The White Knight & Black Valentine Series (Book 3): Almost Invincible
Page 17
“You look good for your age,” Lance said.
“No, really,” I said in a flat voice. “I’d love to hear your unsolicited comments about my appearance. Do go on.”
“You’re the Black Valentine. You must know how many fans you have.” His blinding smile made another appearance. “And you’ve got them all fooled.”
He waited for me to respond. I didn’t.
“They all think you’re retired now, that you’re a law-abiding citizen,” he went on. “Even your husband must think so. White Knight would never marry an active supervillain, would he? But I know the truth. You haven’t changed. People like us—we can’t.”
“People like us?” I leaned back and crossed my legs. “Oh, Lance, you’re a treat. You’re like a little chihuahua barking at a Rottweiler. We’re not in the same league. Not even close.”
“You’re thinking of mind-controlling me. You won’t be able to.” He tapped his right temple with his forefinger. “I have powers, too.”
“You’re thirsty,” I said.
His too-white teeth vanished along with his smile. He stared at his wine glass, eyes bulging, and swallowed. He tried to resist it, but his mouth was dry, his throat cracked and scratchy. A piercing pain had formed behind his eyes, and if he didn’t get some liquid soon, he was going to die. He dove for the wine and downed it like a football player chugging Gatorade after a game. Panting, he put the glass down, and it finally occurred to him that he should run.
His leg muscles tightened as I froze them. Then I used his body like a puppet, making him flag down the waitress again and order a whole bottle of cheap wine. And I left him aware of what was happening.
“Lucky for you, I really am retired,” I said. “Otherwise, I’d kill you.”
He tried with all his might to move, but his body wouldn’t obey. Sweat trickled down the sides of his face, and through the telepathic link, I felt it almost as if it were my own.
“I’ll have to settle for a tamer punishment. Something poetic, perhaps?” I drummed my manicured fingernails against the table. “You’re a blackmailer. Tell me, what wouldn’t you want other people to know?”
He tried not to think about it, but it sprung to his mind, anyway: silky bedsheets in an upscale hotel; a bleached blonde barely twenty years old, a glittering gem in the center of her pierced navel.
“An affair? That’s trite, Lance. I’m disappointed.”
His cheeks burned.
“It’s humiliating, I know. But don’t worry. You won’t remember it.”
His panic spiked, but I erased it as I dove in deeper. This was the delicate part, harder than just taking over his body or convincing his brain he was dying of thirst. I rewrote his memories. His meeting with Valentina Belmonte had gone smoothly. She’d handed him a briefcase full of cash, so as soon as he got home, he was going to delete all the files of the photograph he had. But for now, it was time to celebrate. He worked on the wine bottle while watching the dancer finish her performance. And wouldn’t it be a good idea to talk to his mistress? They could go out this weekend, start spending some of that money he’d just made. He typed up an invite on his phone, accidentally sending a group text instead of a private message. Oops.
Next, he called a cab, drunkenly forgetting his briefcase as he stumbled to the door. He would think he’d already deposited the money into his account, and that memory rewrite should last at least until after he’d deleted the photos. Although computer files could be recovered. Hm…
I gave him the urge to visit a porn site when he got home, one that would give him a nasty virus and crash his desktop while the USB drive he’d used as a backup was inserted. Would that be enough? I scanned his mind for any other backups he’d made, any people he’d told. Nothing. I let him go.
Another bland pop song started playing as the next dancer took to the stage. Time for me to go. The brilliant dancer from before was walking around the floor now, soliciting tips. The amount of practice and sheer muscle strength it must have taken to do that routine certainly deserved one, but I doubted the patrons here appreciated it.
I handed her a hundred and walked out.
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