Greed: A Superhero Romance (The Deadly Seven Book 2)

by Lana Pecherczyk

  No one said a word after that.

  It was in this warehouse, with the other strangers that he’d been given the serum.

  His phone rang, snapping him back to the present.

  Donald got up and kicked items away until he found his cell under a coffee table.

  He answered it. “What?”

  Silence on the other end. He checked the calling display and recognized the burner cell phone number linked to her—Falcon. Shit.

  “Did you complete your mission?” came a hollow voice. Just hearing her tone made him cringe. He didn’t know how he’d been attracted to her when she was out of her costume. The woman had a voice like nails down a chalkboard.

  “Yes,” he said in a clipped tone. “I killed the witness, but I didn’t get the story. I almost didn’t make it thanks to that Lazarus prick. I need more serum.”

  Silence again.

  It extended so long that Donald thought maybe she’d hung up, but then she spoke. “We’re under no obligation to give you anything.”

  “You don’t, I spill. I make my award-winning story about you instead of the vigilantes.”

  “Did you just threaten us, Mr. Doppenger?”

  He bit his lip. “I’ll do whatever you want, just give me the serum. This time, I’ll make it so the right people see me.”

  As it was, only Lilo and Griffin saw Donald kill that man in the cell. He needed public witnesses to the actual crime, not just him dressed as Greed running from the explosion. It had to be big enough, senseless enough, that the city turned against the heroes. He’d almost succeeded two years ago when he wrote the story about the Deadly Seven destroying the building that killed all those people. He didn’t see a peep from the vigilantes for years after that. The city had lost their faith in them, and they lost faith in themselves. He did all that without the help of the Falcon lady and her benefactors. He could do it again.

  “Mr. Doppenger? Are you still there?”

  Donald snapped back to attention. “I’m sorry, I missed that.”

  “I asked about the Lazarus you mentioned being there. Elaborate.”

  “He’s irrelevant. A data analyst or some shit. But because of him, I didn’t get the lead for the story, and someone else did. He turned up to accompany my princess, then the asshole decided to fight me. The weapon you gave me was defective. I aimed for the head, but shot him in the shoulder and he walked away.”

  He would ask for a refund, except, he didn’t pay anything for the serum. Strangely, they’d given it to him for free.

  “Our weapons never fail. Your inexperience must be the cause.”

  “I don’t think so. I spent most my teenage years hunting in the woods with my father and brother. I know how to use a gun. I know how to aim.”

  “Interesting.”

  Why the fuck? Donald wanted to ask, but he knew better than to pry with Falcon.

  The serum was supposed to make him stronger, heal faster and sense the sin of greed in the foulest of sinners. She said she would supply a costume identical to the one the vigilante Greed wore, and then he was free to do as he wished. Kill whoever, whenever. The night Donald caught the sinners stealing from the jewelers was the first night he’d tested the serum. It worked like a charm. He felt invincible as he prowled the city streets following that gut wrenching radar to a crime. He hadn’t expected the other Deadly Seven member there, and he would’ve shot him too, but then the sirens dragged him away. His plan only worked if he wasn’t in a prison cell to write the story.

  “You’re sure you mortally wounded him?” Falcon said.

  “Yes. Absolutely.”

  “And another woman was there.”

  “Yes.” Nerves ticked Donald’s jaw. He didn’t like speaking about Lilo to this emotionless woman. He wanted Lilo all to himself.

  “I want a full report emailed to me by the morning. You will have your serum Mr. Doppenger. You will have as much as you want, especially if you can capture a blood sample from the Lazarus man you mentioned was at the precinct. Try to be inconspicuous.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Griffin stormed into the workout area in the basement headquarters of Lazarus House. He needed to let off steam and hitting an inanimate object was the safest avenue for at least three reasons he could think of: it couldn’t hit back; it didn’t matter if he obliterated it; and it had no feelings. Perfect for the aggression he was about to unleash.

  Stripping his bloody blazer and work shirt, he rounded the corner to the fitness room and stopped short. His mother was running drills at the wooden man. Why anyone called it that was beyond him. It looked nothing like a man. Just a stump with smaller stumps jutting out from it. More like a tree. She hit each branch over and over again in a well-timed routine. Punch, hit, slap, block, kick, knee. And again until her movements blurred.

  Apart from training around the world, Griffin and his siblings were also taught deadly combat skills by Mary. The one thing she instilled was repetition.

  Again. Again. Again. The sound of her voice echoed from his memory.

  They ran through their drills until their brains turned to mush and it became second nature for their bodies. That way, when an attack took their minds by surprise, or their emotions got the better of them, the memory in their muscles could be relied on.

  That’s what he needed now. Mush.

  Mary noticed Griffin’s entrance. Sweat plastered her dark hair around her face, and the rest was tied at her nape in a low braid. She wore black yoga attire and looked mighty fit for a woman of her age.

  “Griffin,” she said, halting. “What happened to your shoulder?”

  He glanced at the red raw puckered wound, already closing over. “I got shot.”

  Obviously.

  She knew what a bullet wound looked like as much as he. It even had the stitches Grace had put in there.

  Mary stared. It was as though she gathered her patience. She always had that look around him. He knew he was hard to communicate with compared to the others, but she never lost her temper with him.

  “How did you get shot?” she asked.

  He moved toward the wooden man—tree. Wooden tree. Chopped tree. Felled tree. Something. He removed his glasses and put them on his folded pile of clothes.

  “If you’re finished,” he said. “I need to hit something.”

  Mary stepped to the side. “Be my guest.”

  To avoid aggravating his shoulder, Griffin started slow, but with Mary watching, he quickly became irritated and pushed too hard.

  “You’re dropping your left elbow.”

  “That’s because I’ve been shot.”

  “Perfect time to train.”

  Was she being sarcastic? He didn’t want to ask. Instead, he lifted his left elbow, stifled his wince from the shot of pain, and jabbed another branch.

  After a few minutes of silence, Mary spoke. “Are you going to tell me what’s got your panties in a twist?”

  “By panties in a twist, you’re referring to my mood.”

  “Naturally. What’s bothering you?”

  “Nothing.” Jab. Knee. Jab. Knee.

  Soon, sweat poured over Griffin’s naked torso and soaked into his waistband. His lungs burned. His shoulder screamed. But it felt good. It felt something. It felt like control.

  “Griffin.”

  “Mary.” He punched a wooden arm, and it splintered off, landing on the rubber ground with a thud.

  Damn it.

  “It’s not nothing. Griffin, look at me.” Mary tried to turn his face with a soft touch to his jaw, but the sensation made him flinch.

  “Don’t!” he snapped. Unwanted touch still made him skittish.

  Nobody told Mary no, so with a more forceful grip, she displayed his wrist tattoo. Usually this was the way she could tell if her children were lying to her, but with Griffin, his was always balanced.

  He allowed her the look. The pressure was firm, unlike the soft feathery touch she’d used on his face. He could deal with firm.
r />   She growled in frustration. “Talk to me.”

  Griffin didn’t need her sympathy, her pity, or her help. She’d left him to that grueling seven year training on his own. Each of his siblings went through it a year apart. He’d hated it. He’d been beat up, tortured, and ruthlessly punished with endless nights of physical training. In the end, he also became something none of his siblings were—a cold hearted killer. This control was the only way he stopped that from happening again. No thanks to her.

  “Griffin,” Mary said. “Are you listening to me?”

  But he wasn’t. His mind was already in the past, to when he’d woken from a black haze to finding dead bodies all around him. To the foreign scenery covered in red eviscerated body parts. And he didn’t even remember doing it. How could he be Lilo’s mate, let alone stand next to her with that kind of monster inside him?

  Right on queue, at the thought of Lilo, metal objects around the room started to shake. The dumbbells. The weights. The machines. It was as though a zero-gravity earthquake had hit, or a freight train traveled nearby. Each metal item lifted a few inches from the ground. They trembled and shook.

  “Griff?” Mary gasped, eyes darting around nervously.

  “There’s nothing to talk about.” Griffin bit his tongue and forced himself to calm. He imagined hot water streaming over his body. He imagined himself alone in the shower, at peace. The air in his lungs slowed its journey, and his heart rate steadied. The metal objects lowered to the ground and stilled, rattling becoming nothing but a memory.

  Good. See? He could control himself fine when he pushed Lilo from his mind. He was in control, and he needed no help.

  Mary gaped, looking around the room at the disarray of metal objects, now scattered haphazard across the room. “You’re lying to yourself if you believe that.”

  Wooden man done. Cardio next.

  Griffin stalked to the treadmill on the far side of the gymnasium. Before he got onto the conveyor, he shifted the skewiff machine back to its straightened position and then hit the program button for the most demanding workout.

  The more he taxed himself, the easier it would be for him to process the events of the day. The new job. The fake Greed. Owing Lilo. Lilo. Why did he keep coming back to her? Her bubblegum scent had seared into his nostrils.

  He started jogging but, before long, his track pants were drenched with sweat and sticking to him. He pretended he didn’t care, that he was in control, but the texture of the fabric had changed. Once smooth, it was now sticky and weighty. Stubbornly, he kept running until he couldn’t take it anymore, roared in frustration and stopped, stripping his pants until he sat on the gymnasium floor in his boxer shorts.

  “Satisfied now?” Mary’s distant voice held no smugness, only patience.

  And that made him more irritated. His emotions threatened to overwhelm him, but he forced his outward countenance to calm. “Not even close.”

  He tried to stand, but wavered and sat back down. Just a minute, that’s all he needed and he would be fine. He rested his elbows on his knees and winced at the pinch in his shoulder. After placing his head on his forearms, he slowly breathed through the gap and stared at the floor. It was a technique Mary had shown him when he was younger to help block external stimulation and focus on recovery.

  “You met someone.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Griffin’s only reply was that he didn’t need anyone.

  Mary clicked her tongue. “You of all people need someone.”

  “You of all people have no right to say that.” He regretted the words the instant they came out of his mouth. He’d been doing a lot of that lately.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because you made us leave you to train with strangers.” Because he’d been away from her protection, and he’d been tortured. He’d killed. “What do you know about needing someone?”

  What kind of mother sent her children away?

  Mary’s quiet footsteps padded through the room until Griffin saw her bare feet in front of him. She crouched and waited. He inhaled a deep shuddering breath. When Griffin lifted his gaze, he found eyes glistening with unshed tears.

  “Griffin, I did the best I could to prepare you for what you have to face now. The future I foretold years ago is starting to arrive, and we’ve only seen the beginning. I couldn’t train seven gifted teenagers on my own. I had to get help.”

  “Sometimes the help did a terrible job.”

  “I’m sorry.” She tried to put her hand on his arm, but he cut her down with a glare.

  He knew he was being irrational, pushing his problems onto her because she was an easy target. It was unfair, but he couldn’t stop. The alternative was looking at himself.

  A man cleared his throat.

  Griffin shifted his glare to the door where Flint stood, hands on hips. Flint was a tall man of about sixty who had kept fit and slim. He wore a flannelette shirt, buttons open to reveal a white T-shirt tainted with black grease. The baseball cap on his head was also stained and turned backward.

  He probably shouldn’t wear light colors with his occupation.

  “I think it’s about time you and I had ourselves a little chat, son. Step into my office.”

  Flint sent his wife a look Griffin couldn’t decipher.

  Mary backed off and straightened. “I just have one last thing to say to you, Griffin.”

  He tensed.

  “You may think you can ignore finding your mate, but you can’t ignore that new ability. You need to train before you hurt someone. I expect to see you here in full battle gear in one hour and then ready to hit the streets at sunset. I’ll find someone to run comms for you. Maybe Evan can join you on patrol. Call me crazy, but electricity and magnetism go hand in hand.”

  She walked out.

  Griffin shook his head. At what, he wasn’t sure. Maybe himself, because he liked that Mary wasn’t one to be pushed around. He liked that she kept him in line. To be honest, it was a relief.

  Some things never changed.

  He got up, found himself a towel to wrap around his waist, and then followed Flint out of the room.

  To get to the workshop, Griffin had to pass through the operations room. It was a space filled with screens on walls monitoring CCTV and news footage around the city. In the center of the room was a strategy table laid out with maps and computers. The glass cabinets lining another wall were empty except for bare mannequins, waiting to be covered by the new battle outfit Parker worked on. Griffin looked forward to the prototype’s completion.

  When he entered the tech workshop, he found Flint already at his desk rearranging his tools around a metal sphere open to expose something that looked like a miniature gas chamber.

  Griffin almost asked about the project, but Flint spoke up.

  “I heard about what happened on patrol last night,” Flint said. “You left your brother because staying would have put you out of balance. He could have gotten hurt.”

  “He survived.”

  “That’s not the point, and you know it. Your control issues are impeding your effectiveness and reliability in the field. It’s time to do something about it. You should talk to us about what happened during your training.”

  Control issues kept him from murdering every person he loved, and then some… but perhaps Flint had a small point. The stolen clutter in his apartment was getting out of hand. The protocol he’d formed to keep him in balance was no longer optimal.

  “I overheard what your mother said about your new abilities. You’ve met someone.”

  “I don’t see how that is relevant to my… habits.”

  “You’ve seen how Evan and Grace are together. It’s natural. It’s good. And Evan doesn’t need to worry about cutting time short when he’s fighting crime because he’s worried he’ll be out of balance.”

  “I don’t like relying on someone else to reset my equilibrium. It’s unreliable.”

  “Life is unreliable.”

  “
I know this,” Griffin growled.

  “So, what else is it? What’s really putting you off?” Flint shifted a mechanical box on his desk, opened it and then rearranged the metal tools inside. “Is it… have you, I mean…” Flint cleared his throat. “You’re not nervous to be with a woman, are you?”

  What did he mean by that? Of course Griffin wasn’t nervous to be with a woman. He was around them all the time.

  Oh.

  “I’ve been sexually involved with women before, Flint. I’m not a teenager.”

  “Okay. Good.” He cleared his throat again and avoided Griffin’s gaze. “Because, you know, I’m here if you need to talk. About anything. Girl stuff, you know. I mean, I was your age once.”

  Griffin stifled a smile. “I know.”

  “In fact, I met Mary around your age. We worked at the same place, as you know.” Flint’s gaze turned wistful. “She loved it when I made her coffee. I’d turn up to the break room, and we’d spend our ten minutes together.”

  “Coffee,” Griffin mused.

  “Yep. Simple as that. I turned up like clockwork every day. Took me some time to get into her good books, but once I did, I knew there was no turning back. Is there anything about this woman you’ve mated that isn’t quite right for you? Grace was perfect for Evan, but we haven’t any understanding if everyone else will get a mate of similar age and be physically and emotionally attracted to them.”

  An image of Lilo’s lovely face rose in Griffin’s mind—it was the image he’d captured of her sitting in his car, sun casting a soft halo around her head.

  “Lilo is above physical expectations, she’s aesthetically attractive and of a similar age. I’d say her personality is also acceptable. Perhaps she’s a little too talkative, and she likes to touch, but one can expect that from a generous person.” He thought about it for a moment longer. “She chewed gum. I didn’t like that. It was too fragrant.”