The White Knight & Black Valentine (Book 0): The Best Man

by Brand, Kristen

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  The Best Man

  Note from the Author

  Hero Status Preview

  Fight Crime! (A Love Story) Blurb

  Copyright © 2017 Kristen Brand

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the express written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotations used in reviews.

  Editing Services by Holloway House

  Cover by Fiona Jayde Media

  Harris ran into the supervillain in the parking lot. She stopped when she saw him, and Harris’s leg muscles tensed, instinct urging him to run as she shot him a glare that would make even a vicious murderer cringe. Harris glared straight back, which, on second thought, probably wasn’t the brightest idea. Lady Nightmare was a telepath. Didn’t eye contact make it easier for telepaths to read minds? It was too late to look away now, though.

  He swallowed as he focused on her dark eyes and noticed a dull ache in his head. Was that a sign she’d invaded his mind? Or was it just a side-effect of his hangover? He wished he was wearing his Supersonic suit, as it didn’t feel right facing down a supervillain while wearing khaki shorts and a golf shirt. He was crap against telepaths, anyway. As fast as he was, he couldn’t outrun the speed of thought.

  “Did you remember to bring the boutonniere?” she asked.

  Harris held up the box he’d picked up from the florist. “Yeah, I remembered.”

  She muttered something about him not being completely useless and started walking toward the hotel. Harris exhaled in relief (now that her back was turned, and she couldn’t see him) and followed. The morning sun rose from the other side of the beachfront hotel, the massive building casting him and Lady Nightmare in its shadow. Cars filled the parking lot, but no one else was outside this early to witness their staring contest. Which was a shame, because she’d turned away first, which technically meant he’d won.

  “So,” he said casually, following three steps behind her. “I had a dream last night where I was naked and stuck in a giant spider web. Then this tarantula the size of a horse came out and started eating my intestines.”

  Lady Nightmare kept walking, her bridesmaid dress flung over her shoulder and covered in a protective plastic sheath. She wore shorts and flip-flops, her arms decorated in elaborate tattoos of skulls, snakes, and roses. She had pale skin and dark hair, and it took seeing her without her mask and costume for Harris to realize how petite she was. Not that Harris looked all that intimidating out of costume. He had a runner’s build, tall and thin as a flagpole, and his hairline was receding at almost super speed.

  “Huh. Freaky,” she commented, stepping into the revolving door at the front of the hotel. Harris put on a burst of speed, sliding into her same partition before it revolved past.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Couldn’t get back to sleep afterward, so if I nod off in the middle of the ceremony, it’s your fault.”

  They stepped into the lobby, which had so many potted trees and tropical flowers that it looked like a jungle. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lady Nightmare said. “I’m going to check on the bride.”

  She strode across the gleaming tile without another word, leaving Harris with a scowl on his face and pain in his head. Admitting that she’d won this round, Harris went upstairs to find the man who’d gotten him into this mess.

  “Morning, Dave!” he greeted, bursting through the door to the groom’s suite. “We’re looking at sunny skies and a light breeze for the day of your doom.”

  No one answered, so Harris walked further inside, looking around. It was a ritzy suite. Harris could tell by the glass bowl of potpourri on the side table and the fact that the suite was bigger than his whole apartment. A gray suit jacket was thrown over one of the plush, patterned chairs, so Dave must have been in here at some point. “Dave? You here, buddy?”

  A grunt came from the bathroom in answer. Harris pushed open the door and peeked cautiously inside. David Del Toro was staring at himself in the mirror, hunched over with his palms flat atop the counter. The cane that he’d needed since the knee-injury that had ended his career rested against a cabinet, and he hadn’t changed out of sweatpants and a T-shirt. His normally tan skin was sallow, his eyes baggy, and his arms shook slightly. Harris had seen the man charge into warzones looking less nervous.

  “Cold feet?” Harris asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Uh-huh.” Harris crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “I’ll cover your escape, if you want. The bride and her family are literally convicted murderers, but I’ll fight them off, because I love you, man.”

  “I’m not leaving Val at the altar,” Dave snarled as he jerked up straight. It was easy to forget how big the guy was until he got angry. Then you remembered that he used to be the superhero White Knight, and he could rip your arms out of their sockets with little to no effort.

  Harris held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “Just trying to help.”

  Dave’s posture sagged. “Sorry. Nerves.”

  Harris gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder. He knew how it felt. He’d been so jittery when he’d married Benita that he’d stuttered during the—no. He wasn’t going to think of his own wedding day. He’d promised himself.

  “Let’s get into the monkey suits,” he suggested.

  They dressed in silence, Harris trying to shake off the melancholy sneaking up on him. Not thinking about his own wedding was easier said than done when he was surrounded by tuxedos, flowers, and literally carried the rings. Maybe he could take a quick peek at the bar before the reception. You know, to make sure everything was ready. It was his duty as best man.

  “You think I’m doing the right thing?” Dave asked, not turning from the mirror where he was fixing his bowtie.

  Harris froze like a first-time burglar at the sound of an alarm. Dave’s voice sounded casual, though his face was still pale. What was Harris supposed to say? No, I think marriage is a sham. Sure, Val’s great, but do you honestly think it’ll be like this forever? You’re making a huge mistake.

  “Yeah,” he said aloud. “You love her, right?”

  Dave nodded, and his mouth set in a familiar line of determination he usually got before trouncing some crook who could shoot energy beams. Thank God his power was super-strength and not mind-reading.

  “I love her,” Dave confirmed.

  “And you want to marry her?”

  “I want to marry her.”

  “Then you’ve got this.”

  “I’ve got this.”

  Harris looked him up and down. “You still look kinda sick.”

  “Yeah, I feel like I might throw up.”

  Harris took pity on the big guy. “I’ve got a bottle of antacids in the car. Be right back.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Hey, what’s a best man for?”

  The trip to the car only took a few minutes, and Harris hummed as he walked back into the lobby, shaking the bottle of antacids like a maraca. Then warning bells went off in his head, and his hand slowed. He let his gaze travel casually over a few people standing by the lobby’s coffee dispensers. The man in the blue windbreaker—something about him tugged at Harris’s recognition.

  He could be a wedding guest. God knew everybody on the bride’s side was a shady character. Harris was pretty sure the old lady who’d organized the rehearsal dinner had stabbed him at some point over the years. Had Harris’s subconscious recognized a familiar face from a wanted poster?

  No, Harris’s subconscious had re
alized it was too warm outside for anyone to need a windbreaker, and that the clothing covered the telltale bulge of a gun.

  Harris stopped humming and pretended to browse a rack of tourist brochures as he thought about his next move. His first instinct was to alert the chain of command, but Harris had retired from being a superhero. He didn’t have a chain of command anymore, though his old superior’s number was still saved in his phone. And wouldn’t that be a fun call. Hey, Walter. You know how Dave’s marrying the Black Valentine? Yeah, that secret love affair that made you force him into retirement. Well, a guy with a gun showed up to the wedding, and I was wondering if you could send some backup. Help a guy out?

  Yeah, Harris would be better off just calling the cops. That’s what civilians did in situations like this, right? But the cops would probably evacuate the place, forcing them to postpone the wedding, and Dave was stressed enough as it was. Harris picked up a Bush Gardens brochure and pretended to read as he kept an eye on Windbreaker. The man was still loitering by the coffee dispensers, his beady eyes surveying the lobby.

  “Hey, Useless.”

  Lady Nightmare’s voice made Harris jump. How had she snuck up on him?

  “What are you—” she started. “No, never mind. I don’t want to know.” She put her hands on her hips. “Do you have a safety pin? It’s an emergency.”

  “N-No, but I think I have a real emergency.” Harris kept Windbreaker in his peripheral vision, alarmed to find the man staring intently at Lady Nightmare. Harris plastered a dumb grin on his face for Windbreaker’s eyes. “Don’t turn around, but we’ve got somebody packing heat in here. Can you read his mind and find out if he’s hostile?”

  Lady Nightmare’s sneer vanished, and she looked thoughtfully into space. “He’s hostile.”

  “Darn it. I was really hoping he was a nice suspicious guy with a concealed weapon. You never get— He’s on the move.”

  Windbreaker turned sharply and hurried away. Harris didn’t know if it was because he’d seen through their act or something else had happened.

  Lady Nightmare took Harris’s arm and glided through the lobby after Windbreaker, setting a brisk pace without running. Harris glanced down at her fingers around his biceps. Her nails were painted blue. “I didn’t realize we were this close.”

  “Shut up and act natural,” she whispered through a fake smile. “You’re still on my shit list.”

  It was true that they looked like your average couple with their arms linked, discouraging anyone from taking a second glance at them. Normally, Harris would enjoy being so close to a beautiful woman, but when it came to this particular woman, she could be miles away and still too close for comfort.

  “Look, I’ve already apologized for accidentally hitting on your wife last night—”

  Her fake smile slipped. “How do you accidentally hit on someone?”

  “Okay, so, I hit on her on purpose, but if I’d realized she was married to Lady Freaking Nightmare—”

  She dug her blue nails into his skin. “Tonight, you’re going to dream about dozens of tiny spiders eating you alive.”

  Harris groaned. “Not cool.”

  They followed Windbreaker out of the lobby and down one of the hallways. It was deserted, which was good, because innocent people wouldn’t get hurt. But it also meant Windbreaker noticed them and broke into a run.

  And the chase was on. Harris pulled his arm free of Lady Nightmare and dashed after Windbreaker. Which each step, he picked up speed. The adrenaline rush hit, and soon Harris’s feet touched the floor so quickly and lightly that he felt as if he ran on air. He’d missed this. The hallway was a straight shot with no obstacles. Harris had nothing to worry about except sprinting as fast as he could, and not to brag or anything, but that was exceptionally fast. His powers had been made for this.

  Windbreaker glanced over his shoulder and swore. Tough luck for him, because Harris had almost caught up. Then Windbreaker dove through a door on the right and vanished.

  Harris tried to stop. Sharp turns weren’t easy when he ran at this speed. He skidded across the floor and smelled the awful stench of burnt carpet fibers from the friction. He’d passed the door Windbreaker had gone through by four feet, but he spotted the man again. Windows in the hallway showed the hotel pool that nobody was using. Windbreaker ran around it, heading for another door on the opposite side of the room.

  Harris turned around to go back to the door. Lady Nightmare sprinted up behind him, having kicked off the heels that went with her bridesmaid dress. Harris reached the door first—just in time for Windbreaker to pull out his gun and fire.

  Harris flinched, slamming into Lady Nightmare as he scrambled back through the doorway. Harris was fast, but not faster than a speeding bullet. No, he’d do the sensible thing and take cover. Windbreaker kept firing. His gun had a silencer, but it was still loud as hell echoing off the concrete walls. Then he ran again, closing in on the door on the other side of the pool. Harris raced after him.

  It was harder this time. The wet concrete floor was slippery, and there were too many sharp turns. Harris knew his limits and kept his steps tight and controlled. Windbreaker stretched his hand out toward the door handle. Not wanting to lose him again, Harris pushed himself faster than was safe and closed the gap. He was going too fast to make a clean stop, but it wouldn’t matter. Sure, he’d crash into Windbreaker, but he could just call it a tackle.

  Windbreaker saw him and swore. Harris braced himself for the collision, but it didn’t happen. The room in front of him warped and twisted like Harris was looking at a funhouse mirror, and suddenly, Windbreaker stood five feet to the left.

  Harris leaned back and threw out his arms, but his momentum was too strong. His feet kept moving, and he slammed into the wall. Pain exploded in his head, arms, and knees, and the next thing he knew, he was lying on his ass. He groaned and curled up on the floor, but wait. Where was Windbreaker?

  He forced his eyes open just in time to see Windbreaker swinging a plastic pool chair at his head. Harris rolled, and the chair cracked against the concrete beside him. Harris scrambled to his feet as Windbreaker raised the chair again, but Lady Nightmare had snuck up behind him. She drove a hard fist into Windbreaker’s lower back, and he dropped the chair with a cry. Then Lady Nightmare followed up with something worse than a punch: her powers.

  Windbreaker’s eyes bulged as he stared at something Harris couldn’t see. “No,” he whispered, stumbling back. “No, please.”

  A waking nightmare. Harris wondered if it had anything to do with spiders as he rubbed his aches. His arms had been banged up something good, and he must have hit his forehead, too.

  “I’ve heard of this guy,” Harris said, now that he had a second to think. “Slippery Jack. Or Slippery Jim? I dunno. Something with a J.” He was a thief who could teleport—or not quite teleport. He couldn’t go very far or through solid walls. Before Dave retired from his White Knight gig, he had arrested the guy once or twice. Slippery Jim must have planned to ruin the wedding as revenge. What an asshole.

  Lady Nightmare crossed her arms. “He was planning to—”

  The room warped again, and Slippery Jim reappeared with a stumble on the other side of the pool. He gave Lady Nightmare a frightened look and dashed out the door.

  “Gimme a break,” Harris grumbled and ran after him, Lady Nightmare on his heels. They rushed down the hallway, passing a confused guest in a bathrobe. Slippery Jim was heading back to the lobby, which meant this risked going public. Lady Nightmare fell behind as Harris ran faster, and he reached the lobby just in time to see Slippery Jim duck through a door labeled “Staff Only.”

  Harris burst through the doorway and found himself in an empty kitchen. He had a brief glimpse of stainless steel counters and rows of pots and pans before spotting Slippery Jim’s retreating back. Harris sprinted past huge industrial refrigerators and grabbed a rolling pin sitting on one of the counters. Clubbing Slippery Jim upside the head ought to stop him from teleporting
for a while.

  Grabbing a more lethal weapon—a huge steak knife, Slippery Jim turned and flung it, and Harris barely ducked in time.

  The knife clanged against something, and Lady Nightmare swore. Harris hadn’t realized she was still behind him. Slippery Jim dropped the knife he had just picked up and kept running. He reached a metal door and opened it. Harris lost patience. Tired of chasing this loser all over the hotel, Harris hurled the rolling pin, and it hit Slippery Jim in the back. The man fell to the floor with a satisfying smack.

  Harris skidded to a halt in front of Slippery Jim, who lay groaning on the floor, and Lady Nightmare caught up a few seconds later. It turned out the door Slippery Jim opened didn’t even lead to an escape route. Frigid air poured out through the doorway, coming from a walk-in freezer lined with shelves of cardboard boxes.

  Slippery Jim tried weakly to stand, and Harris stepped on his back, forcing him down again. This was usually the point where Harris would call his DSA backup to handcuff the perp and pump him full of power-suppressing drugs. “So…” Harris said. “All I can think to do is hit him on the head repeatedly until he goes unconscious. You got any better ideas?”

  “Yeah,” Lady Nightmare said. “Just—”

  Harris jerked forward as Slippery Jim vanished from beneath his foot. A sense of vertigo hit him as his view of the freezer bent and distorted. Then something slammed into his back and knocked him off his feet. He fell face-first into the freezer, and Lady Nightmare grunted as she did the same.

  The freezer door slammed with an ominous thud, plunging them into darkness.

  Utter silence reigned for a long, dreadful moment. Harris scrambled to his feet and pushed against the door, but it didn’t budge. He groped blindly for a handle. No luck. The skin on his face was already painfully cold, and his fingers trembled.

  “God damn it,” Lady Nightmare snarled. “That tricky son of a—”

  She spat an impressive string of profanity, her dress rustling as she got to her feet.

  Slippery Jim was probably long gone already. Harris reached into his suit jacket and found his phone, the pale light from the screen illuminating Lady Nightmare shivering in her strapless dress.