Vengeful (Villains #2)(78)
Victor’s anger sliced through him like a knife, sudden and deep. His hand clenched into a fist, and Campbell staggered back into the brush, a pained sob wrenching from his throat.
“Get up,” demanded Victor. But he raised his hand as he said it, forcing Campbell upright. “Fix me.”
“I can’t!” gasped Campbell. “I told you, I can only heal the innocent. You’re not a victim.”
“Who are you to judge me?” growled Victor.
“No one,” said Campbell. “The power judges for itself. I’m sorry, I—”
Victor shoved Campbell away with a snarl. Behind his eyes, he saw his death—not the most recent, or the one at Eli’s hands, but the very first, the one in the lab at Lockland, the way he’d climbed onto the table, pressed his bare back against the cold steel, summoned death to him like a demon, a slave, an order.
In the woods, Campbell had struggled back to his feet.
Victor half expected the EO to run, but he didn’t.
Darkness had swept in around them, but even in the lightless woods, Victor saw the genuine sadness in the other EO’s eyes.
Victor briefly considered letting the man go. But if he’d found Campbell, it was only a matter of time before EON did too. Their reach seemed farther by the day.
“I’m sorry,” said Campbell again.
“Me too,” said Victor, drawing his gun.
The shots echoed through the woods.
The body collapsed, and Victor sighed, and slumped back against the nearest tree, the humming louder than ever in his head. He closed his eyes, suddenly, immeasurably tired.
If you kill all the EOs you meet, how are you better than Eli?
Whatever’s happened to you, however you’re hurt, you’ve done it to yourself.
His cell broke the silence. Victor dragged his eyes open and answered the call, rising to his feet. “Dominic.” He heard the telltale sounds of a bar in the background. “You have news?”
“There’s a new EO,” said Dom. “A bold one. Name’s Marcella Riggins.”
“Is she a viable lead?” asked Victor as he started back the way he’d come.
“No,” said Dom. “Her power is definitely of a destructive nature.”
Victor sighed. “Then what is she to me?”
“I just thought you’d want to know. She’s just drawing a lot of attention.”
“Good,” said Victor shortly. “Then EON can waste their time hunting her instead of me.”
He knew, of course, thanks to Dominic, that they were already chasing him. Or rather, chasing someone. And he had a good idea who was leading the charge.
Victor had been disgusted, but not surprised, when he’d learned about the way Stell was using Eli Ever. Putting him back to work. Eli always did have a knack for finding his way to the center of a stage, and Stell had fallen for his charms before. Victor wondered if that was why EON hadn’t gotten closer. Not because their pet had failed to see Victor’s hand in the killings, but because he had.
It would be so like Eli, that self-righteous, self-absorbed need to handle things himself.
And every day the noose failed to tighten, Victor’s suspicions grew.
As for Marcella Riggins, let her have the spotlight, as long as she could hold it. When it came to EOs, there was a kind of natural selection. Most had the sense to stay in the shadows, but when the need for attention outweighed a sense of self-preservation, the scales tended to balance themselves.
And people like Marcella never lasted long.
XIII
THREE WEEKS AGO
JUST OUTSIDE MERIT
RAIN slipped through the warehouse roof, the steady drip of water masking the clip of Marcella’s heels against the concrete floor. The old cannery sat on the outskirts of town, a skeleton of pillars and steel beams and a rotting roof, one of the designated parcels of neutral ground in the city.
Their voices drifted through the bones of the building.
“. . . in his own office . . .”
“. . . it can’t stand . . .”
“. . . who’s going to handle . . .”
“. . . just one woman . . .”
“. . . no way she’s working alone . . .”
“What is it with men and places like this?” mused Marcella, her voice loud enough to carry as three heads came into sight. “I swear, you always pick the most morose places to gather.”
The men turned toward her. Joe Kolhoff. Bob Mellis. Jack Caprese. She’d half expected to find them sitting at another round table, these self-proclaimed knights of Merit, but instead she found them huddled in the center of the dreary, leaking space.
Unbelievable, thought Marcella. Her husband reduced to ash, Tony dead at his desk, and yet they still didn’t even bother to draw their guns. Neutral ground rules dictated that bosses didn’t carry, but surely no one actually went into a meeting like this without at least one piece of artillery.
“Is it the ambiance?” Marcella wondered as she made her way toward them. “Or does like simply call to like? Defunct. Outdated. Obsolete. So many old buildings in this city,” she said, nails trailing across a concrete pillar. “It’s insane the money they waste on repairs and refurbishments. Sometimes it’s better to just raze the whole thing and start fresh, don’t you think?”