Sloth

by Lana Pecherczyk

  Who was Daisy?

  Max turned to see a woman dressed in white leather, perched on top of the brick wall. A stream of long white hair billowed behind her head, eyes and nose concealed by a birdlike mask. She poured liquid from a canister onto the beast’s corpse.

  A sizzling sound joined a new acrid scent, fumes so strong, neither Sloan nor Max could breathe. Coughing, they ran toward the alley exit, toward fresh air. When they looked back, the beast was a bubbling mess of black fur and viscous liquid. And the woman in white was gone.

  Tires screeched as a black SUV came to an abrupt halt on the main street next to the alley. Wyatt barreled out, jogging down the cobbled alley floor.

  Great.

  “Where’s Misha?” Wyatt demanded, whites of his eyes dominating.

  “She’s in there.” Max pointed to the shop a few feet away.

  Wyatt’s gaze snapped to the mess behind them, then to the shop. “And why is no one with her?”

  “Because we were chasing down a rabid beast, fucktard,” Sloan snapped.

  Wrong words to say, because Wyatt’s face reddened. A vein popped in his forehead and he pointed at his sister’s face. “You fucking messed up.”

  “Hey.” Max tried to get between them, but Wyatt shoved Max.

  Aw, hell no, he didn’t. Not this time. It was Max who pointed back at Wyatt, getting right in his face. “If you weren’t being such an overpowering prick, your missus wouldn’t be sneaking off to get five minutes peace. So, don’t blame this on Sloan.”

  “Fuck you both.” Wyatt slapped Max’s hand away and went to the dress shop, leaving him standing with Sloan.

  And she still had that damn nail file in her palm.

  “Sloan,” he said softly.

  “What?”

  “Your hand.”

  Blinking, confused, she looked down at her palm. “Oh.”

  Her adrenaline visibly let down; her shoulders dropped, her eyes fluttered, she exhaled.

  “What’s going on?” He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away.

  “I’m a fast healer. Why did you lure the animal out of the shop?”

  Blinking at the sudden change of direction, he answered honestly. “To save you.”

  Hell washed over her features. Darkness poured from her eyes. Her voice came out low and deliberate. “You think you need to save me?”

  “Well, yeah. The demon mutt was chewing your leg off.”

  “This leg, Max? This leg?” She lifted the hem on her jeans. The skin at her calf was a little pink, but otherwise fine.

  “Don’t bloody give me lip for trying to help. You kept flashing your abnormal strength about. People were going to put two and two together that you’re different.”

  “Unbelievable. This is just like the time we were in that gamer tournament and you swooped in and took my kill apparently to save me from the big bad monster. All you did was steal all my XP, level up, and boot me out of the tournament entirely.”

  “It was a bloody computer game, Sloan. I was trying to impress you. It backfired.”

  “You men. You’re all a bunch of assholes who think you can do better than me. None of you trust me to do my fucking job. I’m a fucking super—”

  “Shh.” He waved her down. Had the woman no sense of self-preservation? Drawn by their shouting, a crowd had gathered.

  As though a bad taste filled her mouth, her lips twisted in disgust. “I don’t need you to rescue me.”

  And then she strode away, nail file still lodged in her bloody hand.

  Seven

  Sloan’s alarm woke her at a fresh five a.m. the day of the gala. She’d spent most of the previous evening giving her family a rundown of the beast attack. Much of what they’d talked about was conjecture considering Daisy had destroyed the evidence, but they’d surmised the animal had been injected with the same serum that Lilo’s ex had been months earlier. That man had turned into a superhuman beast, able to sense greed, like them. He’d also had extraordinary strength, but in the end, he’d become so mindless with sin, and drunk on the serum, that he’d killed himself from taking too much. It burned through his insides.

  As Sloan switched on the faucet in her shower, her mind inevitably turned to her lost sister. Daisy had been left behind when Mary and Flint rescued the family from the lab that created them. They thought Daisy had perished in the fire their biological mother set to destroy the lab. Obviously, they’d assumed wrong. If they’d only checked to see if she had survived the fire…

  Sloan dunked her head under the hot stream and let it wash away her worry. It was stupid to get caught up with ifs and maybes. At the time, Sloan was only a baby, and Mary and Flint had their hands full running from the Syndicate with seven children. They couldn’t change the past.

  But that niggling feeling was still there.

  Last night, Sloan set a plate for Daisy at the family dinner table. No one said a thing as they all sat down at their seats in their private dining room in Heaven. Without saying a word, each and everyone of them knew who the setting was for, and at the end of the meal, Mary had requested that Sloan do the same thing at every meal until Daisy was brought home to them. It was a start. A dinner plate today, an olive branch tomorrow, a rescue the next. They would return Daisy to their family. Sloan’s heart clenched and she wrenched her mind back to working out why the Syndicate had experimented on animals instead of humans.

  They’d been after the Deadly Seven for years, trying to get samples of their blood, especially the members who had leveled up with abilities.

  Maybe they weren’t getting what they needed, and the animals were a back-up plan.

  Regardless, moving to animal experimentation was another level of depravity from the organization, and this break in their hunt for the bastards couldn’t have come at a better time. Her break, she had to keep reminding herself. It was her work that gave them this lead with the gala.

  Anger still fired in her blood from the way the men in her life seemed to think she wasn’t capable of fighting her own battles, or doing her damned job. In the back of her mind, she kind of got it. She was a slothful bitch sometimes, but it wasn’t like none of them had danced with their sins before. Typical.

  She tutted to herself the entire time she showered, dressed, and then packed her bag. When she was done, she gave her purring cat a rub on the head.

  “AIMI, I’ll be away from the home for a few days. Can you look after Luna please?”

  AIMI replied, “Yes, Sloan, oh Masterful One. I’ll arrange for Luna to be fed. Will you be checking in while you’re away?”

  She grinned. That last software update she’d given AIMI was so that she would address her by her new exalted title. “Yes, I want to keep working on that binary code to visual pattern algorithm, and I also want to develop some communicator watches. Something we can program with an SOS.”

  “Similar to the system we have in the suits?”

  “Yes, but something normal enough we can wear during our civilian lives.”

  A pause, then AIMI said, “You’re wanted down in the garage. Should I tell them you’re on your way?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Sloan hoisted her duffel bag, collected her dress bag, and went to the exit. But she couldn’t leave. Something stopped her.

  This was it. No more hiding out in her room. No more waiting for someone else to do the job for her. And no more waiting for respect from her family. She had to earn it. But… maybe they were right. Maybe she needed saving. Maybe she wasn’t good enough to get the job done.

  No. Fuck that shit. She was good. She was a badass. She single handedly—sort of—stopped that beast from killing anymore people. Her.

  She may have even saved Max’s life.

  “Sloan?” AIMI prompted. “Oh, Masterful One? Shall I tell them you’re running late?”

  “No. I’m going.” She took a deep breath and pushed open her door. Just before she left, she cast a glance behind her. Luna stood watching her, yellow cat�
�s eyes blinking.

  I’ve got this.

  She closed the door.

  Sloan found Parker and Tony in the Lazarus House private garage, playing a game of luggage Tetris in the back of Parker’s custom built Bugatti SUV.

  So they were traveling in style. All the better to maintain their cover, she supposed. She would have much rather gone on their recon mission completely incognito, but Parker was right. They needed his and Tony’s affluent identities to get them into the gala.

  All this cloak and dagger business was silly. The Syndicate knew who they were. They knew their true identities and where they lived and worked. The fact the Syndicate failed to move on the Deadly Seven meant they were waiting for something.

  Walking up to them, she watched, amused, as they bickered over who had the best idea for storing their rock-climbing equipment. It seemed obscene to taint such a luxury car with dirty supplies, and chances were they’d never use it considering their mission wasn’t actually rock climbing. She wondered if she should point that out.

  Dressed in khaki shorts and a stiff-collared polo shirt, Tony looked every bit the entitled movie star he was. Aviator sunglasses rested on his forehead, not fully up, as though he were too cool to push them on top of his head like the common people. They all had good bone structure, but Tony’s was perfect. He only had to smile at a lady—even a man—to get what he wanted. But, it was a mistake to think the man didn’t work. Just like Parker, the cocky rich boy was the public persona the world knew. The more they believed Tony was a dumb, pretty-boy actor, the less they suspected his lethal night calling. Although, lately, the two personalities seemed to bleed into one.

  Parker wore cream chinos and a linen collared shirt that barely contained his brute musculature. Some sort of leather moccasins graced his feet, and his long, auburn hair was scraped back into a masculine bun tied at an angle that accentuated his barber-shaved stubble. Honestly, how could women find that walking shampoo commercial attractive? Probably had something to do with his He-Man size and savage strength.

  I have the power, Sloan recited in her head, imagining her brother with the power of Grayskull in his hand. She should make AIMI scrap the King Pee and call him He-Man from now on.

  “You just going to stand there staring?” Parker glowered her way.

  “Yup. This is entertaining.”

  Tony, whose head had been deep in the back of the car, pulled out. His gaze landed on her vintage T-shirt.

  “Something’s different,” he noted, scanning her body. Making a show of it, he put his fingers under his jaw in the classic Thinker’s pose. “No, don’t tell me. I’ll figure it out.”

  “Nothing’s different. You’re still a dickhead.”

  “So… not a new attitude, then. Hmm. Something else… the shirt?”

  She glanced down at her chest. “What?”

  “Fight like a girl?” He snorted at the inscription. “In case you missed it, you are a girl.”

  “Aw, Tony.” She went up to him and knocked him on his head, checking for hollow feedback. “You’re not really dumb. You just act it, remember?”

  He flashed his megawatt Hollywood smile. “How else would you feel so smart?”

  “Jerk.” She punched him in the arm, but he didn’t budge.

  He just laughed. “I get it. New hair. Jeez, Louise.”

  “If you two are finished acting like children, we’re done. Weapons and suits are buried under the rock climbing gear.” Parker slammed the back hatch closed. “Get in.”

  Tony took the front, Parker drove—of course—and Sloan sat in the rear. She buckled herself into the plush leather seat and asked, “Where’s Wyatt?”

  “He’s not coming.” Parker adjusted the rearview, meeting her eyes. “He’s not happy leaving Misha after the stunt you two pulled.”

  She bit her lip. “That guy seriously needs a chill pill.”

  “His child could be worth its weight in gold to the Syndicate. I don’t blame him. We protect our own.”

  “Of course you don’t get it,” she mumbled. Bunch of macho chauvinistic poop heads. Misha was perfectly fine. In no danger whatsoever. As they pulled out of the lot and into the side alley, she raised her voice. “Just us then?”

  Silence greeted her. Fine. Stupid question. Got it. She reached into her backpack and pulled out her iPad and headphones. Expecting a long drive, she was surprised when the car slowed down almost immediately on the main street.

  Confused, she lifted her head from her screen to check for traffic, but the other passenger door opened. Max folded his long body into the car, bringing the scent of sunshine and coconut. Her stomach flipped.

  “Thanks for coming on short notice, Max,” Parker said before pulling back onto the road.

  “No dramas.” Max brought his fist to the front as Tony brought his back for a bump.

  “Road trip!” Tony whooped.

  This was officially the day from hell.

  The groan that came out of Sloan couldn’t be helped, and when Max looked her way with the faintest of smiles, dimple in cheek flashing, she wanted to be pissed. She really did, but she couldn’t avoid the fact she felt more energized sitting next to him. They weren’t even touching. When—if—they touched, she was told it would be an enormous relief; her reaction to sensed sin, the constant queasy stomach, would just disappear. Poof!

  As long as they held that connection, she would be immune to sensing sin. She’d be almost human.

  She put her cat’s ears headphones on and scowled at her screen. Normally, she’d pull up a game, do a few Fortnite battle royales, increase her skill points. But feeling unusually productive, that binary code to visual pattern program called to her.

  Sniffing, she turned the music up and did her best to ignore the two-hundred-plus pounds of hot male next to her. Damned mating-bond. It was enough to make her question her beliefs about him.

  Eight

  Much to Max’s annoyance, Sloan ignored him the entire four-hour drive. He was grateful for their arrival at the luxury hotel where the gala was taking place that evening. The four of them had separate rooms in the penthouse suite. Upon arriving, Sloan had immediately retreated to her room, avoiding him and her brothers like the plague until she was called out for a briefing session.

  It couldn’t go on like this.

  How could they work together with all that unresolved tension between them? By the end of the night, he would work out what her problem was. If anyone had the right to be pissed about how things ended between them, it was him.

  The four of them spent the latter part of the afternoon going over the plan. Sloan was to lure Barry to the bar while Max did a shifty on his fingerprints and biometrics. Tony and Parker were to make a show of their celebrity, drawing attention away from Sloan and Max in case they needed to improvise. Tomorrow, the four of them would head into the wilderness for their alibi adventure trip. Parker had already had his assistant schedule fake social media pictures of their trip—making it look like they were nowhere near the black site.

  Max had never met Parker’s assistant, but it sounded like she was his go-to woman. It must be one hell of an NDA contract she’d signed for Parker to be comfortable giving her tasks that could potentially put their identities at risk. Probably similar to the contract he’d signed. In that case, it was iron clad. One slip of the tongue about any of the secret goings on of the family Lazarus, and Max was severely in breach.

  Putting the finishing touches on his tuxedo and bow tie, he checked his watch. Five to six. Time to go.

  He joined the other two men in the central living area between the penthouse bedrooms. Cream brocade and gold decor graced the decor, from the sofas to the lampshades and cushions.

  Both in custom tailored tuxedos, Tony and Parker looked suave and sophisticated as they sipped on expensive champagne. Parker’s outfit caught the eye with its deep maroon and satin lined jacket. Tony’s was edgier with leather lapels. Max wore the standard type you rented. They’d offered to pur
chase him one, but after seeing the fashion style they had in mind, he declined.

  Jeez, he felt out of place. He was just a surfer kid from the south-west of Australia. A town with a population of five thousand. Both parents dead by the time he was eighteen, he’d joined the army as a means to travel the world. His squad had become his new family. Gale had become his brother. Max still remembered spending summers at Gale’s family farm, catching yabbies in the dam and riding ATVs down the dunes. They’d thought they were invincible. How times had changed.

  Parker poured another glass of champagne and offered it to Max, but he declined. Alcohol might burn through their system quickly, but not his, and he didn’t drink on the job.

  “How long do you think we’ll have to wait for Sloan?” Tony mused, draining his glass.

  “She’s been better lately. She’ll be out soon,” Parker replied.

  “Better?” Max queried. Was she sick?

  “She’s sloth, you know?” Tony poured himself another glass, but held onto the bottle. “For a few years before you arrived, she’d hardly left the building. Was usually late, slept all day, that sort of shit.”

  “I’ve not noticed it.” Much.

  Parker’s cell phone rang and he dipped his hand into his pocket to check it. Giving the two men a swift look, he held up his finger. “I need to take this. Won’t be long.” Then he disappeared back into his room, leaving Max alone with Tony.

  Tony poured himself another glass.

  “Slow down, cowboy,” Max joked. “We’ve got all night.”

  “Ugh. Sorry.” Tony rolled his eyes. “These things tie me up in knots.”

  “Really? I thought you’d be a pro at it by now. You always seemed to love the attention.”

  Tony shot Max a derisive arched eyebrow. “Love the attention?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “You think I love being trailed home by paparazzi, or having women maul me at the grocery store?”

  “You buy your own groceries?” Max mocked. “Never thought Agent Danger did much other than blow up city buildings, go on car chases and—”