Catwoman: Soulstealer (DC Icons #3)(80)

They slid to a stop behind the machine that Selina was braced against. Selina pointed toward the window. “Another squadron is outside, waiting. We make a run for it—we can surprise them if we leap through.”

“They’ll shoot us before we clear the window,” Ivy said, sizing up the distance, the squad no doubt in the alley beyond.

“I’ll buy you time,” Selina panted. “You keep running. Don’t stop.”

Harley studied Selina as the shouts from the SWAT team across the factory floor grew closer. “What about you?”

“I didn’t think you cared.”

Selina could have sworn something like regret flickered in Harley’s blue eyes. But Ivy ordered, “We need to move. Now.”

Selina didn’t give them another warning as she charged for that window. A trap—a big one—lay outside.

She drew the blade from down her back, bullwhip clenched in her other hand. At her side, through the smoke, green flashed—Ivy’s own vine-whip.

Selina reached the window. “Blow it out, Harley!”

A bomb answered—Harley’s last. Glass was still shattering as Selina leapt atop the crate beneath the window, grabbed the sill, and swung herself through and out.

An armed SWAT team waited by the back door a few feet away, guns pointed, masks over their faces as they whirled toward where Selina landed.

“DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND—”

Selina didn’t hear the rest. She snapped her whip through the air, catching the nearest gun and ripping it out of the officer’s hands.

The others hesitated, as if surprised at the unusual weapon, the movement—

Twin sets of feet landed behind her. Harley and Ivy.

They wasted no time, Harley hurling two throwing knives at the shocked officers in her way, a brazen charge that Selina half noticed as she snapped her whip again, knocking another gun to the ground—

Ivy and Harley were through the line of fire. A few leaps had them atop a dumpster, then jumping over another line of cop cars, Harley throwing another knife with lethal aim, Ivy’s vine whipping through the air.

Selina didn’t look to see if they made it beyond that—to where the Sprang River flowed past the warehouse at the edge of the docks. But she heard the twin splashes, barely audible over the shouts of the officers now before Selina.

The element of surprise gone. Guns now pointed at her face.

“Drop your weapons,” the officer before her ordered, stepping closer. The door behind her slammed open, SWAT officers pouring out behind her, surrounding her completely. Thirty men. Armed. Granted permission to kill.

Selina took in the countless guns, the Kevlar.

Her sword clattered to the ground.

Then the whip.

And slowly, Selina raised her hands skyward as GCPD pressed in.





Luke was up and in the gym before dawn. Just in time to turn on the early-morning news and see the headline that had him turning off the treadmill.


Cat Claws Way into Arkham Asylum



Luke couldn’t move. Couldn’t lunge for the exit, to his apartment and his closet, where his suit was, couldn’t think of what to do as he saw the blurry footage.

Catwoman: thrashing and screaming, utterly wild as she was hauled into the armored police van. Not at all the calm, cool woman he’d known. No, this woman did not go gently into that van, her claws gouging deep lines into the metal as she was shoved in, handcuffed, chained down. Shrieking, laughing—

Arkham Asylum.

Some had tried to rename the facility and ditch its outdated title, but the name still hung around, the whispers of fear with it. A place where the criminally insane were sent—the worst of the worst. Its security systems and protocols were unmatched, even by Blackgate.

But there she was, the news footage now cutting to a live feed from Arkham. The media were invited to what seemed to be a small interrogation room. Luke knew that familiar, cold interior. The fluorescent lights, pale walls, and low ceilings that made everything look greenish, sickly.

Made even worse by all the press crammed in there, focused on the empty table, void of anything save an anchor for handcuffs. Chains.

There was nothing he could do. As Luke Fox or Batwing. Even if he called Gordon as Batwing right now, there was no way in hell that call would reach him in time. Stop him.

She’d made a laughingstock of the GCPD, and had pushed and pushed until—

Until the door to the room opened, and she was led in, still wearing her helmet and suit, cuffed and at gunpoint, a small army of SWAT team officers pushing her into the chair before that table.

Facing all those cameras.

The district attorney strode in after her. His face like granite.

And Luke knew. What was about to take place at this table. Why the media had been invited.

“Here in Gotham City,” the DA said to the cameras, coming up behind where Catwoman was being chained to the table, “we don’t tolerate those who threaten the security, happiness, and well-being of our people.”

Arkham Asylum—it had to be a conscious choice to put her in there, too. To undermine her control over her actions these past few weeks.

“Are Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy in custody, too?” one of the reporters inquired.

The dark-haired DA stared down at Catwoman, sitting so still in that chair. Waiting. Ready.