’s…”

  “Yes, it’s all here. I already checked. You just need to try it on.”

  “Anyone upstairs?”

  Alec shakes his head. “All gone for the night.”

  Alec is often alone by night. No maid, no butler. They leave to spend the nights at their homes, with their families. Which means I can go upstairs.

  “And the dye and the scissors?”

  “In the box. Sitting on top of everything else.”

  I take the box, dart upstairs. Carry it into the bathroom. Set it down on the counter. Open the box. Just as promised, hair dye and scissors lie on top.

  I start with those.

  I pull my hair into a ponytail, smooth it all back. I pick up the scissors and hold them against my hair, just where the ponytail ends. Take a deep breath. And cut.

  Blonde hair falls to the floor and the ponytail snaps from my now very short hair. I grab the box of hair dye, open it, and get to work.

  Forty-five minutes later, my hair dyed, washed, dried with a blow dryer. And I’m avoiding looking yet.

  I turn to the cardboard box again, pull out its contents. Slide black pants, a protective but oddly movable leather, over my legs. Slip on a long-sleeved black shirt, made of the same black material, with a high neck, leaving nothing exposed. Clip a black belt around my waist. Yank on black fingerless gloves, showing only my fingertips, leaving enough room for my claws. And now I step into black boots that reach just below my knees.

  I look in the mirror.

  I’m black from head to toe. Black clothes, shoes, tail. Black hair, cut just below my chin.

  In the dark, in the night, I will be invisible.

  I pick up the last thing from a box. A black mask. I slip it over my face and smile with bright gold eyes. Ready. Ready to fight. Ready to prove I’m not broken.

  Ready to be a hero.

  Forty

  First night.

  I’ve sent three men to the police. So far. Two members of a gang and a drug dealer. A good night so far.

  Running down the street, listening for trouble, watching for crime. All black was a good choice. They never see me coming. Not until it’s too late.

  “Stop! Stop it! Let him go!”

  I stop. Take a moment to listen. Claws out, standing tall, I climb up the nearest building. Run to the other side of the roof. Crouch down. Lean over.

  Three figures in the alley below. Two men, a woman. One man with a gun, one without. One shoving the other into a wall, gun against the unarmed man’s head. The woman is screaming bloody murder.

  I stand, look down the alley, and jump. Land between the screaming woman and the two men. Everything goes still. She’s not screaming. She’s staring. The man with the gun is staring, still pointing his weapon at the other man. The victim, the man with a gun pointed at him, is staring too.

  “Now, I have been gone for quite some time and may be a little out of the loop,” I say, stepping out of my crouch, “But I do believe murder is still illegal.”

  And now the gun is trained on me.

  Shoot me. I don’t care. I’ll get the bullet out and heal again.

  “Really?” I sigh, swing a leg, kick the gun out of his hand. “So, your grand plan is kill me and then continue whatever you were doing a minute ago? You can’t be stupid enough to think it would be that simple.”

  He’s still staring. “Who are you?”

  I take a step forward, he takes a step back. Like a dance, like a duet. “I’m the girl that’s going to convince you to go to prison,” I say. “I’m the Black Kat.”

  The Black Kat.

  Name of a crime fighter, of a girl the city will soon know. By the time the day is out, my name will be all over the police station with claims of a crime fighting panther woman. By the time the day is out, the police will see my signature left in the pocket of every criminal. They will know me and they will fear me.

  Another step forward. I swing my leg up in a roundhouse kick. A boxing kick. He falls back, stumbles down, lands on his back.

  “Go,” I tell the woman and the other man, the victims. “Tell the police what happened here. I’ll have him there for questioning soon.”

  “Yeah, right,” the man on the ground mutters.

  The man and the woman are still staring. Sighing, exasperating, I roll my eyes. “Run!” My voice is a snarl and now they’re running in the direction of the nearest police station. The only thing I can ever do to get staring victims run. Scare them to death.

  I turn. Back to the man, back to the criminal. He’s scrambling forward, lunging for the gun I kicked out of his hand.

  No. Not happening. No shooting today. Because he wouldn’t be able to kill me but he would be able to get away.

  I step on the gun before he can reach it. He looks up slowly. Stares up at me. Looks like a frightened child staring at the monster from inside the closet for the first time. I kick the gun away. Grab him by the shirt, digging, and lift him up.

  “Now, you are going to take yourself to the police station,” I growl. “You are going to turn yourself in.”

  “Why would I do that? I’m not stupid, Princess.”

  I push him back against the wall, holding him by the shirt collar. Pull out a single card from my boot, shove it in his jacket pocket, the words The Black Kat dancing across the paper. Calling card.

  “And I’m not a princess,” I snarl. “I am the Black Kat. And you do not want to
make me angry.”

  I think the experiment, the pain, the insanity, has made me dramatic.

  He doesn’t get it. He swings a tight fist. But I spent months learning how to stop a fist. In every way imaginable. I swing up a leg, kicking his hand away.

  “Now,” I say, baring teeth, growing angry, “Are you going to the police station or am I going to have to force you to change your mind?”

  Force, it is.

  He just brought his knee up to my gut. And now I have to take a moment, lean over. And now he’s running down the street, desperate for escape and freedom.

  I straighten. Watch him for a minute. Impressed.

  Fear, adrenaline, the fight or flight mechanism. He’s flying down the road. Because he’s terrified of me, because his heart is beating so fast, because his head is pounding. He’s moving quickly. But it will never be fast enough.

  Leap, dart, sprint forward. On him in seconds. Throw my weight forward, dragging him to the ground. Both of us in the road. Stand, push him back down. Hiss, bare my teeth, roar. And he stops. Stops struggling, stops moving, stops fighting.

  Feline sounds. Works every time. Inhuman actions, sounds, expressions. That’s what reaches through the thick skull of a criminal.

  “Idiot,” I snarl. “I have given you every opportunity to do the right thing. But you’re just too stubborn, aren’t you?” I pull him up. “Last chance. Turn yourself in. Or I swear, you will regret it.”

  Regret.

  The air cracks with a sound and I feel it. Blood on my waist. There’s a gun in his hand. A second handgun hidden in his pocket.

  Fury.

  Roar. Knock the gun from his hand. Grab him in my claws. Drag him into a wall. Terror in his face. Anger in mine.

  “Fighting me is a grave mistake,” I snarl. “I am not the police, nor am I at all associated with the law. I am here to protect people and stop crime. I want justice and safety for innocents. But don’t you think for one minute that I have a problem with hurting you. Because I will do anything to prevent any more murders by your hands.”

  I drop him. “Now, are you going to turn yourself in?”

  And now I have the answer I’ve been waiting, looking, asking for. He takes a step back. Nods furiously. Runs for the police station.