Catwoman: Soulstealer (DC Icons #3)(7)

The rate at which the disease has progressed and Maggie’s resistance to the drugs are cause for concern, the doctor had gone on, speaking more to his flock of interns than to them.

Maggie hadn’t asked him if she could be in the musical. Her sister had known. She’d known that this thing that made her come alive with joy, that gave her whatever slim shred of hope. It didn’t matter how many fights Selina fought for her. How many stores she looted with the Leopards. The blood and the bruises and the cracked ribs could not buy her sister a new set of lungs or a cure for this disease or a chance to stand on that school stage and belt her heart out.

Sobs threatened, shuddering beneath each breath.

Selina covered her face again, as if she could hide it—the tears that rose up within her like a tidal wave, that she pushed back and back and back.

Hands trembling, she grabbed the phone off the narrow sink counter, fingers shaking so wildly she could barely text Mika: I need another fight. ASAP.

Mika replied a few minutes later, If you need cash, I’ve got you covered.

Tempting, but too many complications. She wouldn’t be able to repay Mika. And though she trusted her Alpha, this was the East End. Everyone needed cash, and Mika might be ruthless in getting it returned to her.

Fights are fine. Then, after a heartbeat, But thank you.

Mika’s response came instantly: Anything I should be concerned about?

Not because she cared, but because if it was something that threatened the Leopards, she needed to know.

Just personal shit.

Whether the Leopards knew her sister was sick, she wasn’t sure. She had never told them, and Mika wasn’t the type to ask.

Mika replied, You healed enough from last night to do it?

No. Yes.

Selina blew out a breath, tears sinking back into her. Shutting off the faucet, she listened. The musical continued on—along with the neighbors’ fighting.

She could steal the money, of course. Had done it in the past with the Leopards. Even enjoyed the puzzle that some burglaries offered: how to break inside a place, how to ease past the guards or security systems, how to avoid leaving a trace. But to go it alone…She hadn’t done that yet. Wouldn’t risk jail, not with fighting as a relatively safer option.

Mika only said, I’ll ask Falcone.

Selina flipped her phone shut and flushed the toilet. Mercifully, her hands had stopped shaking by the time she emerged into the living room, where her sister was still bundled on the couch.

Maggie picked up the remote and paused the movie. Looking Selina over with eyes that missed nothing, not even the cell phone clenched in Selina’s hand, Maggie asked quietly, “Can’t you just ask for the money?”

Selina didn’t care to guess how Maggie had figured it out as she slid her phone into her back pocket. “No.”

She and the Leopards were often sent by Falcone to those in his debt. Either to remind them of the money owed or to exact punishment when the final warning had been ignored. It was ugly and dirty, and over her dead body would she be in his debt.

“But—”

“No.”

Maggie opened her mouth again, green fire lighting her eyes, but a knock sounded on the door.

They froze. Not good. At this hour.

Another pounding knock. “Police!”





Shit.

Selina had cataloged every possible exit from this apartment. She looked toward the window at the other end of the room. Could her sister make it down the fire escape fast enough to slip away?

She’d carry Maggie if she had to. Selina winced as she shot to her feet, lingering pain lashing through her body.

Maggie threw the blanket off her legs as the door rattled again. “What do we do?” she breathed.

If this was about the Leopards—

“We’re looking for Maria Kyle,” the officer said.

Selina blew out a breath that Maggie echoed. Thank God. They’d dealt with this in the past. Several times.

Hide, Maggie mouthed. The cops would surely start asking questions if they saw her bruises. Selina shook her head. But Maggie stood and pointed to the bedroom in a silent order.

Another pound on the door.

Selina limped over and confirmed it was two thickly built GCPD officers standing there, one dark-haired and the other balding and mustached, before heading for the bedroom closet.

A reliable hiding place in the past, a pocket of it tucked back far enough that she could remain hidden. Or put Maggie in there. Selina was just climbing in around the tightly packed clothes when Maggie opened the front door, locks clicking free.

Ears straining, Selina heard her sister say quietly, the portrait of sleepy confusion, “My mom didn’t come home tonight.”

One of the cops asked, “Can we come in?”

“I’m not allowed to let in strangers,” her sister said. “Even cops.”

A pause. Then a woman’s voice asked, “What about social workers, Maggie?”

Selina’s heart stopped dead.

There hadn’t been a woman outside when she looked, no mention of social services—

Maggie stammered, “Why? M-my mother isn’t here.”

“We know,” the woman said calmly but not gently. “She’s down at the precinct.”

Hangers rattling, Selina shoved out of the closet, pain barking down her body as she stepped over neatly folded piles of clothes, the room now a minefield keeping her from getting to the hall.