by C. C. Ekeke
Hugo’s heart sank. There was Brent’s Escalade. Hugo reached the SUV with normal strides, thanks to the annoying amount of people in their cars doing nothing. The driver-side door was unlocked. Brent and another familiar scent blanketed the inside, both trailing to a manhole beyond the bushes.
Terror squeezed Hugo’s throat with painful acuteness.
He fished out his encrypted phone with shaky fingers. Simon picked up. He’d requested two phones from Ms. Ortiz and had given one to Simon to discuss superheroics freely.
“I need a few things,” Hugo said.
“Anything.”
Hugo looked over Brent’s car, filled with dread. “Call the police from your new phone.”
“What am I telling them?”
Hugo quivered from the words about to leave his mouth. “Brent's been kidnapped by Mister Quiet.”
After hanging up, he stepped into the bushes and raced home to suit up. “You’re mine, Mister Quiet.”
Chapter 32
Greyson stared out the wall-length window on Sunbridge Palace’s highest levels. A pink dawn bathed the glittering ocean, climbing over the pockets of lush jungle that wreathed Dourado’s vast cityscape. Curls of black smoke rose from neighborhoods where AmeriForce units engaged Carneiro holdouts. Distant gunfire, zapping noises, and shouts rang out. Morning skies burned brighter by the minute.
Greyson was still digesting what Connie had confessed last night about their rescuers. Apparently, AmeriForce had ambushed Carneiro's military sneaking into Bellazul through their tunnel. Then AmeriForce had used that same tunnel to liberate Bellazul from House Perez’s rule. Hours after putting a provisional force in the city, AmeriForce had backtracked down the tunnel and invaded Dourado.
The battle wasn’t as one-sided as Bellazul. AmeriForce took casualties but ultimately prevailed. Now they were hunting the remaining Dourado leaders to secure the city and its mines.
Greyson rubbed his throat appreciatively. “Not having a collar is nice.” He turned to Connie beside him. His heart sang seeing her alive and well. Greyson recalled wanting to sink to the bottom of the ocean or die in the gladiator pits. His weakness brought up uncomfortable shame. “When I thought you'd died, I almost gave up.” His voice caught at the end.
Connie searched his face. Since Greyson had last seen her weeks ago, she looked healthy and strong, any baby fat burned away. She’d changed into dark military fatigues. If not for the aching compassion on her face, Greyson might not have recognized Connie.
“The thought of seeing you again kept me going,” Connie admitted, her voice rough. She reached out, fingers tracing from scalp to cheek and lingering. Greyson didn’t pull away.
Connie’s mouth pulled into a smile. “Would’ve been awkward if you’d offed yourself.”
Greyson grinned back, genuinely happy. That didn’t curb his questions. Or guilt. He clutched Connie’s hand. “What I said on the ferry—”
“All in the past,” Connie interrupted, features tightening.
Greyson persisted. “I’m still sorry. You’ve stuck by me, kept me going.”
Connie squeezed her eyes shut, suppressing a reservoir of pain. The tension grew thick and gooey. Greyson withdrew his hand from hers. It felt like he was cheating, even three months after leaving Lauren broken and bleeding in their apartment.
Greyson fled from that abyss, focusing on Connie. “How did you avoid the pirates? And the intangibility?” He was still dumbfounded by Connie’s new power—and how viciously she employed it. “I thought you could only increase your density.”
Connie opened her eyes. She looked tired, drawn back to the night of their separation. “Increasing density is one part. I was working on the intangibility with…you know.”
Greyson stiffened. No need to utter Dr. St. Pierre’s name.
“It’s how I snuck into your parents’ house without anyone noticing…” Connie yawned. They had been up all night. “Out in the ocean,” she explained, “I lowered my density so I didn’t drown. Then I hid under ship debris until the pirates left.” She turned to the Dourado cityscape. “I was in the early stages of hypothermia.” Connie then turned as the chamber door opened behind them. “AmeriForce sent a boat and found me as I was losing consciousness.”
Tigre and a slim woman in white named Frostknife entered with Rodrigo following them. He chatted up the leaders like old friends. A flood of hubbub filled the room before the door closed. AmeriForce was converting Sunbridge Palace into another base. Just like with Bellazul’s Montesur Towers. Despite what AmeriForce had done for Connie, something in Greyson couldn’t lower his guard.
“And AmeriForce?” Greyson chuckled at the ridiculousness of that name. “Are they trustworthy?”
Connie nodded, studying his reaction. “They saved me, fixed me up, and gave me something to believe in again…besides you.” Her features glowed with pure affection. Greyson didn’t shy away.
She cast a harsh glance beyond the windows. “You wouldn’t believe how bad supers have it on Amarantha. Baseline humans subjugate supers whose powers aren’t considered useful.” She clenched a quivering fist, causing Greyson to involuntary step back. “More powerful supers get turned into gladiators for their amusement,” Connie continued. “And if the super is alpha class, they're sold to megacorps like Seneca International and Paxton-Brandt, and turned into living WMDs. Or…” Connie sounded sick, struggling to continue. “They become sex slaves for the rich and insufferable.”
“Like me,” Greyson stated.
Connie was momentarily confused. “Huh?” His words sank in, and she paled. “Oh my God.”
Greyson furrowed his brow at her pity. “I did what I could to survive,” Greyson stated, calmer than he should’ve been. Their liaisons had been consensual. Were they really? God only knew how Lady Thuraya would've treated Greyson if he’d refused her. The realization seared his bones.
Connie slipped her arm around his as they walked to meet Tigre, Frostknife, and Rodrigo. According to Connie, those two, a Mexican super named Carga, and an American codenamed Radiant led AmeriForce. And they were the last of a nine-member team sent to liberate Amarantha five years ago. Up close, Frostknife had a snowy mane and colorless pupils like dirty chips of ice. Chilled condensation oozed off her athletic physique.
“Greyson,” she exclaimed after Tigre introduced them. “Nice to meet you.”
Greyson shook Frostknife’s and Tigre’s hands. “Hello.” He fist-bumped with Rodrigo. “How goes it?”
“Better after last night,” Tigre admitted. “But if even part of our plan failed—”
“It didn’t,” Rodrigo chided, slapping Tigre on the back. “Enjoy victory, yea.”
Tigre’s withering glower wiped the mirth off Rodrigo’s face. “I’ll relax when this island is free, Fastball.”
This one's a tight-ass. Greyson glanced at Connie, who rolled her eyes.
“Tigre’s passionate about ending the royal families’ regime.” Frostknife had a slight Canadian accent. “The human rights abuses by the royals is out of control. All thanks to the US giving the human Amaranthine countermeasures against the superhumans.”
Greyson already knew this. “I heard.”
Slight commotion in the hallway drew all eyes. Human politicians being dragged down the corridors in shackles. Tigre ignored them and continued where Frostknife left off. “North America’s three superpowers secretly collaborated to end the royals’ tyranny. The Office of Superhuman Affairs in America, E-Directorate in Canada, CISEN in Mexico. Each recruited three trained superhuman agents for this unit.”
“The original AmeriForce,” Connie added.
Tigre nodded at her. “The plan was to engage local resistance cells in Amarantha and orchestrate a coup.” His face turned sallow. Frostknife’s expression somehow grew colder.
Greyson caught the crippling grief in their eyes. He knew that kind of loss well. “The coup failed.”
Tigre’s amber eyes remained haunted. “Worse than the Bay of P
igs.”
“Then our home countries disavowed us,” Frostknife continued. “Warstar, Skydancer, Yukon, Psyche, Red Hornet. All killed.” She recited those names with a cadence as bloodless as her eyes. “Leaving four of us as homeless fugitives on foreign soil.”
Greyson watched these battle-hardened warriors with new eyes. “How did you survive that?”
Tigre reacted like those words were absurd. “There was no choice,” he snarled “You either adapt or die.”
“And we adapted,” Frostknife said with less bite. “Mourned our dead and regrouped.” She and Tigre moved toward the door. Greyson, Rodrigo, and Connie followed.
“The San Lorenzo mission near the island center became our headquarters, one of Amarantha’s few neutral zones.”
Greyson scoffed at such an impediment. “Tyrants who respect catholic missions.”
Tigre exited the chamber. “We started recruiting human and superhuman members to our cause.”
“Like him?” Greyson stated, glancing at Rodrigo beside him.
Frostknife’s face warmed. “Fastball, yes.” She patted the young Amaranthine on the cheek. “We established a network of informants within the major cities and waited. Once the Carneiros finished their tunnel to Bellazul, we attacked.”
Rodrigo puffed out his chest. “They trained me. Made sure I got captured. Put a tag in me.”
Greyson gave Rodrigo a playful shove, impressed. “You sly dog.”
Looking around, he saw AmeriForce personnel occupied the rooms on this level of Sunbridge. Continuous, overlapping conversations filled the air. Bodies of Carneiro officials were carried away. By how fluently these AmeriForce personnel moved about, there must have been many insiders ready to serve Dourado up on a silver platter.
Tigre’s voice drew Greyson back to now. “The families ruling these cities and enslaving the supers are just the beginning,” the AmeriForce leader promised. “This corruption will never take root again on Amarantha.”
Passing one room, Greyson noticed four smaller bodies covered in blood-soaked blankets. Children. A thought came to mind so horrid, he almost didn’t ask. “Gaspar and Martine had four younger kids. Where are they?”
“Wiped out from branch to bough,” Frostknife confessed evenly.
The admission was a white-hot dagger to Greyson’s chest. He leaned against a wall. His vision swayed jaggedly. Tigre was at his side, making no footfall.
“It’s a brutal business, Greyson,” he admitted without remorse. “And the only way we stop anyone from gaining power through them.”
Greyson didn’t care. “But…they’re children,” he whispered, too livid to see straight.
Frostknife cocked her head sideways. “They are the enemy,” she hissed with frightening hate. “Every so often, these royal families do battle. To feel commanding or something. A few years ago, Summerhill happened.” That name sent a visible shiver through anyone who heard. Rodrigo had mentioned the name weeks ago and was rattled.
“What happened at Summerhill?” Greyson inquired.
Rodrigo spoke now, his face losing color. “Merenwjick, ruled by House Bowen, was feuding with Summerhill. The Bowens unleashed a superweapon on that city. No one knows what exactly. Three hundred thousand citizens dead.”
Connie looked nauseated.
“Good God,” Greyson whispered in horror, hand over his mouth.
Frostknife made a face. “These are the monsters we’re fighting.”
Tigre moved forward again through the swirl of hubbub. This time, Greyson walked side by side with the tiger-like man as he spoke. “Bellazul and Dourado belong to us. We must strike House Wheeler and take Angelique before they can prepare.” A crazed smile pulled at his lips, almost like he could already see the ensuing battle. “The Carneiros were targeting them next but wanted House Pérez defeated first.”
A young Amaranthine walked up, scrawny and thick-haired, with Skylord in tow. “Excuse me, Tigre. This is Solomon Shen I told you about?” He gestured at the chiseled man. Despite his frame, Solomon Shen had adopted an almost timid demeanor, eyes darting around in terror.
Rodrigo’s eyes lit up. “He was one of the Carneiros gladiators. Like me and Greyson.”
Tigre approached Solomon with compassionate eyes. “Call me Marcos.” He extended a hand.
For a long moment, Solomon eyed the outstretched hand like it was poisonous. Then he relaxed and finally accepted the handshake. “I need your help.”
Frostknife opened her mouth to dismiss this. Tigre silenced her with a two-fingered swipe. “Tell me.”
Solomon looked haggard and desperate, two words Greyson never thought he’d associate with him. “I have a younger sister. Carolina,” he explained. Fear dominated his muscular and shirtless physique, which Connie watched with great interest. “Did you see her in Bellazul or San Lorenzo?”
Tigre glanced at Frostknife for confirmation before answering. “No, son. We didn’t.”
Greyson gulped hard, knowing how Solomon currently felt. But the former Skylord didn’t appear discouraged. “I have to know if she’s dead or alive.” His words held an older sibling’s love. “I just…have to.”
Greyson forced himself not to think of his own sister. Her grief for a murdered father, hatred for her fugitive brother.
Frostknife approached the emotionally wounded Solomon. “Join us in fighting these tyrants,” the Canadian superhero encouraged, “and we will learn what happened to Carolina.”
While Tigre and Solomon walked away to speak further, Frostknife turned her gaze on Greyson. “Connie told us about what you’re capable of. You would be a huge asset in our revolution.” With that, she and Rodrigo walked off in the opposite direction after receiving a call about a situation in the Dourado’s mines. Two elite families had barricaded themselves inside a silver mine with a detachment of private security.
Now it was just Greyson with Connie, to his relief. She took his hands. By her face, he knew what Connie was about to ask.
“I know you want to escape from all this,” Connie began with a tentative smile. “But what if you considered helping AmeriForce—”
“I’m in,” Greyson answered before she could finish. He knew his answer after hearing about Summerhill. “Whatever it takes to defeat these royal wannabes.”
Connie stared back for a long, wary moment. “Really?”
Greyson nodded. This was the surest and most inspired he’d felt in months. “You and I will probably never be able to return to the US. Don’t you see, Connie?” He cupped his stunned friend’s face in his hands, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “This is our chance.”
“Our chance at what?” Connie whispered, infected by his excitement.
“Redemption.” Greyson’s smile broadened as his heart swelled. “Write a new chapter. Be heroes again.”
Chapter 33
Missy’s latest “foe” tonight crashed The Junction’s Artwalk in Five Cities Square. Tracking him was simple: follow the screams of bystanders fleeing the scene.
He called himself Nightfang, roaring it for everyone to hear.
"Seriously?" Quinn scoffed as Missy sprang from the van in her black unitard and hooded jacket.
Nightfang, leonine and broad-shouldered, had a shock of orange hair and blood-red eyes. Bystanders ran while he slashed a vicious path through food trucks and carts with steel finger-claws.
Quinn might have worried if this wasn’t another actor. She assessed the location, spotting Five Points Square restaurants that were sponsoring Missy’s SLOCO Daily profile. Let’s see if my hunch plays out, Quinn mused, watching Missy dash to meet Nightfang.
“The Junction’s protector,” Nightfang mocked, brandishing his claws. “Let’s see how durable your sweet flesh is.”
Missy stood resolute. Her smile oozed confidence. “Come at me, bro.”
Nightfang cut the distance between them in a flash. Quinn cringed, dreading how much damage he'd do before letting Missy win.
Surprisingly, Mi
ssy thrust both hands out right in Nightfang’s face with an eruption of bright rainbow fireworks. He violently reared back, howling in pain.
Missy spun with a swift roundhouse kick, knocking Nightfang into a food cart. He stayed down. Missy strode forward and knelt over him to check.
She bent a steel picture frame with her bare hands around Nightfang to restrain him. Missy rose to loud cheers and seemed genuinely touched. “Thank you, everyone.”
Quinn’s mouth hung open. “That was fast.”
Beside her, Montgomery Major nodded. “She’s Missy Magnificent. What did you expect?” Yet he looked strangely displeased by the quick victory.
Quinn ignored him and studied Five Points Square as bystanders swarmed Missy Magnificent. Ravishing Repo Services. Diamantina Jewelers. None had any damage from Nightfang’s rampage.
All are sponsors for Missy’s profile. Why aren’t her opponents touching these businesses? Quinn had some feelers out that she hoped would provide answers.
The flash of red-and-blue lights confirmed the police’s arrival.
“Missy fought like when she was with the Extreme Teens,” Colin commented, watching Missy sign autographs and pose for selfies. He stood with Quinn near their van.
Shelley circled the groundswell of fans with a handheld camera.
“Look who’s unhappy.” Quinn saw Montgomery Major at the fringes, speaking heatedly on his cell.
Colin followed her gaze, brushing back his shaggy mane. “He’s probably preoccupied.”
Quinn side-eyed him. How could he not see the fishiness behind these battles? But Quinn kept quiet. She needed more info on whatever tied Montgomery to Ultimax Insurance.
Colin turned to Quinn with pensive eyes. “So…I’m guessing that’s a wrap with us?”
Quinn stared up at him blankly. “OH!” She cringed at her own obtuseness. Between crashing with her family last week and this new investigation, she’d neglected Colin. Their situation never had any definition besides sex. But Quinn wasn’t in the headspace for a relationship. How could she tell Colin without hurting him? “Colin…”
