“I’ve got friends in all kinds of places, Checkmate. Powerful. More powerful than even you.” They’re close enough now that I can smell the alcohol reeking off them like spoiled cologne, sweet and cloying. “One of them is very interested inyournew friend, as it happens. He told us to be on the lookout for Charade’s car. Promised to give us all kinds of fun, new toys if we bring him in.”
The thread of power thrums under my skin, topped up and waiting for a target. And boy, do I have a target.
“I’ve been hunting Charade for years and never came close to catching him. What makes you think that you could manage it? A handful of drunk CCP dicks does not an arsenal make.” I laugh. “Full offense intended, boys.”
“Bitch,” one of them hisses, and it runs like a current through each set of tense shoulders. Bared teeth.
But not Stanley.
The brand of calm he emits can only be described in terms of danger. It’s the space of breath before a punch. The recoil before a snake strikes. It promises deadly tides just beyond the horizon, and washes you out to sea.
“I bet you could take us to Charade. Couldn’t you, Checkmate?”
I do a little dance as they close in, maneuvering our group so that my back is guarded by a brick wall as they fan out into a loose arch with Stanley and I in the middle. That’s just fine by me. Let them think they have me trapped. Let them think I’m afraid.The better to eat you with, my dear.
“Similarly, if Charade couldn’t take me down, what makes you think you can?” I snicker. “Four powerless cock-suckers, upon whom I am thrilled to repay the kindness their compatriots showed me, and one Super whose power is next to worthless.”
At the very least not memorable.
A slow approximation of a smile splits his lips. It occurs to me—he’s awfully steady on his feet for a drunk man. “What makes you think we’re alone?”
The men to my left and right pounce, fists raised and ready for blood. I lunge out of the way, body and power rolled together. My shoulder slams into Stanley’s gut and I thrust him into the other two men. They topple like bowling pins.
My legs go out from under me at a swipe from Stanley’s boot. My knees ache as they hit the pavement and pain splinters up my bones. There’s no time for that now. Pure force pushes out of my palms—not wind, something more akin to the aftershocks of an explosion. I feel the heat of it as it knocks the men behind me backward into the brick.
I feel it before it happens. A stutter in the force, similar to a car running out of gas—and I’m the car.
No.
I waste a precious second watching my hands as my powers fail me.
Stanley rises on unsteady legs, his expression an ugly thing wrought of smugness and homicide. Two of the CCP officers follow suit, but the other two seem to be unconscious.
I’ve bought myself a wider circle, but Stanley’s between me and the street light, the closest power source I could draw from. Ilose myself to fight or flight, drawing from that place deep within that only cares about survival. Fists and legs collide in a dance of instinct. A punch to the gut takes care of one of Stanley’s cohorts, but not forever. The other leaves an unfortunate opening and at the first possible moment I make sure the heel of my palm becomes intimately acquainted with his nose.
But not Stanley.
He’s never in the spot I expect him to be. Worse, he’s not fighting at all. He’s waiting.
“Stan! What happened to Charade?”
My attention shifts to the new group. Howling, hungry, fresh for a fight. Ten total, counting Stanley.
And that’s when he strikes.
The blow registers in the periphery of my vision, sharp fingernails dragging down my cheek. The filed points of them dig into tender flesh, raw. They’re yellow. Discolored crust decorates the beds. I gag even as I maneuver away, back to the safety of my wall. Something hot and viscous seeps from the scratches.
“Charade never took you down because he’s weak,” he spits in my face. “It takes an alpha male to knock a bitch down a peg.”
Stupid misogynistic asshole. I’m going to burn his balls off and bathe in his screams.
A sick feeling cuts through my core. Cold sweat breaks out along my brow. My heart thrums in my ears, its current coursing more poison through my veins.
Plant toxins. Stanley’s power is plant toxin production.
That’s why Charade wouldn’t let him touch me at the CCP party.
And he wore gloves. His power is based on touch, and he wore gloves.
