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

by Brittany Oldroyd

  But I’m not leaving it up to chance.

  I follow him, running across building tops, watching him go. A long time and he’s throwing himself in the police station. And I can see him through the window. Talking to an officer. Looking at the man and the woman. And he’s taken into custody.

  I smile. Done.

  I jump. A beep in my ear, loud and high. I press a finger against my ear, against the tiny ear piece. “Alec.”

  “There’s a bank robbery.”

  “Now? It’s nearly midnight.”

  “They’ve been in there all night. They have hostages.

  “Where is this bank?”

  He pauses, like he’s reluctant, like he’s worried about how I’m going to react. “Across from Glass Tech.”

  The darkest place in my memory. Bane of my heart. Glass Tech. I’m supposed to be laying low. This is not laying low. It’s drawing the spotlight on me. But so is putting on an all-black get-up and fighting crime. There’s nothing inconspicuous about me.

  I press a finger to my ear again. “Okay, I’m going.”

  Forty-One

  An unwise decision.

  Glass Tech is right across the street. If he has soldiers watching for me, waiting for me, keeping an eye out for me, they will see me. And I am not going back into that place. Not as a prisoner.

  I’m standing on a rooftop, across from Glass Tech, next to the bank. Carefully, gently, I jump from my building to the bank. The roof is glass. I can see down into the building. Close to twenty hostages on the floor. Six armed men with rifles, machine guns, pistols. A scene straight out of the movies.

  I stand, take a deep breath. Things are about to get very interesting.

  I jump, drive my body against the glass, fall through. Crash to the ground, conveniently landing on one of the six men.

  Standing, brushing glass off, I glance across the room. “Nobody move,” I say, glancing between gunmen, “Unless you want to get knocked out.”

  Someone does. A man steps forward, jerks a hostage up, onto her feet. But I’ve been watching, waiting for this to happen. I lunge forward, pull the girl out of his grasp, throw him back. He slumps as his head strikes the wall.

  Four left.

  “Anyone else want to try something really intelligent?”

  Yes.

  All four remaining men charge, recovering from initial shock, running at me with guns at the ready, forgetting their hostages for the moment. I am a far larger threat.

  I sigh. Because it’s not really fair, four against one. Because it’s too easy. Because I already knocked out two of their guys and they are sadly outnumbered. Boring.

  Duck under a fist, ramming my shoulder into his gut. Throw him off balance. Straighten another goon tries to grab my arm. Dig my claws into the off-balance man’s arm, twist, turn, throw him at the man reaching for my arm. Both go flying, both hit the wall.

  Two left.

  I’m getting sloppy now. Because I’m beating them so easily, because this is easier than the gun man in the street that shot men, because I’m getting confident and cocky and that’s when abilities fail.

  One man grabs, shoves, pushes me into the wall. And then the other one is there, a gun in the small of my spine. Trouble.

  I jerk, turn, move. My head is shoved forward, face pressed against the wall. I snarl. Frustrated, angry, annoyed.

  Reach both hands back, Dig claws into the soft skin of a face. Listen to the screams. Turn, brush away the gun pointed, kick it’s owner squarely in the chest. But the man now scarred with my claws, signed by an angry monster, isn’t done fighting. He tries to drag me toward him. He grabs my tail.

  Stupid. Very, very stupid.

  I spin, crouch low, hiss. Spittle runs from my lips and I am angry, so angry, too angry. Monstrous thoughts and inhuman actions greet my enemy. Because he touched my tail, because he forgot I’m not human, because I can’t control myself now.

  He has left out a little bit of monster I tried to ignore.

  A full-forced roar and I throw him across the room, toss him like he weighs nothing. He crashes, into the bank teller’s counter. Groaning, trying to stand, I crouch over him and—

  Stop. Because this isn’t me. Not a cat, not an animal, not a monster. Control it. I have to control it, I have to fight it, I have to keep my temper.

  I punch his forehead. Hard. He’s out and there’s just one robber left.

  Shots fired. I duck, feel the bullet swing past my head. People are screaming, terrified innocents, and that last man is pale. He missed.

  I hiss, snarl, roar. Lunge forward. Kick him in the head. All criminals down.

  Readjust my mask, throw down a card, stand. “Tell the police what happened here,” I say before slipping back up the wall, climbing back onto the roof.

  That was close, I’m thinking. Because I almost lost it, because I almost got shot again, because I am far too close to my enemy.

  Standing on the roof again, I glance at Glass Tech. “Watch me, Richard Glass,” I whisper. “Because before you know it, I’ll be coming for you.”

  Dalton

  “Subject seems to be in perfect health and is the proper age. The collection of Project Six will occur soon.”

  -Dr. Pelletier’s notes

  Forty-Two

  They’re coming for me.

  Who? Not a clue. Why? I don’t know. Where? Anywhere. When? Soon.

  The details are uncertain but I know they’re coming. Because it’s happening like it happened to her. They followed her, day and night, and then they attacked. They killed her.

  They won’t kill me. Because I am stronger than she was, because I am more prepared, because I know what’s coming.

  They’re coming for me.

  I can feel it. The growing presence of coming violence, of danger, of attempted murder. They will fail. I will make sure of it.

  It happens. Grabbed, pulled into an alley. By more men than I have seen, than Kate saw. Three of them. Standing in the alley. Guns at me. They’re not playing around.

  Because of her. Because she didn’t go down without a fight. Because they underestimated Katherine McCallister. Because they don’t want to underestimate me. But they already have.

  “Were there this many of you when you killed Katherine McCallister?” I smirk.

  One of the men snorts. “I’m surprised you would buy that story, Dalton. Why would we kill her?”

  I raise an eyebrow. This is news. It means everything, it means nothing, it means Katherine McCallister is alive, it means a chance.

  She is the girl I could not control and it eats and scrapes and knocks on my brain. Relentless. And now I have a chance to change that, a chance to control the uncontrollable again.

  “She’s alive.”

  “What difference does it make to you?”

  “I know she was scared out of her skin before she died,” I say. “If someone is faking her death, it’s for a very good reason. Kidnapping are messy, especially with a headstrong girl like Katherine. Why bother? What difference does she make?”

  “Katherine McCallister has lost her humanity and our employer is looking for someone to take her place in his mission.”

  “And I’m the replacement.”

  “Whether you like it or not.” He points the gun. It’s an attempt at threatening. A failure of an attempt.

  “Oh, that won’t be necessary,” I say smoothly.

  Because I want to see the monster that was an uncontrollable woman, see the girl broken, see her controlled by something other than her bravery, her pride. I want to see Katherine McCallister as she must be now.

  “What?”

  I smile, lean back. “I’ll come willingly.”

  “Why would you do that?” Quizzical confusion. “Katherine fought very hard. She wasn’t coming without a fight.”

  “And now you see the difference between her and me,” I say smoothly. “If you’re making monsters, I want in.”

  Kate

  “The Gray Ass
assin has been spotted across Chicago. The police advise all Chicago citizens to steer clear. He is dangerous.”

  -Newspaper article, “Superheroes in Chicago?”

  Forty-Three

  I’m losing my mind.

  Because of him. Because I can’t stop thinking about him. Because he walks with me by night. Because I dream of him outside the cage. Because I hear his voice every time I swing a fist. Because I see him every time I close my eyes. Because I cannot forget him. Even if it would be healthier to.

  I have to get him out of there.

  “How are you doing?”

  I pause, stop running. Standing on top of a building putting a finger against my ear. “You’re checking to see that I’m still alive. Worried?”

  A nervous chuckle. “All the time.”

  I roll my eyes. “Alec, this was your idea. If you didn’t want to worry about me being killed by revenge-seeking criminals, you shouldn’t have asked me to be your superhero.”

  “I know.” He sighs. “I’m not regretting that but I still worry about you a lot. I don’t want a repeat of your…death.”

  “Alec. Chill. Don’t worry. I can take care of myself.”

  He sighs. Drops it. “Okay. But are you going to answer my question?”

  “How am I doing?” I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I’m losing my mind, Alec.”

  “Because you’re part cat?”

  “I was actually referring to Zane though. I promised to go back. It’s been weeks. He’s been in there too long.”

  A dejected sigh in my ear. “I know. We just don’t know enough about Glass Tech or a way back into the labs under it. I don’t know how to help, Kate.”

  I run my fingers through my hair. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “How?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Kate.”

  “Alec, I will take care of it. Don’t worry. Nothing too dangerous, I promise.”

  “Kate—”

  Screams. Down the street. Hysterical agony.

  “I have to go, Alec.”

  I’m running, taking off the street, sprinting to the screams. And then I’m stopping. Because the air is quiet. No more screams.

  No. No, no, no, no.

  Nothing. No screams, no calls for help, no yelling. Nothing. The whole world has fallen silent.

  And then the whole world is exploding. Because I’m running blindly, because I can see it now, because it is the most awful scene I’ve ever seen.

  Pools of blood. Scarred bodies. Pales faces, closed eyes, twisted limbs. The man standing above them all. And there is fury in my bones.

  Murderer.

  I lunge forward with fury in my heart and passion in my head and anger is in my eyes. He killed them.

  Brutally. Mercilessly. Without reason.

  And I have to stop him, make sure it doesn’t happen again, save anyone, everyone, from sharing the same fate as the victims before me.

  A glint of silver slices through the street. Whirring like a dart. I duck, go down into a crouch. Stare at him. Weeks of fighting crime. Unbeatable, invincible. But I have not dealt with a serial killer before. And he is not afraid to kill me, not afraid to go to jail for it. Not afraid to throw a knife at my head.

  He runs, dashes for open streets he can disappear into, mold with the crowds.

  I grit my teeth. Not happening.

  Run. As fast as I can. Sprinting with every ounce of power I have. Less than a second and I’m throwing him to the ground. Less than a minute and he’s trying to stab me again. And I’m kicking the knife out of his hand. Another kick to his head before he can react, smashing my heel through his face.

  No sympathy. No compassion. No mercy. Not for a man like him.

  He falls on his back. Blood runs down his face. Cold eyes meet his. “You shouldn’t have done that,” I say. He tries to stand and I shove him back down, put my foot on his chest. “You’ve heard of me. Everyone has. The Black Kat is all over the news. Why murder people when you know a justice-seeking monster will come after you?”

  A devious smile. “Because, Princess, I wanted the Black Kat to come after me.”

  He reaches for my ankle and pulls, drags me down, steals my balance. And I land on my back with a dull thud.

  He’s standing, crouching over me, pushing my wrists into the road. He’s going to kill me.

  “You know,” he says matter-of-factly, “When I first heard about The Black Kat, I was intrigued.” He cocks his head. “But now I know you’re nothing more than a house cat.”

  I snarl. Jerk. Move my head forward, try to latch onto his wrists with claws. All to no avail.

  He pushes me back down. Takes his foot, shoves his heel into my leg. A snap. A crack and I’m swallowing back a scream, blinking my tears back into my skull.

  My leg. Broken. Definitely broken.

  Cruel laughter. He stands, looks down at me, smiles. “Word on the street is The Black Kat is invincible. That you are inhumanly fast, monstrously like a panther or a tiger, and heal too quickly to be seriously injured. I think those are rumors.”

  I groan. Try to stand. Fall back down. Bare my teeth when he grabs me. Fall back against the wall as he starts punching me. Again. Again and again.

  Mocking me. Reminding me of pain and vulnerability, reminding me of everything I thought I left behind.

  I blink. Put up my hands. Get punched in the gut. Drop my hands. Get jabbed in the throat. Lean back against the wall, coughing, gasping, still blinking.

  I don’t know what to do. Because he’s a cold killer and this is a game to him and he thrives off balance. I don’t know how to fight a man who has nothing to lose.

  He grabs my hair in his fingers, pushes my head back against the wall, tearing black locks out of my scalp in the process. “Of all the people I’ve killed, I think you are my favorite.”

  Close your eyes. Don’t look at him, don’t see this. Because it’s not supposed to end this way, because my death should come stopping Richard Glass, not at the hands of a wild murderer. Not him. Not here. Not like this.

  Everything stops.

  He cries out in pain and I open my eyes. A knife in his hand, wedged through the palm. Bleeding. I turn. Because knives don’t appear out of thin air.

  There’s a man standing there. Cloaked in gray, as well hidden as I am. A gray strip masking his face. All gray from mask to hood to shirt to gloves to pants to shoes. He looks like an assassin in gray. A ninja. And he’s holding a Samurai sword. Looking at me.

  “Hello, love.”

  He has an accent, subtle but definitely present. British. A British ninja-assassin with a Samurai sword. Makes perfect sense.

  He winks at me. Looks at the serial killer. “I’m new to your country and I do realize London is different but I do believe murder is just illegal here as it is back there.”

  “I could kill you,” the murderer snarls, raising the hand with a knife in it.

  “You really couldn’t.”

  The man in gray smiles. Glances at me. Winks again. And then he drives his sword through the serial killer’s heart.

  Murder.

  He just killed the man I should have dragged to jail. Not an ounce of justice in this, not an ounce of honor in killing him.

  “Oh, really, love, don’t look so alarmed,” British Boy says. “He was going to kill you. A little gratitude would be nice.”

  I hiss. Try to stand. Fall back down.

  “Well, then, I guess we’re done here. Goodbye, love.”

  He salutes me in British fashion, sheathes his sword, runs down the street. Leaving me sitting in the road with a pounding head and a broken leg.

  “Kate?”

  “Yes?

  “Are you okay?” Alec asks through the ear piece. “You sound kind of dazed.”

  Dazed? I’ve only got a broken leg, only just witnessed a British ninja-assassin kill a murderer to save my life. Why would I be dazed?

  “I’m fine. I just
…” I stop. “I don’t think I’m the only one taking out criminals. I think I just met another crime fighter.”

  “Why do you sound so nervous?”

  “He doesn’t take people to jail. He just kills them.”

  “A murderous vigilante?”

  “Yeah.” Shocked. “Alec, find everything you can on him. Wears all gray, looks like a ninja, carries a sword.”

  “What?”

  “Just do it.”

  “Okay. Are you okay?”

  “Fine. Just find out what you can.”

  “Okay. Finish up your night. I’ll try to learn more about the vigilante.”

  I smile wryly. Things, it seems, just keep getting interested. Experimentation. Superheroes. A crime fighting killer.

  The Vigilante.

  Forty-Four

  My mind is still a blurry mess.

  My leg is healed. Minutes later. And now I’m running down the street. In a daze. Because I just witnessed the murder of a serial killer, because The Vigilante probably just saved my life, because I’m not quite sure what to make of that. Experiments, wolf men, spies, mad scientists, monsters. I thought I’d seen it all.

  Evidently not.

  And he got away. He saved my life, but he murdered someone else. Even if that criminal was a murderer, even if that criminal was going to kill me, it was still wrong. No justice.

  I stop. Stare up at the skyscraper before me. Glass Tech, in all its twisted glory.

  Take a deep breath. Time for irrationality.

  I climb, digging my claws into the building next to Glass Tech. The one I jumped onto when I escaped weeks ago. I climb, moving closer to the roof. And then I’m there.

  Stare at the glass walls, feel the air around me, take steadying breaths. Brave or stupid. I hope brave, I hope this works, I hope I don’t regret it.

  I refuse to regret it.

  Taking my last breath, forcing myself to be brave, remembering my hate of fear, I jump. Crash through glass. Roll into an office. Look at the plaque on the desk. Dr. Samuel Pelletier.