Page 14 of Antihero

Bink. Bink. Another two voice texts from Joey.

Aragón gave his big booming laugh, the one that resonated in his chest. “So you are going there to help?”

Evan didn’t like the answer but he spoke it anyway. “Yes.”

“You are strong of mind and pure of heart, amigo.”

The affection in Aragón’s voice went right into him. It straightened his spine a millimeter or two. Was that why he’d called Aragón instead of texting the pilot directly? To have some—what would it be called? connection?—after saying his remote good-bye to Tommy? To know he wasn’t friendless?

Evan reset himself, cleared his throat. “‘Strong of mind and pure of heart’? Don’t turn into a Mexican sidekick on me, Urrea.”

Another grand laugh. “Vete a la chingada, pinche güero. I’ll have the Lineage jet to Van Nuys in three hours.”

“Copy that.”

Bink. Bink. Bink. What the hell was going on with Joey?

“I still think you should just kill the motherfucker.”

Full circle then.

“Noted. And thank you, my friend.” The last phrase slipped out without Evan’s thinking.

He was surprised to realize that he’d meant it.

7Take Me More Seriously

Listen, X, I’ve been thinking. There are these phases of life, right? Like, turning a page or a new chapter or reboot or whatever. And after the last mission, you’ve been, dunno, different. And I have, too. And I realized I don’t wanna just be your sidekick like Batgirl who stays back on the computer and does her nails. I have more to offer. I’m more mature, like for sure, since we first—HEY ASSHEAD, EVER HEARD OF A FUCKING TURN SIGNAL?—first met and I know you’ll say it isn’t safe for me to go in the field but that’s what I’ve been trained for. I don’t want safe. What I’m saying is you should bring me with you next time. I swear I won’t screw up. And I know what you’re thinking, okay? That I’ll be too goofy or all Mexican hood-rat-y and start thwacking bitches with my chancla or whatever. But seriously? How much have I kicked ass for you on all these past missions? I mean, I deserve to get a shot. Wait. Wait. Aaarg. I know, I know, you’ll get all judgy over “deserve.” Hang on. Don’t—

What the fuck! Wait. I said don’t—

Look. Ignore those first two voice texts. Okay? You weren’t supposed to hear them. It was just a tech mishap. I know I’m supposed to say “cancel” instead of don’t—

I waaaaaant it that waaaaay. Tell me—AIN’T NUTHIN BUT A HEARTACHE—Wait! Have you— Is this fucking recording right now? Off. Stop! Fuck! Cancel. Stop recording! Fucking cancel! No. No, no, no. Please don’t. Stop. Stop! I’m not gonna—

I SAID “SAY IT,” NOT—

Haha. Okay. Erhm. Right. I get this was all probably amusing to you. Anyways. That’s my proposal. Umm. That’s it. I just think, uh, I just think it’s time you take me more seriously.

In her final voice message, Joey spoke in the voice she used when she thought she was being mature. A touch deeper, throaty.

Evan adored that voice. But showed it no mercy.

He considered for a moment.

A moment longer.

Texted back: kay.

He drove another mile and a half.

Then he grinned.

8The Good Kind of Bad

The first thing to focus on, Evan knew, was the thrumming ache of the quadratus lumborum muscle stretching across the wing of his left hip. If he was even an inch out of alignment, he could not risk tackling Devine in his full manic-tornado mode.

Which was why he was in bridge position before the freestanding fireplace burning cedar, arched over a foam block anchored like a bridge pile beneath his sacrum. The great room of his penthouse caverned around him, but he kept his focus limited to the periphery of his skin and the sweat beading across his oft-broken collarbones.