Bad Boy Hero: A Romantic Suspense Page 7

  I destroyed both my guns in the fall and all but one of my knives were loosened from their sheathes and clattered down in random directions. Cries of alarms sounded throughout both floors, and hastily rigged overhead lights snapped on in each room.

  The vertebrae in my neck popped back into place one after the other giving me the ability to look around the room. It was already flooding with gangsters. I worked as fast as I could to reset bones and to mend muscles and ligaments. It wasn't looking good though. Going at full speed I'd still need another few minutes to be able to stand, let alone to fight.

  All in all, not a great start to the evening.

  I flopped myself onto my stomach and started mending the bones in my arms and hands. When I could wiggle my fingers I slid my last knife from its sheath. Maybe I didn't need to be standing to fight?

  “That's a bad idea, friend.” The voice came from about thirty feet behind me, it was followed by the unmistakable sound of the slide on a pistol being racked. A loaded gun couldn't frighten me, but what I saw next did. “They tell me you're pretty quick. Tell me, Shadow Man. You fast enough to stop me from painting the floor with her pretty little face?”

  Of course it was her... Why couldn't it have been anyone else?

  Chapter 9

  Natasha

  Whatever was happening around me, it sounded like the end of the world. The last thing I remembered was visiting my captain and explaining what I'd found out about the Irish, the task force, everything.

  Then I woke up hooded and tied to this chair.

  I'd always thought the captain was a good man. I never dreamed he'd be in on it too! The department was in worse shape than I thought. If the gangs could get to us, how much higher up the food chain had that corruption spread? The mayor? The governor?

  “Why don't you go ahead and get rid of that pigsticker.” The voice behind me said.

  I kept my eyes closed even after the sack was ripped off my head.

  The first thing that hit me was the old, dusty smell of generations of putrefying fish. It turned my stomach. It smelled like an abandoned killing floor. The smell lingered in the rafters, the floors, the walls, echoes of dead fish were everywhere. It didn't matter that this place had been closed forever now, the odor would always be part of Kirkman's until the day it was torn down.

  You do a thing long enough, and eventually it seeps into the very being of where it was done.

  “Come a little closer and I will,” the Shadow said. I knew that voice by now, but I had to wonder. Who was the Shadow really here for? Me or his target?

  “We got ourselves a comedian, boys,” said the voice behind me. Something hard and metal pressed against the back of my head. I'd be lying if I said I didn't pee myself a little.

  I guess I was about to find out the answer to my question.

  There was a distant noise as something thin and metal hit, then skidded across the concrete floor. The Shadow must've thrown his weapon away. Was I really more important than finishing his mission?

  “Good boy,” said the voice behind me. I didn't realize I was holding my breath until the pressure against my head went away. I gasped in air as if it was my first breath ever.

  The second thing to hit me was the back O'Neil's hand. My face snapped to the side hard enough to rock the chair I was tied to. My eye started to swell right away. I kept my head down so the only parts of him I saw were the backs of his hands. They were as scarred and calloused as the palms of a lumberjack. Practiced, unapologetic cruelty ran through those knuckles.

  You do a thing long enough...

  “Open your eyes, lass. The time for secrets is over.” O'Neil held my chin up, so I could get a good look at him. Right then I knew I wasn't getting out alive. O'Neil was a tall, thin, Irishman with a broad mustache and a flat, dead gaze. He wore a nice dark green vest over a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up; black slacks and fiercely polished wingtip shoes.

  There was no doubt he was in charge.

  The Shadow grimaced when I was struck, but he kept quiet. I really hoped he had a plan, but considering he looked like he was hit by a truck, I wasn't all that optimistic.

  “Alright, Shadow boy. Off with the fancy headgear. Let's get a look at 'cha.” O'Neil waved someone into the room.

  There was a series of sickening pops as the Shadow's leg bones reset enough so he could stand up. He told me about his abilities, but seeing them work right before my eyes was mind blowing...

  The Shadow's mask fell to the ground with a heavy clang.

  When he looked up all my hopes and fears were affirmed. I was staring into the face of a ghost, a man I gave up on, but could never move on from. My heart was trapped in a vice. I gazed into the eyes of the impossible, and they were deep mahogany brown.

  “Hey, Nat.” Logan said, with a weak smile. There was a calmness on his face that I hadn't seen since the night he kissed me in the window when we were kids. It made me choke up and start to cry.

  I didn't care that we were about to die. I might have always known he was the Shadow, but now for the briefest of moments I was happy. I got to see my lost love one more time. Not many people could ever say that.

  Falling for the Shadow wasn't a betrayal after all.

  “Alright, Doc, which one is he?”

  “Which one?” Logan parroted. His smile twisted into a look of disbelieving skepticism. It was the look a child might give the first time they caught their parents in a lie. That did raise the question, were there others like Logan?

  “That's Logan Drake, Instrument V.” The bespectacled doctor wore slacks and a bloodied button up. It looked like he'd been roughed up before they dragged him out.

  “You made him, Doc. How do we unmake him?” O'Neil shoved the man.

  “That would depend on whether he completed his mission or not.”

  “Right, right. The mission. I'm so goddamn tired of hearing about the damn mission.” O'Neil sighed, looking exasperated. “What happens if he does?”

  “We built a failsafe mechanism in all our Instruments. When they complete their missions their molecular physiology collapses in on itself and—” The doctor paused, fearing he lost them in technicality. “They lose all their powers. It makes them easier to reclaim and then ultimately reprogram.”

  “Aye. One last question, Doc.” O'Neil grabbed the Doctor by his shirt and jerked him an inch away from his own nose. “Why in the bleedin' fuck!” He stopped for dramatic effect. “Did you program him to come after us?”

  “We didn't!” The terrified doctor screamed. “He escaped before we could give him orders. H-H-He must've programmed himself! The serum latches itself to the most powerful emotion. In his case it was revenge against those who killed his parents!”

  “Shit. Seriously? That's why he's been gutting us?” O'Neil asked and the doctor immediately nodded. “Alright, lads, this happened well before I took over. So fess up. Which one of you killed the kid's parents?”

  No one said anything. Logan was fixated squarely on O'Neil, and he was seething with rage.

  That day was burned into my memory. It was the single event that made me decide to become a cop. I remembered every detail. I could smell the chicken Mom made us. I could feel my father's palm over my mouth as he pulled me away from the door, and I could still see through the peephole at the men walking by...one man in particular. A broad shouldered, brutish man.

  “You.” The word slipped from my mouth quietly, but was amplified in the silence.

  O'Neil snapped a surprise glance at me, then followed my hateful gaze to one of his men. “Terry, get over here.”

  The oxen of a man chewed his lip apprehensively, then walked over. He had the same long stride and stuttered step he had that fateful day seven years ago.

  O'Neil put an arm on the man's broad shoulder. “Well, did you do it?”

  “I dunno, maybe.” He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Don't lie to me, Terry.” O'Neil warned.

  “Alright, yeah.
It was Patrick and me that shook the boy's pappy down for the debt money. Things got heated. What does it matter? That sonofabitch wiped out half the fucking clan. He already killed Patrick!”

  “Apologize to the boy.”

  “You're pulling me leg?” Terry asked, unsure if it was a joke or not. O'Neil's flat stare assured him it was most definitely not. The man snorted, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Fine. Sorry, kid.” He spat.

  “What'ya say, Shadow boy? We square?” O'Neil asked.

  Logan narrowed his eyes at the spectacle. All of the bloodshed endured on both sides couldn't be undone with one unenthusiastic sorry. What a fucking farce.

  “Yeah, I figured not.” O'Neil smacked his lips apart, making a popping sound. Then he shot Terry in the heart. The big man died instantly. “That's for being sloppy. Let this be a lesson to the rest of you, if you kill a family you kill all of them.” O'Neil turned back to the doctor. “Now that bit of messiness has been taken care of he should be a regular old human again, yeah?”

  “Yes. That's how we designed the serum to work.”

  O'Neil fired off a round. The bullet struck Logan in the shoulder, staggering him back a step. I flinched at the noise of the shot and at the grunt Logan issued as he recoiled. My heart skipped a beat.

  It's only a bullet, I reminded myself. Logan had survived much worse. It was going to be alright. I gritted my teeth, but the lie sapped me of my conviction. We were surrounded by men who wanted us dead. Nothing was going to be alright.

  “Ah, shit,” Logan said after eventually righting himself. He covered his wound with his hand, but blood seeped through his fingers. It didn't show any signs of stopping.

  Oh God, Logan was still bleeding! He should've healed by now! Something was very wrong. Was what the doctor said true then? Did he really lose his powers? Creeping fear enveloped and smothered me like a loosely-fastened, plastic cover after falling into a full pool.

  The Shadow couldn't be gone. Not now, not when we needed him most!

  “Would you look at that?” O'Neil laughed as Logan struggled to maintain his footing. He was getting lightheaded from losing so much blood. “Not feeling so super now, are we, friend?”

  O'Neil slapped the doctor on the shoulder as if greeting a good friend. He led the man out of the way, giving his men a clear line of fire at Logan. “You did great work, Doc. I'm impressed. You got another batch of that shit handy?”

  “No, unfortunately. All the working strains of the serum were destroyed in t—”

  “Ah, Doc that was the wrong answer.” O'Neil sighed, shaking his head, then he casually shot the doctor in the head. “All right, lads. Let's give Logan here an Irish welcome back to the land of the living.”

  Logan looked at me, smiling warmly, lovingly. “Some things in life are worth—”

  “NO!” My scream drowned out by gunfire. I snapped my eyes shut and forced my head away. I had seen countless crime scenes and dismembered bodies. The worst humanity had to offer. I couldn't watch this. I couldn't watch Logan be taken away from me again.

  Bullets and the sound of flesh being blown to bits was too much, I was on the verge of both vomiting and blacking out. I screamed the entire time and once it was over, I couldn't stop sobbing.

  “Hey, O'Neil? We got a problem.” The squawk of walkie-talkie broke the stillness in the air that followed the sound of Logan's body hitting the ground. “Three black vans just pulled up. It doesn't look like any rival gang. Don't really look like regular cops neither.”

  O'Neil started barking orders, but I wasn't listening. My soul had already died, I was just waiting for my body to catch up.

  Men with guns hustled all over. Minutes or hours passed, I couldn't tell which.

  “What about the girl? Bargaining chip?” Someone asked.

  “Nah.” O'Neil said, raising his gun. “No more loose ends.”

  There was a loud, yet distant pop and all the building's makeshift lights fizzled out. We were all plunged into total darkness.

  “Somebody get those fucking lights back on!”

  I was abruptly pulled from my chair. Was this it for me? Was I finally going to join Logan in whatever afterlife awaited us? I was too numb to feel fear any more. I allowed myself to be dragged away without a fight. What was there left to fight for?

  “Do you still taste like black raspberries and cookie dough?” A sweet, impossible whisper asked. I barely had time to register, and be confused by, the question when it was followed by an even sweeter kiss. “You taste even better.”

  “Logan? You—” I choked on my own tears. Nothing made sense anymore. “How?”

  “I was wrong. My mission isn't over yet. I didn't come back for revenge,” Logan whispered gently into my ear. “I came back for you.”

  Chapter 10

  Logan

  I didn't know how long I was unconscious, bleeding out on that dirty cold floor. Visions of Natasha and me as children danced through my head. All those memories I couldn't see, but could always feel came rushing back to me in high definition.

  I suddenly remembered the first ice cream cone I ever bought her. It was during a heat wave, one week before school started again. She couldn't decide between black raspberry or chocolate chip cookie dough, so I got us one of each. We traded licks.

  That was the first time I kissed her. I could taste the two cold flavors mingling in our hot, nervous mouths.

  Hundreds of other memories played out just as vividly. I relived every conversation, every thought, feeling and dream I'd ever had with or about her. Was I dead? Was this heaven?

  I should be so lucky...

  I was asleep, then? It had been so long I had forgotten what that was like.

  Get up! Something deep and booming in my subconscious screamed at me.

  My mind was pulled back away from my happy memories. Sound, smell, taste, touch, and sight all returned, diluted at first. For a moment I experienced the world like normal men did, then my senses got richer, more akin to what I was used to feeling. Then they surpassed even that. I was becoming something else entirely. Something more than even a man enhanced.

  I was becoming something truly super.

  My brain healed around the several bullets that had pierced it. My skull opened, pushed them out, and then closed up again. How was that possible? Healing wasn't automatic and the only thing I was focusing on was being dead.

  Natasha is in trouble. Get up and help her! That voice inside me demanded.

  I became fully aware of where I was and what was going on. I couldn't fight them yet in the condition I was in. The task force arrived a few minutes earlier than I thought they would. Fortunately I had one last ace up my sleeve.

  Calling the task force to keep the Irish and the Dragons busy wasn't my only backup plan. Unfortunately that plan required the use of at least a few fingers, which was a luxury I didn't have at the moment. You fire enough bullets and you could prune a tree...

  “What about the girl? Bargaining chip?” Someone asked.

  Hurry the fuck up, fingers! That voice was solely mine.

  This new automatic healing ability was great, but focusing on one part of myself was still faster. Regrowing digits wasn't like closing a bullet hole, in the same way that making dinner from scratch wasn't like popping something into the microwave. It took time to remember how all the little bones were supposed to connect, not to mention the ligaments, muscle tissue, and nerves. It was time I didn't have.

  Also it fucking hurt like hell.

  “Nah.” O'Neil said. “No more loose ends.”

  Got it!

  Once my fingers grew back I popped open a hard pouch on my back that was miraculously still intact. Inside that pouch was a two ounce surprise for everyone in the room. The Irish were siphoning electricity from a street-side transformer outside. Before I came in, I had climbed the pole and rigged it for remote detonation.

  With the press of a button, the box outside exploded, which in turn killed the lights.

 
“Somebody get those fucking lights back on!”

  I'd grabbed my mask and was standing a few seconds later. Legs were super quick for me. Not because they were much simpler than anything else, but I had a lot more practice on account of always landing so damn poorly.

  With my night vision goggles and at least one working eye I found Nat quickly and dragged her to safety.

  I kissed her, so I could savor the taste of what I was fighting for. When my lips touched hers, all the turmoil that churned inside me was completely gone. I found clarity in focus. My body and soul were no longer divided.

  The serum was supposed to enhance only the most powerful emotion within me. The problem was that because I escaped before the Veidt Group could implant one, the serum was split between my two most powerful emotions; revenge for my family and love for Natasha.

  Originally, I might have come back to avenge what I'd lost, but with my parents killers dead and that mission complete, the second of the two emotions took over completely. Now my mission was to protect the one thing I couldn't live without, and to stop those who would take her away from me.

  I told her that she was in a side room, and she'd be alright if she kept her head down. Then I told her that I had work to do.

  I picked up one of my knives and walked out onto the killing floor.

  A new strain of the serum roared to life within me. It was boiling nickel, rolling through my veins. I regenerated at an unprecedented rate. My skin burned a hundred times brighter and hotter than before. I began to cut the Irish and the Dragons down like a farmer through a wheat field.

  All the while, bullets pushed themselves out of my body, making little ping sounds when they clacked against the broken concrete.

  “Jesus H Christ!” Someone screamed as they stumbled over one of the gurgling bodies I left in my wake. Lighters and cellphone lights began blinking on, they were blazing pyres in my night vision. “We got dead bodies here! That Shadow prick isn't dead—”