by Ekeke, C. C.
Before heading to that prison camp, Quinn needed to access Helena’s encrypted documents. That last Paxton-Brandt confrontation had left her too fragile to even try. The least Quinn could do was find out what on those documents before handing them over.
She sat cross-legged in bed, staring at the password prompt. “Dang.” Quinn went out on a limb and clicked the password question box for clues. She got four words: The nickname you hated.
Quinn raised her eyebrows and laughed, unable to help it. Of all the passwords Helena could’ve used. But Quinn never had objected to being called Q or QB—
“You don’t mean your nickname for me,” she realized, thinking of one that Helena’s ex, Joni, used. She typed 'Black Irish.'
When the password prompt hung on the screen, Quinn’s heart fluttered. Was she wrong?
The document contents appeared. She steeled away her fears and started reading.
One document detailed the Office of Superhuman Affairs contracting Paxton-Brandt for superhuman research. This included capturing supers using free clinics. Footage in many documents revealed superhumans black sites around the world resembling gulags. Quinn, so disturbed, nearly missed documents about the Whiteout event. She did a triple-take.
Per these documents, superhumans began appearing in the 1950s. The OSA’s original task had been hiding the existence of supers. That included capturing, experimenting on, and even killing.
On extra documents, the OSA had tried removing powers from all supers globally in 1973. This saw several satellites in concert to shower the world for several minutes in white gamma radiation, aka The Global Whiteout. The plan backfired, resulting in many more superhumans to manifest.
Forty minutes later, Quinn slumped back on her bed. “Oh. My. God,” she whispered. Her brain was melting through her ears. “Helena, what did you stumble into?”
As soon as she reached work, Quinn took the elevator to Ad Sales’ third-floor territory. Her thoughts skipped about like stones across a pond. She spotted Packer through the glass walls of his vast office, reclining in a chair barely supporting his weight. He popped Skittles in his mouth while lecturing his pert and pretty harem. Tania Navarro and Jess Richardson-Palmer sat hanging on Packer’s every word. Quinn choked back vomit and approached, ignoring stares and questions from the Ad Sales team. Despite squawking protests from Packer’s assistant, Quinn shoved Packer’s door open.
He nearly fell out of his seat.
Tania and Jess, initially stunned, reared up like cobras to protect their boss-lover.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Jess squeaked.
Tania got in Quinn’s face. “Get out,” she snarled, “or get thrown out.”
Quinn looked past her at Packer’s jowly face.
The executive waved them away.
Packer’s girls hushed and sat down, well-trained pets.
Quinn cleared her throat to hide her nerves. “I have what your real bosses want.”
Tania and Jess exchanged confused looks. Packer paled. “Very well,” he grunted.
Quinn pivoted and marched back out.
The rest of the workday she went through the motions, waiting...
A quarter after five, she got her reply.
BLOCKED: Cannery Row in Baywood-Osos. 7:30 p.m.
BLOCKED: Alone.
Quinn shuddered. This is actually happening. She left work to go home and prepare.
On the Uber ride to her destination, Quinn’s heart raced faster by the minute. Upon arrival, she thanked the driver, who appeared understandably creeped out by the secluded location. Quinn pulled her peacoat around her and studied a giant structure silhouetted against blood-red skies. Far from any freeways, suburban or metropolitan areas.
A perfect place to die, Quinn quipped morbidly. That building held her and Helena’s fates.
Quinn had called and texted Hugo for backup, receiving no answer. The kid must’ve been swamped protecting San Miguel. Probably for the best.
Quinn didn’t tell Therese, unwilling to endanger her lover again.
She cautiously stepped forward, stopped by a headlight spilling over the thick brush between her and the structure a mile away.
Quinn sighed. Of course, she’d find out…
Seconds later, Therese swerved around to block Quinn’s path. It felt good seeing her back in the blue-and-black Longshadow suit with hood and mask on, bow and quiver slung across her back. Even behind the glare of her motorcycle headlamp, her glower was unmistakable.
“What the hell?” Therese hopped off her motorcycle and advanced heatedly. Quinn backtracked.
“Did you really think I'd let you get away with this?”
Under different circumstances, Quinn would’ve kissed Therese. Tonight, she wanted her gone. Anyone else involved meant someone else to lose. “Please let me do this. Alone.”
Therese stood face to face with her. Beneath the mask, the archer’s features hardened. “You’re not martyring yourself.”
“You’re still recovering!” Quinn objected, Paxton-Brandt's beatdown of Therese burned into memory.
Therese grabbed Quinn by the throat. “I’m not leaving you.” She pulled her into a forceful kiss.
Despite her anger and fears, Quinn melted into Therese and relished this moment.
Therese stepped back, cupping Quinn’s face. “You know we could die here.”
Quinn needed no reminder. “They’ll probably kill Helena, even if I hand over the expose.”
Therese’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What are you planning?”
Quinn couldn’t tell her, nor could she lie. All she offered was a weary grin. “Wait and see.”
Therese bristled but didn’t push. “I’ll case the area. Domino is on her way for backup. You won’t be alone, petite chère.” She kissed Quinn once more before hopping on her motorcycle and racing off into the brush, headlights off.
Once she was alone, Quinn steeled herself and continued toward the building.
The skies were a velvety purple spattered with clouds by the time she reached her destination.
The abandoned silo reached up to the heavens. It was mostly unlit, save the entrance, which spilled light from within.
The walls inside were worn and rusted, islands of barrels and boxes scattered across this spacious warehouse. Trench Coat stood in the center flanked by at least ten armed guards. Did he know about Therese, or was this standard contingency?
No sign of Therese. Quinn figured she’d already snuck inside.
Helena's absence was hard to swallow. But Quinn kept holding on to some shred of hope.
Under the warm lights, she got a better view at this horrible creature in human skin. Trench Coat looked to be in his late forties, slim and standing a head taller than Quinn, with short red hair streaked in grey. He might’ve been attractive, if not for his cruel and cold eyes.
Quinn’s feet turned leaden. But she forced herself to move. Stick to the plan…
Trench Coat’s eyes glittered with amusement as Quinn reached him. “Good evening, Ms. Bauer.”
Quinn didn’t return the cordiality. “Proof of life,” she demanded.
A sneer pulled at Trench Coat’s thin lips. “As you wish.” He held up his cellphone.
Quinn’s heart ached, just not as grievously. Footage showed Helena supine and asleep in that same dark bedroom. Thankfully, she wasn’t getting shock therapy. With that, Quinn handed over Helena’s thumb drive.
Trench Coat took the drive, stuffing that and the cellphone in his coat.
“Pleasure doing business with you.” He turned to go.
Quinn’s heart hammered her chest agonizingly. Now came the hard part. “Where's Helena?”
Trench Coat wheeled around. His malicious glee was unsettling. “We’ll be keeping Madden as insurance,” he replied. “Let tonight be a lesson of your insignificance, Ms. Bauer.”
The answer rocked Quinn to her core. Helena’s going to die. But she’d known that coming here. “Then you’ve lef
t me no choice.”
The flock security guards fingered their guns and rifles. Trench Coat’s arrogant mirth dimmed. “What are you blabbering about?”
Now Quinn was smiling. “Are The Elite and Paxton-Brandt trending across the news and social media?”
The security exchanged confused stares. Trench Coat no longer smiled.
Quinn had confirmed her plan’s execution before arriving. Now came the gloating. “Check Newsworthy.com.”
Trench Coat clawed for his cellphone again. Whatever he saw drained his face of color. And by the guards’ faces when checking their phones, all pretense of solemn badassery vanished.
“That’s right,” Quinn crowed, taking a few steps back. “I know about The Elite’s genetic enhancements. The secret kill missions. The mindwipes of their memories. The Titan clones. Now the whole world knows.” This morning’s drive to work had included talking with Michael Hale on an encrypted phone. He’d been understandably upset after Quinn backed out on the Paxton-Brandt exposé. Instead, she had offered Hugo’s data on the Elite. Quinn’s only condition had been to publish at sunset today. Hale had delivered.
Quinn had to gloat a bit more, before the end. “You screw with me, I’m burning your whole world down.”
Trench Coat’s features contorted with hate. “Vile bitch!”
Quinn giggled. “I know you are, but what am I?”
“Kill her!” Trench Coat ordered. The guards all around the warehouse raised the weapons and took aim.
Quinn went rigid. There was nowhere to run.
An arrow’s whistle sliced the tension, striking the floor in front of Trench Coat’s security. The flashbang explosion sent them flying. Quinn shielded her eyes from the glare. Despite the ringing, she heard confused shouts and sprays of gunfire.
Through dirty clouds, a slender figure vaulted off the second floor, landing in a catlike crouch before Quinn.
“Take cover!” Therese ordered, voice modulator on. She popped up, another arrow notched and drawn in her bow.
Quinn dashed behind a stack of barrels. She peeked around the side to squint through the smoke. Therese carved through the guards with rapid, educated fists and feet while shooting arrows into others like they were turkeys on a hunt. One guard on the second level aimed a rifle at the vigilante’s back. But Therese seemed to have eyes behind her head, bridging backward to shoot. The guard yelped and tumbled over the railing, an arrow in his chest.
Quinn marveled watching Therese dropping bodies in relentless fashion.
Then a dozen more guards burst through a side door, guns barking.
And Quinn’s fears soared.
Chapter 47
Mom’s reaction to Hugo carrying an unconscious Brie over his shoulder had been a cocktail of relief, panic, and determination. She took charge as Hugo explained what happened, ordering AJ to grab her medical kit while directing Hugo to place Brie in the guestroom.
He roamed the living room for over an hour, hearing everything behind the guestroom door. The clatter of Mom’s equipment while she checked Brie’s vitals. Their thrumming heartbeats. Brie awaking in confused panic. Mom calming her and explaining what happened—minus Hugo ripping off car doors. Murmuring a Samoan lullaby that soothed Brie to sleep.
AJ parked on the couch, eating Doritos. His brother’s gym time was paying off by that brawny frame. “Why not take her to the hospital?” he asked.
“Too many red flags.” Hugo shook his head at his brother—correction, half-brother. He clenched his teeth, angry at Mom again. He couldn’t digest that now. Concern for Brie churned in his stomach. “A hospital means questions about what happened.” Hugo gave AJ a knowing look. “And my involvement.”
AJ shrugged. “Then drop her at the hospital and call her parents. Easy.”
Hugo waved off this suggestion, annoyed. “She hates both her parents and…I couldn’t leave her.” Everyone abandoning or betraying Briseis had caused this. Hugo wouldn’t do that again.
He sat beside AJ. “Brie would’ve gotten in trouble when the doctors found drugs in her system.” Hugo thought about the drugs and those sketchy guys in the car with Brie. He shuddered at what might’ve happened beforehand.
“Got it.” AJ’s eyes narrowed. “By the way, why does Abby hate you now?”
Loathing spasmed through Hugo. “She destroyed Brie’s reputation at school by posting a slut-shaming video.” He wasn’t interested in rehashing the Spencer revenge clusterfuck. “Long story.”
AJ didn’t pry. A lull in conversation led to both brothers watching TV. Half-brothers, Hugo self-corrected again. N3 was on, a male anchor speaking.
“According to Newsworthy.com, The Elite were former criminals used as mind-controlled assassin…”
Quinn got the news out. Handing that off to her had felt righteous. Seeing the news on TV, the victory fell flat. How must The Elite have felt, learning of this betrayal? Hugo knew how betrayal felt, like getting kicked in the balls, the ache remaining long after the act.
AJ whistled. “Can you believe that?”
Hugo snorted. “I’m the reason that story got out.”
AJ opened his mouth.
“Another long story.” Hugo needed to catch AJ up on so much.
Mom emerged from the guestroom with her medical bag.
Hugo approached. “How's Brie?”
“Sleeping.” Mom closed the door behind her. “Whatever drugs she’s taken can be flushed out with the right fluids.” She gave Hugo a reproachful look. “Bringing her here was irresponsible.”
Hugo glared at her gall. “You? Calling me irresponsible?”
Mom shrank back, wounded.
AJ clearly sensed the ugly tension and threw up his hands. “What’s going on with you two? And don’t give me that ‘long story’ crap,” he added before Hugo and Mom could reply.
Hugo pondered AJ’s claim and Mom’s pleading gaze. “Longest story ever.” He smirked while AJ seethed.
Mom grabbed the deflection like a lifeline. “Call Brie’s parents to get her.”
Hugo headed to the kitchen, plucking Brie’s phone off the countertop. Despite getting dunked in the river, it still worked. As Mom and AJ went upstairs, Hugo decided against calling Brie’s parents. There was only one family member she’d want to see.
They answered after one ring. “Briseis?” The man erupted in furious Greek before Hugo could speak, obviously thinking he was berating Brie.
“RAMSES!” Hugo shouted over Brie’s older brother. “It’s Hugo.”
Ramses El-Saden gasped. “Hugo? Why do you have Brie’s phone?” Surprise morphed into distrust. “You two aren’t friends anymore.”
“I found her in Liberty Park,” Hugo explained. “She’s in rough shape.”
Ramses gave a relieved sigh. “W-where is she?”
“My house.” Hugo leaned on the kitchen counter. “Please come get her? Alone?”
“Yes,” Ramses answered gratefully. “Thank you!”
Hugo smiled. “No problem.” After hanging up, Hugo snuck into the darkened guestroom. Brie lay swaddled in bedsheets, fast asleep. Hugo was happy to see color returning to her features. He placed her cell on the nightstand, then strode for the door.
Until he caught Brie’s breathing shift, followed by rustling sheets and a quickening heartrate.
Hugo froze. She's awake. He turned slowly.
Brie sat up, messy auburn waves falling around that angelic face. But her puffy eyes were full of poison.
Hugo gulped. Better make this quick. “Brie. How do you—?”
She flung a pillow at him. Varsity tennis had put strength in her throws!
Hugo ducked. “What the hell?” He straightened up.
Another pillow sailed at him. Hugo swatted it aside, annoyed. “Stop it!”
“Fuck you!” Brie kicked off the sheets and came boiling out of bed. “Fuck you, Bogota!” She lunged at him with angry fists, screaming curses in Greek.
Hugo, so stunned by the barrage, instinctively backp
edaled. Brie kept swinging, lost in her fury.
“Briseis!” Hugo seized her arms. “Enough!” He didn’t want Brie hurting herself on his durable body.
“Don’t touch me!” Her shriek was punctuated by a shove.
Hugo intentionally stumbled back so she didn’t break both arms. The shouts drew Mom and AJ back downstairs in a stampede. “Okay!” Hugo raised both hands in surrender. “Stop hitting me!”
Brie backed up with scornful eyes. God, she was so thin. A gentle wind could’ve broken her in half. “Why am I here?” she demanded hoarsely.
Hugo lowered his hands in case she tried hitting him again. “You were in a car that went off Harmony Bridge. You almost drowned.”
Brie scowled at the explanation. “Your mom told me, genius. Why?”
Hugo was lost. “I don’t understand…”
“You should’ve let me drown!” Brie cried, choking back a sob.
Her naked despair left Hugo stunned. “Don’t talk like that, Brie.”
Brie’s beautiful face was a mask of pure contempt. “Like you care?”
“Yes, I do.” The words came easily, because Hugo meant that.
“After ignoring me all year?” she wailed. “After fucking two of my friends and rubbing it in my face?”
Hugo had no counter to her charges. “That…” He rubbed his forehead in remorse. “Spencer and Jodie weren’t revenge. I’m sorry it looked that way.”
Brie grew more emotional. “Spencer slipped letters into my locker every other week thanking me for treating you badly.” Her pale-green eyes glistened with tears. “Describing sex with you. In detail.”
That sickened Hugo to the depths of his soul. “I…didn’t know.” As if Spencer couldn’t get more repulsive. “I just found out what she did to you.” He shook his head, feel so rotten. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t believe you!” Brie yelled, enraged, the words bursting out of her. “You said you loved me a hundred times, until I make one mistake and get tossed aside like garbage.” Her voice was thick, wavery and holding such pain. “You never even visited me in the fucking hospital after the school bombing!”
