Vengeful (Villains #2)(111)

“You know what they say about assuming,” said Victor dryly. “We EOs are hard to keep down.” He nodded at the weapon. “Speaking of down.”

Stell shook his head, grip tightening on the gun. “I can’t do that.”

Victor flexed his hand. “Are you sure?” He splayed his fingers, and shock crossed Stell’s face like lightning as his own hand opened, let the gun fall to the floor.

“You’re not the only one who’s traded up,” said Victor, moving toward the detective. The air caught audibly in Stell’s throat as he tried to back away, and couldn’t.

“Pain is specific, but relatively simple,” continued Victor. “Now, animating a body, articulating it—that requires precision, the firing of certain nerves, the pulling of specific strings. Like a marionette.”

“What do you want?” hissed Stell.

I want to stop dying, thought Victor.

But Stell couldn’t help with that.

“I want you to keep Eli in his goddamn cage.”

Surprise crossed the detective’s face. “That isn’t your call.”

“How could you be so stupid?” growled Victor.

“I do what I have to,” said Stell, “and I certainly don’t answer to—”

Victor’s hand clenched into a fist, and Stell doubled over in pain. He caught himself against the wall, gave a sharp whistle through gritted teeth, and a second later every other door in the hall swung open, soldiers streaming in, weapons raised.

“I want him alive,” ordered Stell.

Careless, Victor chided himself. The cop had baited his own trap, and he had stepped inside.

“You’ve always preferred being predator to prey,” observed Stell.

Victor’s teeth clicked together. “Did Eli teach you that?”

“Give me a little credit,” said Stell. “You guys aren’t the only ones who can spot a pattern.”

“What happens now?” asked Victor, trying to sense the number of bodies surrounding him. How much power would he have to use to level the ones he couldn’t see?

“Now,” said Stell, “you come with us. This doesn’t have to get violent,” he continued. “Get on your knees and—”

Victor didn’t wait for him to finish. He reached out with everything he had. Two bodies hit the floor behind him, another buckling at the edge of his sight.

Then Stell shot Victor in the chest.

He staggered, his hand going to his ribs. But there was no blood, only a red dart, buried deep. A vial, already empty. Whatever it held, it was strong—Victor wrenched the dart out, but his limbs were already going numb.

He cranked the dial up on his own nerves, clung to the pain to regain focus.

Victor brought two more soldiers to their knees before another shot pierced his side. A third took him in the leg, and he felt himself slip. He tried to brace himself against the wall, but his legs were already folding, his vision flickered, then dimmed. He saw the soldiers swarming in, and then— Nothing.





XII





THE LAST AFTERNOON


ACROSS TOWN


THREE blocks from the Kingsley, June was making instant cocoa while Sydney perched on the edge of the nondescript hotel bed. Outside, it had started to rain. Syd tried Victor’s phone again, but it was off now, just like Mitch’s. She’d even tried Dominic’s number, but there was no answer there, either.

June had told her everything—EON’s task force, their mission to catch Victor and Sydney, the simple fact that June had to choose quickly, knowing she only had time to reach one. She’d been so worried—and by the time she got to the Kingsley, the EON soldiers were already there.

Which meant that Mitch—

June seemed to read Syd’s mind.

“The big guy can take care of himself,” she said, carrying over two mugs, “and if he can’t, what difference would you have made? No offense, Syd, but your power wouldn’t protect him—it would only get you caught, and Mitch wouldn’t have wanted that.” She paused. “Drink up, you’re shivering.”

Sydney wrapped her fingers around the hot mug. June sank into a nearby chair. It was so weird, seeing her again. Syd had had the other girl’s voice in her ear for more than three years, the words on her phone, but she’d only seen June’s face once before, and of course, it wasn’t really hers. It wasn’t even the one she was wearing now.

Sydney took a long, scalding sip, cringing not at the heat but the sugar—June had made it way too sweet.

“What do you really look like?” she asked, blowing on the steam.

June winked. “Sorry, kiddo, a girl’s gotta have some secrets.”

Syd looked down at the cocoa and shook her head. “What am I going to do now?”

“We,” said June, “are going to think of something. We’ll get through this, you and me. We just have to lie low until it’s over, and then—”

“Until what is over?” demanded Syd. “I can’t just stay here when Victor and Mitch are in trouble.”

June leaned forward, resting a hand on Syd’s boot. “They’re not the only ones who can protect you.”

“It’s not about protection,” said Syd, pulling away. “They’re my family.”