Sin (Corrupt Me Book 2) Brooke

Matthews
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 Sin

Brooke Matthews
Copyright © 2024 Brooke Matthews
All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons

No part of this book may be reproduced

Proofread and edited by Becky Edits

Formatted by Nikole Knight
Cover art by Brooke Matthews
 Contents

Acknowledgements
Note to Readers
Blurb
Codex
Dedication
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
13. Chapter Thirteen
14. Chapter Fourteen
15. Chapter Fifteen
16. Chapter Sixteen
17. Chapter Seventeen
18. Chapter Eighteen
19. Chapter Nineteen
20. Chapter Twenty
21. Chapter Twenty-One
22. Chapter Twenty-Two
23. Chapter Twenty-Three
24. Chapter Twenty-Four
25. Chapter Twenty-Five
26. Chapter Twenty-Six
27. Chapter Twenty-Seven
28. Chapter Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
Jinx
About Brooke
Works by Brooke
 Acknowledgements

First off, I have to say thank you to my husband for all the many, many hours you listened to me, plotted with me, and
encouraged me. This book wouldn't be written if it wasn't for all of your support and suggestions, and I'm so very grateful to
have you. I love you lots.
Nikole, you're so freaking awesome. I appreciate you so much for your willingness to help me read over the book in its
roughest state. You are my favorite, and don't you forget it!
Becky, you absolute gem! Thank you for your dedication and hard work on this book! You are incredible, and I'm so lucky for
all your help and support.
And lastly, I want to thank all the readers out there who've become more like my friends! You have no idea how much I
appreciate all of your kind words, your thoughtful messages, and all of your encouragement and excitement for my books! It's
because of you that I love writing. So thank you for your love.
 Note to Readers

Sin is the second book of an interconnected series of standalones. While it isn’t necessary to read book one, Bandit, it’s highly
recommended for a deeper impact and insight into Sin’s and London’s pasts and the world building in their universe. I
understand that not everyone is interested in reading about an MMM relationship, though. So I’ve done my best to write this
book so it can be read as a standalone.
On another note, I need everyone to understand that this book is not the same as Bandit. While this book is set in the same
universe as Bandit, it will have different conflicts, different stakes, and therefore an overall different feel. If you read this book
expecting it to have the same vibe as Bandit, you will be disappointed.
I’ve put in hours upon hours of research into the details—many which I can’t share without spoiling things—of this book to
make sure it is as accurate as possible. That includes speaking to medical specialists about certain injuries or mental health
issues to make sure I represented them to the best of my abilities. I also spoke and messaged with multiple people about
Spanish usage, like my dad and my sister-in-law who has a Masters in Spanish and teaches it. Both of them used to live in
Argentina, and I asked for their help with the Spanish translations. They were very kind and patient with me. So just know I’ve
done my best to make sure I didn’t make any translation mistakes, but if I did, it was unintentional.
That being said, please remember this book is fictional. While I tried to keep things as realistic as I could, some creative
freedom was used in certain instances.
And finally, please read the trigger warnings before getting started on this book. There are many, and I always try my best to
remember any and all things which could be triggering, but it’s possible I missed something. I’m only human. So if there’s
something you want to make sure isn’t in the book, please message me, and I’ll do my best to answer your questions! Safe
reading is happy reading, after all.
 Blurb

Sinclair Gonzalez has a problem. But then again, who doesn’t?

He’s always been able to charm his way out of any mess, any tricky situation. But he doesn’t see a way of charming his way
out of his current prison cell. Not when they have power-muting cuffs blocking his powers.
That is, until the newly reformed government offers him a deal: Help them retrieve the mind-control weapon stolen during
the battle with Sin’s father, and they’ll lift his sentence.
It seems too good to be true.
And when they bring in London as their collateral in case Sin fails or tries to run, he knows he was right.
With the help of the man he loves, several ex-Mercenaries, and his collection of contacts, Sin undertakes a mission that might
very well get him and all that he holds dear killed.
But if he succeeds, he’ll finally have everything he’s ever wanted: A second chance with London.
**This is an MM villain-turned-hero second chance romance with an HEA. Each book in this series can be read as a
standalone, but I would strongly recommend reading them all in order for deeper understanding into the world and characters.
As for triggers, there will be descriptive and mature themes such as violence, on-page fights, gore, PTSD, off-page assault—
both SA and not, dealings with grief—especially that of parental loss, suicidal ideations, depression, torture, murder, smexy
scenes, intense taxidermy, shibari, etc. If you have any triggers, please be cautious reading. You are also welcome to contact
me if there is a specific trigger you have a question about. I do my best to list all the triggers I can think of, but I’m human, and
it’s possible I might have missed some triggers**
 Codex

Civilian—someone without powers or special abilities.

Supers—those with powers or special abilities.
Mercenaries—former Super soldiers in charge of protecting Mercy Heights.
Villains—those with or without powers who defy the government.
UAS—United Association of Supers. It’s the nation’s former government name.
RUAS—Reformed United Association of Supers. It’s the current nation’s government.
Mercy Heights—the nation’s capital.
The Citadel—the RUAS’s headquarters.
To those of us just trying our best.
I see you.
Just one step at a time, yes?
 Chapter One

BECAUSE OF ME

D andelion fluff pirouetted on the breeze, reminding me of when I was little and used to make wishes as I blew the little
seeds into the wind. Back then, my wishes were simple: I wish for a million dollars. I wish for the newest gaming system. I
wish for unlimited pizza. I wish for Arnie Klein from gym class to notice me.
Now, if I were to make wishes, they’d be more along the lines of: I wish the prison cooks would add salt to the food. I wish
the other inmates left me alone. I wish my friends would come visit again.
You know, normal adult wishes.
There were so many wishes I could make, like getting out of this Godforsaken shithole. But deep down, I knew I wasn’t ever
leaving here. Because wishes made from sinners went unanswered, even when carried along the wind by dancing dandelion
fuzz.
Besides, I knew I deserved to be here. To pay for my mistakes.
Which was why, when Charge and his cronies crept up on me from my perch on the prison yard bleachers, I didn’t try to run.
Even when Charge stormed up to me with a promise of pain etched into each crevice of his face.
The blow caused me to bite the inside of my cheek, and blood splattered the ground as a result. I hardly felt the pain at first.
This was just another Tuesday for me, these days.
“Stupid, bastard,” Charge growled, using the full force of his powers on me. It hurt like a bitch, considering he could absorb
and store kinetic energy, then unleash it at his leisure. Which, taking into account the state of what were most definitely broken
ribs, dislocated shoulder, and bloodied face, he’d apparently been storing his power for a while.
Once a week, our power-dampening handcuffs were briefly disabled, and we were allowed to use our powers in a
supervised and highly warded area outside. The warden felt it was important to allow this to keep us from going insane.
Because that’s what it felt like to lose your powers: Insanity.
So I could have stopped Charge, used my power of persuasion and ended this. I was one of the strongest Villains in the
prison when it came to powers, after all, but…
“I lost my daughter that day!” he half-sobbed, half-yelled. His fist crashed against my nose, and a gush of blood followed the
flare of pain as it broke. “She was only seven! And now she’s gone.” Another power-packed punch. “She’s gone. She’s gone.
She’s gone.”
And that was the reason I didn’t fight back. Because I deserved every hit, every drop of blood, every bite of pain.
This wasn’t the first time one of the inmates had attacked me, nor would it be the last. So many of them had lost loved ones
because of me. Because I was stupid enough to trust the man who sired me and broke him out of the very prison I now lived in.
Flashes of memory battered my mind, causing a headache to form as I tried my hardest to block them out and keep them
locked inside.
My dad, standing before a crowd of men, women, and children as he pinned a broken man beneath him…
The screams of the man as his power was ripped from his soul until he was no more than a civilian…
It wasn’t long after that day that I’d had my own power ripped from my body, though briefly, by the very same man I called
dad.
I’d seen how the man had convulsed beneath my father as he took something crucial to the man. Had heard the man make
sounds almost inhuman as his power was stolen, leaving him broken and ruined.
I now understood that pain, though I hadn’t at the time. I never could quite explain the sensation because there weren’t words
to describe it. How did you put into words what it felt like to have your very essence torn away?
The closest thing I could compare would be peeling part of your very soul from your body, leaving you with a phantom ache
so intense it sent you into shock. Those of us who’d temporarily lost our powers and managed to live through it understood
what I meant by insanity. Our gifts were interwoven into our being, our DNA, and to have them forcibly ripped away left us
damaged and unstable.
I could still remember the dead look in my father’s eyes that day as he’d carved the man’s heart from his chest in vengeance.
Could still recall the following chaos as my father’s minions attacked the audience who were unfortunate to witness such a
heinous act.
There had been so much blood. So much death.
Because of me.
Another punch to the face helped clear my head of the intrusive memories, and I slowly came back to the present. I
welcomed the man’s hits. It was less painful than reliving my past.
I didn’t know how long the assault lasted, but by the time the alarm began ringing, signaling the end of the hour, I was alone
and bloody on the ground. The cuffs had been enabled once more, forcing my power to withdraw inside myself. Once my
powers were officially locked away, two officers found me. They hauled me up and dragged me to the infirmary.
The nurse, Cyril, a man in his late seventies, eighties, or possibly even nineties—honestly, I couldn’t tell—tsked when he
saw me. “What happened this time, Mr. Gonzalez?”
I shrugged because I wasn’t a snitch and winced as pain tore through me at the simple movement. “I tripped.”
He raised a reprimanding gray eyebrow at me. “You tripped?” he repeated drolly. “How many times? Thirty?”
I snorted out a laugh, then winced as my ribs throbbed from the movement. Gingerly, I sat down on one of the seats and didn’t
respond. Rule number one of prison life: Keep your mouth shut.
When it became clear he wasn’t going to get an answer out of me, he sighed, though I doubted he was all that surprised.
Turning around, he muttered to himself while he rummaged around in his supplies cupboards for what he needed. As criminals,
our medical needs were deemed inconsequential. Really, it was surprising we had a nurse when those in charge of our care
couldn’t care less if we rotted down here.
Cyril pointed to a cot in the middle of the room and began laying out his instruments on the table beside it. “Please strip
down to your underwear, Mr. Gonzalez, and let’s get you checked out.”
“You really only need to check my face,” I tried, quickly glancing at the guards who now stood watch by the door.
The old man followed my gaze before he trained those knowing eyes on my torso. “We’ll make it quick, boy. Strip down and
sit.”
Knowing if I didn’t follow Cyril’s instructions, he wouldn’t allow me to leave, I reluctantly did as he’d requested. Though, I
made sure not to let on to the guards how injured I actually was.
The prisoners weren’t the only ones who preyed on the weak here.
Even after two years of wearing dampening cuffs, my wrists were still raw beneath the metal. The Reformed United
Association of Supers, RUAS, had made lots of improvements to the cuffs after I’d managed to break my dad out. Not only
were they stronger, but they’d gotten a fresh design too. They were no longer connected with a chain linking the cuffs together,
making them appear like bracelets on our wrists. If needed, the officers or those in charge could force the cuffs to magnetize
together, though. It didn’t happen often, unless a prisoner was acting especially rowdy.
Cyril washed and sanitized his hands before donning a pair of latex gloves. He eyed my body with a clinical gaze, taking in
every bruise blooming over past ones, each laceration in my skin, whether shallow or deep. Carefully, he poked and prodded
my body, asking me to shift every so often to see better. He paid special attention to my ribs, observing the redness and
swelling and hiss of pain I couldn’t hold back when he pressed against them. He sent an unimpressed glare in my direction
when it became clear how much I’d been downplaying my injuries.
After he’d checked the back of my body, he let out a long breath and ordered me to lie down. The paper covering the cot
crinkled and stuck uncomfortably to my skin.
I didn’t know how long I remained there, the cool air from the vents peppering my exposed skin with goose bumps while
Cyril attended to me. He bandaged my ribs, rubbed ointments and salves on my cuts and bruises, and even went as far as to
stitch a few gashes before covering them in white gauze. I cursed his name when, without warning me, he snapped my broken
nose back into place.
But as the clock somewhere in the room counted down the minutes, the guards eventually grew bored of waiting and talked
amongst themselves. They chatted about their lives, their families, the soccer game they were watching together at the bar this
coming Saturday. It was surreal, disorienting really, to listen to them. To remember that outside these walls was a world where
people lived such normal lives.
I was so lost in their conversation that I hardly felt the soft tap, tap against my thigh. But when it came again, more insistent
this time, I glanced at Cyril. He was watching me with a serious expression, and when his gaze flicked lower to my backside,
his unspoken question permeated the space between us.
 With a hard swallow, I gave an almost imperceptible shake of my head.
Relief flooded his face before he quickly schooled it. He took a step back and snapped the gloves off his hands. Tossing them
in the bin behind him, he said, “You’re all set, Mr. Gonzalez. Though, I do feel like I need to remind you to be more careful,
please. You’ve always been clumsy,” he said, though we both knew I wasn’t clumsy at all, “but you seem to be tripping more
and more these days.”
The guards straightened at their posts, eyeing me as I snatched up my jumpsuit and yanked it on. The pull of stitches urged me
to be more mindful of my injuries.
But as I made to leave, Cyril stopped me with a gentle hand on my bicep. With the positioning of our bodies, the guards
couldn’t see the small bottle Cyril slipped into my pocket. Bile bubbled in my gut, even as gratitude swelled in my chest when I
met the old man’s pitying gaze.
“Come on, inmate,” one of the guards drawled, banging his baton against the door.
Cyril nodded and retreated toward the table to clean up. “Take care, Mr. Gonzalez.”
I didn’t bother responding as the guards surged forward to grasp my arms and haul me out of the room.
The bottle of oil weighed heavily in my jumpsuit’s pocket.
 Chapter Two

LONG ARE THE DAYS

B ack in my cell, I flopped down on my mattress, not even bothering to strip from my blood-stained and torn clothes. It didn’t
matter anyway. The warden hadn’t ordered more laundry detergent for who knew how long, and the remaining laundry
supplies ran out last week. My bloody jumpsuit actually smelled a lot better than a majority of other prisoners’, and I didn’t
have any suits left. Not since some of the other inmates had ransacked my cell a few weeks ago and shredded them, along with
my sheets.
With a sigh, I tried not to pay attention to the bare, stained mattress beneath my cheek and stared at my wall.
Etched into the stone wall of the cell were countless verses of overlapping poetry and drawings. It was a calming ritual of
mine these days—drawing, writing, brooding—especially when locked away memories and dark thoughts swam to the
forefront of my mind.
And in the center of all the chaos was a large mural of the man who starred in all of my dreams, nightmares, and thoughts. My
sun in this dark prison cell. The voice in my head telling me that everything was going to be okay. Even when it wasn’t.
London. The man I loved but had failed so deeply.

Long are the days

When the only thing to look forward to
Is sleep

I’d etched those words just below the mural. Had carved them into the stone so often that their grooves were permanently
marked into the wall.
Memories of two years ago tried to creep in, and I squeezed my eyes closed in a vain attempt to banish them.
Flashes of my father’s face twisted in determined resolution burst behind my lids, just before he kissed my forehead,
betraying me so thoroughly.
Then came more memories of those soulful eyes from the cell mural filled with such loss and despair and blame. Blame at
me. Blame at the world.
Then came the images of a crumbling city on fire. A bloody teddy bear forgotten in the street.
My head screamed as I shoved and shoved, forcing those memories back into the chest where I kept them locked tightly
inside.
Because I couldn’t face the past, the wreckage and pain I’d been a naive accomplice to.
I’d lost everything and everyone the day I broke my dad out of prison. I just hadn’t known it at the time.
Now, I lived underground in a Super prison housing some of the world’s most ruthless and lethal Villains. Because that’s
how the world viewed me now. A true Villain they wanted locked tight. They likened me to the murderers and arsonists, the
rapists and sadists. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t known what my dad planned to do.
I’d aided him in his escape from prison. And because of that, the crimes he committed after his prison break rested on my
shoulders.
Some days, I hated him for what he’d done to me. How he’d used my need to make him proud against me.
I hated that I couldn’t look at my reflection without him staring back at me. Because while I took more after my mother with
my light brown eyes, ample lips, and dark, wavy hair, there was no denying my resemblance to my father in the slope of my
nose, the sharp angles of my jawline, and the devious curve to my smile.
 But even on the days where I hated him, I still loved him.
I knew I shouldn’t. At the end, he’d caused so much harm, to me included.
But even knowing that, I still struggled to connect the man who raised me with the man who nearly killed half the world with
his powers. With the man who loved my mother so fiercely, so intensely, that even from a young age, I knew I wanted to be
looked at the same way my father looked at my mom.
She’d been beautiful, my mother. Her personality was as vibrant as the colorful, flowy skirts she always wore, and her smile
was as bright as a drop of sunshine from the sky itself. My dad used to tell me I had her smile.
He hadn’t since the day she’d departed this world.
It was hard to comprehend, even now after so many years, that she was gone. That she’d never bake another batch of
chocolate chip cookies or dance around the kitchen singing songs my abuela taught her. She’d never kiss my brow and call me
her little saint.
My father hadn’t been the same since she died. His grief clouded his judgment, made him obsess over a way to bring justice
down on those who’d killed her and so many other innocents like her.
He’d done unspeakable things in her name, in the name of justice and honor. In reality, he was just a heartbroken man who
wanted the world to hurt just like him.
Sometimes, as I sat staring at the linework I’d gouged into the wall, I wondered if there was true justice in the world. If it
really was possible to right a wrong. To find forgiveness for those who’d wronged us. If there truly was such a thing as justice
though, it didn’t seem to care about the incarcerated.
Still, I tried to hope. Because intentionally or not, I’d wronged many people. Including the beautiful man on my wall.
Reaching out, I barely managed to brush the image with my fingertips. He was so beautiful. My mural didn’t do him justice. I
never managed to capture that fire in his brown eyes, the richness of his dark skin, or the way the sun glossed over his ebony
curls.
Jeers and shouts rained from down the hall as the sound of heavy footsteps made their way closer, pulling me out of my
morbid thoughts. I didn’t even bother lifting my head when four armed guards sauntered inside my cell.
“Sinclair Gonzalez,” the guard at the front of the group drawled, his voice like a bucket of ice water over my head. Dread
threatened to consume me when I realized the oil remained unopened in my pocket.
“Michael Wazowski,” I greeted with a flash of teeth, hoping he couldn’t sense my panic. It was never smart to let other
inmates know you were scared. Those down here delighted in fear.
Officer Michaels, or as he was nicknamed Mike, glared at me. “How many times do I have to tell you, Gonzalez? That’s not
my name.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, pretending to squint at his badge. “Pretty sure it says Michael Cíclope Wazowski right there on your
badge.”
Mike stomped over to my cot, and it took everything in me not to cower when he grabbed me by my jumpsuit and lifted me
into the air like I weighed nothing.
I always forgot how fucking strong he was. He supposedly didn’t have powers, but he was stronger than most of the men in
this place. I suspected he had some Super strength I didn’t know about. Because sure, prison hadn’t done me any favors, and
I’d lost a lot of weight. But despite my weight loss, I wasn’t short by any means. It should have taken him more effort to whip
me around like this.
My skin crawled at his touch. I would have rathered someone covered me in maggots. But I kept my face neutral, bored even,
as he scowled.
“Think you’re funny, do you?” He gave me a little shake that made my bones rattle.
Grasping his wrists for some sort of leverage, I attempted a shrug. “Been told I was a few times.”
“Well, you’re not.”
“We can agree to disagree.”
He took several calming breaths before he spoke again. Then he smiled. At least, I think it was supposed to be a smile.
“Missed you at dinner tonight.”
His gaze roamed over my face, taking in the bruising and lacerations. When his examination zeroed in on my torso, my fear
skyrocketed.
He knew. Somehow, he knew.
“Heard you got into a bit of a fight in the yard earlier. Had to see the doc. Figured I’d come and see how you were doing
myself. Make sure you were okay, of course.”
My lip curled back. “Wow, so kind of you. But as you can see, I’m fine.”
His grin turned bloodthirsty.
“Jack, ribs,” Mike called, his voice laced with unspoken command, not even taking his eyes off of me. A man I recognized
from past “checkups” with Mike stepped up to us and unzipped the front of my jumpsuit.
I couldn’t hold back my fear now. I didn’t care how cowardly and pathetic it made me look either. I thrashed in Mike’s grip,
kicking and shouting as I fought to get away from Jack. The other two guards rushed to grab my arms while Jack produced a
pocket knife and sliced off the gauze wrapped around my ribs. Mike stood back to watch as Jack returned his knife to his
pocket and slid his palm along my battered ribs.
Knowing what was coming couldn’t prepare me for the pain. My broken ribs screamed and screamed and screamed under
Jack's power, the throbbing, cracking sensation becoming unbearable. With the power to increase sensations, Jack could make
someone feel anything from incredible pleasure to insufferable pain with one touch to the specific areas.
I wheezed, my lungs shriveling and refusing to accept any oxygen. Agony flared too hot to think, and my vision blacked out. It
felt like every nerve in my torso was shattering over and over, never giving me a break.
By the time the pain in my ribs eased, the sound of Mike and his buddies laughing was too loud in my ears. Mike said
something to me, but I was too dazed to understand him.
He must have gotten frustrated by my lack of response though, because his fist collided with my cheek a moment later.
Blood flooded my mouth as I bit my tongue. Anger brewed within me when Mike balled the front of my open jumpsuit in his
fist and dangled me in the air again.
“That the best you got, Cíclope?” I spit out the taste of copper and bared my teeth. “Pretty sure my abuela would have
packed a harder punch than you.”
“You’re just a piece of shit who’s going to rot down here, Gonzalez,” he sneered, pinning me against the wall. My broken
ribs protested, and I wasn’t able to hold back my next gasp of pain. “You’ve got no one here who cares what happens to you.
You hear me? No one.”
“Shut up, Mike,” I growled, my fury building. I was so tired of this. Of being beaten over and over and over. When would it
end? Why wouldn’t everyone just leave me alone?
Mike laughed, spurred on by the insults his lackeys tossed in the background. He grinned, white teeth flashing in a way that
seemed more predatory than anything. “Even your daddy didn’t care about you. Just manipulated you so you’d break him out of
this fucking prison.”
The rage grew and grew with each cruel word, bubbling under my skin until my blood boiled with it. I was too raw from my
earlier dark thoughts, my memories too close to breaking out again to be taunted like this.
The men in the room laughed and laughed and laughed. Their jeers grated on my nerves, and I just wanted them to stop. They
were too loud. Why wouldn’t they just leave me alone?
The dampening cuffs burned around my wrists as my power flared within me, urging me to release it.
Faster than I could blink, Mike spun me until I was face first against the wall, my cheek pressed against the etched curve of
London’s jaw. He pinned me to the cold stones by my neck. My hands, while now free from his grasp, were stuck painfully
between my chest and the mural.
Mike’s gaze flicked over the mural with a smirk before he leaned closer until his hot, wet breath greased my ear. I closed my
eyes as bile rose in my throat. Because he was too close. Too fucking close. His disgusting dick pressed against my back, the
smell of his unwashed hair enveloped me, and the sound of his excited breathing made my panic rise all that much more. And I
couldn’t do anything about it. His natural bulk gave him too much of an advantage against me in a fight. But fight, I would.
“Your boy hasn’t been to visit in a long while,” he said in a deceptively concerned voice as he continued his perusal of
London’s image. “What? Trouble in paradise?”
“Mind your own fucking business,” I snarled, earning me a punch to my side with Mike’s free hand.
But I couldn’t help the ache Mike’s words started within me. Because on some level, he was right. London hadn’t come to
visit me in almost six months.
I told myself it was because he was busy working with the Legion, but it was a lie. I knew why he’d stopped.
The man hadn’t spoken to me since our fight at our friend Bennett’s wedding this past March.
“He’s really quite something,” Mike said, his voice filled with a grin. “So pretty. I like pretty things.” The hand which had
punched me now caressed my exposed cheek, and I grimaced. Seeing my expression, he gripped my chin, painfully forcing my
head to face him even more.
My anger roiled at feeling so defenseless. Was this the justice I’d brought upon myself? Was this what I would have to bear
from now on to atone?
As if sensing my defiance, Mike dug his fingers into my skin, hard enough to draw blood.
“What would that boy of yours think of you,” Mike continued with a sneer, his voice lower even while his buddies’ laughter
intensified, “if he knew what sort of things you’ve done for me? The way you scream so prettily when I—”
All sound seemed to cease, as if the room was blanketed in white noise.
My blood thrummed wildly.
My wrists burned.
Behind my lids, all I could was Mike’s cruel face. Then it morphed to London looking at me with so much disdain that I
couldn’t breathe. If it was a memory or something my mind had conjured itself, I couldn’t tell. Reality and fantasy merged in
these cells. And as London’s face morphed and twisted back into Mike’s taunting one, I finally snapped.
 “Shut up! Shut up! Just shut your fucking mouth!”
I still couldn’t hear, couldn’t even think over the sound of my blood pounding in my ears. My head screamed, my skin burned,
and wetness dripped from my nostrils. Blood. My nose was bleeding. But despite the mayhem going on within me, I knew I’d
pay for mouthing off this much at Mike. He was going to fucking kill me now, I knew it.
My body tensed as I waited for the strike of his fist to meet my face in punishment.
Only, it didn’t.
I didn’t have time to brace myself as Mike dropped me like I was on fire, and my eyes jerked open in surprise as my body hit
the floor. Hard.
Mike just stood there staring down at me in horror. His hand traveled to his face, prodding at his lips with shaking fingers.
Shaking. Mike was shaking.
At first, I didn’t understand what was happening as Mike started frantically clawing at his lips, but… His mouth. His mouth
didn’t open.
Slowly, as if in a trance, I glanced down at my wrists. Smoke rose where the cuffs circled my skin, clouding the air. The faint
hiss of the cuffs stalling hit my ears, and the green light proving the cuffs were on shuttered before blinking out.
I sucked in a sharp breath as the full force of my power stormed through my system, speeding my blood and heating my skin.
Gaping, I brought my wrists closer for examination. Raw skin ringed each wrist, and only then did the pain hit me.
My breath caught, and as the heated metal cuffs continued to burn my already damaged skin, my eyes watered in undeniable
pain.
In the back of my mind, I knew Mike and the others were shouting. Well, as much as they could with their mouths sealed
closed. But I couldn’t focus on them as my brain short-circuited.
It was like I’d overloaded my body and it was just now catching on.
I thought I was screaming, but I couldn’t be sure at first.
My screams continued even when several guards burst into my cell. Everyone was yelling then as they took in the scene, and
I wondered what they saw.
Four guards tearing at their sealed mouths in panic, the half-dressed prisoner screaming in agony on the floor, the smoking
cuffs melting skin, the fallen glass bottle of oil now shattered on the ground…
It didn’t matter what they saw. One of the guards noted the absent green light on my cuffs and rushed over.
My screaming didn’t stop until, with one swift motion, his boot kicked the side of my head.
 Chapter Three

YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO SUCK IT

I didn’t know what I first expected to see when I opened my eyes, but it was Cyril’s scowling face centimeters from my own.
“Mierda!” I croaked, my voice rough and raw. My heart hammered a mile a minute from his jump scare. “Cyril, what the
fuck are you doing?”
“Thought you’d want a pretty face to look at when you woke,” the old man deadpanned.
“Che. Pretty, not ancient.”
Cyril pinched my arm.
“Hey!”
He shrugged and leaned back in a small armchair positioned by the side of the cot. A quick glance around let me know I was
in the infirmary. Again.
My brain was foggy from sleep, and as I moved to rub at my throbbing head, I jolted at the sight of thick gauze beneath shiny,
new dampening cuffs.
“What happened?” I asked, twisting my wrists this way and that in puzzlement.
“Well, from the sounds of it, you somehow managed to break your last pair and then attacked four officers before you were…
detained.”
My head throbbed at the word. But my thoughts snagged on one thing he’d said. “I… I broke my cuffs?”
Cyril nodded gravely. “You did. Fried them is more accurate. Caused the damn things to fritz out and burn off the skin down
to the bones of your wrists.”
An image. An image of ringed, raw skin flashed through my head. And slowly, my memories came back to me.
Mike cornering me in my cell. Feeling so scared and angry. Mike’s ugly words. The laughter. Too much laughter. My power
surging out of me. Mike’s horrified eyes as he’d found himself unable to open his mouth. My screams. The guard’s boot aiming
for my head.
That last one had me gingerly poking at my scalp and finding it bound. If my luck kept up the way it was, I’d end up looking
like a last-minute mummy costume for Halloween.
“How long was I out?”
“A week.”
I started. “Seven days?”
“Yes, that’s usually how long a week is.”
“Cyril,” I rasped, rubbing at my face and wincing when I bumped my still broken nose. “Now’s not the time for quips.”
Shaking his head, Cyril handed me a short stick with a small, circular sponge on the end. I quirked a brow at him. He quirked
a fuzzy, white brow back.
When it seemed like he wasn’t going to say anything, I broke our stare off. “Am I supposed to know why you gave me this?”
Groaning so dramatically he could have won an Oscar for his performance, Cyril said, “You’re supposed to suck it.”
My nose scrunched. “Ew. Why?”
“Because I bet you’re thirsty and I can’t trust you to have any self-control if I gave you a cup to drink from. If I did, you’d
probably drink it too fast and end up chucking it all back up. And that wouldn’t be fun for either of us.” He jutted his chin at the
sponge stick. “Once you finish that, I’ll give you more.”
I blinked at him. “This is weird. You know it’s weird, right?”
 His expression promised I’d reached the end of his patience, so I did as he said and sucked the water out of the sponge.
When I finished, he took it back and dipped it in a little plastic cup of water I hadn’t noticed him holding. Again and again,
Cyril controlled my water intake. He handed me the sponge stick, and I sucked down the little amount of water it offered like a
man stranded in the desert. When he’d deemed I’d had enough, he set the cup aside. I eyed it with a scowl and wondered just
how injured I was and if I could take on a ninety-year-old man.
“Enough,” Cyril said, snapping his fingers in front of my face to draw my attention back to him. “Any more and you’ll likely
vomit.”
He wasn’t wrong. Even the small amount I’d ingested sat heavily in my otherwise empty stomach. Still, I felt parched.
With a pitiful whine, I flopped my head back onto my pillow. My headache pulsed behind my eyes. “My head hurts so
fucking much. His boots must have been steel-toed or some shit, because that’s a really long time to be unconscious.”
“Yes and no. Yes, he was actually wearing steel-toed boots. But no, that’s not the reason you were unconscious for so long.”
He pointed to the IV drip situated beside the cot. “We actually had to keep you sedated until they figured out what to do about
your cuffs.”
I frowned as my eyes followed the IV tubes down to my body. But the IV wasn’t attached to my hand or arm like in the past.
Horrified, I whipped the scratchy blanket off my legs. Bandaged to my foot was the IV.
I yelped and reached to yank the needle out, but Cyril grabbed my arm to stop me. He was ridiculously strong for a man
almost too old for Nat King Cole to wish Merry Christmas. “Leave it.”
“Ew, no! Like seriously, Cyril, what the hell? Why couldn’t you put it in the hand or arm like a normal person?” I was going
to vomit. “Get it out!”
He let out a sigh brimming with untold suffering. “Mr. Gonzalez, I needed unobstructed access to your arms to deal with your
injuries. Your foot was the most ideal spot to place it.”
“Cyril, I don’t care if you’re old enough to be my great great great grand papi. If you don’t take that out of my damn foot right
the fuck now, I’ll kick your ass.”
Tsking, Cyril went about sanitizing his hands. “Always so crass. But if it really bothers you, I’ll place it somewhere else.”
“Can’t we just, like, not do that?”
He tapped the IV drip. “You might need more fluids, and the fastest way to get them into your system is with an IV. Your body
needs to replenish what your power burned up when you fried those cuffs.”
“Fine, but how much longer am I going to be here?”
Cyril opened his mouth to respond, but someone else said, “Well, that actually depends on your answer, Mr. Gonzalez.”
Just inside the doorway stood several unfamiliar people. But at the front of the group? The one who’d spoken? I knew
exactly who she was.
“How are you feeling, Mr. Gonzalez?” President Osborne asked, not even glancing my way as she strolled casually around
the small infirmary, scanning over the meager items in the room. Her security personnel, however, remained by the door.
Cyril pulled the needle out of my foot, making my eyes water.
“Peachy,” I wheezed.
She snorted and finally deigned to look at me. “Really? After such an impressive display of power, surely you’re feeling a
little… drained.”
I stared at her, refusing to watch as Cyril went to work sanitizing my inner elbow. He was a little aggressive as he inserted
the fresh IV, almost like he was warning me to be more polite to the president of our nation, and I still winced as he went about
taping the IV to my skin.
I scowled at his back while he tossed the old IV before giving President Osborne my full attention. “Look, I don’t mean to be
rude—”
Cyril snorted but tried to cover it with a cough.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” I started again through clenched teeth, sending the old man some serious side eye, “but what are
you doing here?”
“Can we have some privacy?” she asked, her words directed toward Cyril.
Cyril hesitated, his expression wary as he flicked a quick glance at me. “Of course. I’ll step outside and let you talk.”
After he’d hobbled outside and the doors shut tight, sealing only me, Osborne, and her two personal guards inside the room,
President Osborne faced me.
She stopped at the foot of my bed and gave me an assessing once over. “How much do you remember about the time your
father attempted to strip the world of powers?”
“I…” I blinked at her, whiplashed by her choice of topic. “What?”
She continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Two years ago, the UAS government had been working on something top secret. A
weapon. Do you remember?”
Slowly, I nodded, because it had been all over the news for several years. It was the reason I’d finally given in to my dad
and broken him out in the first place. Still, I was confused as all hell why she was here talking to me about this. “Yes, the mind-
control weapon. It was stolen from the Citadel during my dad’s attack.” I frowned. “If that’s why you’re here, I can assure you I
didn’t steal—”
“I’m well aware you didn’t steal the weapon, Mr. Gonzalez,” President Osborne interrupted. Her expression tightened. “I
know, because it wasn’t stolen. It escaped.”
The beeping of the monitors was the only sound for several long moments while I let her words process.
Before my dad had attacked the city, the government had announced they were close to finalizing a mind-control weapon. A
tool, they’d said, to keep all Villains in line. A way to keep the citizens safe.
It would have been a genocide.
It was why the Scourge, a group of Villains determined to end the UAS’s reign of terror, had agreed to aid me in stealing my
father’s talisman from the Citadel, the government’s headquarters nestled in the nation’s capitol, Mercy Heights. We all thought
if my dad could amass enough of his power, it would finally give the Scourge a chance to overthrow the tyrannous government.
Oh, how wrong we’d been. So fucking wrong.
My father’s abilities allowed him to mute or amplify someone’s powers when he touched them. It was the reason the world
referred to him as Amp. He’d abused his powers after my mom had died, and he’d ended up in prison for his crimes. But when
the news came out that the UAS were close to finishing a weapon which could control anyone they deemed a threat? The
Scourge had been scared enough, desperate enough, to help me steal back my father’s talisman from the Citadel.
The Citadel was a fortress, with so many countermeasures to keep unauthorized people out that no one had managed it
before.
Not until Bennett.
“President Osborne,” I started cautiously, “what exactly is the weapon?”
“Not what. Who.”
Sickness roiled in my gut, and I couldn’t stop myself then. I leaned over the side of the cot and vomited.
President Osborne didn’t even look disgusted as I swiped at my mouth with some tissues from the table beside me. Because
that meant they’d had someone in there for years. Had likely done all sorts of horrific things to them…
My stomach gave another lurch.
She nodded gravely. “The previous government officials, it seems, resorted to less than savory measures to achieve their
agendas. Including illegal testing on Supers.” Reaching into her suit jacket, she retrieved a tablet. She tossed it onto my lap and
waited for me to turn it on. It opened to a file, and at Osborne’s encouragement, I clicked on it.
An image of a man in his late thirties with a head full of thick, dark hair, hazel eyes, and bronzed skin maybe a couple shades
darker than my own stared back at me. White teeth flashed in a hesitant but kind smile.
“His name is Lucas Delacruz,” President Osborne said as I moved to the next page to read through his information.
“Believed to be somewhere between thirty and forty years old. According to his file, he’s a Super with mind-controlling
abilities. No known criminal record. From what we gleaned, the UAS took an interest in him when he enlisted in a paid drug
trial.”
I scanned over the rest of the information on the page, describing his appearance, a little bit about how he responded to the
drug, but really, there was so little here. Honestly, the most interesting thing in the small file about the guy was the fact he’d
gotten a parking ticket about ten years ago, which he’d paid on time. Swiping to the next page, I found another image. This one
of a surveillance camera inside what appeared to be a lab room. It was time stamped from two years ago. The day my father
and his followers attempted to take over Mercy Heights and strip the world of powers.
Despite the blurriness of the image, it clearly displayed Lucas climbing out of a pile of rubble. Emergency lights highlighted
the room in a red glow. Unlike the first picture of Lucas, his long, dark hair now flowed unbound and stuck wildly about his
face, covering most of it. Heavy dampening cuffs adorned his wrists and ankles, and a thick, metal band curled around his
throat like a collar. His mouth hung open in a scream.
This must have been when he’d escaped.
I glanced up at President Osborne, and she nodded as if reading my thoughts. “This is when he escaped the labs. He became
a ghost after this. Not a whisper reached us of his whereabouts. If he was even still alive. That is, not until a few months ago.”
When she nodded down at the tablet, I moved on to the next page and nearly dropped the damn thing. If there’d been anything
left in my stomach, it would have forced its way out of me.
It was a picture of a dead body. Empty sockets sat bloody in a face screaming even in death. The naked body showed dozens
of stab wounds in their abdomen. The man’s hands looked as if they'd been dipped in blood. Dried blood left splatters and
drips up and down his arms. The most disturbing part was the man’s neck, though. Charred and blackened skin ringed his neck,
the flesh around the wound peeled and frayed looking.
“That’s Dr. Phillip Kelley. He headed the UAS labs when Lucas was detained there. Dr. Kelley was found deceased in his
home three months ago. After his autopsy, it was discovered that the wounds on his body were all self-inflicted.”
“Self-inflicted?” I asked incredulously, daring to peek at the image once more and see if I was misremembering just how
many stab wounds there were. And the eyes…
 Her gaze shifted to the image as well. “It didn’t take long for the police to access his home security footage of that night.”
She waved her hand at the tablet again. “Continue please, Mr. Gonzalez.”
“Is it another dead body?”
She smiled mirthlessly. “Not the next page, no.”
Which meant there were more images of dead bodies in this file. What the fuck?
Still, I continued on. Multiple pixelated squares from a security camera pointing at a front porch filled the picture this time.
The first square remained blank. In the next, Lucas stepped into the frame. The next couple of squares displayed him coming up
to the front door, ringing the bell, and then him facing away and waiting to turn back around until after the front door opened.
But it was the next square that caught my attention. Lucas’s mouth was smiling, his eyes alight with feral delight. But the image
was rippled and filled with static. The last image square on the screen showed Lucas casually entering the house.
My gaze drifted back to the static filled square, and I knew it wasn’t some fluke with the camera.
I met Osborne’s stare. “He used his power to make Dr. Kelley let him into the house. That’s why this one looks like this.
Because of his power.”
“Yes.”
I thought back to Dr. Kelley’s body, completely brutalized. “Lucas used his powers to make Dr. Kelley kill himself.”
Again, “Yes. At least, that’s what it looks like. And in the past few months, he has been targeting those who worked in the
labs, who we believed to have…tested on him. He’s been killing them off, one by one, in other brutal manners. Though, not
quite as horrendously as Dr. Kelley. The rest, it seems, Lucas simply made them stab themselves to death.”
With a shuddering intake of breath, I placed the tablet aside. “Why are you telling me all of this?”
“Because, Mr. Gonzalez, I think you might be the only one who can help us. From what we’ve gathered from his file, his only
known weakness is other psychic powers. Though, the power wielder would need to be on the same level to combat his
abilities. Which is why our previous attempts have failed. No one’s been strong enough to get close to him and cuff him.
“We were starting to think there was no one out there who could rival him. But then I heard about what happened to you.
How you managed to destroy your cuffs.”
She inhaled through her nose. “As far as we’re aware, your gifts might be the only ones strong enough to rival his.” She
gripped the railing at the foot of the cot. “So I’d like to strike a deal with you. Work with us to capture Lucas Delacruz, help us
stop any more deaths at his hand, and in return…” She paused, lifting her chin. “I’ll lift your sentence. You won’t ever have to
step foot back in this prison. You will be a free man once more.”
I gaped for a moment before I blurted, “Are you serious?”
“Very.”
“I’m confused. Why don’t you send more people after him? Even if you can get in range of his mental powers, you could just
bomb him or something, couldn’t you?”
“It’s much more complicated than just bombing him,” she said, sounding patronizing. “Besides, we don’t want to kill Lucas if
we can avoid it. He should stand trial and let the government determine his judgment.”
“But why can’t you send more people after him? Surely he’s not so strong that he’d be able to control dozens of people at
once?” At her hesitation, my back straightened. “Are you kidding me?”
“Like I said, we’ve sent multiple teams after him already, and he’s able to escape every time. No one’s psychic shields are
strong enough to withstand his mind evasion. But yours just might.”
I snorted. Maybe a couple of years ago, I could have. But the other night was the first time I’d used my powers in years… I
wasn’t as strong as I used to be. “I’m sure the fact that you’re a freshly elected president of a reformed nation and not wanting
anyone to know you’re unable to capture a dangerous Villain has nothing to do with all this secrecy, right?”
She scowled at me. “This isn’t just about me, Mr. Gonzalez. What do you think would happen if the nation knew a man
created to be a dangerous weapon was out on a murdering spree?” The corners of her eyes and lips tightened. “The peace in
our world is fragile. People are still healing, and there are a lot of trust issues. We can’t afford for news of this to be leaked or
else everything we’ve worked so hard to rebuild could fall apart.”
I glared at her. She glared right back.
Finally, I gave in and looked away. “Would it just be me chasing him down?”
My mind was reeling with her offer, with the images from the file, with the possibilities of what this could mean for me.
Freedom. She was offering me freedom. Sure, she wanted me to hunt down a crazy strong serial killer Super, but, you know,
that was a minor detail.
She laughed, hard and sharp. “No. No, no, you’d be working with a team.”
“I thought you said you’d sent multiple teams already and it hadn’t worked.”
“Yes, but we haven’t sent this team yet.”
“Who?”
Her smile said she was a cat who’d caught the mouse. “The Legion.”
Everything stopped. Because that meant… She nodded, watching me digest this news. “Yes, London Whitmore’s team. From
what I’m told, you two have quite the history. I’m even told you have artwork in your cell resembling Mr. Whitmore.”
She had me and she knew it. One of the officers must have told her about the mural. That, or she’d been down to my cell to
view the damage of my freakout.
I couldn’t swallow. I couldn’t blink. It was like my body had forgotten basic functions.
I knew London had started a government OPs team called the Legion about a year ago, putting his tracking powers to good
use. It also helped satiate his need to make something of himself. The Legion was made up of misfit Supers, the outcasts no one
wanted to hire due to their questionable pasts.
But London accepted them with open arms. After all, he understood how hard it was to make a name for yourself. It was hard
to get people to trust him when they learned his dad used to be the leader of the Scourge.
“And since you would be under Mr. Whitmore’s care,” President Osborne continued, studying my reaction, “any missteps on
your account would reflect upon him.”
In other words, if I took this as a chance to run, London would pay the price.
“You’d also be required to keep your dampening cuffs on until the end of the mission, with the exception being if you catch
up to Mr. Delacruz. Mr. Whitmore would have access to your cuffs, able to turn them on and off when needed. But otherwise,
we expect them to remain on.”
I swallowed down the lump in my throat. I couldn’t believe my luck. Not only was I getting a chance at getting out of this
godawful place, but I would get to work alongside London. It all seemed too good to be true.
Which made me suspicious.
I watched as she marched to the infirmary door and paused. “I’ll give you until eight tomorrow morning to give me an
answer. After that, your fate is sealed and you will not receive another chance at freedom.”
And then she left, her security personnel flanking her.
Not a minute had passed before Cyril entered once more, his face hard, the wrinkles in his skin more pronounced. He
glanced over his shoulder, and it was only then that I realized the guards had not returned with him.
“Sin,” he said, and my eyes widened at his usage of my first name. I didn’t think he’d ever used it. “There’s something I need
to discuss with you. Something important.”
Something like fear laced my blood at the intensity in his tone. What was with people deciding today was the day for
important discussions? “Why do I feel like it’s not about finally removing the IV?”
“Will you knock it off about the IV, boy!” he whisper-shouted, and my mouth clamped closed. I couldn’t think of a time he’d
ever spoken like that. “You don’t understand the severity of your situation. You destroyed your cuffs.”
“Yes,” I said slowly, trying to figure out why he sounded so… scared.
His blue eyes held my gaze. “Your power levels are unlike anything this prison has held before. The warden, the guards…
They’re scared of you, Mr. Gonzalez. Of what you can do. Of what you did. The warden, President Osborne, they…” His throat
bobbed. “They had me perform a lot of tests on you while you were unconscious. And I heard that the warden’s started building
a special room, one with extra wards and protections to keep the person confined and their powers stifled.”
My heart skipped a beat, echoing on the monitor beside me. “What are you trying to say, Cyril?”
“I know what they offered,” he admitted. “Freedom if you catch that man. But I don’t think they’re being entirely honest with
you.”
“What?”
“You managed to destroy your cuffs in this prison, yes, but you weren’t the first person to destroy dampening cuffs. There
was one, and only one, before you who managed to break free.”
“Who?” A few heartbeats. Then it clicked. “Lucas. That’s how he escaped.” I stared down at the tablet as if I could see the
image of Lucas pulling himself out of the rubble.
What if… What if he caused all that damage in the labs? What if he heard what was happening outside the labs and knew that
was his only chance to get out? So he took it? “How do you know all of this?”
“I have my ways,” he said cryptically. “You’d be surprised how much the officers gossip around here.”
“So what? You don’t think they want him captured?”
Cyril shook his head. “Yes, they want him captured. But once they have what they want, what makes you sure they won’t try
to do the same to you? If they’re so fearful of Lucas's power and want to keep him locked up for it, why would they let you go
free if you’re powerful enough to rival him?” One more glance at the door, and then down at the tablet in my hands. “Think on
what I told you, boy. Think carefully, because Lucas might not be the only one you need to be wary of. Many, even those high in
power, are still afraid because of the damage your father caused. And fear is the most dangerous emotion of all, for it pushes
rational people to make irrational choices.”
Before I could open my mouth to ask him more questions, two guards shoved into the infirmary, looking just the slightest bit
out of breath as they took in the room. At the nurse now innocently washing his hands in the sink, at me sitting in the cot.
Cyril must have ditched them wherever they’d been sent to wait while President Osborne came to speak with me. And from
their expressions, it was clear they were more than a little irritated that they’d somehow been bested by a man nearing ninety.
 “President Osborne asked us to give you this,” one of them said, still out of breath. He handed a small box to Cyril, but
nodded his head toward me. “Said it was to move along your healing process. A gift.”
When Cyril opened the box, two small syringes sat encased inside. Ruby liquid shifted inside the vials as Cyril pulled one
out.
A gift. More like manipulation.
Cyril nodded at the officer. “A gift indeed.” His tone was tight, as though he had to force himself to speak the words.
But his words were background noise to the thoughts running through my head, too distracting. President Osborne’s
promises, Cyril’s warnings, Dr. Kelley’s mutilated body… They shuffled over and over in my head.
I knew my choice though. Freedom. A word I’d been too afraid to say for fear the taste of it would jinx everything for me.
I had a chance to be free again. And there wasn’t a chance in Hell I wasn’t going to take that risk.
 Chapter Four

YOU HAD ME

B y theThistimetime,dawn broke the following morning, I was meeting with President Osborne.
she was waiting in one of the visiting rooms, her bodyguards standing watch in the corners of the room. Today,
she wore a gray pantsuit with a cream blouse and shoes. Her hair was in a loose ponytail and she’d kept her makeup simple.
She studied me as two prison officers took their assigned spots just outside the door—not Mike or his buddies though. I
hadn’t seen any sign of them since that night—and I accepted the seat across the small table in front of her.
I didn’t speak at first, examining her just as thoroughly as she seemed to be doing to me.
“I assume you’ve come to a decision,” she finally said, breaking through the quiet.
“I think we both know I was always going to say yes.”
She smiled tightly. “Actually, I wasn’t sure what you’d decide. I only hoped.”
“So what do we do now?” I asked, some of my eagerness bleeding into my tone.
“First, you’ll need to go through the exit process. You’ll be given a bag with your belongings, sign some paperwork, and then
after one last examination where you’ll have a tracker placed”—I groaned internally at this—“you’ll be released into Mr.
Whitmore’s custody.”
All frustration over the tracker vanished. My heart skipped, my hands got all sweaty and gross, and a feeling of what I
couldn’t decide was excitement or panic pierced my gut. “London’s coming to get me?”
“Yes, we wanted to be prepared, on the chance you agreed to assist the Legion. So we asked Mr. Whitmore to stand by.” She
smirked. “He’s waiting right outside as we speak.”
He was here. London was here.
That feeling from before intensified.
Both. I was definitely feeling both excitement and panic. It was possible I might throw up.
Meeting President Osborne’s steady gaze, I swallowed down all my apprehension. Because this was my chance to get out of
here, and fuck anyone who tried to get in my way. “Let’s do this.”
The other inmates gawked, cheered, and cursed me out as I was escorted past them on my way to Processing. There, I was
given my clothes, watch, and wallet I’d been booked with.
The clothes hadn’t been washed in the past two years, probably just sitting in a bag this whole time, and smelled stale and
slightly musty. My license was expired, though I doubted that was a big concern right now. I wasn’t sure I wanted to drive,
considering the last time I’d been in a car, it was with Bennett on our way to stop my dad’s terrorism. And considering how
that car ride ended…
I shivered at that memory.
Peeling out of the stiff, scratchy jumpsuit and into my expensive, high-quality clothes could only be described as orgasmic.
Though the feeling was dampened when I discovered they wouldn’t work. Not because they smelled like mothballs, but
because they were quite literally slipping off my body.
I didn’t think I realized just how much weight I’d lost until I couldn’t keep my old clothes on. It was… a little mortifying, to
be truly honest.
So while I could get a belt and make due with looking like a kid playing dress up in their parent’s clothes, I decided to toss
the outfit altogether. The prison offered basic clothing to those who needed it upon their release anyway, so I went that route.
The prison clothes weren’t anything special. Just a pair of stiff khaki pants and a black shirt. But having clothes that actually
fit me helped me gain some confidence once more.
Feeling slightly more normal again, I let myself be escorted to the warden’s office where I was to fill out my release
paperwork and sign my contract with President Osborne. They both waited for me inside, and it definitely felt odd being in the
small office stuffed full of officers.
The warden, a small man with graying hair and matching eyebrows, nodded at me as I entered. Next to his massive desk, he
looked positively tiny. But I wasn’t fooled into thinking he was weak just because he was small. Even without knowing he had
the ability to alter someone’s emotions, the keen twinkle in his eyes would give him away as someone not to be messed with.
There was a reason he was in charge of this prison. He ran a tight ship and didn’t mess around.
I’d only interacted with him a couple times since being incarcerated, so it was odd sitting here while he congratulated me on
my impending freedom and went over the rules and regulations I would be required to follow after my release. Things such as
how any infractions, big or small, would land me right back in jail. He also gave me information for resources for therapy, job
finding, and support groups for ex-convicts.
When President Osborne placed the contract which would bind me to London’s team for the duration of this mission, I felt
the weight of her words from the previous night press in on me. But I wasn’t going to do anything that caused London trouble.
So I pushed away any lingering concerns and suspicions and signed my name on the dotted line.
After that, I was taken to Cyril to have a tracking device injected in my skin—something I wasn’t all too pleased with. While
Cyril didn’t give me any more warnings, I still sensed his disapproval as he performed one last examination of my person. I
was bruised, several ribs were still broken, and my head throbbed like I was suffering from the worst hangover in existence,
but all of that would heal with time. Even though I knew he wasn’t happy with my decision, Cyril gave me the okay to be
released.
His heavy, concerned stare lingered even after I bid him goodbye.
My heartbeat drowned out the cacophony of noise coming from each cell I was ushered past, and by the time we arrived at
the elevator and rode it up to surface level, just one step closer to freedom, I was practically bouncing on my toes.
The first step into the late summer afternoon heat had me stopping to take it all in. Emotion clogged my throat as I glanced
around at the granite water fountain splashing water, the man blowing the freshly mown grass off the walkway, the fluffy white
clouds dotting the sky like cotton. It was beautiful.
But all of that couldn’t compare to the sight of the man waiting for me outside the prison doors.
London looked almost identical to the last time I’d seen him, only with some minor changes. He’d let his curls grow even
more, and a manicured five o’clock shadow darkened his jaw. The air was rich with warmth despite the early hour, promising
unbearable heat later in the day. But despite the hot temperature, London wore a short-sleeved, beige, macrame cardigan left
open over a shirt with his old comic book store name, Freaks & Geeks, embossed across it. A brown belt looped through his
dark-washed jeans, and peeking out from their hems were a pair of white Converse.
Despite the dark rings of exhaustion ringing his eyes, London’s gaze was keen and alert as he tracked every step I took. I was
sure I looked a mess, even after the doses of Mend’s blood the night before. My nose was healed, though still a little crooked
when I’d studied it in the mirror while dressing. My older bruises were mostly gone, but the newer ones lingered. And even
though it was hidden by my hair, the area the guard had kicked me still remained scabbed. But even if I didn’t have the injuries,
the lack of sun exposure had given my tan skin a pallid appearance. I also hadn’t been given a razor to shave with, so my
scraggly facial hair sprinkled my jaw and upper lip. Plus, with the bland, barely nutritional meals fed to us, a majority of my
muscle mass had deteriorated, leaving me lanky.
Each step closer made me acutely aware of just how long it had been since I’d had a shower. Embarrassment curled in my
gut as I stopped in front of London, hoping I didn’t smell too horribly.
I tried to gauge his expression. For several moments, we just stood regarding the other, almost like we were cataloging the
clear differences from the last time we’d been this close.
When he seemed content to let the silence continue, I cleared my throat, fighting the urge to tug at my collar. “Hey, London.”
“Sin,” he said in greeting in that deep voice of his, and dios, the way my name sounded on his tongue…
London’s gaze ran over me once more, and his Adam’s apple bobbed, though his expression was guarded. “You’re really
getting out then?”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice cracking. “I really am.”
He nodded slowly. “If you’re going to be joining my team, then you need to know I have only 4 rules. One”—he held up a
finger—“the Legion comes first. We work as a team, not individuals. Two”—another finger—“no showing off or messing
around while on duty. I don’t care if you want to prove yourself or think you know better than the rest of us. Third,” he said,
holding up three fingers now, “if you have a problem, you come to me first. I don’t care if the issue’s with me, with someone on
the team, or the mission. We resolve problems before they escalate. And lastly, we don’t use our powers against our team.
These are my rules, and I don’t tolerate people breaking them. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I said, nodding quickly. “I understand.”
London considered me with a stern look. “I’m serious, Sin. I need to know that bringing you onto the team won’t cause
problems.”
“It won’t,” I promised, my tone coming out a little harsher than I intended it to. Rubbing my upper arms, I said, much softer,
“It won’t.”
He didn’t respond at first, but then gave me a stiff nod. “Good.”
I waited for him to say something else, anything else. Or maybe even give me a hug. But instead, he turned sharply and
stalked toward a black SUV idling just on the paved path leading into the prison. “Then let’s go. The others are waiting for us
back at my place.”
I frowned at his back, not liking the empty feeling our short conversation left me with. I didn’t know what I thought seeing
London again would be like, but it wasn’t this. Sure, I figured he’d still be angry with me, but I’d thought he’d be a little
happier to see me.
Instead, he’d been distant and blunt.
A wave of unease rocked through me.
Storing my disappointment to process later, I picked up my pace and hurried after him. He didn’t wait for me as he ducked
into the front passenger seat of the SUV.
I frowned at the side of his head through the window, knowing the two of us really needed time to talk, before casting one
last glance over my shoulder at the prison. The dull, stone building loomed menacingly, a deep contrast to the sunny summer
morning.
And I couldn’t help myself. I grinned.
This was it. I was finally out.
With a little more pep, I slipped into the back of the van.
The interior of the SUV smelled of polished leather and those Pine Sol air fresheners you could dangle on the rearview
mirror. It looked as if the SUV could seat up to ten people, but a couple of rows had been folded down to give extra space.
London spoke in a hushed voice to the driver of the vehicle, and while I buckled myself into the middle seat, the driver, a
man who appeared to be in his early twenties, twisted in his seat to get a good look at me.
He had a boyish grin, freckles, and sandy blond hair. Blue eyes twinkled at me as he reached awkwardly to the back to shake
my hand.
“I’m Lewis,” he greeted, and I accepted the hand he proffered, surprised by the firm grip for such a small person.
“I’m Sin.”
Returning to his seat, he rolled his eyes at me in the rearview mirror. “Duh. I know.”
London sighed and waved a hand at Lewis as the man pulled onto the road leading to the prison exit. “Lewis is the Legion’s
tech man.”
“And I do most of the driving for our missions,” Lewis added, jabbing a finger at London as if accusing him of forgetting that
detail.
“If you call what you do driving,” London agreed, swatting the finger away.
He jabbed again. “And I’m the cook.”
London sighed again, once more shoving Lewis’s finger aside. “And he’s the only one who somewhat knows how to cook.”
Lewis flashed a grin London’s way. “You love my cooking.”
“It’s adequate.”
Envy reared its nasty head as the two of them bantered back and forth on our way past the prison entrance’s security. The
guards on post gave Lewis and London a curt nod as we drove past. For such a high security prison, it was pretty
straightforward to get out. Then again, Lewis and London were part of the Legion. They probably had high enough clearance to
get in and out in a breeze.
I fiddled in my seat as Lewis and London seemed to forget I was even there.
“What was that restaurant called that we went to last week?” Lewis asked, signaling to pass a slow-moving semi truck.
London raised a brow. “The one that gave Eva food poisoning?”
I perked up at the mention of Eva, one of London’s and my mutual friends. The last I’d heard, she’d moved in with London’s
family and now worked as a full-time nanny for London’s youngest sister.
I grinned to myself, thinking of the last time she’d come to visit me. She’d dyed her hair half black, half neon green. I’d told
her she looked like that chick from Kim Possible, and she’d preened like I’d given her the greatest compliment. Then she’d
taken in my freshly shaved head and asked if that made me the naked mole rat, and I’d immediately taken back every
compliment I’d ever given her.
Damn, how long ago had that been?
The thought caused my smile to falter.
“Yeah, that one,” Lewis said, confirming London’s earlier question.
“Penny Ridge.”
Lewis slapped the steering wheel, causing it to jerk. Despite being buckled, my body careened toward the door.
 “Yes!” he crowed, righting the wheel. “That one. Their seafood might be shit, but I still have dreams about their chocolate
lava cake.”
London looked up from his phone with a grin. “Remind me to take you there for your birthday next month.”
It was the first genuine smile I’d seen from him in years, and it hurt that it wasn’t aimed at me. No, it was because of Lewis
and his ridiculous teeth and ridiculous clothes and his ridiculous personality and…
Lewis slammed his hand on the horn as we came up behind a minivan going only fifteen over the speed limit in the passing
lane. Apparently, that wasn’t fast enough for Vin Diesel here.
He continued to let the horn blare until the minivan moved over to let our car pass, and despite the deep tint of our windows,
I shrank low in my seat as embarrassment licked at my cheeks as we zoomed past the minivan.
“Yeah,” Lewis said with a huff. “Maybe if we get this mission over with in time.”
London’s gaze shifted to me for a brief moment, his posture stiffening and making that uneasy feeling from earlier intensify.
“It will.”
Yeah, we apparently really needed to talk.
For the rest of the drive, they continued to chat, while I did my best not to shout every time we zipped around a car or
narrowly avoided careening off the side of the road when Lewis became too enthusiastic with his hands and seemed to forget
he needed them to steer the wheel.
Honestly, how London was able to sit there so calmly, I had no idea.
They were joking when they said Lewis usually drove for their missions, right? Right?
After about an hour of driving, but what seemed like a lifetime of near-death experiences, we finally exited the freeway. We
were on the outskirts of Mercy Heights, and I vaguely recognized our surroundings.
Though, recognize might have been too strong of a word.
Everything was the same but different as we traveled the roads, heading in the direction of London’s home. Where there used
to be empty land, there were fresh homes and several small parks. On one street corner was an outdoor sports park with an
enclosed tennis court and a full-sized basketball court.
A group of teens messed around on the court, the sound of their playful shouts and laughter loud enough to hear inside our
SUV.
Dogs barked and sniffed each other in a dog park several streets further down. A mailman chatted with a guy as he used
telekinesis to float letters into a mailbox. Some children drew nonsensical designs on their driveway while their parents,
looking half awake, encouraged them from the front porch.
It was… surreal. In a good way. These streets were filled with people who felt safe. They weren’t scared of a Super fight
happening in the streets. Didn’t cast glances in the direction of downtown just in case the government sent up a warning signal
into the sky for civilians to run for cover. They didn’t seem worried the sirens would start, warning that a Villain was on the
loose.
No, this was very much a different Mercy Heights than the one I’d grown up in.
When we pulled in front of London’s drive, I studied the house’s exterior. It still looked the same, though the front door was
now stained a darker color and there were some brightly colored flowers blooming along the walkway to the front door.
Really, the biggest difference from before was the massive iron gate now surrounding the property. The gate even blocked us
entry to the driveway. I couldn’t deny that it was cool, but it also seemed a little… overkill?
Then again, with London’s special abilities, who knew what he had stored in his house. Probably a thief’s wet dream amount
of rare goods.
As we approached the gated driveway, Lewis rolled down his window and entered a code into the lock pad. The pad then
scanned his face before it beeped and the iron gates yawned open.
Of course he had complete access to London’s home.
As if sensing my irritation, Lewis flashed me a grin in the mirror as he drove up the drive and parked in the now open
garage.
Fucker.
After parking the car, Lewis and London slid out. When I tried my door handle, it was locked. I frowned and tried again, but
the thing was… I glared out the window at Lewis’s smirking face. The fucker had child-locked me inside.
“Not cool, man. Let me out.”
London rounded the car and whispered something in Lewis’s ear. Whatever he’d said made Lewis’s shoulders slump and he
yanked the door open for me.
I scurried out, more than a little anxious to be out of that car.
London eyed me with calculation before nodding for Lewis and me to follow him inside. “Come on, everyone else is waiting
in the boardroom.”
Boardroom? Since when did he have a boardroom in his house?
Then again, the last and only time I’d been here, we’d been a little… occupied. Mainly in London’s bedroom.
 London went inside first, and Lewis waved for me to go on ahead of himself. He was smiling politely, but there was
something…vicious glinting in his gaze that caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. I had a feeling that Lewis,
despite his innocent appearance, was deadlier than he appeared. I also had a feeling he didn’t like me very much.
Shocker.
As I hurried after London into his home, the feel of Lewis’s watchful gaze on the back of my head felt like a warning.
Along the hallway, London had many pictures of his family and friends. There were several family pictures of London with
his twin younger sisters, Amanda and Abigail, and some with his other little sister, Allie. Why his parents had decided to name
all the girls with the first initial A, I didn’t understand. Because I mixed up their names all the time growing up. Allie was
about twenty or so years younger than London and me, though. She’d been a surprise to his parents after his father had
apparently had a failed vasectomy. Like the typical youngest child, she’d been spoiled rotten. And rightfully so. She was by far
my favorite of his three siblings.
“What are Amanda and Abigail up to?” I asked when we came to the end of the hallway where a large, heavy-looking door
barred us from entering further into the home.
Seriously, what was up with all of this extra security? I definitely didn’t recall this being here last time.
London answered as he entered a code into the door and scanned his palm against a built-in screen. “Amanda just graduated
from MHU and started working at a startup company as part of their graphic design team. And Abigail,” the door unlocked with
a soft click, “I have no idea what she’s up to these days. She doesn’t like to come around anymore now that our dad’s gone.”
And with that, he stepped through the open door.
Right. So his family was a touchy subject right now. Noted.
I swallowed down the guilt and quickly hurried after him. This next hallway had several closed rooms along it, but London
continued until we reached the end where it led to some basement stairs. He typed something out on his phone as we descended
them, and I didn’t know how he did it since I almost tripped several times and that was with me watching every step.
The door opened up into a room that resembled a hacker’s playhouse. Along every wall were various monitors, LED
lighting, and artwork which looked questionably acquired, like the one on the far wall depicting a bouquet of yellow and red
poppies in a vase.
I was so distracted by everything in the room I almost didn’t notice the people waiting inside. Almost.
Because it would be impossible to miss the goliath which was Jinx. He leaned against the wall to the left, his phone out as he
messed around on it. His size made the phone appear toy-like in his massive paws. His light brown hair was shorn short, and
as I stepped into the room, his brown eyes flashed from his screen to stare me down.
Blade sat cross-legged on the desk, black hair tied in a bun on the top of her head, tossing up several daggers and catching
them without even having to look. Her ability to direct her weapons with pinpoint accuracy made her one of the deadliest
weapons the former UAS ever acquired. Both she and Jinx were part of the UAS’s task force, the Mercenaries. Most of the
force slacked off and used their title as a way to abuse their powers, to get what they wanted. Though, from the little I
remembered about Jinx and Blade, they’d never abused their titles like the others on their team had. No, but they’d also never
done anything to stop the rest of the Mercenaries when they’d taken situations too far.
Dressed head to toe in tactical gear with daggers, throwing knives, and all other sorts of sharp objects sheathed in her belt,
she was the epitome of violence. And when she spun one of the daggers between her fingers in quick rotations, I wondered if it
was a nervous tic of hers or if she just did that when she was bored.
And of course, it would have been completely impossible to ignore the absolute nightmare draped along a couch in the back
of the room. Mare, unlike Jinx and Blade, had been a Merc who’d abused her powers. With a single touch, her power could
draw out a person’s biggest fears and regrets and make them live it. Weaker minds could struggle to break from her power and
become stuck in their nightmares if she willed it.
I shivered just thinking about it. If she touched me, what would she see?
I didn’t even let myself go there.
She popped a piece of popcorn into her mouth with fingernails filed to needle-sharp points. When she realized she had my
attention, she grinned at me with a smile full of sharpened teeth.
En ese momento, yo tenía un cagaso bárbaro. She was terrifying.
Lewis shoved me further into the room as he came in behind me, and it was only then that I realized I’d stopped in the
doorway.
My face warmed because I didn’t know when I’d become this shell of my former self. But this wasn’t me. This hesitant,
scared person. Or maybe it was now. But I didn’t want it to be.
Rolling my shoulders back and straightening my posture, I met each of their stares as Lewis left my side to take a seat on one
of the multiple office chairs in the room. He sat on it backward and smiled around the room like he expected a fight to break
out and couldn’t wait for the chaos to begin.
London stopped to stand beside Blade and waved his hand at me. “As you all are aware, Sin will be temporarily joining us
for the remainder of this mission.” He emphasized the word temporarily, making my shoulders stiffen. “You probably already
know everyone here, but I think it’s important you know everyone’s roles on the team. Blade is our weapons specialist and co-
captain. She works alongside Lewis to make suits and weapons individualized for each teammate.”
I remembered her specialized weapons well. She’d equipped me with some when I’d planned to take down my father. I’d
never gotten a chance to use them before I’d been injured that day.
Blade eyed me up and down. “I’m always looking for volunteers to test out my designs on, if you’re interested?”
“Blade,” London chastised, confusing me.
She sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I know. No more testing weapons out on team members. But maybe—”
“No.”
“You never let me have any fun,” she pouted.
London ignored her and pointed to Jinx. “Jinx is our intel coordinator. He’s the reason this operation ever runs smoothly.
Once we have a target, he makes sure we have the connections and supplies needed to reach them.”
Jinx continued to scowl at me, the line between his thick brows a deep valley. I sent him a little finger-wave because I just
didn’t know what to say. The last time I’d seen any of these people was when I’d been about to end things with my dad. They
didn’t like me, and I personally didn’t find them all that enjoyable to be around either.
This was going to be fun, wasn’t it?
Mejor que la cárcel.
And with that thought, I turned my attention to the last person in the room. Mare didn’t even bother straightening as London
pointed a finger in her direction. “And Mare, well, Mare’s here because she’s one hell of an opponent.”
Those chills returned.
“Are you going to actually talk or just stand there awkwardly all day?” Mare drawled around a mouthful of popcorn. One of
her eyebrows lifted in challenge.
Okay, point made.
“What do you want me to say?” I rolled my eyes. “Nice to see you all again?”
Mare smirked before crunching down on a popcorn kernel. “Ooh, I think I like this one.”
“You just like him ‘cause he’s pretty,” Blade teased, hopping off the desk and sauntering over to Mare. In a brazen move, she
stabbed a piece of popcorn out of Mare’s bowl with a thin blade.
In a move almost too fast to catch, Mare had Blade’s wrist caught in her grasp.
My breath snagged, knowing just how poorly this could end. While Blade was deadly with her, well, blades, Mare could
end a fight with a single touch.
Mare cocked her head, smiling wickedly up at Blade. Blade held still as Mare brought the blade to her lips and bit off the
popcorn. She released Blade while she chewed, watching her with an amused gaze.
Blade simply rolled her eyes and sat on the arm of the couch like nothing had happened.
Mare turned her attention back to me, and her grin grew feral. She stood from the couch, thrusting her bowl into Blade’s
arms, and crossed the room like she owned the place. When she stood nearly toe to toe with me, letting me see every strand of
chin-length, blue hair, she held out a hand. Her expression was once again filled with challenge because we both knew what
letting her touch me could do. It could expose all of my deepest fears to someone who could exploit them with her power.
By accepting her hand, I would be vulnerable.
But by refusing her, I would be seen as a coward.
Holding her gaze, I grasped her hand, just hoping like hell that my mental shields were strong enough to keep her out, just in
case she attempted anything.
Her smile widened, her hazel eyes bright with a modicum of respect.
The handshake lasted a mere second, but by the time she let go of my hand, my palms had started to sweat. I was sure she’d
noticed, but she didn’t comment before slapping me on my shoulder and laughing. It sounded a bit unhinged, if I was being
honest.
“Dude, your face,” she cried.
I scowled. “What about it?”
Shaking her head, she returned to the couch, stealing back her popcorn, which now looked noticeably emptier than before,
and flopped down. “You looked scared shitless.”
“Che, I did not,” I argued, though, maybe I had. I’d felt scared shitless, that was for sure.
“Yeah, okay,” she scoffed, stuffing a handful of popcorn into her mouth.
“Enough,” London said, moving to stand before the largest screen on the wall to my right. He pulled up the digital files
President Osborne had showed me last night in the infirmary.
Had it really just been last night?
“I know we’ve read over the files, but since this is the first time we’ve all been together since being assigned this case, I
wanted to briefly review the information we have.” He pulled up Lucas’s image.
“As you all are aware, we know very little about Lucas’s past. From what we understand, Lucas is only going after those
who worked in the labs. There were around about a dozen lab workers under Dr. Kelley employment, and so far, four have
been found murdered. First, Dr. Phillip Kelley, then Taylor Knowles, Stanley Fite, and most recently, Trixie Bunnell. The other
teams had been trying to locate the rest, but since news of their ex-colleague's deaths, the workers have all gone into hiding.
President Osborne wants our focus to be centered on Lucas while a few other teams continue searching for where the lab
workers might be hiding.”
If I heard a mentally unwell Super I’d used to hold captive was going on a murder spree after all those who tormented them,
I’d have run away too.
“We’re not entirely sure how long the former UAS kept him locked up,” London continued, “nor do we know exactly what
happened in the laboratories.”
I held up my hand. “Why don’t we know this?” I hadn’t thought to ask much about this last night with President Osborne.
London eyed me with amusement before he firmly schooled his features into neutrality. “Because Lucas’s life was scrubbed
from all databases. It seems the UAS wanted any record of him—his birth certificate, social media, school records, hell, even
his dental records—wiped from existence. In short, he’s a ghost.”
“How in the world did they manage that?” I asked, shocked. “That seems like a lot of work.”
“Exactly, it is a lot of work,” he agreed. “Which means they must have had a very good reason why. Anyone have any
guesses?”
“Maybe he was a secret agent?” Jinx offered, ripping open a… Was that a chocolate bar?
London seemed to think about it. “It’s possible, but it wouldn’t explain why they kept him locked up instead of sending him
out on missions.” He looked around at us expectantly. “Any other guesses?”
“They were doing something down there they didn’t want anyone to know about. If they wiped him from all records, then it
was less likely for someone to realize he was missing. No one comes looking for a ghost. They could basically do whatever
they wanted with no consequences,” Mare said, pretending to look bored as she picked at her nails, but fury lit her eyes.
I understood her anger. What they’d done to Lucas was inexcusable.
London pointed at her and nodded. “Yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking.”
“So how do we know anything about him?” I asked.
“Because while they deleted all his life from online, they didn’t destroy the physical evidence. When preparing to repair the
structural damage caused to the Citadel after your dad’s attack, they found what little info we have of Lucas in the demolished
labs. Most of the files on Lucas they kept locked up down there were destroyed or too damaged to read, but we were able to
figure out some of what happened. Hence, this information.”
“So what’s the plan, boss man?” Blade asked, tossing a tiny dagger at a bullseye target on the wall. It hit the center with
deadly accuracy.
“Lucas’s power appears to be unstable. The previous teams assigned to Lucas’s case tracked him by following large power
outages or unnatural phenomena occurring to large groups of people, like a building full of office workers who all report that
one moment, they were clocking in for the day, and then the next thing they know, it’s ten PM and they’ve missed dinner.”
Mierda. I’d known he was powerful, but to control so many people at once?
“Since there hasn’t been any mass power outages or any reported strange happenings, no one’s been able to track Lucas
down for a couple of weeks. So I’m going to try to locate Lucas. If he’s not traveling, it will be easier to pinpoint his location.
But depending on his distance, it might take me a while. So while I’m indisposed, Blade, Lewis, I want you to fit Sin with a
suit. He’s going to need a new one.”
Blade was already eyeing me up, calculations clear in her eyes. “Can do, boss man.”
London turned to Lewis. “Did that shipment you were waiting for get here yet?”
“Yep, came in last night,” Lewis said. “I left the box in the weapons room.”
“Good. I want everyone’s suits to be refreshed with the new nanotech.”
“Got it.”
This was just so weird. London had always been a take action sort of guy, a natural leader, but I’d never seen him in a setting
like this. In fact, the more I observed him command a room full of powerful and deadly Supers, the more he reminded me so
much of his dad.
I kept that to myself though, knowing his dad was a sore topic between us.
“Remember, we’re a team, so we need to act like a team.” He looked at each one of us. “So be nice.”
Taking a calming breath, London sat on the couch beside Mare. Surprisingly, she didn’t seem bothered by his intrusion into
her space, almost like this was a normal thing for the two of them. In fact, she even retrieved a coiled pair of earbuds from her
pocket and handed them over to London. He thanked her as he plugged them into his phone and inserted the buds into his ears.
London closed his eyes, tuning us all out as he let his power swell. His eyes flickered behind his lids, his mouth parted
slightly, and his fingers twitched in his lap. I watched, enraptured. He’d only allowed me to witness his use of his power a few
times in the past, stating he felt too awkward having people watch him. It didn’t seem he felt that way any longer.
The others remained in the room, barely paying London any mind, though. Jinx and Lewis left and returned with several large
boxes full of equipment. Lewis dug through the boxes, setting up a mini laboratory in the back corner of the room. He fiddled
with some wires, slapping on a pair of overly large protective goggles which only served to make him look ridiculous.
Mare, now finished with her popcorn, set the bowl on the floor and pulled an orange out from the pocket of her jacket. She
peeled it with those bladed fingernails.
Jinx swiped through the file reports over and over as if worried he’d missed or forgotten something. I bet he had the entire
thing memorized, so I didn’t get why he bothered.
Blade pulled up a design app on one of the tablets, and I noted she had different folders marked for each team member. I
didn’t understand a lot of what she was doing when she opened a folder and messed around with the suit drawing inside,
making small notes. She used a stylus for her designs, mumbling to herself as she worked. It was fascinating to watch as she
occasionally scrapped a design and started fresh.
There were some weapons lined up to her side, and I shifted over to inspect them. There was everything from a hatchet to
throwing stars. One weapon in particular caught my attention, and I carefully picked up the tiny dagger. There didn’t look to be
anything special about it, no ornamentation or markings, but the blade was coated in some sickly smelling green liquid.
“Unless you want to knock yourself out for the next couple days, I’d highly suggest not playing with that.”
I jerked at the sound of Blade’s voice and found her watching me with those kohl-lined eyes.
I nearly dropped the dagger in my haste to put it back, and Blade smirked. “What do you think, little snake?” She pressed
something on the tablet, and then a large holographic image of a suit in such a deep shade of green that it almost appeared black
filled the space in front of the tablet. A breastplate the color of gunmetal wrapped around the suit’s torso and chest with
etchings of storm clouds. Two gunmetal shoulder pads extended from the top of the breast plate. The holographic suit slowly
turned, revealing more of the design. Certain parts were labeled, like the V-shaped weapon’s belt curving down around the hip
area. There was a label called “taser” and another called “paralytic.” “This is Mare’s suit. She wanted black, but we
compromised. See this?” She pointed to the gloved portion of the suit. The gloves were tipped in something shiny. “This suit is
full coverage up to the neck area. Which meant I had to figure out a way for Mare to use her power through touch but protect
her from others who might need to do the same.”
“You mean, we had to figure it out,” Lewis called without even looking up from… Was that a welding mask? I shielded my
eyes when, in fact, he began welding without warning. Fucker.
Blade waved her hand. “Yeah, that’s what I meant. Anyway, look at this.” She zoomed in on the tablet, making the projection
follow suit. “See these nails?” As if I could miss them. “Since she refused my request to shorten them—”
“Hey, I did shorten a couple,” Mare said, wiggling her right hand and displaying her claws. The middle and pointer finger’s
nails were trimmed super short compared to the rest of her fatally tipped nails. She gave Blade a wicked grin. “See? I
compromised.”
Blade rolled her eyes. “You keep those short for other reasons, and you know it.”
Mare smirked and winked at her. “Maybe.”
“Anyway,” Blade continued, pointing at the suit again, “each tip is coated in a paralytic. It’s a great way to incapacitate an
opponent.”
“That’s… cool.” And it was. I just wasn’t too sure I liked the thought of Mare having access to something like that. Not that
she needed to paralyze someone to incapacitate them.
Blade moved on to the folder labeled Jinx. “Jinx’s suit is more complicated.” The suit displayed was a rich purple and
designed similar to Mare’s in the way that it would cover the wearer from toe to neck. “Because he clones himself and
whatever he’s touching, the suit itself needs to be able to duplicate along with each clone. This makes each of his clones just as
protected as himself.”
I hadn’t thought much about the mechanics of Jinx’s power. I knew he was able to clone himself and that the clones were just
as physical as his true body, but I wondered how many clones he could make, how long his power was able to keep the clones
corporeal, and if each clone had individual thought, or if Jinx controlled them all himself with his mind?
“How does he clone items that aren’t him?” She opened her mouth to respond, but I shook my head. “You know what? I don’t
think I’m up for that sort of discussion right now.”
She laughed. “Another time then.” Swiping across the tablet, she pulled up a blank design canvas. She tapped her stylus
against the side of the tablet while she studied me. “So now what to do for you.”
I shrugged, making her roll her eyes.
“Come on, little snake. What’s your favorite color?”
“Maybe blue?”
She nodded in encouragement. “Okay, yes, I can do blue. Ooh, maybe I can give it scales? You know, like a snake?” She
laughed like she was so funny. I really didn’t care what she did though. I wasn’t really one for hand-to-hand combat, so
hopefully, any suit I did wear would be more for show than necessity. It didn’t hurt to be cautious though.
“Whatever you think. I don’t really have a preference.”
Pre-prison Sin probably would have cared. Would have sat down with Blade and bounced ideas off one another to make a
suit so suave, I’d stand out. I loved to stand out in a crowd. Loved to have nice quality clothes, use the best products, indulge in
the most decadent foods. I used to paint my nails black and line my ears in jewelry. But that was a different Sin. It felt like a
whole other lifetime when I thought back to how I used to be.
Now I counted it as a win if I washed my hair.
Speaking of which… I wondered if I could convince one of them to let me shower.
Sighing, Blade waved me away. “Fine, I guess I’ll figure it out myself.”
Lewis finished with his welding, and shifted his mask up so we could see his beaming face. “Blade. Blade, Blade, Blade!”
“What?” she snapped.
“Look.” He held up what almost looked like closely looped chainmail. But there was something off about it. Lewis ran a
bare hand over the material and the links shifted, like meadow grass under a summer breeze. Each one glinted and then, to my
utter astonishment, they rearranged their shape. Like the thing Lewis held had a mind of its own.
No, not a mind of its own. Lewis was controlling it, reshaping it with a thought and a touch.
“Are you a metal wielder?” I asked, awed as he worked the material to look smooth and flawless.
He chuckled. “No,” he said, while Blade ambled closer to inspect what he was doing. “I’m a technopath. Though, I can’t
manipulate anything long-range. I can alter the technology of any object, but I need to be touching it. This,” he said, holding up
the sheet, “isn’t just metal. It’s actually created using advanced nanotechnology. These are the newest nanobots on the market.”
I couldn’t help but be impressed. I might not have been the guy’s biggest fan, but as I watched him shape the material into
different forms with a simple touch, I couldn’t deny he must have been pretty strong.
Lewis and Blade left the room to go test out the nanotech—where? I had no clue—and left me alone with Mare, Jinx, and
London’s still unconscious form.
I didn’t know what to do with myself, and as the clock on the screen ticked on, tracking the hours, I found myself falling
asleep in one of the office chairs.
It wasn’t until Blade and Lewis returned several hours later, chatting loudly, that I woke up. London was still asleep,
meaning he was struggling to locate Lucas. Mare was watching a show on her phone, still sitting beside London and absently
patting his arm, like she was comforting him while he slept.
Their dynamic, the whole team’s dynamic, really, threw me. They were a team of misfits, some former Villains, some prior
Mercs, but seeing them together… They meshed. Each had a role, a purpose on the team. They worked together and seemed
rather protective of one another.
I was glad London had them, but I couldn’t help being envious too.
I pursed my lips and returned to watching London. Depending on the object he was searching for, it could take minutes,
hours, or even a full day to locate. I knew there were many factors which affected how quickly he found something, like if the
object was moving or stationary, its size, if it was buried, etc. It also helped if he had a starting point, like a general area to
search within or from. If Lucas was in a moving car, it could take London a long while to pinpoint his—
London’s eyelids flew open, revealing eyes of pure white. Slowly, the color returned, and he blinked brown eyes at us as if
in a daze. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned their attention on him, waiting for him to speak.
But then he jerked to his feet and crossed to the digital map on the wall, pocketing the earbuds as he moved. It showed a
basic outline of each continent and the countries, states, and territories within. London zoomed in until he hovered over a city
several states over. Monroe.
“He’s here,” he said in a raspy voice from sleep. His lids drooped, and his brows pinched in pain. “I can’t… I can’t pin
down a specific area because he’s moving. Maybe on a bus or a train? Lewis, I want you to access family members or friends
of any remaining workers who might live in this area. I don’t care how distant the relation might be, got it?”
“Got it,” Lewis said, taking a seat on one of the rolling chairs and spinning to face the computer behind him. He slapped
some large headphones over his ears and placed his hands on the sides of the monitor. Instantly, dozens of files filled the
screen, everything from birth certificates, genealogy records, to mortgage agreements.
“Jinx,” London said next, and Jinx jumped to his feet at the ready. “Call Monroe's local law enforcement and tell them to
keep an eye out for him but to not engage. They don’t need to know the details, just that Lucas is dangerous and should be
avoided. All we need from them is his whereabouts and to keep the citizens out of his way if he’s spotted. Again, they are not
to engage. Once you’re done, start loading the van.”
Jinx nodded and pulled out a phone from his pocket. He marched out of the room, dialing a number as he went.
Before the door had even shut, London was turning to Blade. “Did you manage to work on the suits?”
“Yes, but I’m still not done. I need to tweak some things before they’ll be ready to wear. Then after another round of testing,
they should be finished.”
“Okay,” he said, rubbing at his temples. “Okay, yeah, do that then. Take Mare with you to help with the testing.”
“Will do,” Blade said, grabbing the tablet she’d been designing on as Mare switched off her movie and stood. “You need to
sleep, boss man.”
London stretched his neck back and forth, and I fought the urge to go over and massage his head for him. “I know.”
 “I’ll meet you in the weapon’s room,” Mare said to Blade, darting her gaze my way one more time before ducking out of the
room.
Blade only hesitated a moment longer, her dark eyes latching on to where I sat off to the side. Was she nervous to leave him
alone with me? It sure looked like it.
London must have realized she hadn’t left because he opened his eyes and frowned at her. When he noticed where her
attention seemed glued, he huffed.
“Blade,” London said in a clipped voice. “Go.”
“With all due respect, boss man, I don’t think you should be alone with him. Keep Lewis here.”
“Your concern is noted,” he said, one side of his lips quirking in a half smile. “I’ll be fine, Blade,” he added softly. “I’ll rest
soon, okay?”
She still didn’t look happy, but with a stiff nod, she vacated the room.
He looked so exhausted, his head appearing as if it took everything in him to hold it up. But despite how tired he was, he
moved to one of the computer screens and pulled up a video call app. I didn’t have long to wonder who he was calling before
President Osborne’s face filled the screen.
“Status?” she asked in greeting.
“We have a general location, but he’s moving around the city, so it’s not exact. Based on the trail I followed, it looks like
he’s been in the area for a while though. I have Jinx informing the local police about the situation, and Lewis is looking into
which of the lab workers may have family or friends nearby that area. We’ll head out once we have more information, and—”
“You need to rest, Mr. Whitmore,” President Osborne interrupted. She clucked her tongue in admonishment. “We need
everyone on your team at their highest level of performance.”
“I can rest on the flight. Or maybe the drive. He’s not near any major airports, so we’ll fly to the nearest one, then track him
the rest of the way by car. There will be plenty of time for rest then,” London assured.
“There is,” she agreed, “but the fastest way to recover is uninterrupted, peaceful sleep. Which we both know you won’t get if
you attempt it on a plane or in the squad car. Especially not with Mr. Benson’s particular driving. Which is why I’m ordering
you to wait until your power is restored before you head out. Trust that your team’s got this handled for now.”
London hesitated but gave a reluctant nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her gaze skittered over me. “How has Mr. Gonzalez integrated into the team?”
So we were just going to pretend I wasn’t here? Really?
“You could just ask me, you know?” I pointed out, standing.
London stiffened, almost like he’d forgotten I was here, and ignored me. “It’s too soon to tell, but there haven’t been any
issues.”
“Good, remember to let me know if there are any problems.” She narrowed her eyes on me. “We don't want any problems,
remember?”
I bit back what I really wanted to say, knowing nothing good would come from it, and gave her a thumbs up. “Got it. Best
behavior.”
She didn’t appear amused as she turned back to London. “Let me know once you’re rested and heading out.”
“I will.”
Without so much as a goodbye, she disconnected from the call.
The room was disconcertingly quiet as the screen blacked out, the only sound the hum from the monitors and the soft groan
from the AC. London gripped the edge of the desk with his hands, his head bowed and eyes closed.
He looked so tired, and he probably was after expending so much power. I wanted to comfort him, but considering how icy
he’d been with me today, I didn’t dare try.
After several minutes, he finally straightened, rolling his shoulders to relieve some tension there. He turned to me then,
scrutinizing me like he didn’t quite know what to do with me.
“Did Blade talk over your suit with you?” he asked finally.
“Um, sort of. I told her to do whatever she wanted.”
“You don’t want to add your own touch to it?”
“Honestly, I don’t really care what it looks like. She could dress me like a potato, and it wouldn’t matter.”
He frowned, regarding me more intently. Whatever he saw in my expression didn’t seem to sit well with him because his
frown only deepened. “Well… I’m sure it will be great. She’s really got a knack for design. She reminds me a lot of y—”
“Sure,” I said, interrupting him because the only thing I cared about right now was getting London to talk to me. Not Blade or
the suit or all that other small talk. “Look, can we talk?”
He let out a breath I hadn’t known he’d been holding. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea, Sin.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m still really angry. And I’m worried if we do this right now, I might end up saying things I shouldn’t.”
“Well, then what’s your plan?” I threw my hands up in the air in exasperation. “To just keep pretending like I’m not here? Do
you really think avoiding me will do us any good? I’m part of this team now, and—”
London took one step toward me, one step filled with so much unbridled anger that I found myself taking a step back myself.
He poked a finger at my chest. “I didn’t ask for you to be part of this team, Sin. In fact, I very much opposed the idea.”
And… ouch. Okay, then. He did warn me, I guessed.
“Why are you acting like such a dick? I get that you’re still mad at me, but you don’t have to keep treating me like gum you
got stuck to your shoe.”
He exhaled slowly, like he was reining in his temper. “Because if I’d had my choice, you wouldn’t be here. When President
Osborne said you’d be joining us for this mission, I fought her on it. But obviously, I lost.” He laughed bitterly. “So just
because you’re here doesn’t mean I’m ready to talk to you. It sure as fuck doesn’t make things right between us or mean I want
you here.”
A throat cleared, reminding us that… Lewis was still in the room. Jesus, how had we forgotten about him?
He had his headphones around his neck and a laptop cradled against his side. He didn’t look at either of us. “I’m going to
go… anywhere but here right now.”
London closed his eyes, muttering something under his breath as Lewis scuttled out of the room.
“London,” I whispered once we were alone. I was still frustrated and hurt by his earlier words, but I refused to let my
feelings stop me. This wasn’t the London I remembered. It wasn’t the one I played The Floor Is Lava with when we were eight.
Nor is he the one who brought me ice cream when I had to get my tonsils removed in middle school. The one I’d dreamed
about when I felt so lost in those prison cells and thought about what I had left to live for. “So what do you want? Are you
really so angry with me that you’d rather have nothing to do with me?” A sickening thought occurred to me. “Or are you seeing
someone else?”
“No.”
“Not you and…” I drifted off as I glanced back at the door Lewis had just vacated.
London seemed to catch my meaning, and he snorted. “Me and Lewis? No, that would be like dating Bennett. Ew. Besides,
he’s not into men.”
I tried not to look relieved at that. “Then what? What can I do, London?”
He looked toward the wall, his jaw ticking. “I don’t know, Sin,” he said in frustration, swiping a hand over his curls. “I have
so many emotions warring inside me right now. Sometimes, I look at you and all I want to do is kiss you until I can’t breathe.
Then other times, it’s all I can do not to punch you in your fucking nose.”
With a thundering heart, I took a cautious step forward. “Just tell me what you want, and I’ll—”
His sharp laughter cut me off, and I watched a mask slip over his face, leaving him staring back at me with a cold
expression. “I don’t want anything from you anymore, Sin. I used to want everything, but you showed me just how stupid that
was, didn’t you?”
I knew what he was doing. He was lashing out, using his words like a weapon. I wished he wouldn’t. I was too raw for that.
“Lond—”
“No.” His harsh tone had me biting off my words. “I told you I’m not ready to talk, but like always, you just do whatever you
want.”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve been waiting for months to talk to you!” I said in exasperation. “I feel like I’ve been pretty fucking
patient, London. For the past six months, I’ve been patiently waiting for you to talk to me. But all I’ve gotten is radio silence.”
He ground his teeth. “I’m still not ready.”
“Then how long?” I gestured at the space between us. “How much longer do I have to wait? Because I just want to make
things right, but I can’t if you won’t talk to me.”
“I don’t know how long. Just that it’s going to take time. This isn’t some easy fix, Sin.” His lip curled. “Unless you have time
travel powers I wasn’t aware of? Because that’s the only way I can think of to immediately fix things.”
His words hit me like a blow, and I retreated until my back met the wall and had nowhere else to go. “That’s not fair and you
know it.”
“No.” He crossed the remaining distance between us and brushed up against my front, the move both somehow threatening
and sexy as fuck. “What’s not fair is going to call my dad only to remember he won’t pick up the phone. What’s not fair is going
to family dinner and having his empty seat at the table. What’s not fair,” his voice rose in volume, making me flinch, “is
struggling to fall asleep because all I can see is the memory of that damned video of his death. Then, when I do fucking sleep,
that memory follows. What’s not fair, Sin, is that he’s gone. He’s gone because you had daddy issues and gave your father a
second chance when he didn’t deserve one.
“What’s not fair is how I fell in love with you, only to have you run away after your mom died. What’s not fair is how you
never called, never let me know where you were or if you’d even come back. How I forgave you after you ended things that
first time, only for you to break things off with me again before you left for prison. That, Sin, is not fair.”
Every word drove a dagger into my heart because he’d never spoken to me this way. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you,” I
whispered, scanning his face for some sort of sign that I hadn’t lost him forever, that we still stood a chance of surviving this,
even if all he could give me was friendship. “And I’m sorry about the damage my actions caused you and your family. I know I
shouldn’t have trusted my dad, but he was all I had.”
London twisted his face away but not before I caught his crestfallen expression. He retreated several feet, taking his warmth
with him as he put even more space—both physically and mentally—between us. “He wasn’t all you had, Sin.” His eyes shone.
And in a voice just above a whisper, he confessed, “Me. You had me.”
I didn’t think I would have been able to find my vocal chords even if I’d figured out how to respond to him.
Clearing his throat, he grabbed a laptop and moved toward the exit. Pausing in the door, he peered back at me. Any cracks in
his mask were now soldered, leaving him with an expression of indifference.
“Welcome to the Legion, Sin,” he said, voice void of emotion. “Maybe now you can make your sorrys mean something.”
And with those parting words, he left me alone in the room with only my dark thoughts for company.
 Chapter Five

HE HAS AS MUCH MUSCLE AS MY FOUR-YEAR-OLD NEPHEW

S everal hours later, after leaving me to stew alone in my depressed thoughts, the team finally returned to the room. Only, this
time, they weren’t alone.
A man I’d only ever seen on posters and medical advertisements flanked them, looking apprehensive. Mend.
But my attention was quickly diverted when London, who looked freshly showered—unlike myself—and utterly edible in
some dark lounge clothes he’d changed into for the evening, moved over to me, holding out a steaming cup of coffee.
We’d left things on a bad note earlier. By the way he struggled to look me in the eye and the guilt lining the corners of his
eyes, he felt bad about it.
“I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” he said, too soft for anyone else to hear. When I reached for the coffee, he didn’t let go at
first. “I said some things I didn’t mean, some I did. Either way, I took things too far. I really do need more time before I’m
ready to talk about the future, though. Can you give me that? Time?”
I accepted the peace offering with grateful fingers. “It’s okay. You didn’t say anything I haven’t already been told or thought
myself.” I hugged the mug to my chest. “I’m sorry too. I won’t push again. We’ll take things at your pace.”
His lips tipped up in a small but genuine smile. “Thank you.”
As he left my side, he sipped from a ceramic cup proclaiming himself as the World’s Prettiest Nerd. Since I doubted London
bought that mug himself, I had my suspicions as to who did.
I watched him, feeling much lighter than I had a few hours ago, as he spoke in low tones with Mend. He sipped deep and
slow from his drink. If I were to hazard a guess, it was probably tea. While he loved coffee, London always drank chamomile
tea after using his powers. It was something his dad used to do for him when his powers first emerged, and…
What’s not fair, Sin, is that he’s gone. He’s gone because you had daddy issues and gave your father a second chance
when he didn’t deserve one.
My mouth dried thinking back to those words about Mack, and I cast my gaze away from the two men as I struggled to keep
my shame at bay.
Blade perched her hip on the edge of the table Lewis had set up as a workstation, and Mare was studying a monitor with
several zoomed in images of Lucas, a furrow between her dark brows. Jinx was doing something on his phone, his large, thick
fingers surprisingly nimble on the tiny screen.
After a minute, London nodded at something Mend said and left him to take a seat in one of the many office chairs in the
room. Mend stood awkwardly in the corner for a second before he sauntered over to me.
Mend, a gentle giant of a man, was one of Mercy Heights most treasured Supers. With the ability to heal, he was essential to
the medical field. Even small amounts of his blood could heal someone gravely injured enough to be treated. Though, in order
to fully restore someone to full strength, it required multiple blood transfusions. It was why the hospitals only used his blood in
severe instances. I knew he donated blood regularly, but injuries were a daily occurrence in the world. I was lucky to have
received any of his blood to treat my wounds.
He smiled hesitantly, like one approaching a skittish creature. When he came to a stop in front of me, he asked, “I know you
already had a medical examination before your release, but if it’s all right with you, I’d like to oversee one myself?”
The thought of undressing for him and letting him look me over didn’t sit well with me. Not because I thought he had any
nefarious intentions, but because I’d been so manhandled over the past couple of days and didn’t want to deal with this right
now.
 “Is it necessary?”
London’s hard gaze snapped to mine. “Yes.”
Mend glanced between the two of us, shifting uncomfortably on his feet as he placed a medical bag on the ground.
London held my gaze for several long moments, and I wondered how many strings he’d had to pull to get Mend here.
Especially if it was to give me a checkup.
I knew Mend’s time was valuable, though. So if London wanted me to do this, I just needed to make it quick.
With a low groan of pain from sitting in one position for so long, I stood and set my mostly untouched drink on the desk to
finish later. “Okay, but can we, you know, not do it right here?”
Mend nodded vigorously and snatched up his medical travel bag. “Of course. We can move somewhere private and—”
“Absolutely not,” London cut in, and Mend startled at his harsh tone.
“I’m confused. I thought you wanted me to—”
Once again, London cut Mend off. “No, I do. But he’s not allowed to be alone with anyone but someone from the Legion. It’s
President Osborne’s orders.”
The unspoken meaning hung heavy in the air. Because I was still considered a criminal until this mission was over. That’s
why I couldn’t be alone with Mend.
Once again, that uneasy feeling settled deeper in my gut.
London snapped his fingers, gaining the room’s attention. “Give us twenty minutes. Get a snack or something. I think Bennett
hid some Oreos in the back of the cupboard with the cheese graters. Though you didn’t hear that from me.”
Cheese graters? As in, plural? The thought was so bizarre that it nearly distracted me from my pity party.
Lewis and Blade smirked at each other before sauntering from the room.
“Whatever you say, boss man,” Blade called while Lewis’s chuckle echoed from the stairs.
Jinx jumped to his feet to chase after her. Problem was, someone tied his shoelaces together, and when he tried to take a step,
he faceplanted.
Mare smirked at her nails, studying them like they were the most fascinating things in the world. She stepped over Jinx’s
prone body, and he cursed. “Hey! Wait for me!”
“Looks like you’re a little tied up,” she called from outside the door. “But I’ll see if I can’t save you an Oreo.”
Jinx muttered something under his breath before foregoing his shoes altogether. He cradled them in his arm like a football
and ran after Mare and the others in mismatched socks.
That left Mend, London, and me alone in the room. London eyed me with an assessing gaze before scooting up to the desk to
study something on one of the computer screens. I was pretty sure it was an attempt to give us some semblance of privacy, but I
knew he was planning to listen to every single word.
Mend glanced between London and me before clearing his throat. “Right, well, if you want to have a seat on the couch over
there, I think you’ll be more comfortable. I just have some questions to ask you before moving on to a physical exam.”
I swallowed and sat on the sofa in the corner of the room. “I’m really fine.”
Mend rolled an office chair over to sit in front of me and pulled a notepad and pen out from his pocket. “I’m aware you
received routine examinations while incarcerated, but I feel it might be important to have a more in depth one before you leave
on your mission.”
Fidgeting with the hem of my shirt, I avoided Mend’s calm gaze and tried really hard not to think about London listening to
this. “Okay.”
I could hear a smile in his voice as he said, “Great. Let’s start with some basic questions about your mental health, all right?
Have you been feeling stressed or anxious recently?”
Shrugging, I said, “Yeah, I guess. But that’s not too uncommon when you live in prison.”
Mend nodded and wrote something down on his notepad. “Yes, I can definitely see how that could make someone feel
stressed and anxious. How about sleep? Are you sleeping well?”
“Um, I don’t sleep the best, no.”
“How much sleep would you say you get on average?”
I thought about it. “Well, I didn’t have a clock in my cell, so I can’t say for sure. I don’t get a lot, but it’s enough.”
“Any reason in particular why you’re struggling to sleep?”
Will you be brave? my mother asked… Three little words mouthed just for me… Blood splattered my cheek… A bloody
hand held a mangled heart… A metal pole protruded from my stomach…
My throat thickened, and I fought the rising panic as memory after memory flickered across my vision. “I, um, have bad
dreams,” I rasped.
Mend paused. Even London had stopped pretending to be working, no longer typing, though he still hadn’t turned around. For
a few beats, the only sound was the hum of electronics and the screams from my memories.
“How often would you say you have these dreams?” Mend asked softly.
I didn’t want to talk about this anymore. My voice was tight when I spoke again. “I don’t know. Most nights.”
 Nodding, he scribbled something else down. “Just a couple more questions and then we can move on, okay? Have you been
feeling down or depressed? Had any feelings of hopelessness recently.”
I squirmed, really wishing London wasn’t in the room right now. “Not really. A little down, but I’m okay.”
Mend studied me, probably sensing my lie. Because honestly, I knew I’d been depressed for a while now. But it wasn’t
something I wanted to talk about to a stranger or in front of my ex-boyfriend. No, even though Mend seemed like a decent guy
and I’d heard good things about him, I didn’t know him.
“I see.” After a moment, Mend placed his notepad back into his pocket along with the pen. He turned to London who glanced
over at the pause in conversation.
“Is there a problem?” London asked.
“Yes, I’m afraid there is. I understand your earlier concern about leaving Sin alone in my care, London. But you must
remember that I am not defenseless and am fully capable of helping myself if something should happen. So, I’m going to have to
insist that you step outside while I finish Sin’s exam.” When London opened his mouth to argue, Mend held up a hand and
shook his head. “Look, he’s obviously extremely uncomfortable having others in the room for this, and since you’re the one
who asked me for a personal favor to perform a thorough examination of his well-being, I must insist you let me do my job.
And the only way I’m going to get any honest responses is if he feels comfortable.”
London stiffened, obviously displeased at being dismissed or perhaps being told he was making me uncomfortable. “Might I
remind you that I am the one in charge of Sin’s care. I’m just following President Osborne’s orders. We can’t risk him
attempting to escape.”
Mend sighed. “London, look at him.” He waved at me, and I flushed with self-consciousness. “He’s not getting past me. He
has as much muscle as my four-year-old nephew.”
“Hey!” I said, mildly offended.
Mend shrugged, unapologetic. “What? It’s true. Even without my MD, I’d be able to tell you’re malnourished.”
I scowled at Mend while London contemplated how he wanted to proceed. He definitely didn’t want to leave, but what
Mend said made sense. I still wore my dampening cuffs, so it wasn’t like I could use my power on him. Mend was like four
times my size, so I couldn’t fight him. Plus, the house had so much security and passcodes to get around that even if I managed
to incapacitate Mend, I wouldn’t be able to escape.
Finally, London stood, his posture tense. “Fine, I’ll leave the room. But I’ll be waiting right outside the door.” He pointed at
me. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
I grinned, though it didn’t feel very genuine. “I’ll try my best.”
He hesitated once more before slipping out of the room. There was a click of a lock and then several beeps as he entered a
passcode for extra security. I didn’t understand why he thought I’d try to escape. Not only did I have a tracker, but I also
wouldn’t do anything to affect his career.
Mend folded his hands in his lap and smiled kindly at me. “Now, let’s try this again. Everything you say will stay between
the two of us. I don’t share what my patients confide in me with anyone without their permission. Not their family, their friends,
nor their very concerned exes.”
I snorted at that last one because I was pretty sure London was snooping right now through one of his many security cameras
in the room. “What about nosy presidents?”
He shook his head and held my stare. “No, Sin. Not even nosy presidents.”
And somehow, I believed him.
He waited to let me process this before speaking again. “So since we’ve cleared that up, I need you to understand that I can’t
help you if you won’t let me. That means, I need you to be honest with me, or I can’t give you the help you need.”
I swallowed down my instinct to tell him to fuck off. Because maybe… maybe he could fix me. He was a stranger, yes.
But… I kinda liked him. He’d sensed how uncomfortable I’d felt answering his questions with London in the room and kicked
him out. And I really did believe him when he said that he’d keep this information to himself.
I was still a little hesitant, but I found myself nodding. “Okay.”
He graced me with another warm smile. “Thank you. So let me ask again. Have you been feeling down, depressed, or
hopeless recently?”
My response stuck in my throat, but I forced it out. Even if my answer hurt to say. “Yes.”
Nodding, like he expected that, he moved on to his next question. “Let me ask you something different. What are some things
that have brought you joy this week?”
I frowned at the question. “Really?”
He laughed. “Yes, really. Come on, try to think of something. Or something you’re looking forward to?”
“I mean,” I thought about the question. Something that brought me joy this week? Honestly, it had been a pretty shit week.
Pretty shit couple of years, really. “I guess getting out of prison?”
Nodding in encouragement, he waved for me to continue. I felt ridiculous as I tried to think of something else. I scratched the
back of my neck and thought of how excited I’d felt seeing London waiting for me today. “I guess I’m looking forward to seeing
some of my friends.”
Friends who I hadn’t seen or heard from in months.
The thought made some of my eagerness dwindle. Because even those closest to me had stopped coming by. Bennett and his
partners were probably the last ones to visit me in prison, and that had been months ago, just after their honeymoon. Eva had
only come by a couple of times in the past two years, and sometimes it seemed like she felt like it was an obligation rather than
something she actually wanted to do. And of course, London had stopped as well.
Was there anyone out there who actually missed me?
“Sin?”
I snapped out of my thoughts and realized I’d missed something Mend had asked. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I asked if you’ve had any thoughts of harming yourself or others?”
I snorted, though it wasn’t really funny. “Um, no. Not today.”
He tapped the side of his thigh. “But you have had some?”
Unable to look at him when he’d asked me such a vulnerable question, I stared at a picture hanging on the wall. It didn’t look
like much, but knowing London and his ability to track and find valuable items, it was probably worth a fortune. “I have them
every now and again, yeah. Not usually about others, though. I’ve only acted in self-defense or distress.”
“And how often would you say you have thoughts of harming yourself?” he prodded gently.
I had to take several breaths while I braved my confession. “Maybe a few times a day. Some days more, some less. But
they’re just thoughts. I’ve never, you know, tried anything.” I cringed at how ugly the words sounded out loud. “I’ve never
actually gone through with any of my thoughts, I mean.”
“I’m glad to hear that. That’s definitely a win, Sin. I hope you know that.”
I shrugged since it felt weird to say thank you to him for congratulating me on not hurting myself.
“Not going to lie, Sin. It’s obvious you’re suffering with some pretty bad depression and what sounds like post-traumatic
stress. While depression is common in prisons, I’m concerned with how severe yours is. So I think,” he said slowly, “if you’re
open to it, I think we should have you start taking some anti-depressants. While it won’t solve the root of your depression or
PTSD, it will help with the effects you’re currently feeling.” He lifted his medical bag into his lap and dug around inside for a
few moments. When he set the bag back on the ground, he held up a small prescription bottle. “These are SSRIs. If you decide
to utilize them, you take one a day and they should last you a month. If you feel like you’re improving and would like to
continue taking them after that, I’ll leave my number with you. Though, once this is over and you have the time, I would highly
suggest you seek out a psychiatrist to help you work through your depression and PTSD. There are lots of resources out there to
help you.” He clasped my hand, pressing a small card with his name and number on it into my palm. “You’re not alone, Sin.
Even though sometimes our thoughts try to tell us we are.”
Wet heat trickled down my cheeks, and I startled when I realized I was crying. Fuck, that was embarrassing.
While he turned away and rummaged through his medical bag, I quickly swiped away the evidence of my tears. If he noticed,
he didn’t say anything. He pulled out some of that weird crinkly paper they put on medical exam beds, and I moved so he could
roll it out onto the sofa. “If you could strip down to your underwear, then we can proceed with the physical portion of your
examination. Then I’ll get out of your hair and you can enjoy the rest of your evening. Sound okay?”
Not really. Though, I kept those words to myself.
With little enthusiasm, I peeled off my shoes, shirt, and pants and tossed them on the floor by the sofa. In my nothing but my
socks and boxers, I laid down on the paper, feeling awkward as fuck. Especially knowing I probably smelled rank as fuck. But
he’d already heard the mess I had going on on the inside. He might as well see the mess I was on the outside too.
I kept my attention on the ceiling as Mend went about the exam. He was polite, making idle chit chat while he told me about
his four birds: D’Artagnan, Porthos, Aramis, and Athos. Apparently, he really liked The Three Musketeers.
Still, despite my lack of interest in his pets, the sound of his soft voice soothed my nerves and helped me relax for the
examination. I was a little raw after revealing how far my mental state had fallen, but I appreciated his kindness in trying to
make me as comfortable as possible.
He tutted when found the lingering bruises around my rib, frowned while he prodded at the mostly healed burns beneath my
dampening cuffs, and pursed his lips as he changed the bandages over a few remaining lacerations. When he came to my head
though, he paused.
“You received a dose of my blood before you were discharged, correct?”
“Um, last night, yeah. I had a couple of doses.”
His brows rose. “A couple?”
“Yes.”
He scrutinized my body again with a low whistle. “Wow. Must have had some pretty bad injuries if several doses of my
blood didn’t heal them completely.”
“Like I said earlier. It’s been a little bit of a rough week.”
“Yes, I know. I was given a copy of your medical history. There were quite a few reports of instances where you needed
medical assistance from this past week.”
Playing it cool, I shrugged. “I’m not very popular in prison.”
“No, I bet you’re not,” he agreed, not unkindly. His attention was drawn back to my head. “In the last report, I read a little bit
about the incident, though the details were fairly vague. They said you had a panic attack in your cell and had to be knocked
unconscious for your own well-being.”
My headache pulsed as if in response to the memory of being knocked unconscious. Instead of answering his unspoken
question, I made a noncommittal noise.
He didn’t relent though. “That was one nasty panic attack to set you off like that.”
I knew what he was doing. He was trying to give me an opening to talk about it. But I’d had enough heart to heart for one day.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Do you know what triggered it?”
Hands around my neck… Rancid breath against my ear… A bottle of oil in my pocket…
“Sin?”
My heart sped faster and faster. My neck and face heated. The little bit of food I’d eaten seemed to rot in my stomach. A
swell of power spread through my blood, searing my veins. It was met with resistance, and I needed an outlet. I needed some
way to release it or else it was going to consume me…
“Sin,” someone said, though it sounded like it was spoken from underwater.
“What would that boy of yours think of you,” Mike continued with a sneer, his voice lower even while his buddies’
laughter intensified, “if he knew what sort of things you’ve done for me? The way you scream so prettily when I—”
“Sin!”
I don’t want anything from you anymore, Sin. I used to want everything, but you showed me just how stupid that was,
didn’t you?
“Hey,” a familiar voice said close to my ear. I knew that voice. I loved that voice. The noise in my head lessened just a little.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay. I’m right here. Can you breathe with me, Sin?”
“¿Me das otro chance, hijo?” my dad asked from behind a glass barrier. It wasn’t often I heard my dad speak Spanish,
usually only during times of stress or high emotion. A trait, it seemed, I shared with him. He placed a palm against the
partition separating us, and the cuff locked around his wrist clinked against the glass. “Will you let me prove that I’ve
changed?”
I wanted to. I wanted to help him so badly. He’d made mistakes, horrible mistakes which had landed him in this prison.
But… he had changed. I’d seen him change over the years. He wasn’t the same man who’d hurt so many people in the name
of revenge. He was softer now. Regretful.
But there was still that little bit of doubt which made me hesitate to give him a response.
My father saw it, and his expression crumpled, filling me with guilt. “You’re right. I deserve to be here. I know I do. But,
hijo, I don’t want to die down here. How can I ever make up for the past if I’m locked up? You know they’ll never release
me. I’ll die alone in this place. There are so many things I’ll miss out on if you don’t help me. I just want to be part of your
life, to see you grow up. Is that so wrong? Or do you hate me? I wouldn’t blame you if you did. But please, Sinclair, please
don’t hate me. Vos sos lo único que me queda.”
You’re all I have left.
My heart ached at the words because he was all I had left too.
I placed my hand against the glass to mirror his. “Sí, papá. I’ll see what I can do.”
Warm fingers stroked through my hair, tickling the nerves along my hairline. Someone was speaking to me, his voice soft.
“London?” I whispered, surprised when my voice cracked. My heart was pounding wildly, threatening to burst through my
chest. I felt too hot and too cold all at once, and I realized my hands were shaking. Why were they shaking?
My head was turned so I could see London’s worried face. He was kneeling beside me, one hand clasping my own trembling
one, his other combing through my hair. He smiled a strained smile. “There you are. You with me, Sin?”
Honestly, I didn't know. I felt like I was between reality and fantasy, a strange sort of fog which left me ungrounded.
“Maybe.”
Relief flashed momentarily in his gaze. “I'll take maybe.”
It was then that I realized we weren't alone. My gaze fell to Mend, who stood off to the side with a concerned wrinkle
between his brows. When he noticed my attention, he offered an apologetic expression. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit.”
He nodded as if expecting that. “That was a fairly severe PTSD episode, and I'm sorry for my part in triggering it. It wasn't
intentional.”
I didn't blame him because I knew he really had just been trying to help. But when I went to say so, London cut me off. “I
asked you here to help him,” he ground out. His stoicism slipped. “Not give him a panic attack.”
I tried to lift my hand, but my muscles felt as if they'd been through an intense workout and wouldn't cooperate. So when I
tried to swat his arm for being a dick, I actually ended up smacking him in the eye.
“Ah!” he cried, cringing away from me and covering his watering eyeball. With his uninjured eye, he glared at me. “What
was that for?”
“Che, qué pendejón,” I mumbled.
Mend cleared his throat and grabbed his medical bag. From within, he retrieved a small cooler. When he opened it, he
displayed several vials of what I expected were his blood. He pulled out two of the syringes and placed them carefully on the
desk. “When he's ready, give him these. This should mend the rest of his injuries by tomorrow morning. I need to return to the
hospital, but if you need me again”—his gaze shifted to me to make sure I knew I was included—“don't hesitate to give me a
call.”
London still looked irked, and his left eye was still red and watery, but he stood and held out his hand toward Mend. “Thank
you for coming. Sorry for snapping at you.”
Mend took his hand and winced as they shook, his fingertips turning white from London’s painful grip. Apparently, London
wasn’t that sorry.
“Anytime,” Mend wheezed.
With one last farewell to me, he hurried out of the room. London remained standing, his back to me. While any lingering
panic abated, I studied him, finding doing so helped calm me.
My gaze traced the outline of his muscular form, fixated on the way his clothes hugged his body. He was so fucking beautiful
that it caused my heart to start racing once more.
His shoulders appeared stiff, though. His hands balled and flexed at his sides. If I thought it would be welcome, I'd hold his
hand. But seeing as he'd told me off not that long ago, I didn't think he'd appreciate my touch.
Dryness scratched at my throat, and I coughed, trying to ease some of the irritation. London startled at the sound and turned
around. “Water. Let me… I have water.”
He bent and opened up a mini fridge I hadn’t noticed tucked under the desk. Crammed inside were a bunch of water bottles,
sodas, and juice boxes. He snatched the water and brought it over to me, twisting off the cap as if he didn’t think I could do it
myself.
I didn’t fight him though. It was nice to be… looked after. I hadn’t had many people care for me in a long while, and while
this wasn’t anything ground shaking, I still appreciated it.
I accepted the water and sat up, only realizing then that I was still dressed down to my boxers. Nothing hid the map of
bruises and cuts, and I quickly chugged the water so I could grab my clothes from the floor. I shoved my shirt over my head then
slipped on my pants and shoes while London watched wordlessly, though I noticed the tick in his jaw as he waited for me to
finish dressing.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked, his tone unreadable.
I shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t do that.” London shook his head, and a few coils tickled his forehead. He paced in front of me, appearing jittery and
agitated. “Don’t play this off like it was nothing. That was…”
“London, it’s fine.”
“Don’t lie to me,” he said, voice hard and heavy with disapproval. “Stop acting like this was nothing. That… That was
pretty intense, Sin.”
“I don’t think it’s nothing,” I bit out, frustrated that he wasn’t letting this drop. I was embarrassed he’d seen me like that and
wanted nothing more than to sweep it under the rug. “But I don’t know what you want me to say. You want to play therapist and
listen to all my issues?” I raised a brow at him before rubbing my hands over my face. “Look, I’m aware I have problems I
need to resolve. But right now, I’m trying really hard to hold myself together, okay? And I’m not going to lie, it’s hard. So for
now, can we please just pretend things are fine and move on?”
He dug his teeth into his bottom lip, coming to a stop before me. “Will that help? Pretending like you’re okay?”
Pushing past him, I snatched up one of the syringes from the desk and stabbed it into my stomach. I hardly felt the sting as the
needle pierced my skin. “Don’t know. It seems like that’s all I know how to do these days.”
London flinched. Before he could respond, a buzzing came from the door.
London’s heavy stare held mine for several seconds. I knew he was concerned, but unless he wanted an audience, there
wasn’t much he could do but pause this conversation.
He pressed a button on his watch, which unlocked the door.
“Yes?” he called as Lewis popped his head around the side of the door, peering at us curiously.
“Um, sorry, to interrupt,” Lewis said. “But I just wanted to let you know that the jet will be ready in a few hours. We can
head out then. Gives you some more time to rest before we leave too.”
“Got it,” London said, still watching me with those unfathomably dark eyes. I’d gotten lost in those eyes too many times to
recall, and right now was no exception. “Load the rest of what you and the others need in the van in the meantime.”
The door shut silently, locking me and London in the quiet.
 “You should get some rest while you still can. It’s been a long day, so I’d like to try to sleep if I can,” I said finally, offering
him an out from this conversation. And by the look that crossed his face, he knew it too. I just didn’t want to do this right now.
Which was ridiculous since I’d been the one pushing him to talk to me earlier. But I’d meant what I told him earlier. I wasn’t
going to push him again. When he was ready to talk, we’d talk. Just not now. Not about this.
Besides, I felt so… raw after speaking to Mend. Mentally, I wasn’t in a good spot for conversation anyway.
“You should rest while you can too,” he said finally, backing away from me, though he seemed reluctant to do so. “It’s late.
The couch is a pullout bed, if you want it? Do you need anything else right now?”
“I’d appreciate a shower,” I said, a little hoarsely.
London started, as if just realizing he’d never offered me one. “I… Yeah, of course.” He swallowed harshly several times as
he swept his gaze over me. “There’s a shower on the main floor you can use. Want to go now?”
Swallowing down my emotions, I nodded but couldn’t get myself to form words. He regarded me a moment longer before
opening the door. He made sure I was following as he led me back up the stairs and to a bathroom down one of the hallways.
Distantly, I heard laughter as the rest of the team hung out together.
A pang rang through my heart hearing their boisterous laughter and chatter, remembering when I used to have that too.
London gave me the semblance of privacy by messing around on his phone while he waited inside the small bathroom while
I attempted to shower off years of prison life with a bar of lavender soap. It even took me several shampoos to remove the
build up of oils in my hair, but after rinsing out the orange-scented conditioner out of my waves, the silky strands seemed to
bounce to life.
Even though I wanted nothing more than to remain beneath the shower’s scalding spray, a luxury we never got in the prison
showers, I forced the water off and grabbed one of the towels from the rack to dry myself off behind the shower curtain.
I wished I had new clothes too, but London traded me my clothes for the towel around the edge of the curtain, and I forced on
my earlier clothes. I didn’t even care that residual water seeped into the hem of my pants.
After slipping back into my socks and shoes, London showed me back to the boardroom. We didn’t talk, and I didn’t even
have it in me to care about the uncomfortable silence we found ourselves in. Still, I caught London shooting me covert glances
when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, his eyes full of something I could have sworn was concern.
He watched me plop down on the couch, waited while I stretched out on the cushions, not bothering to pull out the mattress.
Our eyes met for several painstakingly long moments, and our earlier conversations hung in the air around us.
Still, we didn’t speak.
With one last glance at me, he exited the room, letting it lock behind him.
I tried to sleep. I really did. I knew how important it was to rest before we set out. But just as my mind started to drift,
unwanted memories and thoughts surfaced. Like they did most nights. Thoughts like, would anyone even care if I disappeared?
Would I even be missed?
I was starting to think the answer was no.
My dark ponderings haunted me long into the AMs and stole any chance of sleep I’d had.
Because it really did feel like all I did was pretend these days.
 Chapter Six

I’M A LITTLE SNAKE

A few hours later, the team retrieved me. Blade tossed me a simple, black duffle bag filled with clothes and basic
necessities, like a toothbrush and deodorant. Dios, I could have hugged her when I spotted a razor in the toiletries bag too.
After quickly getting ready in the main floor bathroom while Jinx played bodyguard, we headed out for the airport before the
sun’s rays crossed the horizon. It had taken some time, but Jinx had managed to find a connection between one of the workers
and the city of Monroe. Apparently, a worker named Jessica Hughes had a second cousin, Natalie Hughes, who lived in the
outskirts of the city. One search later, and we’d had Natalie’s home address.
London was unusually quiet, barely speaking or looking at me on the drive to the airport, nor when I was seated next to him
on the flight.
My fatigue left me feeling even more unbalanced, and the sickening thoughts and memories from the night lingered at the back
of my mind. And I hated it. I hated feeling so weak, stressed, alone… Hated that I was one more problem away from having a
mental breakdown. I’d never needed validation from others, had grown up with confidence and a self-assurance close to
arrogance. But I wasn’t the same guy I was even a few years ago. It was crazy how one mistake could cause such irreparable
damage to someone’s personality.
Tal vez yo sí necesitaba psiquiatra.
During the flight, I reached multiple times into my pocket, feeling the small bottle of pills from Mend. But every time I
thought of taking one, I talked myself out of it. It was silly, really. They were just pills, and they were supposed to help me,
weren’t they?
Then why did it bother me so much?
I’d fretted so much about it that I made myself sick to my stomach on the flight. I hadn’t eaten much for breakfast, just an
apple and slice of toast, something London had observed with obvious disapproval. And even on the three-hour flight, I only
managed to take a few sips from a mini water bottle. Not that it mattered. I didn’t have much of an appetite anyway.
London seemed to be taking note of my poor food consumption, but we were still pretending I was fine, so he didn’t call me
out on it. Yet.
When we landed at our destination, a city about 200 miles south of Monroe, my stomach growled, begging me to eat
something. London pressed a protein bar into my hand, giving me a stern look, and I forced myself to eat it.
After ditching the jet, we packed ourselves into a spacey rental van, planning to head toward Monroe. London rode in the
front passenger seat while Lewis drove, blasting some bright pop music I didn’t recognize from the car speakers. Jinx and
Blade crammed themselves into the middle row, Jinx’s bulk making him take up a ridiculous amount of space. Mare was stuck
in the back with me, but the moment she’d gotten into her seat, she’d shoved a pair of earbuds in her ears and promptly ignored
me. That was just fine with me though. I wasn’t really in the mood to talk.
Despite all the room in the van, especially in the back row, my legs more than once went numb from being in one position for
too long. London and Lewis chatted it up in the front, sometimes inviting Jinx and Blade into their conversation.
No one tried to include me in the conversations. If I were still a betting man, I would have bet they sensed the tension
between London and me and were ignoring me as an act of solidarity for London.
Joke was on them, though. I was used to being ignored.
We traveled for hours. Hours of absolute silence, and I was growing more and more restless. So much so, that I almost jolted
at the small tap against my arm.
 Mare stared at me, holding out one of her earbuds toward me.
Slowly, I accepted the small earpiece, wondering if this was somehow a trick or something, and placed it in my ear.
Toy Story’s, “You’ve Got a Friend in Me” played in my ear, making me grin. Mare sent me a smirk in return.
Maybe the others would come around and give me a chance too. I hoped the longer we spent time together, the more they
would warm up to me. Because this was just ridiculous.
I’d keep trying though, because I was nothing if not persistent.
We stopped at gas stations along the way, and I even started to miss prison when they wouldn’t give me the dignity of peeing
in private.
It went unspoken that I wasn’t allowed to drive, not that I wanted to. I hadn’t touched the wheel of a car since I’d crashed
London’s car into a sinkhole.
Mare and I entertained ourselves with Disney songs, and I softly hummed and sang along to the ones I knew. Mare simply
listened the whole time, but she didn’t seem bothered by me singing.
Plus, listening to music was the perfect distraction from the man who kept driving outside the lines. Lewis, happy-go-lucky,
Lewis, drove the entire time, and I genuinely wondered how he’d managed to get his license. He was terrible. So terrible that I
wondered if he was secretly a sadist and enjoyed our terror when he made a close call.
With my earbud free ear, I listened to Lewis chat away, describing a time when he’d accidentally built a bomb in his mom’s
kitchen.
If there was one thing I’d learned on this drive, it was that Lewis was a very enthusiastic storyteller. He didn’t seem capable
of telling a story without using his hands, which drove me nuts. Especially right now, because one moment we were driving
down the freeway, and the next, we were protecting our heads as the van cut quickly across the lanes to take an exit. He’d been
so invested in his own story that he hadn’t been paying attention to where we needed to go.
Seriously. One day into the mission, and Lewis was already making me question my decision to be here.
“Can you please, por el amor de Dios, pay attention to the motherfucking road?” I growled, rubbing at the side of my head. I
really needed to see if someone could get me a helmet or something because I was over banging my head into the window.
“Sorry!” Lewis called, not sounding sorry in the slightest. “But look, we’re here!”
Peering out the window, I spotted a sign welcoming us to the city of Monroe. We filled up at a gas station just off the exit,
and London and Jinx headed inside to grab a few snacks and use the restroom. The rest of us climbed out of the van to stretch
our legs but remained by the vehicle. Mare leaned against the van while she scrolled through her phone, her earbuds now
dangling from her neck. Blade stood beside her, messing around with something on a tablet before she stepped back into the
van.
Lewis whistled while he filled up the gas tank, chipper and way too damn annoying for my mood. As if he sensed this, he
glanced up and beamed at me. “Feelin’ all right, Sin?”
“I’d feel a lot better if you actually followed basic traffic laws,” I grumbled, the spot on the side of my head from smacking
it into the window throbbed. “How did you manage to get a license?”
“I didn’t.” He shrugged when my mouth fell open. “Never got around to it. And honestly, it felt kinda pointless to take driving
lessons when it was something I could easily teach myself.”
I shook my head. “No, you definitely should have taken the driving lessons.”
He grinned as if he thought I was being funny. I wasn’t.
“Yo, little snake.” I watched as Blade climbed out of the van, holding a couple wristbands.
When she tossed me an electric blue wristband, I held it up to my face, studying it. “Aw, you made us friendship bracelets?”
She rolled her eyes, then took the wristband from me and slapped it on my wrist with more force than necessary. I raised my
brow at her when she then grabbed my hand and held it up to my face. “Say, “I’m a little snake.”
I scrunched my nose at her. “Is that supposed to be some sort of kinky talk or something? Because I don’t know if it’s
working for me. Besides, you know I’m gay, right?”
She smashed the wristband harder at my face while Lewis howled with laughter. “Just say it.”
“I’m a little snake? Why do I—”
I yelped as the wristband expanded, building and forming a layer of skin-hugging material over my arm. It kept moving
across my body until it covered me from neck to toe. The weirdest sensation slithered up my neck as what I assumed were
Lewis’s nanobots formed a mask over the upper part of my face. But just as I moved to touch it, a second layer morphed over
my torso and shoulders, distracting me. I brushed cautious, gloved fingers over what looked like… a corset?
I twisted to look at myself in the reflection of the van, realizing that yes, it was a corset vest lined with deep blue snake skin.
My mask was designed to match the material. I almost felt like I recognized the suit’s design, though I wasn’t sure why.
Maybe it was because in the past, I used to carry around a small notebook full of drawings, many of them of Super suits. A
lot of them just of London’s face.
I’d always found it relaxing to draw, even if my drawings were fairly crude and rudimentary. Despite my lack of skill though,
London had always complimented my designs. Some of the designs in those notebooks were more fashion than anything, since
the suits wouldn’t be functional in a true fight. I remembered drawing one once our senior year of high school where the suit
had a corset just like the one I wore now. London had shown a particular interest in it, which had led to a memorable evening
of role play.
I wondered where those notebooks chalk full of drawings were now? Probably somewhere deep in storage with the rest of
my belongings. Maybe they were still in one of the apartment closets at one of my old businesses. I’d handed over the clubs and
casinos I used to own to some old friends, and from what I’d heard, Fynn and George had kept the places from shutting down.
They’d had to rename and reestablish the businesses since having them associated with my name wasn’t exactly smart for
business now.
The corset was tight but not constricting, and when I turned to get a view of the back, I spotted how the back was tied with a
criss-crossing pattern.
“Well?” Blade asked, sounding impatient. “What do you think?”
“You designed this?” I asked in awe, stretching and flexing my arms to get a feel for the suit. I would have expected it to be
difficult to move in, but as I tested it out, it was like the suit shifted with me.
“Some of it, yes,” she said vaguely.
I grinned at her, impressed. “I think it might be the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”
She blushed. Full on blushed.
I gaped at her because I didn’t think I’d ever seen her look so… bashful. It somewhat humanized her.
“Don’t tell her that,” Lewis groaned. “She’s got a big enough head as it is.”
“Well, you know, this is just a prototype, so I’m sure it will need some improvement,” she said, downplaying the suit and
elbowing Lewis in the ribs, making him double over. “We’ll have you try it out today, and if there’s something you don’t like or
want added we can always do that later.” She grinned and ran a hand over the material on my forearm. “It’s fireproof,
waterproof, and thanks to Lewis’s nanotech, it’s configured to adjust and balance the suit’s internal temperature to keep you
from getting too hot or cold. It doesn’t have any built-in weapons, like some of ours, but I wanted you to get a feel for the suit
before I added to it.”
“And the snakeskin?” I asked in amusement.
“An ode to your nickname, obviously,” she teased.
“Obviously,” I agreed dryly. “But we’re gonna change the suiting up phrase, right?” When she didn’t respond, my amusement
faded. “Right?”
“Oh, look, London’s doing shirtless pushups!” she said, widening her eyes and pointing behind me.
The idiot part of me spun to look, just to remember the only thing behind us was the van. How dare she lie about something
so serious?
When I turned back to chide Blade, however, she was already halfway to the gas station entrance with Mare tagging along
beside her.
“We’ll talk about this later!” I shouted after Blade.
She ignored me, and the two of them entered. I muttered to myself as I once again took the time to examine the suit. It really
was cool. It seemed almost a waste to make something like this for me when I likely wouldn’t be with the team for long. I
didn’t know if I’d have a need for it after this was all said and done.
“Um, how do I suit down?” I asked Lewis.
He shrugged. “You have to say the right words.”
“I’m a little snake?” I tried, only causing Lewis to laugh when nothing happened.
London and Jinx exited the gas station then, and London’s laughing face immediately snagged my attention. Both he and Jinx
were carrying a ridiculous number of bags, and my stomach once again rumbled when they came nearer and I smelled
something hot and greasy coming from one of the sacks.
London met my gaze, and the laughter that had been lingering on his face changed to something… more intense as he took in
my suit.
My mouth went dry at that look. “What do you think?”
The bags in his hands crinkled as he subconsciously gripped them tighter. “It suits you.”
“Ha. Suits,” Lewis mumbled.
London ignored him, coming to stand by my side. “The better question is, what do you think?”
“It’s super cool,” I admitted, twisting my arms this way and that to show him the way the nanobots molded against me. “It
kinda reminds me of something I would have drawn.”
“That’s because it is.”
I started, gawking at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”
London shifted on his feet like he was uncomfortable. And for all I knew, he was. He was holding a lot of shopping bags. “I
showed Blade some of your designs last night, and she used one of them to make this for you.”
I gaped down at my suit with a newfound appreciation and awe, realizing then that the fact it had seemed so similar was
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 Sie hatten nicht gleich im ersten Augenblick das „Du“ gefunden.
Und nun blieb’s beim „Sie“, das ein paar Meter Entfernung zwischen
sie legte.
Papa knabberte mit seinen sehr weißen Porzellanzähnen an dem
Gebäck und schlürfte den Tee mit leisem Vibrieren seiner feinen
Nasenflügel.
„Tja ... meine lieben Kinder ... Ihr wollt also das große Ereignis
hier in Berlin abwarten? Charmant, charmant. Ich hätte mich ja noch
gern ein Weilchen geduldet mit Großvaterfreuden, denn ... eine noch
unsichere Karriere gleich mit Elternsorgen zu beginnen, das ist ... na
ja ... Aber natürlich, lieber Schwiegersohn, will ich Ihrer Beurteilung
der Sachlage nicht vorgreifen. Meine gute Frau hätte ja am liebsten
ein Dutzend solch kleiner Schreihälse und Freßmäuler gehabt ... tja
... Da muß man eben den tauben Mann spielen. Im Interesse des
Hauses und ... tja ...“
Papas tenorale Stimme durchdrang den hellen Raum wie eine
Kindertrompete. Gleichzeitig klopfte er Karla liebevoll auf die Wange.
„Armes Kind! War es so pressant? ... Tja ... das Temperament ...
das verflixte Temperament! ... Das ist ein Erbteil ihrer Mutter. Ein
Vulkan war meine gute Frau — ein Vulkan! Hat uns kurz gehalten,
deine gute Mutter, wie?“
Er führte Karlas Fingerspitzen an seine Lippen und knabberte ein
neues Küchelchen an.
„Mein lieber Schwiegersohn, als meine gute Frau starb, da
blieben wir zurück — Karla und ich — wie zwei Vögel, die Jahre lang
im Dunkel gehalten — plötzlich freigegeben worden sind. Wir wagten
uns die ersten Tage kaum an den verschlossenen Schrank der
Kredenz ... nicht wahr, mein Kind? Erst ganz allmählich und
nachdem Karla mich verlassen hatte, erwachte ich aus der
Erstarrung, ergriff sozusagen Besitz von dem, was mir gehörte. Der
Umzug in diese helle freundliche Wohnung machte ein übriges. Tja
... und nun finde ich auch, daß das Leben recht erfreuliche Seiten
hat, wenn man ein bißchen an sich selbst denken darf.“
 Altmann wollte einwerfen: Sie hatten aber noch ein Kind, und
dieses Kind darbte. Aber er fühlte, daß er dem alten Herrn damit
nicht kommen durfte. Vielleicht hätte er in der Jugend alles verpraßt,
wenn die Frau ihm sein bißchen Gut nicht mit erbarmungsloser
Strenge zusammengehalten hätte. Im Alter war er eben
selbstsüchtig und genüßlich geworden.
Karla führte die schöne Tasse mit heimlichem Herzklopfen zum
Mund. Wenn die Mutter sähe, wie so das feine Geschirr ...
Indem stieß sie mit Altmanns Hand zusammen, der ihr den Korb
mit Gebäck reichte, und in der Angst, ihr Schwarzseidenes könnte
einen Fleck abbekommen, lockerten sich ihre Finger, und die Tasse
fiel zu Boden.
„O Gott! ...“
Papa winkte mit der Hand.
„Macht nichts, macht ja nichts. Bist eben immer noch das kleine
Trampeltier. Aber Scherben bedeuten Glück — also nur kein Drama
... bitte, ja kein Drama!“
Er streckte die Hand aus und läutete mit einer silbernen Klingel.
(Die Klingel hatte früher in Karlas Kindheit das Christuskind
eingeläutet.) Gleich darauf, so rasch, als hätte sie hinter der Tür
gestanden, um zu lauschen, kam die Wirtschafterin herein.
„Bitte, Pauline, ein kleines Malheur ....“
Pauline kehrte gleich darauf mit Tuch und Schaufel zurück und
beugte sich über die Tasse. Dabei rauschte ihr gestärkter Unterrock,
und die goldene Uhrkette glitzerte auf ihrem Kleid aus gediegenem
braunen Wollstoff. Ein für ihre Gestalt fast allzu zierliches
Tändelschürzchen deutete ihren dienenden Stand nur flüchtig an.
„Gott, ist mir das unangenehm“, klagte Karla.
„Aber das macht doch nichts, gnädige Frau, das Dutzend ist
ohnedies nicht mehr vollständig. Da fehlt ein Henkel, dort ein
Eckchen ... Aber der Herr Papa will doch eben nur die guten Sachen
benutzen.“
 Der Papa klopfte ungeduldig auf die Tischplatte.
„Sind Sie bald fertig, Pauline?“
„Gleich, Herr König, gleich ... ich will der jungen Frau nur noch
das Kleid ein bißchen abwaschen, das hat auch einen Spritzer
abgekriegt.“
Karla hielt unter den energischen Fingern von Pauline und den
mißbilligenden Blicken von ihrem Papa und ihrem Mann still. Es
würgte sie etwas am Halse.
Wo war der Papa? Ganz, ganz weit weg war er. Und sie glaubte
plötzlich nicht, daß es ein Ischiasanfall gewesen war, der ihn von
ihrer Hochzeit ferngehalten hatte. Dem Haar, dem Kleid der
Wirtschafterin entströmte der kräftige Duft einer gesunden,
gepflegten Frau. Ein hübscher Ring schmückte einen Finger ihrer
rechten Hand.
„Na also, Pauline ....“
„Bin schon fertig.“
Ein Lächeln lag um den energischen, aber hübschen Mund. Die
kleinen, grauen Augen blitzten lustig auf.
„Bin schon fertig.“
Sie eilte sich gar nicht. Und ihr Rock wippte über dem
krachenden Unterrock herausfordernd hin und her.
Es blieb eine Weile still im hellen Zimmer.
„Tja ... eigentlich eine Perle ...“, sagte endlich der Papa und gab
seiner weißen Krawatte einen kleinen Stüber. — „Wenn man so
verwöhnt war wie ich ... Karla tat ja auch ihr möglichstes ... aber so
ein junges Ding, nicht wahr? ... Tja ... da habe ich richtig das große
Los gezogen. Sie kam als Pflegerin zu mir, als mich ein scheußlicher
Gichtanfall befiel ... tja ... na, und dann blieb sie, Gott sei Dank.“
Er schenkte die Gläser voll.
„Also, alles Gute, meine lieben Kinder ... alles Gute!“
 Seine Stimme klang zerstreut. Altmann sah auf die Uhr. „Es wird
Zeit!“
Da wurde er wieder lebhaft, wie um den letzten Eindruck zu
vertuschen.
„Nein, nein .... warum denn ... Interessieren Sie sich für Schach,
lieber Schwiegersohn?“
„Interessieren, ist zu viel gesagt. Ich spiele — als blühender
Dilettant.“
„So ... so ...“
„Papa ist ein großer Schachspieler“, fügte Karla ein.
Der Papa zupfte sie am Ohr.
„Großer? Ta ta ... Redensart. Aber vielleicht habe ich meinen
Beruf verfehlt — hätte Diplomat werden müssen statt Tänzer. Oder
gar Feldherr ... Ich habe da eben jetzt eine Variante der spanischen
Partie ausprobiert, ein Gambit im Nachzug ... sehr schade, daß
unsere großen Meister sich mit diesem Gambitzug nicht befreunden
wollen — sehr schade. Ich habe darüber eine eifrige Diskussion mit
Herrn von Bardeleben gehabt beim Kongreß in Breslau. Übrigens
habe ich jetzt eine Korrespondenz mit Leipzig — ein Gang — wir
sind gerade beim siebenten Zug .... Und wenn alles klappt, dann
rutsche ich nächsten Winter nach Wien rüber und messe mich mal
mit dem guten Weiß. Steinitz und Tschigorin wollen auch dort sein.
Die Baronin Kolisch hat Preise gestiftet. Erster Preis fünftausend
Mark! Das zieht auch!“
Er warf die weiße Locke zurück, die ihm immer wieder kokett in
die Stirn fiel, und seine Finger streckten sich unwillkürlich nach den
Schachfiguren.
Karla hatte gehofft, ihm vorsingen zu können.
„Gibst du noch Unterricht, Papa?“, fragte sie, seltsam
verschüchtert durch seine Art.
„Unterricht? ... Ja ... natürlich. Man muß doch leben. Ich habe
gerade ein paar recht talentvolle Kerlchen in Arbeit. Aber eigentlich
ist die große Zeit des Balletts vorüber. Es wird nichts mehr
geschrieben. Und das Verständnis für Technik kommt ebenso
abhanden wie für Grazie. Wenn einer nichts kann, nennt er sich
Charaktertänzer. Kann er noch weniger, wird er Pantomimist.
Traurig, traurig ... Na, und wie geht’s mit dem Gesang? Die Kleine
hatte eine hübsche Stimme ... Und ich las, sie singt jetzt Wagner ...
bravo, bravo ... Sehen Sie, lieber Schwiegersohn, hier erteile ich
Unterricht.“
Es war ein ziemlich großer, kahler Raum, in dem nur ein alter
Flügel stand, und an der Wand Stühle und Sessel von verschiedener
Form.
„Na, Karla ... kennst du deine Partner wieder? ...“
Sie nickte. Ganz weh wurde ihr zumute. So lustig war der
Unterricht gewesen, so ganz aufgehen hatte sie dürfen in allen
Leidenschaften! Und dann nach der Stunde waren sie beide in die
Küche gelaufen und hatten dort gleich ihr Abendbrot verzehrt, damit
sie nicht so viel Mühe hatte. Und den ganzen Abend über hatte Papa
mit sich allein Schach gespielt, während sie im Nebenzimmer übte,
oder sie waren zusammen ins Theater gegangen und dann ins Café,
wo an Schachbrettern bartlose, nervöse Jünglinge, vornehme
Aristokraten und bebrillte, klug aussehende Männer saßen.
Das Eintreten von Papa wurde lebhaft begrüßt von den
Kiebitzen. Er mußte von dem Stück erzählen, und sein Urteil galt
etwas. Er ließ sich aber nie selbst zu einer Partie nieder.
„Es ist spät, ich muß meine Kleine nach Hause bringen!“
Karla hatte wohl oft gemerkt, daß es ihm schwer wurde,
abzulehnen. Aber wenn sie ihn bat, er möchte sich von ihr nicht
abhalten lassen, dann klopfte er ihr die Wange.
„Ich denk’ nicht dran ... wer weiß, wie lange ich dich noch bei mir
habe.“
Nicht zum mindesten aus Rücksicht auf Papa hatte sie das erste
kleine Engagement angenommen. Bei der Abfahrt merkte sie es ihm
so recht an, wie froh er war, allein zu bleiben. Aber doch schrieb er
immer kurze, liebevolle Kärtchen, schickte auch ab und zu ein paar
Taler und wiederholte immer wieder:
„Mein Gefühl sagt mir, du wirst noch einmal eine große, berühmte
Künstlerin. Halte dich, mein liebes Kind ...“
Sie hatte ihn eigentlich nicht wiedersehen wollen, bevor sie nicht
„eine große Künstlerin“ geworden. Aber nun der Zufall es so gefügt,
da war sie voll Erwartung gewesen und hatte gemeint, daß der
innige Zusammenhang zwischen ihnen geblieben war wie einst.
Und nun war es anders, ganz anders. Dem Schach galt offenbar
sein größtes Interesse. Darüber hatte schon die Mutter geschimpft,
es aber geduldet, weil es von allen „Leidenschaften“ die wenigst
kostspielige war. Die veränderte Lebensweise ... die
röckerauschende Pauline mit der goldenen Uhrkette ... Und nun
fragte er nicht einmal nach ihrer Stimme, forderte sie nicht auf, ihm
vorzusingen!
Sie würgte wieder etwas herunter. Und als sie den Kopf hob, fiel
ihr Blick in den verstellbaren Schaftspiegel, der den Schülern zur
Überprüfung ihrer Stellungen diente. Da erschrak sie.
Ja ... so, wie sie jetzt aussah ...!
Sie hätte Papa lieber gar nicht besuchen sollen in diesem
Zustand.
„Gehen wir“, sagte sie leise und zupfte Altmann am Ärmel.
Der Papa hielt sie nicht mehr zurück.
„Ihr laßt’s mich gleich wissen, wenn alles vorbei ist“, sagte er und
küßte Karla in die Luft.
Es waren noch vier Monate bis dahin.
Aber Karla sagte eilig:
„Ja gewiß, Papa ... sofort ...“
Sie lief so schnell die Treppe hinunter, daß Altmann sie an ihrem
Umhang festhielt.
„Was machst du, Karla ... renn doch nicht so ...“
 Die Tränen rollten ihr unaufhörlich über die Wangen.
„Was ist denn? Was hast du denn?“
„Nichts, Ernst ... lieber, guter Ernst?“
Altmann lächelte vor sich hin, mit tief herabgezogenen
Mundwinkeln.
Auf Papa war fürs erste nicht zu rechnen. Da blieben wirklich nur
seine Leute — — —
 ie Sonne brütete.
In dem Berliner Zimmer der Culmstraße rasselte die
Nähmaschine unter Adelens energischem Tritt. Karla schlang mit
heißen, welken Fingern winzige Ösen. Der Faden verprudelte sich
alle Augenblicke, dann gab es Knoten.
„Pfui, wie schludrig“, sagte Adele und trennte alles wieder auf.
Karla starrte auf Adelens geschickte Finger, ohne zu sehen.
Ganz elend war ihr; wie gefoltert kam sie sich vor. Das ging nun so
tagaus, tagein: linken Ärmel nähen, rechten Ärmel nähen, Seitenteile
aneinanderfügen, säumen, Ösen schlingen, Spitzen annähen —
winzig schmale, die sich zwischen den Fingern
zusammenzwirbelten.
Ihr wurden die Lider schwer dabei. Sie zerstach sich die Finger,
und ihr Rücken schmerzte, als hätte man ihn mit dem spanischen
Rohr bearbeitet, das drohend in einer Ecke stand.
Gegen Abend kam Altmann, um sie abzuholen. Er trug jetzt
immer seine guten Sachen, denn er war täglich in der Stadt,
verhandelte mit Agenten, besuchte das Café, um die Blätter zu
lesen.
Die Schwestern hatten erklärt, er müßte unter allen Umständen
an derselben Bühne engagiert werden wie Karla.
„Willst du von dem leben, was sie verdient — oder willst du, daß
sie sich allein irgendwo herumtreibt? Das ist doch unmöglich!“
Es war so manches „unmöglich“ in den Augen der Schwestern.
Aber sie hatten den bürgerlichen Anstand für sich, den sie jedesmal
ins Treffen führten und vor dem er sich beugte.
So suchte er denn ein Doppelengagement. Das erschwerte die
Lage außerordentlich. Seine persönlichen Gagenansprüche durften
natürlich bei weitem nicht an die Gage heranreichen, die er für Karla
durchsetzen mußte. Es gab immer ein schreiendes Mißverhältnis,
und schließlich wurden beide Gagen noch gedrückt.
 Er beherrschte sich, um den Geschwistern seine Verstimmung zu
verbergen. Und so trat er meist mit einem Scherzwort ein, einer
freundlichen Frage, einem staunenden Ausruf.
„Potz Donner ... das wird ja eine Ausstattung wie für einen
Prinzen! ...“
Karla ließ alles stehen und liegen und hing sich an seinen Hals.
„Was hast du gehört? Wie wird es? Sind Aussichten?“
Aber sie sah es seinen Augen an, die finster blieben, während
seine Lippen sich lächelnd verzerrten, daß sich noch nichts erfüllt
hatte. Die wundervollen Gastspielverträge hatten gelöst werden
müssen, und es war noch gar nicht abzusehen, wann sich wieder
ähnliche Gelegenheiten bieten würden.
Sie murmelte mit zitternden Lippen:
„Wenn doch das Kind nicht wäre ... das schreckliche Kind!“
Aber Adele, die es mit ihren scharfen Ohren aufgefangen, schrie
sie an:
„Versündige dich nicht! Schäm’ dich, so zu sprechen! Pfui! ... Das
arme Kind kann einem ja leid tun, daß es eine solche Mutter
bekommt!“
„Sie meint es ja gar nicht so schlimm“, verteidigte Altmann lau.
„Na, mach’ dich fertig, Karla ... wir gehen jetzt nach Hause.“
Altmann war hin- und hergezerrt von widerstreitenden Gefühlen.
Die Schwestern hatten recht, aber Karla hatte auch recht. Das Kind
war unter diesen Umständen wirklich eine „Katastrophe“.
Er wohnte jetzt mit Karla in einem möblierten Zimmer in der
Goebenstraße. Sie lebten aus den Körben und Koffern, die in der
leerstehenden Mädchenkammer ihrer Wirtin standen. Den
Frühstückskaffee brachte sie ihnen gleich in Tassen, aus denen er
überschwappte bei ihrem watschelnden Gang. Dazu je eine
dünnbestrichene Schrippe. Sie reichte das Tablett zur halboffenen
Tür herein, durch die Karla ihren noch bloßen Arm hindurchstreckte.
 Karla setzte sich an eine Tischecke und verzehrte ihr Frühstück
mit gesunder Lust. Denn viel anders hatte sie all die fünf Jahre am
Theater vor ihrer Heirat nicht gefrühstückt. Aber Altmann litt. Ihn
ekelte vor dem Essen im unaufgeräumten Zimmer, zwischen
herumliegenden Kleidungsstücken, vor dem übervollen
Waschtischeimer.
Aber auch da bezwang er sich. Karla konnte schließlich nichts
dafür. Das Schicksal hatte es so entschieden, und er selbst war nicht
leichtsinnig genug, um augenblicklichem Behagen die letzten
Spargroschen zu opfern.
Während sich Karla heißes Wasser aus der Küche holte, um
Taschentücher und Strümpfe in der Waschschüssel zu waschen,
schrieb er seine Briefe. Er griff nach wie vor seine Lieblingsidee auf,
Karla in Amerika anfangen zu lassen, um dann mit dem erworbenen
Gelde die Karriere in Deutschland zu beginnen. Verschiedene
Operngesellschaften rüsteten sich zu einer großen
Gastspielrundreise über das Wasser. Wenn Karla jetzt hätte
auftreten können — sie wären aus allen Sorgen heraus! Aber vor
Mitte September war selbst im besten Falle nicht darauf zu
rechnen ....
Ja ... das Kind! Das schreckliche Kind!
Sie aßen in einem kleinen Gasthaus Mittag, für fünfundsiebzig
Pfennige, mit Kaffee oder Käse als Nachtisch. Karla wählte den
Käse und leerte den halben Brotkorb, Altmann nahm Kaffee, um den
Nachgeschmack der sehr mäßigen Gerichte herunterzuspülen.
Nur Sonntags speisten sie in der Culmstraße gegen einen
Beitrag von zwei Mark. Altmann rechnete es trotzdem Adele hoch
an, daß sie die vermehrte Arbeit so willig auf sich nahm. Und er war
ihr unendlich dankbar, daß sie Karla jeden Nachmittag bei sich
behielt, wobei doch wieder eine Tasse Kaffee und ein gestrichenes
Brötchen für sie abfiel.
Altmann mußte alles mitberechnen, um über die bösen Tage
hinwegzukommen. Luise Altmann, die durch den langjährigen
Aufenthalt bei der englischen Familie ein leidliches Englisch sprach,
erbot sich, Karla englischen Unterricht zu geben. Zweimal
wöchentlich betrat sie auf eine Stunde das Berliner Zimmer der
Culmstraße.
Vicki und Fritz Maurer brachten ihre englischen Hefte zur
Durchsicht. Dann kam Karla dran. Sie war, wie es sich herausstellte,
nicht unbegabt für Sprachen, aber wenn sie Fehler machte, lachte
Vicki sie aus. Vicki lachte überhaupt sehr viel, putzte sich gern und
hatte Freundinnen, bei denen sie, wie sie sagte, halbe Tage
zubrachte. Zu Hause gab es immer Streit zwischen ihr und Fritz. Er
beschwerte sich, daß sie ihm seine Bleistifte und Federn nähme,
Seiten aus seinen Heften herausrisse. Manchmal kriegten sie
einander bei den Haaren. Fritz bearbeitete dann ihren Rücken, sie
zerkratzte ihm das Gesicht. Dann griff Adele zum Rohrstock und
haute links und rechts um sich, wohin es gerade traf.
Es war nicht erzieherisch, aber wirksam.
„Ekelhaftes Frauenzimmer“, murrte Fritz und zeigte Vicki noch
einmal, aber diesmal aus der Entfernung, die Faust.
„Widerlicher Bengel“, schimpfte Vicki und heulte los.
Es war oft sehr lärmend in der Wohnung, und Karla dröhnte der
Kopf.
Auf dem Heimwege, während Altmann mit ihr einiges zum
Abendessen einkaufte, fragte er:
„Hast du geübt, Karla?“
Denn Adele hatte in der großmütigsten Weise erklärt, das Klavier
stünde Karla jederzeit zum Üben zur Verfügung.
Aber Karla hatte von dem Anerbieten bisher noch keinen
Gebrauch gemacht: das Lärmen der Kinder, das Rasseln der
Nähmaschine übertönten die Skalen. Und hatte sie zehn Minuten
Übungen gesungen, so kam gewiß Adele herein:
„Ach, sing’ doch was Nettes, Karla.“
Oder sie brachte ein Lätzchen, das sie eben fertiggenäht hatte,
oder ein Nachtröckchen, das Karla bewundern sollte. Dann hieß es
wohl auch:
„Bist du bald fertig, Karla, die Kinder müssen auch üben.“
Oder: „Alwin ist eben gekommen!“, was soviel sagen wollte wie:
Alwin will Ruhe haben! Denn Dr. Maurer war immer müde, wenn er
aus der Schule kam, und „vertrug keinen Lärm“!
Wenn er auch hereinguckte und murmelte: „Laß dich nicht
stören, Karla ...“, so sah sie doch den Stoß Hefte unter seinem Arm
und klappte hastig den Klavierdeckel zu.
Nein — zum Üben kam sie wirklich nicht. Aber da sie wußte, daß
ihr Mann keine Entschuldigungen gelten ließ, die seine Leute
belasteten, so schob sie es auf ihren Zustand. Sie war so matt,
fühlte sich so elend.
„Na ja ... mein liebes Kind, du hast einfach keine Energie. Auf die
Art wirst du nie etwas erreichen. Auf die Art gewiß nicht! ...“
Es gab immer unangenehme Auseinandersetzungen,
Verstimmungen. Karla schwieg und dachte sich ihr Teil. Sonntags,
am Familientisch, an dem auch Luise Altmann regelmäßig teilnahm,
wurde viel über Karlas Energielosigkeit gesprochen. Nur — der
Kinder wegen — sehr schonend in der Form.
Während des schwarzen Kaffees legte man sich keine Zügel
mehr an. Die Kinder waren ja auch nicht mehr da. Altmann blickte
unzufrieden und nervös drein.
„Ihr fehlt eben der Ernst.“
Und darüber waren sich alle einig, Karla hatte keinen Ernst.
Eines Sonntags mußte Vicki eine Mozartsche Sonate vorspielen,
mit der sie gerade „fertig“ geworden war bei ihrer Lehrerin.
„Nett, sehr nett“, sagte Luise Altmann.
Dr. Maurer zupfte Vicki an ihrem dicken blonden Zopf.
„Brav, Vicki ...“
Und dann gab er ihr einen Groschen.
 Nun sollte auch Karla singen.
Karlas Augen wurden noch runder, als sie es für gewöhnlich
waren, und ihre kaum angedeuteten Brauen rutschten bis zur Mitte
der Stirn hinauf.
Ja, waren denn die alle ganz verrückt geworden? Jetzt
verlangten sie von ihr, sie sollte vorsingen, wie Vicki vorspielte ...
Von i h r verlangten sie das, der die Jugend einer ganzen Stadt
zugejubelt, von i h r , die mit Blumen überschüttet worden war, wenn
sie nach einer großen Partie sich wieder und immer wieder hatte vor
dem Vorhang zeigen müssen?
„Ich denke ja nicht daran, jetzt zu singen.“
Vicki lachte los:
„Du hast wohl alles vergessen, Tante, wie?“
„Du impertinenter Fratz, was fällt dir ein? ...“
Karla hatte wohl selbst nicht geahnt, daß ihr die Hand so locker
saß. Vicki brüllte los, empört, aufs tiefste entrüstet.
„Wie darfst du, Tante ... was unterstehst du dich? ...“
Karla stand hochaufgerichtet mitten im Zimmer.
„Eine Rotznase bist du, daß du’s nur weißt!“
Und hochrot im Gesicht, mit funkelnden Augen und bebendem
Unterkiefer schrie sie:
„Bin ich die Tante oder nicht? Hat sie Respekt zu haben vor mir
oder nicht? Den Popo hat man ihr versohlt, als ich schon Tausende
begeisterte! Schmutzig hat sie sich noch gemacht, als ich mir schon
mein Geld verdiente! Und das erlaubt sich ...“
„Oh, Gott nein, wie ordinär ... so ordinär ...“
Vicki schlug die Hände über dem Kopf zusammen und lief aus
dem Zimmer.
„Nun ist’s aber genug“, donnerte Altmann und riß Karla an der
Hand.
 Aber sie war wie aus den Fugen.
„Ihr macht mich ja verrückt, alle ... Verrückt macht ihr mich!!. Ich
bin doch kein kleines Kind ... Aber so behandelt ihr mich ja vor den
Bälgern hier! Es fehlt nur noch, daß ihr mir Vicki als Vorbild hinstellt!
... Ja, ja ... ich weiß, was ich rede. Gestern sagte Luise: Vickis
englisches Heft ist viel sauberer als deines! Bin ich ein Schulmädel?
Ich habe den Kopf voll. Meine Stimme ist viel wichtiger als all die
dummen Jäckchen und Lätzchen und englischen Vokabeln. Und
wenn ich sie verliere, dann seid nur ihr schuld ... jawohl, nur ihr! ...“
Ihre letzten Worte waren kaum noch zu verstehen. Ein
krampfhaftes Schluchzen erschütterte ihren Körper. Irgend jemand
drückte sie in einen Sessel. Luise Altmann stand vor ihr, mit einer
Wasserschüssel, in der Eisstücke schwammen. Adele mühte sich,
ihr die Taille aufzuhaken.
„Ernst,“ schluchzte Karla, ... „Ernst ...“, und streckte den Arm aus.
Aber Dr. Maurer hatte den Schwager in sein Arbeitszimmer
gezogen, auf dessen Ledersofa Fritz nachts schlief.
„Laß nur ... meine Damen werden schon fertig mit ihr ... Ein
kleiner hysterischer Anfall. Kommt vor in dem Zustand. Dazu die
Hitze. Vicki ist ja auch wirklich frech gewesen und wird daher Karla
um Entschuldigung bitten ... Immer ruhig Blut! Vaterfreuden wollen
auch erkauft werden.“
„Ich habe mich wahrhaftig nie so gehen lassen“, sagte Adele zu
ihrem Mann, als sie allein geblieben waren. „Und furchtbar ordinär
war sie ... da hat Vicki nicht so unrecht. Das sind doch keine
Redensarten! ...“
„Paß du mal lieber auf das Mädel auf, statt auf Karla
herumzuhacken!“
Dr. Maurer schlug mit dem Handrücken unwirsch auf die
entfaltete Zeitung.
Vicki hatte gebockt und war nicht zu bewegen gewesen, sich vor
Karla zu entschuldigen.
Karla war es, die ihr als erste die Hand gereicht hatte:
 „Na, wollen wir uns wieder vertragen, Vicki?“
Und dann hatte sie gesungen. Eigentlich zum erstenmal.
Als wollte sie ihren Mann aussöhnen und alle, die den häßlichen
Auftritt mit erlebt hatten.
Und Dr. Maurer hatte plötzlich das Schlagen seines Herzens
gefühlt. Die Zigarre war ihm ausgegangen, war seinen Fingern
entglitten und irgendwohin gefallen. Die quellende, jubelnde Stimme
schlug machtvoll an längst verschlossene Tore. Wie ein schwerer
Wein weckte sie sein träges, schläfriges Blut und brachte es zum
Rauschen.
„Sing noch etwas, Karla ...“
„Gern ...“
Aber es fand sich nichts Rechtes vor, und Altmann wollte auch
nicht, daß sich Karla anstrenge. Auch seine Augen leuchteten.
Karlas Stimme hatte bis jetzt noch nichts von ihrer Schönheit
eingebüßt, sie war klangvoller, heißer, jubelnder denn je ....
Er riß plötzlich ihre beiden Hände an seine Lippen, ohne der
Schwestern zu achten, die seine Art peinlich berührte. Aber was
wußten sie, was alles in ihm vorging, während Karla sang, und daß
der Klang dieser Stimme ihm wieder die Welt erschloß, die sich
hinter schwarzen Nebelwänden verborgen gehalten.
Was wußte auch Adele von dem, was in ihres Mannes Seele
vorgegangen war während Karlas Gesang .....
Viel wichtiger war es ihr, daß ihre Schwester Luise erstaunt die
grauen Augen aufriß und dann langsam, fast ungläubig meinte:
„Aber sie hat ja wirklich eine sehr schöne Stimme.“
Immerhin — fein war Karla nicht. Und von Alwin war es zum
mindesten sehr merkwürdig, daß er sich zu Karlas Anwalt aufwarf.
Am nächsten Tage erklärte er, daß es „mäuschenstill“ zu sein
hätte, wenn Karla übte. Oder er würde mit einem Donnerwetter
dreinfahren! Er hatte sie sogar gebeten, nicht eher mit dem Üben
anzufangen, als bis er nach Hause käme.
 Als sich Karla ans Klavier setzte und den Mund öffnete, wurde
sie plötzlich weiß wie ihr schmaler Kragen.
Noch einmal setzte sie an. Aber nur ein heiserer, tonloser Laut
entrang sich ihren Lippen.
Da stand sie auf, schloß behutsam den Deckel und wartete eine
Weile. Wartete, bis das Zittern ihrer Knie nachließ und sie gehen
konnte.
Wie ein nasses Linnen legte sich die heiße Zimmerluft an ihre
bleichen Wangen. Dr. Maurer öffnete leise die Tür:
„Was ist dir, Karla, warum so still?“
Aber sie gab ihm keine Antwort, machte nur eine hilflose
Bewegung mit der Hand und wankte ins Berliner Zimmer hinein, wo
Adele zwischen einem Berg von Kinderwäsche über ihrem
Wirtschaftsbuch saß.
 ndlos dehnten sich die Wochen hin. Immer mehr Zeit
brauchte Karla, um die kurze Strecke zurückzulegen, die ihre
Wohnung von der ihrer Verwandten trennte. Manchmal sagte
sie sich, es wäre das beste, sie bliebe den ganzen Tag im Bett
liegen. Aber sie wußte, daß ihr Mann dann auch nicht ausgehen
würde, und sie konnte nicht mehr sein nervöses, finsteres Gesicht
sehen, ohne Herzklopfen zu bekommen.
Eines Tages bekam er das Anerbieten, für einen plötzlich
erkrankten Fachkollegen im Liegnitzer Sommertheater
einzuspringen. Auf drei, vier Wochen höchstens. Er wollte Karla
mitnehmen. Aber die Schwestern gaben das nicht zu. Er konnte
Karla doch jetzt keine Reise zumuten! Sie mußte sich schonen,
pflegen — um des Kindes willen vor allem.
Der jähe Freudenfunke, der in Karlas Augen aufgeblitzt war,
erlosch. Aber sie widersprach nicht. Sie ließ wortlos über sich
verfügen; wäre nach China gefahren, wenn man sie dorthin
geschickt hätte, und würde sich nicht aus ihrem Zimmer gerührt
haben, wenn man es für nötig gefunden hätte, sie dort
einzuschließen.
Nur als sie Altmanns Kopf in dem Fensterrahmen des
abfahrenden Zuges erblickte, da überkam sie etwas wie
Verzweiflung. Sie mußte sich auf eine Bank setzen und schluchzte
eine ganze Weile still vor sich hin.
Es war abgemacht worden, daß sie nur das erste
Morgenfrühstück zu Hause einnehmen sollte, alle anderen
Mahlzeiten aber bei Adele. Adele hatte einen durchaus
angemessenen Preis bestimmt. Sie wollte sich um Gottes willen
nicht bereichern an dem Bruder.
„Seine Leute“ benahmen sich eben „großartig“. Das mußte Karla
immer wieder ihrem Manne zugeben. Er verlangte geradezu, daß sie
es betonte und es sich immer wieder ins Gedächtnis rief.
Es war nicht seine Schuld, wenn Karla schon beim ersten
Aufwachen die Verpflichtung, den Tag in der Culmstraße zu
verbringen, als eine drückende Last empfand.
 Die Schwestern konnten es sich nicht erklären, warum Karla so
schlecht aussah. Sie litt doch wahrhaftig keine Not! Die Stimme? ...
Die kam schon wieder ... und wenn nicht — du lieber Gott — da war
sie eben keine Sängerin mehr, brauchte sich nicht an allen
möglichen Theatern herumzutreiben. Dann hatte sie ihr Kind ... und
vielleicht kam das zweite ... Ernst würde sich dann auch um etwas
anderes umsehen. Die große Versicherungsgesellschaft, bei der sie
versichert waren, hatte im vorigen Monat einen verkrachten
Theaterdirektor angestellt, mit vierhundert Mark monatlich ...
Hochfeine Stellung. Wenn Ernst die Fühler ein wenig ausstreckte,
wenn ...
„Aber mir wurden doch für nur zwei Gastspielabende vierhundert
Mark geboten!“
Sie schrie es förmlich heraus, als könnte sie damit den großen
Stein wegschieben, den die Schwestern ihr auf die Brust rollten.
Adele zuckte die Achseln.
„Ist ja Unsinn ... Zufall .... Aber nur keine Aufregung, Karla ... das
schadet dir.“
Dr. Alwin Maurer verbrachte jetzt fast jeden Abend außer dem
Hause.
Er fühlte sich nicht mehr behaglich in seiner Wohnung. Karlas
Lage weckte Erinnerungen in ihm aus seinem eigenen Leben.
Er schlief unruhig. Einmal träumte er, Adele und Luise stünden
mitten unter einem Schwarm seltener, buntschillernder Vögel. Sie
griffen in die Luft, fingen einen Vogel und beschnitten ihm mit einer
großen Schere beide Flügel. Dann griffen sie nach einem zweiten,
einem dritten und so fort.
Seitdem sah er sie immer wie in seinem Traum. Ihm hatten sie
die Flügel beschnitten, jetzt beschnitten sie sie Karla .... Er konnte
nicht helfen. Da ging er lieber fort.
Eines Nachmittags gab Karla vor, daß sie sich elend fühle und zu
Bett wolle. Adele gab ihr ein paar Stullen mit und allerlei gute
Ratschläge. Wenn „ihr etwas wäre“, solle sie gleich zu ihr
herüberschicken.
„Hörst du, mach’ ja keine Dummheiten.“
Es war so gut gemeint. Karla hätte sich selbst prügeln mögen, als
es ihr zum Bewußtsein kam, daß sie die Wohnung verließ wie ein
Gefängnis. Sie sah sich sogar auf der Straße um, ob ihr niemand
folgte; denn Adele hatte ihr Vicki mitgeben wollen. Aber nein — sie
stand allein auf der Bülowstraße.
Hatte sie diesen Entschluß schon in der Culmstraße gefaßt oder
war es plötzlich über sie gekommen wie eine Eingebung — sie hätte
es nicht zu sagen vermocht. Sie stieg in die erste Elektrische ein, die
gerade stehenblieb, und ließ sich mitnehmen.
Sie sah nicht die belebten Straßen vor sich, sondern ein stilles,
helles Zimmer mit seidenen Stühlen, einem Schachtisch vor dem
Fenster, einem Glasschrank, mit feinen Meißener Tassen und vielen
Schleifen an den Wänden.
Trotz der noch kaum abgekühlten Luft fror sie, und es war ihr, als
könnte ihr nur dort — in dieser hellen Stube mit den schönen
Sachen und den vielen Erinnerungen warm werden.
Ja, sogar Papas kalte, tenorale Stimme schreckte sie nicht ab.
Sie würde den Umhang nicht ablegen, und Papa würde ihr Tee
bringen und ganz feine Brotschnittchen. Er würde ihre Hand
tätscheln und fragen: „Na, Kleine, wie geht’s?“
Und diese wenigen Worte würden ihr viel, viel mehr bedeuten als
alles, was die Schwägerinnen ihr sagten. Denn sie würden sie
erinnern an tausend gleiche Fragen aus der Zeit ihrer Kindheit.
Diese Kindheit aber — so wenig freudvoll sie gewesen war —
jetzt sah sie sie in einem verklärten Lichte. Sie atmete den
Morgenkaffee ein, den die Mutter vor sie hingesetzt hatte, und den
Duft der Äpfel in der Ofenröhre. Mutter war hitzig und hatte eine
lockere Hand, aber Mutters Hand war auch weich, wenn sie Karlas
Haar bürstete oder ihr über die Wangen fuhr, wenn sie mit einer
guten Zensur nach Hause kam. Mutters Hand war auch geschickt
und willig, all die hundert Risse und Löcher zu stopfen in Schürzen,
Röckchen und Strümpfen. Mutters Hand war sparsam im Alltag, war
aber auch freigebig zu Weihnachten und an Karlas Geburtstag. Da
zählte sie nicht die Äpfel und Pfefferkuchen und geizte nicht mit
netten, nützlichen Sachen. Das Schönste freilich war immer von
Papa: ein glitzerndes Kettchen etwa, ein silberner Armreif, ein
blinkendes Kreuz oder seidenes Tüchelchen. Der Papa tänzelte
dann immer so drollig gespannt um den Gabentisch und winkte ab:
„Ta ta ta“, wenn sie ihm an den Hals flog.
Es war eigentlich nicht recht, daß sie sich so viel mehr über
Papas Kinkerlitzchen freute als über Mutters gediegene Sachen.
Aber daran war nun mal wieder nichts zu ändern, und Mutter konnte
nichts tun, als mit einem Donnerwetter dazwischenfahren, wenn sie
den Papa gar zu stürmisch umhalste und ihn nicht loslassen wollte.
Karla saß in der Elektrischen und merkte es gar nicht, daß ihr die
Augen schwer wurden von dicken Tränen. Sie hatte eine solche
Sehnsucht nach den paar Zimmern, die „ihr Zuhause“ umschlossen,
nach dem Papa, auf dessen Schoß sie einst gesessen, nach dem
„Ta ta ta“, mit dem er ihr vielleicht das Wort abschneiden würde,
wenn sie ihm ihre Sehnsucht gestand ...
Der Wagen hielt am Lützow-Platz. Sie mußte aussteigen. Sie
durchquerte den Platz und bog in die Schillstraße ein. Es war noch
hell, aber doch senkten sich schon bläuliche Schatten zwischen die
weißen Häuser.
Die Straße machte ihr auch heute einen neuen, lustigen,
friedlichen Eindruck. Einzelne Damen blieben mit den Blicken länger
an ihr haften, als es allgemein üblich war, und lächelten dann halb
gerührt, halb ermutigend.
Ja ... sie war wohl schon sehr stark ... Das Gehen wurde ihr auch
schwer, und das zweite Leben in ihr wurde oft ungebärdig.
Manchmal mußte sie stehen bleiben, weil sie meinte, es schnüre ihr
etwas den Atem ab. So war es eben jetzt ... Doch sie mußte lächeln
in all ihrer Not. Und sie murmelte vor sich hin:
„So ein Nichtsnutz ... so einer ...“