Reality (The Girl in the Box Book 52), page 15
...maybe I could trust her.
“Can you make the cameras go away for a few minutes?” I asked, very faintly.
She stared at me, eyes narrowing in concern, and with a wave of the hand, the camera guys went bye-bye, off to film elsewhere in the club, leaving the depressing Sienna show and capturing instead the joys of untrammeled youth.
I took a deep breath...and I started to tell Heidi what was weighing on my heart.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Eilish
“I need a drink!” I declared to the swarm of guys rubbing against me. “And I need to go the bathroom right quick!”
“I'll get you a drink!” Nick said, disappearing into the crowd.
Val looked frozen in place. “...You want me to walk you to the bathroom?”
I laughed. “Sure. Might as well.” And I gave the handsome man my hand. He paraded me through the gyrating, pulsating crowd toward the far end of the room, where I could – just barely – see the bathroom logos waiting like an oasis in the distance.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Sienna
“I was married,” I said, Heidi's eyes on me, listening as though there was nobody else in the world, and as if we were not in a club with a bass beat so thick it was shaking my bones and causing me to quiver in my skin.
“To who?” Heidi asked, looking like she wanted to do a double take.
“I don't remember him,” I said. “And not just because we were married in Vegas; I had his memories stolen from me by one of my enemies.” I felt a lump in my throat, and choked off any further words.
Heidi blinked a couple. “I have...so many questions. How did you find out about this? When did you find out about it?”
“Three months ago,” I said. “When I got back into the world.”
Heidi's hand flew to her heart and seemed to flutter there. “That must have been so hard on you.”
Used to hanging mostly around men who avoided their feelings, I wasn't sure how to take that. “Uh...thanks. It's been...uh...I'm just trying to get through, get the job done, you know, get...get...I'm living with my brother and his fiancée.” She nodded slowly. “Because I lost the place where I was living because it wasn't mine. It feels like before I went back to Minneapolis, everything was going well in my life for once. I'd pulled together a good string of sobriety, I had my friends, the government, state and federal, wasn't relentlessly hounding me. I liked where I lived. I had two dogs and a cat. I was making a real dent in crime in Nashville, and they appreciated it.” I stared ahead at the happy, gyrating people under the thudding beat. “When I went to Minneapolis, I...I feel like I sacrificed my life to save that city.” I looked up into Heidi's eyes. “And I never came back from it. Not really. Like I died there.”
“That's tough,” she said, swallowing visibly. “To feel like you symbolically died to–”
“No, I mean I literally died to save the city,” I said. “Multiple times I felt myself die, in pain and screaming and on the other side it was just...” I felt a stupid, tired smile slip onto my face. “...it was over, at least. No more worrying about Chicago catching a meteor – I can't believe they still hate me there for Soldier Field, I saved all their lives – or some megalomaniacal president taking over everyone's minds, or some Scottish harpy seizing control of countries or Minneapolis being destroyed by prison escapees after they drove me out of town. No more staring at the ceiling until all hours waiting for something or someone to roust me out of my bed, quiet like a tomb, sheets cold with no man there – it was just...”
“Over,” Heidi whispered.
“I don't know if I can really feel things anymore, Heidi,” I said, though I sounded somewhat choked. “I think that part of me may have died in Minneapolis, or maybe after, when I found out about the husband I don't remember. But nothing's been the same since. And you can parade all these beautiful men in front of me, get them to take my hand, but...I feel nothing. For any of them.” I glanced over to the dance floor; Eilish was gone. “I envy her, really I do. Because she's at least feeling something, even if it's silly, even if it's frivolous and won't last. Did you know the last man I slept with – the last few, actually – was when I was drunk?”
“That's...that's terrible,” Heidi said, her face twisting in revulsion.
“Oh, it was,” I said, looking across the crowd. “I slept with guys on one-night stands because I thought...'maybe this will make me happy.' That after all I'd been through, my trainwreck relationships, that just a moment of physical satisfaction would scratch that itch. Well, I didn't get the satisfaction, and I just felt more empty afterward.” I looked back at her, at the cautiously horrified look on her face that she was trying to hide. “I guess what I'm saying is...I think you're right about your ethos when it comes to that sort of stuff. That I've had enough bad-judgment one-night stands at this point to have realized that they're terrible and I feel worse about myself afterward...and that the times I've felt most loved, most satisfied, is when I've been in a real relationship first.”
“Can I ask you a question, though? About something you said there?” Heidi asked, leaning in. “You said these things make you feel worse about yourself. Can I ask...how do you feel about yourself right now?”
I froze, just as surely as if I were about to get hit with an eyebeam blast. The answer...did not come out.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Eilish
I was living the life of Riley, I was. Val dropped me by the door, I checked myself in the mirror – beautiful – and was walking over to the stall when I felt a tiny pinch around my left buttock.
I turned and found an Asian lass staring at me with intense concentration. Three more were right behind her, trying to look casual in the chaos of the ladies' loo, which was packed.
“Excuse me,” I said, but my voice cracked, and I felt woozy.
With my next step, I pitched over, and strong arms – way too strong – caught me, seized hold of me, and started to carry me away.
I tried to cry out, but I couldn't get out a word. Already I was fading, the ceiling lights dimming above me into smears of neon green and purple as I faded into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Scott
Baltimore's Inner Harbor was a gorgeous spot, one of the first Scott remembered visiting on a business trip with his dad. A hard, chill wind was coming in from the east, making him shiver. Maryland had turned colder than Tennessee, that was for sure, and with night having fallen on the east coast, the open air M&T stadium had held a real nip to it as Scarlet Sahara played to a packed house.
Scott had done his same-old-same-old, same as last night in Miami, splitting his time between the security monitoring room, which was this time just behind the constructed stage, and the wings at the edge of the stage. He'd heard some talk from Scarlet about trying to do a concert in the round, but it had been weak suggestion and he'd scuttled it. Having the curtains and structure allowed them to keep her out of view or whisk her off if things somehow went off the rails.
But they didn't. They went just fine, and the end of the show had him leading her out again to a waiting SUV, Scarlet shivering as she walked, having not even brought an overcoat. She was still wearing the last outfit she'd worn on stage – glittering short shorts and a sparkling bra top with knee-high boots that matched the ensemble.
Scott tried not to stare. Tried real hard.
“This way,” he said, gently brushing a hand against her shoulder blades as he ushered her out to the waiting vehicle. Traverton was pacing ahead of them, scanning, wearing the same suit for a second day in a row.
“Think I can find the car from here,” Scarlet said, but it lacked bite and her teeth chattered.
This was a service exit, nothing but a little concrete pad and a road that ran in either direction to their right and left. Beyond that, train tracks, and past that, parking for the stadium, though the lot was sparse tonight since they'd closed off this area so the stage could be put up. The lights were flickering on the lamps overhead, a few fans waiting behind metal barricades, waving pictures of Scarlet or, occasionally, Maesie May, who Scott hadn't really seen other than onstage.
“Don't stop,” Scott said, quiet and low, as he hustled her toward the waiting SUVs.
“Clearly you don't know what it means to have fans,” Scarlet said, and took an immediate detour hard to the right, up to the aluminum barricade separating her from the small crowd. “Hey, who should I make it out to?” she asked, taking a picture of herself in hand and dashing a scrawled signature across it with a Sharpie she produced seemingly out of nowhere.
“Dammit,” Scott said under his breath, gesturing to Traverton, who halted just before the SUV then jogged back to him.
“I know I'm new to security, but is this really a good time and place to be doing this?” Traverton asked, slightly wide-eyed. He looked especially pointedly at the walkway past the cars that led over the train tracks. “Feels kinda exposed.”
“She's making a point,” Scott said, keeping his hands clasped in front of him. He had showered, fortunately; the smell of whatshername's perfume combined with two days of sweat had been getting to him, too. “Showing us who's boss.”
“Guess we gotta grin and bear it, then,” Traverton said.
“Yep,” Scott said, scanning the crowd. “You watch back there, I watch up here?”
“Sure, sure,” Traverton said. God, he was eager to please. He orbited away, toward the barricades behind them, shuffling his feet as he went. It sounded odd; like his shoes were worn out.
Probably were, Scott reflected. However poor he considered himself these days, Traverton was clearly in ever-so-much worse condition.
Scott made his way over to Scarlet, who was still signing and smiling and talking, though she seemed a bit muted. His own shoes scuffed against the pavement with a full sole of leather, a proper noise. He tried to excise that thought; what a bit of rich dick-ery it was. “You about done?” he asked, leaning in to try and keep his inquiry to Scarlet on the down low.
“No,” Scarlet said, the trace of a smug smile on her perfectly red lips. She leaned in and murmured to a fan, a ten-year-old girl, “And who's this for? You?” She got a shy nod in return. “What's your name?”
“SCOTT!”
“That's his name, too,” Scarlet said slyly, but she turned and looked, same as Scott did.
Traverton had shouted, and was sprinting across to them, meta-speed, albeit a bit splay-footed. He lunged toward them as something popped and people screamed in the crowd hugging the opposite barrier–
Scott's eyes focused in on the hiss, the sound, the flash of motion–
A gun barrel. Sticking out of the crowd.
Someone was shooting at them.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Val Jones
Four women came out of the bathroom in a hurry, carrying Eilish between them, her arms around their shoulders. Her head was tilted back, mouth wide open, slop of drool rolling down the side of her face. They were hustling, too, brushing past him like he wasn't there.
“Hey!” he shouted. “That's my date! Where are you going with her!”
One turned to look at him, dark eyes furious, searing right through him. One of the cameramen, Ed, stepped right in their path, his camera focused on them.
The leading girl, wearing a red, sparkling dress, kicked Ed in the gut; man and camera went tumbling to the ground, crashing, equipment shattering. He hit hard, camera bashing him in the face, and blood squirted in all directions from his nose and busted lip.
Val did the only thing he could think of.
He screamed.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Sienna
Saved by the bell.
I was frozen like a thief caught with the merch in my hands by Heidi's question, and it felt like I could actually feel an angry cop bearing down on me. It wasn't; it was just her innocent eyes fixing me in place, but it felt like it.
The scream broke the moment, the spell of honesty and sincere care she'd cast over me, and I felt a rush of relief hit my bloodstream along with the usual dump of adrenaline.
I was in the air in a second, looking over the club. It took me only a second to see the point of chaos.
Four dark-haired women were cutting through the crowd, two of them clutching a familiar, insensate strawberry blond. The way they were pushing people aside, linebackering their way through, there was little doubt...
They were metas.
And they were stealing my little Irish partner.
“Oh, hell no you don't,” I said, and watched as one of them turned and looked right at me.
I didn't hesitate now; this was no searing personal question being asked of me.
It was a simple one, and one I'd already answered time and again.
Wanna fight?
And the answer came, as it always did:
Hell yes, I do.
I rocketed up to high speed and slammed into the leading Asian kidnapper, the one in the red dress, while she stood there, trying to swell her Hercules muscles so she could deal with me. Maybe catch me, maybe throw me through a wall.
Well, one of us went through the wall. Wasn't me, though.
A cloud of dust billowed out of where she'd struck, about ten feet up, over the bar. A tinkle of broken glass and a bunch of screams followed her abrupt exit from the building, and the bones in my toes were already knitting back together from where I'd clumsily kicked her without forming my foot properly.
The three other kidnappers turned on me, dropping Eilish as they did so; the thud of Irish's head bumping against the floor told me she'd have a headache when she woke up.
But she'd wake up. Unlike these ladies.
“Pfft, bitches be trippin,'” I said, facing them down. With a surreptitious movement of my hand, I shot light webs from both hands, binding up the feet of the two women closest to me, causing both to lose their balance and topple over for a hard landing. “And by 'bitches' I mean you.”
The third, clad in an orange number that ended at mid-thigh, raised her hand swiftly, and something came flying out of it, like she'd just pulled something out of her sleeve. It came at me hard and fast, growing with every second it flew, and it took me a moment to realize–
She'd hurled a car at me. A full-fledged pickup truck that had gone from size 0 to double-jacked-up, no dick, super mudflaps in all of a second and a half.
I caught the damned thing, all two tons of it, holding it up against the screams of the patrons of the club, because if I let it go at least a dozen of them would be crushed beneath it. She'd flung it at me out of nowhere, exactly like Greg Vansen when he shrunk and grew his little toys.
An Atlas, then. An Atlas in here, a Hercules outside. We were dealing with some professional troublemakers here. Not many Atlases knew how to shrink.
I was clutching the truck in the middle, my muscles straining. “What the hell do I do with you?” I asked, looking around for a place to toss it. The crowd was scattering, but not that fast. There were no open spots for no-dick jumbo truck parking on the dance floor.
While I was mulling that conundrum, something sharp and hard dug into my calf, almost making me lose my grip. I muzzled a scream, but when I looked down, there was a throwing knife buried in my leg, blood already rolling down my bare calf and dripping down my foot in a steady flow. A second knife hit my other calf, probably rendering my legs useless for standing or kicking until I could dig the blades out.
A furious glance let me see that the three remaining women had already retrieved Eilish and were on their way out again, the remnants of my webs lighting up their stylish heels like those light-up high-tops kids wear. The knife thrower, not troubled under the burden of carrying Eilish, pulled another knife out and hurled it at me with terrifying accuracy.
Reflex type. Like Angel. And stunning in purple sequins.
The knife buried itself in my side, piercing my kidney and almost making me drop the small-d pickup. I sagged, my strength flagging.
“Get out of the way! Everybody out of the way!” Heidi's shouts broke through the haze of pain that was clouding my vision and my thoughts. I heard her push someone physically out of the way, listened to them thump on the dance floor over the screaming, and heard Heidi shout again, “Sienna, you can drop it!”
And drop it, I did.
No man in recent memory had made me feel the relief, the release, that I did when that pickup truck came out of my arms. Listening to it smash to the ground was like a sweet symphony, my arms and back crying out in pleasure as the weight left me and I sagged to the ground next to it, still rocking on its dual axles and oversized tires.
“Sienna,” Heidi slid to her knees beside me in a pool of Safe-T glass pebbles. Every window in the vehicle had shattered. “They're getting away with Eilish.”
“Yep,” I said, legs slick in a pool of my own blood. I held there for a second, pulling out my magnetic powers and clenching my fist–
The knives pulled free of my flesh, out of my muscle, out of my organs, in one case. Through clenched teeth I gasped–
And seethed.
With the knives floating behind me as if tethered to my soul, I zoomed out of the hole I'd made with the Hercules, ready to find Eilish's kidnappers...
And skin them alive one by one.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Bearded Ryan
“ohmigosh ohmigosh–”
Bearded Ryan was totally freaking out.
Some stuff had gone down in the club and there wasn't a lot of doubt that it was all Sienna stuff, crazy stuff, metahuman fighting stuff. As one, Ryan and the other guys had fled, because who wanted to die in the middle of all that?
