The Pantheon Saga | Book 4 | Gods of Wrath

by Ekeke, C. C.

  Hugo shivered. Some clones had arms or legs dissolving in the fluids filling their tubes. Others had too many arms. One's skin was peeling off, revealing red muscle and white tendons. Several imperfect Titans. All dead.

  One tube sat at the end of the chamber, housing a flawless Titan. Hugo took an awestruck step forward. Two galloping heartbeats gave Hugo pause, hiding to his near right.

  He zoomed to their hideout behind the clone bursting out of its skin. One thin black man, the name ‘Dr. Kenneth Altman’ on his lab coat, trembled. A woman cringed alongside him, ash-blonde hair pulled back. Her lab coat sported ‘Dr. Lauren Gerard’.

  Hugo stood over them imperiously, pointing to the exit with a gloved hand. “Run,” he ordered in his iron-toned Aegis bellow.

  The scientists scrambled over each other to dash out the door.

  With them gone, Hugo approached the final tube. The clone floating inside had Titan's blocky, strong-jawed face and muscular physique. The one difference was its uncut white mane billowing out in the gestation fluids. It looked asleep.

  Hugo knew this wasn’t Titan. And if it reached full maturity, Titan’s legacy would be destroyed.

  That pissed Hugo off. He pushed a button on his right forearm, shutting off the camera in his mask.

  “Clobbering time.” He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs to capacity, and screamed.

  The tube glass fissured from the sonic shout and eventually shattered. The gestating clone inside liquefied into gelatinous goop. As this ‘perfect’ Titan oozed across the floor, Hugo turned his attention on the failed clones.

  Several sonic screams later, every tube in the chamber was ruptured. The clones they’d held were decomposing into viscous goo, sluicing the floor.

  Hugo surveyed his handiwork, feeling neither pity nor pleasure. “Mission accomplished.”

  That was when something new caught his ears. A chorus of cries for help a level below.

  Hugo gulped. “Prisoners…”

  Chapter 42

  After emailing Michael Hale a sample of the Paxton-Brandt exposé, Quinn had expected a response within a day or two. The former coworkers had only been acquaintances before he’d left for Newsworthy.

  Hale called eighteen minutes later. “Quinn.” He sounded breathless. “This sample about the free clinics is mind-blowing. I can’t believe how much Paxton-Brandt’s gotten away with.”

  “I know,” Quinn agreed, applying makeup in front of her bathroom mirror. Therese was using the larger bathroom. Liquid R&B vocals from H.E.R. floated throughout the condo. Quinn glanced at her cellphone near the sink, on speaker setting. “After Helena's firing, Jono squashed it.” That still enraged her.

  “I had my issues with Helena’s micromanaging or refusing to share her sources. But Jono?” The loathing in Hale’s voice startled Quinn. “That smarmy fuckwad is a cancer.”

  “Facts on facts.” But she wasn’t interested in wasting oxygen on Jono McGowan. “Can Newsworthy publish this?”

  “What about credit, bylines and all that?” Hale asked, all-business.

  Quinn smacked her lips after applying dark lipstick. “The whole team is fine with Newsworthy taking credit. As long as this gets published.” She had spoken with Boyd and other former Spotlight members before calling Hale. The decision was unanimous.

  “Alright,” Hale replied. “Send me everything when you’re ready.”

  Quinn smiled victoriously at her own reflection. “Thanks”

  “Have fun tonight at Rhonda’s get-together. Wish I could come.”

  “Later!” Quinn hung up, pleased by her victory. And how bomb she looked.

  Her attire was a strappy white top, tight and lacy, paired with pastel purple wide-legged slacks and hoop earrings. Her afro was styled in big and bouncy curls, darker makeup complementing her brown complexion. Quinn did a pose, smiling more broadly. She wanted to look hot for her date.

  Speaking of… “Reese. You ready?”

  “Done,” Therese called back. “Uploading the last of Helena’s flash drive to one of Clint’s servers. She also suspected Paxton-Brandt was purchasing SLOCO Daily in some of her documents.”

  “Huh.” Quinn smacked her lips, pondering how cohabiting with a street-level vigilante had become so seamless. “Any news on Helena?”

  “Clint said Helena sold both her cars yesterday for cash.” Therese sounded like she was moving around the bedroom. “No record if she bought another car.”

  Quinn scowled, grabbing her cellphone before exiting the bathroom. She had to find Helena and discuss the Paxton-Brandt conspiracy. “What about credit card use or ATM withdrawals?”

  “Clint found a few ATM charges in San Miguel two days before you visited her house. Nothing anywhere else.” Therese sounded remorseful. “Sorry, mon chère. He’ll keep searching.”

  Wall, meet cellphone. Instead of chucking it, Quinn tightened her fists and walked into her bedroom. “Dang it. I really wish I'd… Wow.” She stopped in her tracks.

  Therese, bent over a laptop on Quinn’s bed, looked up in alarm. “Wow what?”

  Wow, everything. Quinn had never seen her this dolled up, with flowing and crimped hair. Therese wore a figure-flattering white tube top under a green blouse, short-sleeved and unbuttoned. The matching skirt had a suggestive slit up one side. The makeup just magnified Therese’s natural beauty.

  Quinn couldn’t find words to describe how fire-hot Therese looked. “You clean up nice, babe.”

  A blush stained Therese’s fair skin. “Thanks.” She closed the distance between them. “You’re very séduisant yourself.” Grabbing Quinn's waist, Therese drew her into an eager kiss.

  Quinn’s toes curled. That never gets old. She draped both arms around Therese’s neck and gave it right back.

  “Hey,” she murmured when they broke apart. Sudden disquiet filled her. “Is this the right decision?”

  Therese stiffened. “Us going public tonight?”

  “Not that!” Quinn replied adamantly. There were fears but no regrets. “Sending the Paxton-Brandt story to Newsworthy?” The foamy waves of victory had receded, revealing thorny dread. “I could lose my job.” But with Paxton-Brandt purchasing SLOCO Daily, was that a bad thing?

  Therese slid around Quinn, wrapping her arms around her waist from behind. “Do you believe in that story?” Her breathy question was as velvety as her attire.

  Quinn nodded, relishing Therese’s nearness. “Absolutely.”

  The vigilante kissed her throat. “Then you’re right. Just brace for the consequences.”

  To Quinn’s chagrin, Therese released her and moved back to the laptop on the bed. “A few documents are password protected.” She glimpsed over her shoulder at Quinn. “Did Helena provide any?”

  Quinn didn’t like the sound of that. Another reason to find Helena. “Hmmm. No.” She glanced at her cellphone. They were running late. “We’ll worry about it after we get back.”

  Twenty-odd minutes later, Quinn stood beside Therese outside Luis Wine Bar on San Miguel’s fancy Higuera Street. Peering inside the stained-glass windows, she saw coworkers…friends. Why the heck were hornets buzzing around her stomach? She glanced at Therese. “Nervous?”

  “Of course not.” The vigilante gave Quinn a blank look. “You?”

  Quinn nodded vigorously. “Very.”

  Therese’s guarded exterior slipped off like a cloak. “Me, too.” She sounded unusually nervous. “It’s been a while since I’ve done something this…normal.”

  The candor made Quinn smile. Nice to know that Therese Levesque was in the same uncharted waters. “We both need more normal.” She tucked a lock of hair behind Therese’s left ear. “Stick with me, kid. I’ll show you the ropes.”

  Therese laughed. “Sure.” She opened the bar’s door for Quinn with an exaggerated bow. “After you.”

  The wine bar was packed. In the far back, a room had been reserved for Rhonda’s party. Over a dozen coworkers were present, including Creed, Jensen, Colin, and Shelley. Rh
onda held court at the head of the table, wearing a pink suit and black button-down with a white tie. Her blunt bangs were even like her sleek hair. Quinn suddenly felt such sadness. Rhonda’s quirky personality would be missed.

  Quinn inhaled to calm herself and approached the warmly lit room, Therese trailing her.

  Rhonda spotted her first. “She arrives!” the former Managing Editor exclaimed.

  The entire table turned. Several greetings and compliments sounded from work friends with no idea how their workplace had been corrupted.

  “Hey, guys!” She waved both hands demurely. Behind her, Therese stood right outside the room. She was shuffling her feet and ankle-dipping like some panicky teen.

  Quinn gestured her forward, turning back to her friends. “This is Therese…” Heart aquiver, she took Therese’s hand in hers. “…my girlfriend.” She waited for their reaction, every muscle tensed.

  …And waited. For several moments, Quinn’s work friends stared, maybe not comprehending.

  “Oh—OH!” Creed sat bolt upright as understanding struck. “Hi there!” His eyes danced with elated disbelief.

  More surprised noises sounded among the table. Rhonda cocked her head sideways at Quinn, still confused. “Hang on! What just happened?”

  Jensen was aglow with joy. “Yay!”

  Therese was all smiles and dimples, waving to Quinn’s friends. “Nice to meet everyone.” Nervousness made her Quebecois accent thicker.

  As other coworkers received Therese, Colin sat hunched over the table watching Quinn. His expression carried wistfulness of opportunities missed and happiness for her. “Good for you, QB,” he professed, eyes twinkling. His endorsement touched Quinn more than she’d expected.

  Heart full, she led Therese by the hand to sit across from Creed and Jensen.

  The gathering went on for hours, everyone chatting and drinking wine and eating delicious tapas. Colin toasted to Rhonda, who’d hired him. Every other attendee celebrated Rhonda’s many contributions to SLOCO Daily. Quinn periodically checked on Therese, making sure she was enjoying herself. To her relief, the vigilante was laying on the charm, conversing with Creed about 1980s film dramas.

  That amused and bemused Quinn, not knowing Therese had interests beyond archery and ass-kicking. She then caught Rhonda down the table watching her former coworkers, teary-eyed.

  A minute later, she excused herself from the table.

  Quinn’s heart ached. Exchanging knowing glances with Creed and Therese, she followed Rhonda.

  Quinn found her in the beige ladies’ bathroom, sobbing over a sink. The moment she noticed Quinn, she straightened and wiped away the tears.

  “Hey, you.” Quinn placed a hand on the small of Rhonda’s back. “What’s wrong?”

  “Sorry.” Rhonda fanned her flushed face in embarrassment. “A little too much of the bubbly.” She rubbed her face. “Now I’m all emotional.”

  Quinn knew how she felt. “Everything is a lot right now.”

  Rhonda threw her head back and laughed. “Exactly what Helena would say. I saw her before she left.” The veteran journalist’s thin and lined face grew somber. “Helena was devastated by what happened. I know there was so much she still wanted to do.”

  Rhonda’s knowing look forced a guilt-ridden Quinn to glance away. “Yeah…” She changed topics. “Have you heard from her since she left?”

  “Just a quick email. She needs a break from everything right now.” Rhonda smiled through the tears, placing a firm and bony hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “She'll reach out once she’s recharged.”

  Another dead-end finding Helena. Quinn sighed. “What are you going to do now?”

  Rhonda shrugged. “Maybe more traveling. But that’s not important.” Her grip tightened on Quinn’s shoulder. “What’s happening at SLOCO Daily… Helena getting fired. Jono’s promotion.” She looked haunted. “Something’s rotten in that place. You and the others need to leave…”

  “I know about the Paxton-Brandt sale,” Quinn interjected, stepping back.

  Rhonda gawked, not expecting that. “Oh…well, there’s more.” She cleared her throat. “What Helena told me—”

  The lights shut off, plunging everything into darkness. Only pale light from the windows cut across the gloom.

  Quinn frowned at the ceilings. “What the…?”

  “The power died?” Rhonda’s silhouette inquired.

  Quinn felt her way to the light switch. A few flicks did nothing. “Guess so.” And by the uproar outside the bathroom door, the whole bar had experienced the blackout.

  “Let’s get back,” Rhonda suggested from further inside the bathroom.

  Quinn agreed…until she found the doorknob stuck. She tugged and twisted with more force. “Door’s jammed.”

  She was answered by a stall swinging open, followed by a grunt.

  Quinn turned around in the dark. “Rhonda?”

  The new presence startled the crap out of her. Quinn thought only she and Rhonda were in here. Scarce light from outside cascaded over the large silhouette, and what looked like a gangly woman in a sports coat sagging forward in their arms.

  “Rhonda!” Quinn rushed forward to protect her unconscious friend from this mysterious thug.

  The door burst open behind her, flooding the bathroom with jabber from the bar. Another shadow raced inside. After a few loud smacks, the silhouette crumpled, holding Rhonda’s drooping body.

  “Quinn!” Hearing Therese’s voice was a godsend. “We’re leaving. Now.”

  Before Quinn could answer, three more shadows darted in after Therese. A battle commenced in the gloom. The archer fended off the attacking trio at once with successions of brutal, precise strikes.

  But with her still-healing injuries, one kick to the stomach doubled Therese over. She groaned loudly. The shadowy trio proceeded to pummel her senseless, then flung her ragdoll body into a wall with spine-jarring impact.

  Quinn watched in horror. “Therese!” She lunged for her girlfriend, all five-foot-three of her against three trained thugs. But something sharp punctured the side of her neck.

  “Ah…” Quinn wrenched away in surprise. She turned toward what had stung her, and the world spun.

  Tranquilizer, Quinn realized, right before passing out…

  She woke staring up at starry skies, loamy earth cushioning her back. The smell of ripe grapes tickled her nose. Her brain was fuzzy, everything so peaceful…

  Memories of the bathroom attack burned away the cobwebs.

  “What the—?” Quinn sat up, scanning her surroundings. She was in a vineyard, flanked by rows of leafy grape hedges. Her gaze landed on two motionless bodies nearby, partially shrouded by night. The closest lay spread-eagled on dark soil.

  Quinn knew her immediately. “Therese?” She scrambled on hands and knees to her girlfriend, fearing the worst. Quinn cradled Therese in her arms. The vigilante's chest rising and falling left Quinn woozy from relief. Therese’s bruised face dimmed any respite.

  “Wake up, baby,” Quinn shook the vigilante’s body in vain. Who knew how much damage those thugs had done?

  A soft moan drew Quinn’s attention to the second body, face down in a pink suit.

  “Rhonda!” Quinn’s anguish echoed across the vineyards. Rhonda had been drugged also, but with a clearly stronger dosage. Quinn walled off her fear, looking around to identify which Paso or Cambria vineyard they’d been dumped at.

  “Hello, Quinn.”

  The hoarse voice startled her so badly, she almost dropped Therese.

  The man who’d spoken stood a few feet away, lanky and silhouetted by the crescent moon. He was flanked by half a dozen broad-shouldered shadows.

  Quinn recognized none of these people, nor could she discern their face. Laying Therese down, she turned to shield her girlfriend. “You work for Paxton-Brandt.”

  The man in the trench coat raised his hands disarmingly. “Guilty as charged.” He pointed at Therese and Rhonda. “Your friends are sedated.”


  That provided Quinn no comfort. “What do you want?” She trembled despite the tough talking.

  Trench Coat knelt down so they were eye to eye. His face was lean and taut, beady eyes dark as coals.

  “It seems that you didn’t heed Ms. Doyle’s warning,” Trench Coat stated.

  Quinn swallowed hard. You have no idea how exposed you are, Doyle had taunted. Quinn finally saw this firsthand. The terror was crippling. “These two.” She pointed at Therese and Rhonda. “Let them go. Take me instead.” To protect Therese and Rhonda, Quinn would readily surrender her life…and living. "Please." She tensed as the hulking shadows inched closer.

  Trench Coat rocked on his heels and laughed. “Why do that?” he asked. “We already have the leverage to break you.”

  Quinn didn’t understand. “What?”

  Trench Coat pulled out a cellphone from his pocket and held it in Quinn’s face. “Watch.”

  Quinn squinted from the device’s light splashing over her. Onscreen, a slender woman lay prone in bed and asleep, wires connected to either temple. Dirty-blonde hair fanned out around a pretty yet familiar face.

  Quinn went cold all over. “Helena…” she stammered, fixated on the visuals. “She didn’t leave San Miguel.”

  “She did,” Trench Coat assured. “It’s quite easy to mimic a sudden move.” He smiled cruelly. “Madden was stubborn, too. Learn from her mistakes.”

  "Where is she?” Quinn demanded. In truth, she’d never felt more helpless in her life.

  Mr. Trench Coat’s arrogant smile widened. “Somewhere secure, receiving shock therapy to correct her…truculence.” A hum sounded from the phone. Helena abruptly arched her back, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched so tight that every neck muscle and tendon stood out. This lasted several seconds…

  Quinn tore her eyes away. “STOP IT!”

  Trench Coat pocketed his device, never breaking eye contact. “The torture will continue unless you stop trying to publish that exposé. And hand over any remaining copies.” He stood, plunging his face back into shadows. “You have two days. Choose wisely.” He nodded at his henchmen.

  Quinn’s fear spiked as two thugs advanced. They strode toward a motionless Rhonda. “No!”