Generation Next: A Superhero Adventure (The Pantheon Saga Book 3) Page 29

  Chapter 36

  “Here.” Quinn marched from Johnny’s kitchen carrying two steaming mugs of eucalyptus tea. “This will help with that cold you’re catching.” She handed him a mug.

  Johnny accepted gratefully. “Thanks.”

  As soon as Quinn had noticed his slight cough, she’d insisting on making tea. The reporter had played den mother as long as she could remember. Offering shoulders to cry on. Lending a couch to friends needing to hide out for a night. Or giving frank advice.

  Johnny, despite their recent issues, was no different. Quinn scanned the well-decorated common room. Annie’s touch was everywhere, even in absence.

  Quinn hunched over the coffee table, slipping her delicious tea. “Now what happened?”

  Johnny took a swig. That woke him up. “I caught Annie making an Irish coffee a few mornings ago.”

  Quinn stiffened. She’s drinking again…

  “Suddenly, it’s World War 3 shouting match. Annie throws the engagement ring in my face and storms out.” Johnny looked haunted by the argument, voice trembling. “I called and texted. No answer. When I get home from work, she left a note saying we’re done.

  “Okay.” Quinn had survived Annie’s volcanic temper more than once. Like our Mistura fight. That day still gave her nightmares. “Tell me how you got here.”

  “Our issues been building for a while.” Johnny continued sipping his tea. Color returned to his complexion. “My family always asking if I’m sure she's the one. Our work schedules. Areas I could’ve improved.” He stated that part shamefacedly.

  “Her drinking?” Quinn added.

  Johnny winced. “Yeah.” He put down his empty mug. “My family’s biggest issue. And they love Annie. I always defend her. But my sister’s comment to Annie last week really upset her.”

  “I heard,” Quinn recalled. It was the last time she’d seen Annie. Quinn shouldn’t have let her go without pressing deeper. “Annie was always a big drinker. But that night at Marciano’s worried me.” While carrying Annie from the restaurant was bad, Johnny’s resigned reaction had bothered Quinn more. Like he was used to this behavior.

  “That wasn’t the first or worst blackout incident,” Johnny said. “Annie can get violent sometimes, but I’ve learned how to soothe her until she eventually passes out.” The shame on Johnny’s face was hard to watch. “The next morning, she barely remembers whatever she said or did.”

  Quinn’s mind went to strange places while processing Annie’s private self-destruction. And Johnny’s endured this alone. “I called out the drinking before her injury,” Quinn admitted, her voice rough. “It came out wrong. She shut down and stormed off.” The self-indictment stabbed into Quinn, forcing her to look away. Or something in her might break.

  Johnny studied her through disbelieving eyes. “I’m surprised you didn’t know.”

  “I should have,” Quinn murmured in a daze of shame.

  “Annie’s PR work is going great,” Johnny detailed, clasping his hands. “But she’s taken on too many clients. The wedding planning is…” He winced. “Was on her mind. Then there’s my family. And you, of course.”

  Quinn leaned back, surprised. “Me?”

  Johnny replied with such a sad smile. “Annie misses you like crazy since your career’s taken off. Worries constantly if you’re happy. And when you went missing after that Mistura attack…” His smile faded. “Whether or not you were alive kept her up at night.”

  Quinn blinked back tears. Saying anything would open the floodgates.

  Johnny continued. “Something she doesn’t discuss is the strain of supporting her family.”

  This wasn’t news to Quinn. “She’s helping with her parents’ debt.” Annie had forever been grateful for her Salvadoran parents, who'd pushed her to achieve more than them in life.

  “Plus, Annie's lazy sister and two brothers.” Johnny listed them off on his fingers. Rage seized him.

  “Even some cousins. Since she’s making money, they all want handouts. Annie’s too generous to refuse. And it’s crushing her.”

  That angered Quinn, too. “She never told me.”

  Johnny didn’t appear shocked. “Annie didn’t tell any of her friends. She’s proud, you know. I just wanna talk to Annie, figure everything out.” Johnny’s resolve cracked. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “I love her, Quinn. Not knowing where she is—”

  Quinn reached his side. Switching to den mother mode numbed her own heartache. “Don’t fall apart, okay?” She drew Johnny into her arms. “I’m gonna find our girl.” They embraced, Johnny clinging to Quinn like a man drowning. She made a contented noise, the exchange more revitalizing than expected.

  “Thank you,” Johnny whispered once they drew apart. “The minute you find anything—”

  “I’ll tell you first,” Quinn assured him before departing.

  Quinn spotted urgent texts from Colin and Jess Richardson-Palmer when entering her car. She ignored them and revved her car to life. Important as this Missy Magnificent assignment was, Annie meant more.

  Chapter 37

  Half a day passed by before someone visited Greyson. He’d gotten little sleep, too afraid of the terrors awaiting him in the abyss. These two guards wore the AmeriForce logo on their military uniforms, a fusion of the US, Canadian, and Mexican flags. How soon before that became Amarantha’s new flag?

  “Here to kill me?” Greyson asked, standing in the center of his cell. He was too tired to be afraid.

  “To release you.” The guards stepped aside, motioning him outside.

  Greyson did as asked. Away from the power dampeners, energy surged through him.

  They walked through downtown Noordaal. The streets were awash with celebration, supers dancing and hugging. Several European-style buildings sported cracks. Plumes of smoke from previous battles still stained the pale-blue skies. And, to Greyson’s chagrin, bodies of lower-level city leaders hung naked from rooftops. No More Baselines had been spray-painted on their bodies. How normalized would that become once AmeriForce ruled Amarantha? Greyson looked away, dreading that ugly future.

  “Where are we going?” he’d asked his two escorts as they approached a transport car.

  “San Lorenzo,” the burlier of the two guards answered. No one spoke until the transport reached San Lorenzo, the former mission-turned-sanctuary.

  At first Greyson couldn’t see anything through the thick jungle. Once they got deep into the forest, he could discern the towering mission carved into a sheer red cliff face.

  Inside San Lorenzo fascinated Greyson more, reaching many levels underground. Indoor agriculture situated on micro terraces, quarters for people to inhabit. And with recruits from AmeriForce’s victories across the island, new occupants packed San Lorenzo’s halls.

  Greyson had been told why the royals hadn’t touched San Lorenzo. A mixture of religion and law. In Amarantha’s founding charter, the Mission was designated neutral ground where island rulers could meet in truce. And for decades that had been the case. But if the royals knew San Lorenzo had become AmeriForce’s headquarters, the mission would’ve been bombed to dust years ago.

  The guards stopped once they’d reached the entrance to a rocky warren of lodgings. “You're in Asuncion Quarter, yea,” the tallest guard motioned, his Amaranthine accent heavy. “Three levels down in the southernmost wing.”

  Greyson entered, relieved when they didn’t shoot him from behind.

  After strolling through dim tunnels several minutes, murmurings reached Greyson. And someone pontificating in poetic Amaranthine.

  Greyson stepped into a large common area filled with people sitting or standing while eating delicious-smelling food. Everyone’s attention was on one of many viewscreens positioned around the rocky space. An unfriendly-looking man in his early forties dominated the screen, well-dressed with short brown hair. His cool, hazel eyes glared at Greyson while he spoke in forceful Amaranthine. Greyson guessed this was a warning from one of the two unconquered cities. And sin
ce a Lady of the City ruled Côte Royale, this must be Olivier Bowen, the brash Lord of Merenwjick.

  Glancing about, Greyson saw everyone rapt by Lord Olivier's speech. Familiar faces packed this chamber, including Connie. She was speaking to Rodrigo. Greyson also spotted CJ beside Solomon Shen, whose arm was draped across her shoulders. Greyson blinked, not realizing they were an item. At least someone found happiness. He looked away before his thoughts drifted to Lauren.

  Now Connie marched up with Rodrigo, arms spread. “Hirsch. Where were you?”

  Around Rodrigo, Greyson watched his words. “Long story.” He nodded at the viewscreens where the Lord of Merenwjick droned on. “Olivier Bowen?”

  “Yep.” Connie seemed irked at the deflection but didn’t push. “He looks like a Bond villain.”

  Greyson snorted.

  Rodrigo frowned. “What’s a Bond villain?”

  Greyson ignored him. “I heard Bowen has a superweapon like a Bond villain.”

  Connie giggled. “Including Mutant sharks with laser guns?” They both laughed, leaving Rodrigo more confused.

  “Jesus, we shouldn’t be joking!” Greyson sobered and looked to Rodrigo. “What’s he saying?”

  The young Amaranthine eagerly answered. “Bowen demands AmeriForce’s surrender and control of all captured cities to Côte Royale and Merenwjick.”

  Rodrigo wasn’t done. “Then Lord Olivier calls for AmeriForce’s execution and supers rebelling against Amarantha’s natural order to be jailed. If they refuse, Lord Olivier vows to destroy them with the combined power of Merenwjick and Côte Royale.”

  Greyson swallowed, regretting his bravado. “Guess a truce is DOA.”

  “Côte Royale and Merenwjick joined forces?” Connie seemed stunned by this.

  “Absolutely,” Greyson replied. “House Fourmon wants revenge after Asher Fourmon lost his fiancée.” He glared at Rodrigo. “Thuraya Carneiro.”

  The young Amaranthine deflated. “Oops.”

  “Now, I’m worried,” Connie admitted privately, after Olivier Bowen had finished. “Fighting House Bowen’s military is scary enough. Especially after what they did to Summerhill.” She was about to continue until something caught her eye.

  Greyson turned to see a skinny soldier with the AmeriForce logo on his chest. “You’ve been summoned, Mr. Hirsch.”

  Greyson flinched but quickly grasped that AmeriForce could've killed him back in Noordaal. “Your quarters,” he mouthed to Connie before leaving. “Later. Bring CJ.”

  She subtly nodded in understanding.

  After trekking through a few tunnels of dark-red earth, Greyson reached a chamber with Tigre, Frostknife, and Radiant. Their pet telepath, Clarice, appeared behind him as a safety measure.

  “Hope you’re feeling well?” Tigre asked in the amiable tones of a friend.

  Greyson wasn’t having it. “You want a thank you for releasing me from the cell you threw me in?”

  Radiant and Clarice seethed at the impudence. Frostknife glowered daggers at him from across the room.

  Tigre bristled. “We wanted to discuss the Merenwjick invasion.”

  “We’ll need you against House Bowen,” Frostknife forced out, so angered she couldn’t meet Greyson’s eyes. “Once they’ve fallen, Côte Royale and any remaining human strongholds go next.”

  Tigre stood. “We have a plan to breach Merenwjick’s forcefields…which requires your power.”

  “Can we trust you, Mr. Hirsch?” Radiant asked.

  Greyson’s answer was never in doubt, even after what he knew about AmeriForce. “I’ll do what’s best for Amarantha.”

  Tigre’s smile displayed jagged teeth. “I like that.” The catlike super shook Greyson’s hand. “We’ll discuss details in a few days.”

  After they dismissed him, Greyson found Connie’s quarters. The living space wasn’t large but appeared homey, with a bed, closet, bathroom, and dining table. Connie sat on her bed with CJ, deep in conversation. “Why the super-secret meeting?” Connie asked after hugging Greyson.

  “I’m betting my room is being watched or bugged,” he revealed.

  Connie gawked. CJ, equally distressed, ran anxious fingers through her curly locks. “Where’s Rodrigo? Aren’t you two buddies?”

  Greyson winced. “I can’t trust him anymore.” The reality saddened him. But AmeriForce had trained Rodrigo. His allegiances were obvious.

  He flopped down on Connie’s bed. “Have you seen what’s happening to human Amaranthine? Not just the royal families.”

  Connie’s gaze fell, answering the question. CJ was more vocal. “I heard things.”

  Greyson cut to the chase. “AmeriForce wants to rule Amarantha, and subjugate the humans instead.” He explained his imprisonment the night before along with Tigre and Frostknife's true intentions. “They’ve installed loyalists in Dourado, Bellazul, Angelique, and Noordaal to enforce their rule,” Greyson told his stunned audience.

  Connie’s heartbroken reaction felt to him like being shot. She staggered back against a wall. CJ sank to a kneeling position. Greyson fell sick confessing this. But things would grow worse once AmeriForce took over the island in a few days. He had no clue if he could prevent these ‘superheroes’’ forthcoming dictatorship. But Greyson had an idea where he might learn their next moves. “AmeriForce is probably including Solomon in their plans. Have you heard anything from him?”

  CJ shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “We don’t do much talking when we’re together.”

  “Please try,” Greyson pressed. He knew how gross his question sounded. But there were little resources and even less time. “If AmeriForce takes over Amarantha, that won’t bode well for the human Amaranthines.”

  CJ rose, offended. But she nodded and marched out of the room.

  Greyson and Connie sat side by side on her bed a while, both processing this painful truth and what AmeriForce’s forthcoming rule meant.

  “I should’ve known this redemption thing was too good to be true,” Connie finally confessed. She looked so lost and sad. “What now?”

  Seeing her in pain killed Greyson. He reached out, caressing his fingers along her neck. “Don’t know. Their support from the local supers is solid. And AmeriForce’s original members outnumber me.”

  “Us,” Connie corrected tartly. “Fighting them would be suicidal.”

  Greyson chuckled, forgetting to whom he spoke. “What do we have to lose or go home to?”

  Connie turned her head so their eyes met. “Whatever you’re planning, I’m with you.”

  Greyson stared deep into her eyes, seeing resoluteness, loyalty, and beauty in ways he’d never allowed himself to. “I figured.” This could be his last night alive if they failed to stop AmeriForce. For tonight, Greyson didn’t want to wallow in the trauma that had brought him here. He leaned in, capturing Connie’s lips with a tender kiss.

  She pulled away. Connie fought to keep her expression neutral. “Are…are you sure?”

  “Yes,” Greyson answered. Some guilt lingered in the back of his thoughts. That didn’t keep him from pulling Connie into a more forceful kiss.

  She responded eagerly. After several blissful moments, Connie shoved Greyson on his back and climbed onto him. Soon, they were tearing one another’s clothes off.

  Chapter 38

  Stars danced before Hugo’s eyes while he wedged fingers between his neck and Khan’s beefy forearm. This furry behemoth pressed all his weight on him while choking Hugo from behind. Jesus, this liger's strong! It was taking considerable effort to stay conscious. All Hugo needed was to free himself and he could outmuscle this furball. Meanwhile, Mr. Proctor was putting final touches on the bomb vests he’d attached to the upside-down students.

  An icy shudder ran through Hugo. There had to be some humanity left in Proctor. Hugo had to try reaching that. “Please don’t do this!”

  The teacher looked over his shoulder and rose. His blank expression was frightening. “Someone must stop these heartless children.”


  Hugo knew what entitled, heartless children were capable of…and what he’d almost done to one at Fall Fling. “Would Shauna want you killing in her name?” he probed, slowing pushing to a knee as Khan tightened the chokehold.

  Proctor smiled with unmasked pride. Hugo knew then the teacher was too far gone. “She’d be proud her daddy fought back.” Proctor watched Hugo disdainfully. “You should’ve done the same instead of trying to reach my better angels…whoever you are.”

  “My name,” Hugo growled from deep in his chest. “is…AEGIS!”

  He exploded off the floor. Carrying Khan on his back, he rammed the ceiling as hard as possible. A loud crack of cement came with anguished yowls.

  Suddenly Hugo could breathe, right as the floor rushed up and smacked his face. He rolled away and sprang to his feet—moments before Khan fell.

  The liger rose into a crouch. Shaking his shaggy head, he roared and lunged.

  But Hugo was ready, enhanced senses trained on his foe. Ducking three consecutive paw swipes, he sank rapid-fire uppercuts into Khan’s torso. The liger whined and slumped to his knees. He aimed one last desperate swipe at Hugo, faster than anyone could blink.

  Not Hugo. He caught Khan’s paw by the wrist and squeezed. The bones cracked like popcorn. Khan arched his back and howled.

  A stiff backhand to the jaw sent the liger sailing across the room. He knocked over several metal containers and slid to the floor.

  Hugo snatched a few steel pipes, binding his foe’s arms and legs together superfast. He whirled on Proctor with barely checked rage.

  The jowly man watched his fallen partner, unsure of his next move. “So much for that.”

  Hugo advanced on him. “You’re not escaping.”

  Proctor looked confused. “Who said anything about escape?” He tapped his watch.

  Brent, McKenna, and Kerry’s vests lit up, each clock displaying one-minute countdowns.

  Proctor ripped open his shirt, revealing a vest counting down from fifty-seven seconds.

  Hugo picked his jaw up off the floor. “Are you serious?”

  …fifty-two seconds…