Super Bad (a Superlovin' novella) (11 page)

Mirage sank back onto
the couch, still too amped to sleep. And still afraid that if she closed her
eyes this marvelous sense of
self
would melt away. She wanted to call
Lucien, to tell him that she was back, that it was working, but even if it
hadn’t been three-thirty in the morning, she knew he would only be annoyed with
her for taking the risk contacting him when the authorities were still looking
for her. She was isolated here, just her and Captain Justice, but now that
thought didn’t carry even a twinge of regret. Sure, she was on the run and this
was a safe house, but in this moment, there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

Except maybe the left
bedroom.

* * * * * * * * * *

“You look like death.”

Julian cringed at the
all-too-cheerful chirp of Mirage’s voice as he staggered out of his bedroom the
following afternoon. Not surprising he looked like hammered shit, since that
was exactly how he felt. The inside of his head was raw and throbbing hollowly,
like his brain had been scraped out and his cranium coated with acid. Mirage,
on the other hand, stood at the kitchen counter, bouncing on the balls of her
feet and looking like she was one bounce away from waving pom-poms in his face
like an evil cheerleader. “I take it your memories are still intact.”

“Mostly.” She thrust a
cup at him and he took it, inhaling deeply, the rich scent of fresh coffee
restoring his faith in humanity, the first sip restoring his faith in God.

“Mmm,” he hummed his
appreciation, eyes closed.

“I make excellent
coffee,” Mirage bragged without even a trace of humility.

Julian gave an
agreeable grunt, but didn’t open his eyes as he took another sip, focusing his
entire being on his communion with the Caffeinated Holy Grail. He could feel
Mirage at his shoulder, bubbling over with energy, trying desperately not to
rush him. As soon as he opened his eyes, the dam burst and words flooded out of
Mirage on a giddy wave.

“I’ve been thinking. About
Kevin. About whether this is a new threat or just an echo of his previous
demands, and see, the thing is, Kevin was cocky. Like, superhero cocky.” Julian
tried not to be offended by the fact that his kind were the high mark on her
barometer of cockiness. “He didn’t have contingency plans because he never
believed he could fail. The idea that he wouldn’t be around to implement phase
two—whatever that might be—would have been inconceivable to him. And for him to
trust me—even my manipulated subconscious—enough to tell me what he was
planning in the form of future commands, he just wouldn’t do it, Justice. The
more I think about Kevin—now that I can remember him with any degree of clarity—the
more certain I am that what I’m experiencing is just echoes. And I think I know
how to prove it.”

Mirage was so excited,
her eyes so bright and alive, he couldn’t bring himself to mention that even
the echoes were dangerous if she kept falling prey to them. Instead, he asked,
“What kind of proof?”

“The box. The one you
took from me at the bank. If I’m retracing my steps, then it will be from the
same safe deposit box I raided last time. So we just find out what’s in it, use
that to determine who I took it from, and see if they were robbed six months
ago.”

“It’s not a bad idea. There’s
only one problem. The box was empty, Mirage.”

“Empty?” Her enthusiasm
extinguished, then immediately rekindled. “Of course it is! Because I already
stole whatever was inside it six months ago.”

“But there’s no proof
of that.” If Mirage could force her memories into an innocent shape, she would.
He couldn’t blame her for that, but one of them had to stay focused on what was
really happening, not what she wanted so badly to be the truth.

“Show me the box again.
I’m clearer now. I’ll remember it from the first time I broke into the vault. I
know I will.”

“Mirage…” He had the
box in his room. It had been in his pocket when they fled Trident, but the last
time she’d held it, it had triggered a gunfight in front of the bank.  He
wasn’t prepared to deal with that kind of chaos again. At least not until he’d
had another cup of coffee.

“Please, Julian. What
harm can it do? If I can just open it, I’m
sure
…”

Her certainty was
disconcerting. Yesterday she hadn’t been sure of anything, and now she was
addicted to certainty, high on it. How could it hurt her to see the box?

He couldn’t think
clearly. Between the power hangover and the way Mirage was looking at him like
he hung the stars, it was hard to stay focused on hard truth.

“You can open it later,
okay? Let me touch base with Eisenmann first.”

She made a face. “Ask
his permission, you mean. You know what he’ll tell you. He thinks I’m too crazy
to fix.”

“He wouldn’t have
helped us escape if he hadn’t believed you would get better. I trust him. Besides,
don’t you want to know how things are going? Aren’t you curious to know whether
the cops are still searching for us?”

She drew away from him,
seeming to pull inside herself. “You’re right. We should check in. You have a
life to get back to. I don’t want to keep you here if Lucien managed to work
things out with the cops.”

He started to say that
he
wanted
to stay with her, surprised by how true the words were, but
Mirage had already left the kitchen, leaving him alone with the Coffee of the
Gods and his regret that he’d been awake ten minutes and somehow managed to
trample her enthusiasm into defeat. He swore softly and dug out the phone from
the duffle—the untraceable phone, which made him more than a little
uncomfortable. He’d never had the need for untraceable calls before. Now Open
Book Justice was on the run with a known felon and it felt
right.
More
purposeful than the last dozen Justice Department consults he’d done. He wasn’t
just a nail in the coffin of a conviction, he was doing something, helping
someone. This was what being a hero was supposed to be…though perhaps without
the villainess as the beneficiary. Though, really, was that so wrong? Didn’t she
deserve help as much as the next citizen? He’d been jaded on the topic of
villain reform before, but now he was almost starting to wonder if it was the
heroes who needed reform as much as their less law-abiding counterparts.

He tapped Eisenmann’s
name on the phone and waited as it clicked for a moment before connecting. After
half a dozen rings, the call went to voicemail. He hung up, electing not to
leave a message that could incriminate Eisenmann if the cops were listening,
and tried the doctor’s home number, though he’d never known the man to be far
from his office, even on a Saturday afternoon. When that call switched to
voicemail as well, Julian cursed softly and disconnected. The doc had to know
they would be in touch soon. Why was he suddenly unavailable?

Julian scrolled through
the contacts until he came to Lucien’s number, but before he could connect the
call, an odd, scraping sound in the living room made the hairs on his arms
stand up. “Mirage?”

He exited the kitchen,
eyes scanning, weight forward, hands held loosely at his sides. He was so
prepared to find the specialized Anti-Super SWAT team in the living room,
restraining Mirage, that for a moment he didn’t know how to react to the sight
that met him. Mirage stood in front of the couch, her pupils so tightly
contracted, the cobalt blue of her eyes jumped across the room. In one hand,
she held the small box from the bank, rolling it between her fingertips.

“Mirage?” he said
again, though he knew it was useless. Mirage wasn’t home. She’d gone through
his stuff, found the box, and something about holding it in her hand had
triggered her. They’d made so much progress, and now here they were, back at
square one, subject to the whims of whatever echoed command the box had
resurrected.

For a long moment, she
didn’t react to his presence, didn’t seem to even notice he was there, then her
eyes flicked up, locked on his, and his world slammed sideways.
Hard
. He’d
thought she’d tried to manipulate him before, had trusted his natural immunity
would protect him, but he was utterly unprepared for the freight train plowing
into him through her gaze, the drowning tide of power that crashed over him,
threatening to roll his mind until she was his only fix point, until only
Mirage could tell him which way was up.

Julian staggered, the
phone falling from limp fingers, as Mirage’s image flickered in front of him,
strobing in and out of reality too fast for him to keep up.
Holy shit.

He’d been cocky,
superhero
cocky
, to think she was no threat to him. If she managed to disappear, he
may never find her again. She could go anywhere, trick anyone. The idea of
losing her sent a hard spike of panic into his sternum. She was his
responsibility…and so much more than that.

He struggled to keep
her in his sights, his vaunted mental advantage non-existent. Thank God that
wasn’t his only resource. He needed to get her out of his head and Julian knew
only one way to do that. He ducked his head and charged.

He was the enemy. Mirage
didn’t know how she could have missed it before. It was so obvious now, so
clear, with the heady power-clarity burning through her veins. He’d stolen the
Apocalyptum. That was why the box she’d been sent to collect was empty. Justice
couldn’t be trusted. Only Kevin could be trusted.

No
.
No, that wasn’t right. Kevin was…what was he? She knew this. She knew—

The big man moved, fast
and purposeful. His shoulder plowed into her abdomen, knocking the breath out
of her and shattering her concentration as he took her to the carpet. She
swiped at his face, aiming for his eyes and missing, but her nails dug groves
down his cheek. The bastard grunted, as if her efforts weren’t even worth a
hiss of pain, and snagged both of her wrists, jerking them up and pinning them
to the floor so her arms were stretched straight above her head. Mirage
struggled, arching and twisting beneath him even though there was no way in
hell she was budging him. He had ten inches and eighty pounds on her, easy, and
she knew bugger-all about hand-to-hand combat because she’d never needed it. You
couldn’t fight what you didn’t know was there.

Mirage went limp as her
brain suddenly kicked back into gear. She’d almost had him when he was across
the room. He was touching her now, the skin of his palm tight against the bare
skin of her wrists. That connection would amplify her power. She would
own
him.

She focused on the
eyes, so close above her, the sinfully long blond lashes veiling bright blue
concern.
Fake
concern. He was the enemy. He wanted to hurt her. Hurt
Kevin. Mirage shaped her gift into a needle and flung it straight into those
eyes, piercing him, quick and ruthless, until she tapped into his deepest
thoughts and made him hurt.

The body pressing her
down into the floor jerked and she got her hiss of pain, the sound stretching
out into a moan that scratched at her ears, making her itch with the wrongness
of it.
So wrong
. She didn’t want his pain. Why didn’t she want his pain?
He was the enemy. Wasn’t he? Hurting her, hurting Kevin—
No
.

The flicker of doubt
was all it took. “Dammit, Mirage!” He shook off her illusion but his tense
muscles didn’t ease. The blue was blazing now, his gaze searing her, but it
wasn’t just anger. Not just rage or wounded pride that a weakling girl had made
him feel pain. There was determination. Such fierce, unswerving intensity to
show
her, though she was afraid to think what he would make her see. “Is this what
you want?” His hands tightened just to the edge of pain on her wrists. “What do
you truly want?”

She felt his power push
into her, that static jolt surging through her skin and racing through her
veins to her heart. That truth. That realignment. Shifting the jagged pieces
painfully back into place, forcing her to see, to know. Her thoughts were
suddenly her own again, Kevin’s compulsion wiped clean.

“Mirage?” Julian
blinked, studying her eyes, his body unclenching, battle-readiness easing when
he saw
her
looking back at him.

“
Julian
." 
The truth was still singing in her blood.
What do you truly want?
Him. She
wanted him. Heat pooled, swift and tight, between her legs. She’d never known
you could melt and ache at the same time, but she did. God, she did. She wanted
him, the need fierce, consuming, eating away at her will until she was only one
single driving desire. Kissing him wasn’t even a choice. She lifted her head,
surging up to claim his lips from below, because to wait another second would
have been a sin.

Julian made a hoarse,
startled sound in his throat, but his hesitation didn’t last longer than a
heartbeat before he was devouring her just as eagerly as she was him. And was
she ever eager. She’d never before realized how intensely erotic it was to be
pinned like this, pressed between his unyielding strength and the firm floor,
his thigh hard between hers. He must have appreciated it too, because as his
tongue thrust into her mouth, stroking against hers, she felt his erection grow
hard against her hip. She wanted that hardness, that heat.