The Pantheon Saga | Book 5 | Absolute Power

by Ekeke, C. C.

  Greyson sat on his couch beside Connie, not reacting to Asher’s tantrum. “I already agreed. Tryout is tomorrow evening at their headquarters.”

  A collective gasp rippled through the pearl-clutching Paxton-Brandt team.

  Asher stared a hole into Greyson. “And? The Natural Born Thrillers work for Paxton-Brandt’s sworn enemy!” He was like a different person from the suck-up showing off costume designs.

  “This could be a trap,” Darnell, one of Asher’s flunkies, suggested.

  “Or an opportunity,” Connie refuted, hands spread. “Greyson’s records are scrubbed. And the fact that she doesn’t know his real name is an advantage.”

  Asher stared down at Connie like she was an insect. “No one asked your opinion.”

  Connie reddened. “Excuse you?”

  Greyson caught her arm before she did something rash. That’s one. “Asher.” His mind was made up. “I try out for the Natural Born Thrillers. Even if I get cut, I’ve been inside their headquarters. We can find out when and where to strike.” There was no downside to this approach.

  Asher purpled. “Are you deaf, Hirsch? NO!” He spoke with such contempt, jabbing a finger in his face. “You’re just another attack dog. Do as you’re told and leave the thinking to me.”

  The living room hushed, the tension thick enough to grab.

  It was the final insult. That’s two. Greyson rose, eyes locked with Asher. “Give us the room.” He didn’t raise his voice. The steel in his words prompted everyone else, even Connie, toward the kitchen.

  Asher whipped around, increasingly irked. “No one leaves until I say so.”

  Everyone immediately cleared out.

  Greyson grabbed Asher by the chin and turned his head back to face him. “Let’s talk.”

  With that one request, Asher went bone-white. He tried moving his arms but noticed how heavy they’d grown. Confusion soon became terror.

  Greyson forced Asher backward and down on the couch while clutching his jaw.

  Asher trembled, sweat beading down his brow. “Do you know how much money we’ve invested in you and your wife?” he demanded pathetically.

  Greyson cocked his head sideways, amused at what this man considered power. “And that’s supposed to make me your mindless slave?”

  Asher swallowed hard, realizing he had no tether on Greyson. “I…I…”

  “No more talking,” Greyson decided and palmed the top of Asher’s head as if petting a dog. He gradually increased the gravity on his shoulders and head. “I will infiltrate the Natural Born Thrillers to learn their strengths and weaknesses. And then, I will crush them like eggs.” He searched the executive’s face. “Nod if you understand, boy.”

  Asher nodded feverishly.

  Greyson increased the gravity a tad more. “You owe Connie an apology. Nod.”

  Asher grunted but nodded briskly.

  Only then did Greyson push Asher back and release him.

  The Paxton-Brandt executive sagged onto the couch, gasping ragged breaths.

  “Tell Olin the plan,” Greyson concluded. “You can even take credit.” He glanced toward the kitchen. “All finished.”

  Connie and the Paxton-Brandt team stepped out from the kitchen with curious looks.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hirsch,” Asher said robotically to Connie, hollowed out.

  Connie glanced over him in pure disgust. “Sure.” She pulled Greyson aside to the kitchen before any further discussions started. “What happened?” she demanded.

  “I happened.” Greyson grinned. “Our plan’s a go.”

  Chapter 13

  “I combed over that whole block, Hugo,” Clint said, dropping his hands in frustration. “Any street camera footage was conveniently corrupted.” The skinny, tattooed hacker leaned back in his chair at the circular command center of Geist’s former lair. Pale lights spilled throughout the chambers.

  Hugo, in costume with the hood and mask pulled back, fought down frustration. “Great.” That random attack two days ago had him insanely paranoid. “That’s some CIA-OSA-level coverup there.”

  Simon, sitting at the control center, jockeyed for Hugo’s attention. His BFF had been learning how Clint quarterbacked Blackjack’s and Domino’s missions so he could do that for Hugo. He was a better friend than Hugo deserved. “Isn’t Spencer under house arrest?”

  Hugo shook his head. “The blast felt like the other times she attacked me.” Spencer Michelman had attacked him. He knew it in his bones.

  “Ask Dr. Michelman.” Simon stood. Even after his growth spurt, he still only reached Hugo’s chest.

  “I’ve called a few times,” Hugo said. “Haven’t heard back.” That was unlike him. Usually, Dr. Michelman got back to him within a day. He’d gotten radio silence for over two days.

  Sounds of grunts and smacking flesh floated out of the lair’s training section, where J-Tom had sparred with Domino and Blackjack for almost an hour. Those noises reminded Hugo.

  “Don’t mention this to J-Tom. Spencer’s still a sore point.”

  Clint snorted, unconcerned by teen angst.

  “You and your girl drama,” Simon taunted, shaking his head. “I’m your lockbox.”

  Hugo felt lighter. Those first few weeks after Black Wednesday had been rough, with J-Tom bursting into tears whenever discussing Spencer. Hugo had showered her with affection—probably too much. But supporting his career and then training to be a superhero herself had truly healed J-Tom. Now that could be taken from her.

  “If I’d known about you and Spencer last year,” Simon chided, “this shit wouldn’t have happened.”

  Hugo scratched the back of his neck. “Probably.” Remembering the inescapable pull between him and Spencer, Hugo doubted anything could’ve stopped him. “I’ll check Michelman’s houses on my afternoon patrol before the Morro Bay Carnival.”

  Simon frowned. “We’re still getting some Beach Bum Burger first?”

  Hugo winced, recalling yesterday’s plans. “Ramon could only meet Jenny and me this afternoon.”

  “The moment of truth.” Simon nodded with a closed expression.

  “Something like that,” Hugo remarked remorsefully. “See ya at the Carnival.”

  “Later.” Simon gave an unenthusiastic wave before thanking Clint, then leaving.

  Hugo watched him go. That wasn’t the first time he’d seen such disappointment from Simon.

  Clint was watching Hugo, fingers steepled over his Def Leppard shirt. “Don’t take your real-world friends for granted.”

  Hugo’s regret deepened. “Yeah.” He’d make this up to Simon somehow. “Can you find someone for me? Vincent Van Violence.”

  Clint went rigid in his seat. “Definitely,” he agreed. “I hate that slice of dog shit.”

  Hugo smirked and patted his shoulder. “Thanks, Clint.” He glanced at other monitors Clint worked on. One featured the domed roof of the Jefferson Memorial, defaced by the terrorist Saracen. That asshole. Another screen listed members in Geist’s vigilante network in the Bay Area and San Luis Obispo County.

  Not my business. Hugo strode from the command center into the training room, where two women traded strikes and blocks. Blackjack watched in the corner, a towering presence, even out of costume.

  The tall blonde in crazy shape, wearing yoga pants and a trainer bra, was Carmit Bendavid, aka Domino. She laid in strikes on a slightly taller J-Tom, who had on training shorts and a cutoff tee. The black headband and bun kept J-Tom’s hair from her tight, focused face. Domino seemed almost bored.

  Hugo listened to J-Tom’s heart race with exertion. Domino’s pulse remained normal when she moved with viper-like speed, dragging a shocked J-Tom by the arm over her shoulders. One crisp toss later, and she was wincing up at the lights.

  Domino stared down at her imperiously. “Your opponent’s eyes and body language will always inform their next move,” she chided in her Israeli accent, offering her hand.

  J-Tom ruefully accepted and got pulled upright.


  Hugo didn’t hide a wincing face, as he’d seen many variations of this scene play out.

  He fixed his face and approached with arms behind his back. “How’s she doing?”

  Blackjack jabbed fingers at his wife and trainee. “I swear, Thomas is improving.”

  Hugo eyed his gasping friend and forced a half-smirk. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  J-Tom gasped. “I’m right here.”

  Blackjack and Domino burst out laughing, making her laugh also.

  “Time for our date with Dynamo, huglord,” Hugo announced.

  J-Tom’s smile vanished like clouds over the sun. “Don’t remind me.” She trudged to the changing room.

  While waiting, Hugo gathered the two vigilantes closer. He’d gotten to know them well these last several weeks, hence why he’d trusted them to train J-Tom. “Any word from Geist?”

  Blackjack shook his head. “He’s off the grid, doesn’t want to be found.”

  Hugo didn’t care for that. No one had heard from Geist since he’d left San Miguel to regain his edge, not even his protégés. “Therese said the same.” He scratched his chin, surprised to find slight stubble.

  “Geist will return.” Domino’s voice held a mix of sternness and pain. “When he’s found whatever he’s searching for.”

  The profound words shook through Hugo. Geist’s presence loomed large, even in absence. “I miss him.”

  Domino’s expression warmed.

  “Us too.” Blackjack’s deep voice hitched. “Every damn day.”

  Hugo gathered his composure. “I guess—Jesus!” He gaped again. “Your forearm.”

  The exclamation startled Blackjack, whose right arm was bandaged from elbow to wrist. “It’s nothing.”

  Hugo had seen “nothing” injuries. “Your bandage says otherwise.”

  “Cooking accident.” Domino stepped in front of Blackjack. Her face had no give. “Jeff’s very clumsy.”

  Domino’s and Blackjack’s elevated heartrates gave away their lie. Hugo decided not to push, be it a kitchen accident or kinky sex.

  J-Tom reentering the room cut the tension. She wore a long-sleeved striped tee and jeans, ginger hair wild and bouncy. “Ready.”

  “Gear up, Jenny.” Hugo pulled on his hood and half-mask. “Thanks, guys.”

  Blackjack waved off the compliment with his uninjured hand. “Good luck.”

  Several minutes later, Hugo flew at modest speed down San Miguel’s sandy coastline of beaches and cliffsides. The afternoon sun was a golden disk starting its slow march into the sea.

  J-Tom kept pace. Her form had improved, arms thrown back like wings, her turns much more graceful like Hugo had taught her. In daylight, her bootstrapped armor’s dents and DIY quality became more glaring. Shame spasmed down Hugo’s chest. Vincent Van Violence or The Accelerator would obliterate this armor, regardless of how long she’d worked on it.

  “Breathe,” Hugo called over the winds, hearing J-Tom’s shallow breaths above the whirs of her armor.

  J-Tom’s round helmet jerked about to meet his gaze, eyes gleaming red. “You heard that saying about never meeting your heroes? Dynamo was my favorite.” She turned to focus ahead, no deviation in flight path. Another improvement. “Blew my mind when I found out he’s human and younger than us.”

  Hugo nodded as they approached the Santa Maria/San Miguel border. “I almost twisted his head off,” he remarked, recalling their first violent encounter. “Now we’re bros.”

  J-Tom gave a nervous laugh, stopping her from almost hyperventilating.

  Soon after, they had reached Ramon Dempsey’s Santa Maria compound on a private beach. The home, where he lived with his parents, had a boxy shape surrounded by stretches of wilderness. Hugo had called ahead so Ramon knew to lower any security protocols.

  “Hang back while I make intros,” Hugo advised before plunging down to one of the courtyards. He did a flawless superhero landing in a garden teeming with local plant life and intoxicating scents.

  Ramon rolled along a cobblestone walkway in his wheelchair, hair freshly trimmed and wearing a San Miguel Outlaws jersey.

  Hugo smiled as he stood, pulling his mask and hood back. “Ray-Ray!”

  Ramon smiled back. “Bogie!” They exchanged high-fives and side hugs. “Your call sounded urgent.”

  Here we go. Hugo tingled with nerves. “We should discuss something.” He looked up and waved at the sunlit heavens. “C’mon down, Jenny.”

  Ramon followed Hugo’s stare, increasingly confused.

  J-Tom descended in her dark metal armor, her boots’ repulsor thrusts blazing bright on the way. As soon as she touched down, the armored helmet popped open, as did the rest of her armor’s front chassis. J-Tom stepped out of her armor and approached, giving Hugo a questioning look.

  He nodded encouragement, heartened by her regard.

  “Mr. Dempsey?” J-Tom stood before a stunned Ramon. “Jennifer Thomas.” She waved back at her armor. “I built this from two of your practice drones.” J-Tom then explained being a huge Dynamo fan, these drones crashing in her backyard, and crafting this armor with her dad’s help.

  After she finished, Ramon studied the armor wordlessly.

  The silence stretched so long, J-Tom started fidgeting. Hugo waited, growing self-conscious.

  Ramon placed both hands on his lap, his expression neutral. “No.” That one word detonated like a bomb in this peaceful garden.

  Hugo took no joy in J-Tom’s wounded reaction, but this was necessary.

  “Why?” she demanded.

  Ramon’s eyes flashed. “That armor is my property.” He didn’t raise his voice, but his sharp tone conveyed that anger. “And I won’t have another pretender ruin the Dynamo name.”

  J-Tom’s freckles vanished under a deep flush. “I’d never try replacing you.”

  Ramon turned his tight glare on Hugo. “How long have you known about this?”

  “Seven weeks,” he admitted, bracing himself as Ramon opened his mouth heatedly.

  “Don’t blame Hugo, please!” J-Tom stepped in front of Hugo as if Ramon was a firing squad. “I didn’t tell him until seven weeks ago.”

  Ramon tensed up and then relaxed. But his eyes burned with emotions he seemed unable to process. “Wearing the suit or armor like Hugo and me is a job. Not some science fair hobby.”

  J-Tom nodded with terse respect. “I know, sir. I just want to be a hero.”

  “You say that now…” Ramon rolled closer. “How will you fix that armor after taking damage? Where will you get ammunition? What if someone hacks into your armor?” His voice caught on that last part.

  Hugo saw where this was heading, a lump forming in his throat. The horrible day that ended Ramon’s superhero career; an ex-teammate hijacked his armor and made it slaughter Pressley Lau’s crew with him inside. That horrible day had almost turned Hugo into a cold-blooded murderer after finding those lifeless bodies. The fiery ache forced him to blink back tears.

  J-Tom already knew the story. But seeing the lingering scars on him and Ramon left her agape. “I…I…”

  Ramon stared up at J-Tom but no longer saw her, reliving that nightmarish day. “You’re trapped in your own creation, which you thought was safe, forced to watch while someone destroys your legacy. And there’s nothing you can do.”

  J-Tom stood her ground, scared but unyielding. “I want to help people like you and Bogie—”

  “You’re nothing like me, Jennifer,” Ramon cut her off with chilling finality. “And that’s a good thing.”

  J-Tom deflated, so broken and drained of joy. Witnessing this lanced Hugo through the heart.

  Ramon turned back to him. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  “I should have,” Hugo admitted. “And I’m sorry.” He should’ve ended it there. Then this nonsense of J-Tom becoming a hero would be over. But watching her struggle for composure, Hugo thought of how she’d looked forward to inspiring citizens who’d lost hope after The Vanguard’s demis
e. She wanted to stand up for those who couldn’t do that for themselves. She wanted to help Hugo if he ever needed backup.

  What if I’m wrong to say nothing? A queer resolve seized Hugo in that moment.

  He walked over, gripping J-Tom’s shoulders from behind. “Jenny reverse-engineered two of your drones with only her dad’s help and crafted her own armor. She’s been fight training regularly with Blackjack and Domino.” Hugo rounded J-Tom and stood before Ramon. “I’m working with Jenny on her blast coordination and reflexes, which keep improving.” No bullshit there. “If Jenny took the certification test, she’d ace the damn thing.”

  Those words poured from Hugo without thought. “The world needs more heroes as smart, brave, and caring as Jennifer Thomas.”

  J-Tom blushed and looked down, but her affection was tangible.

  Satisfied, Hugo turned to Ramon again. “Aren’t you curious to see what she did with your technology?”

  Another stretch of time passed as Ramon flitted his eyes from J-Tom to her inactive armor standing nearby. Then he rotated his wheelchair around. “Bring it inside,” he grumbled.

  Hugo and J-Tom exchanged silent victorious fist pumps.

  A little later, the three were inside of one of Ramon’s labs with J-Tom’s armor lying on a slab of metal. Surrounding them were various consoles, flatscreens, and stray cybernetic components on table islands. Many of Dynamo’s previous and unworn suits stood in containment units at the far-right end of the chambers. Hugo felt giddy standing inside Ramon’s inner sanctum.

  J-Tom was explaining what she and her dad had done to get the basic functions of the armor to work. Ramon appeared almost bored. Clearly, he knew all this. Hugo’s nerves rose again. But he knew that his words held no sway. J-Tom had to sink or swim in the technology realm.

  “What’s this?” Ramon inquired while running diagnostics on the programs J-Tom had installed in her armor. He sounded genuinely intrigued for the first time.

  J-Tom brightened. “Stealth-mode program.”