Catwoman: Soulstealer (DC Icons #3)(9)

No options. No choices. No way to figure this out.

Selina put a hand on Maggie’s too-skinny arm. Medications. Maggie would need to bring all her medications with her—

The touch seemed to snap some leash in her sister.

Maggie bolted.

Not for the bedroom but for the apartment door.

For a moment, the world slowed and bent.

All Selina saw was her sister, so frail and small, sprinting past those cops, hair flying behind her. All she saw was the closest cop, the mustached one with their money in his pocket, lunging for Maggie, his enormous hand reaching for her delicate arm.

And as that hand closed around Maggie’s arm, as her rasping inhale of breath, of pain at the tightness of that grip, filled the apartment, the world…

Selina exploded.

The dark-haired cop went down first. Uppercut to get his head up, then elbow to the nose to put him on the ground. He was unconscious before he hit the carpet.

The social worker screeched, but Selina was already on the mustached cop, now whirling toward her, that meaty hand still on Maggie’s arm.

Selina barreled into him. He dropped Maggie immediately, both of his hands grappling to shove Selina off as they slammed into the wall, cracking plaster.

“You little—” His spat words were cut short as Selina ducked out of his grasp, dodged the fumble he made to grab her again, and her fist connected with his face.

Her body sang in agony, wounds ripping open, bruises bleating.

“Run,” she managed to say to Maggie.

But her sister remained frozen. Gaping, terror draining the color from her face.

Slim white hands wrapped around Maggie’s arm again. The social worker. “She’s not going anywhere.”

And those hands, those hands and that cold, hateful face—

Selina shoved the woman. Hard.

Hard enough that the social worker went careening into the table, chairs scattering.

Maggie screamed, and Selina whirled, fists up, knees bending.

Too slow. The mustached cop had risen to his feet. She didn’t have time to try to dodge before volts of pain tore through her. Before his leering, bloody face smiled as he dug a Taser right into her neck.

Agony barreled in—then the world tilted.

Then nothing.



* * *



—

The humming of the fluorescent lights was what awoke her.

Her tongue was a dry, thick weight in her mouth, her head a pounding mess, her body…

Sitting in a chair. Handcuffed to the metal table before her.

Precinct room.

Selina groaned quietly, surveying the space. Tiny. No one-way mirror. No speakers or cameras or anything.

She tugged on the cuffs linked to the table to see if they were secured.

They were.

Maggie—

The metal door hissed open, and Selina braced herself.

It wasn’t the blond social worker in her cheap suit. Or the cop who looked at her a little too long.

A tall, slim woman with night-black hair and skin like golden honey entered instead.

Selina had seen enough of the various businessmen who Falcone liked to associate himself with to know that the white pantsuit was high quality. And from her work with Mika, she knew that the simple, elegant gold jewelry at her neck and ears was real and expensive. The manicured nails, the silky sheet of hair cut into stylish layers, the full mouth painted red, were all markers that screamed money.

This was no social worker.

Those crimson nails tapped against a thick file in her hands as she approached the table and the empty chair before it. Selina’s file.

Not good.

“Where’s Maggie?” The words were a low rasp. Water—she needed some water. And aspirin.

“My name is Talia.”

“Where. Is. Maggie.”

Keeping her head upright took every bit of effort thanks to the Taser bruise that still radiated pain down her neck and spine.

“Your name is Selina Kyle, and you are seventeen years old. Three weeks away from being eighteen.” A click of the tongue as she slid into the metal chair across the table, opened up that fat file, and began flipping through the pages. The table was too long for Selina to see what the woman examined. “For someone so young, you’ve certainly accomplished an impressive amount.” Flick, flap, hiss. “Illegal betting, assault, robbery.”

Shame and pride warred through her. Shame for the fact that if Maggie ever heard this, the unvarnished truth of her crimes…Selina knew she couldn’t endure the look she’d see on her sister’s face. Pride for the fact that she had done this, had survived in the best way she could, had given her sister what she could as well.

But Selina managed to keep her voice cool, bored, as she replied, “I was never convicted of the last two.”

“No, but the charges are on here,” Talia countered, tapping a red nail on the paper. “What you will be convicted of in a matter of days is aggravated battery of two police officers and a state worker.”

Selina just stared at the woman from beneath lowered brows. No way out of this room—this precinct. And even if she did make it, then she’d have to find Maggie. Which would be the first stop the cops would make, too.

Talia smiled slightly, revealing too-white teeth. “Did the police give you those bruises?”

Selina didn’t reply.