wall and splintering into kindling. Books fly off shelves and the TV crashes to the floor.
A mini tornado tears through the house, tossing around everything in its path. Every time Dante yells, it gets stronger, adding another gust of wind to the destruction.
Guess I know what Dante’s power is.
“Baby,” Rebel yells above the din. “Baby, come back to me. We’ll find him.”
Draven shields me against the nearest wall.
“You shouldn’t have told him,” he growls at me, as debris pelts him in the back.
Who is he to decide what Dante should hear? “It’s his brother. He has the right to know.”
I shove at his shoulders, but Draven doesn’t move. He just glares at me. His obvious blame mixes with my own guilt about abandoning Deacon, leaving me angry at myself instead of him. I stop trying to push him away. Take the protection he’s giving me.
“We can go get him,” Rebel says, still trying to get through to Dante. “Kenna knows how to get to the secret level. We can rescue him.”
In a blink, the wind is gone. Airborne objects fall to the ground and the windows stop rattling.
“Now.” Dante’s voice is rough and harsh. “We go now.”
“Damn straight now,” Draven replies, backing away now that the threat is gone. He asks me, “How do we get in?”
“ You don’t.”
“The hell we don’t. Either you tell us how or I will make you.” His voice is calm, which only underscores the menace in his gaze. And the absolute confidence that he can bend me to his will.
His irises grow colder, start to crystallize, and I know that if I don’t stop him, he’s going to use his mind power on me. And when it doesn’t work, I won’t have to worry about keeping my immunity a secret anymore.
“I mean you can’t ,” I hurry to explain. “No villain can.”
He frowns, like he wants to argue, but his eyes go back to normal.
“She’s right.” Rebel squeezes Dante’s hand. “The new security protocols the zeroes put in place will keep out anyone with a villain power signature.”
“They can’t keep me out,” Draven insists.
Everything about him—his shoulder, his jaw, his voice—is tense. He might be looking for a fight, but he and Dante would be dramatically outnumbered. They would never stand a chance, and then neither would Deacon.
“Even without the new protocols,” I interject, trying to be the voice of reason, “the place is swarming with guards and heroes. They’re on high alert, especially since I set off the fire alarm. There’s no way we’ll be able to get in, get him, and get away without being caught.”
Draven’s eyebrow shoots up in the middle of my speech. I lift mine right back up, as if saying, Yeah, I said we .
“Then what do you suggest, hero girl?” he asks. “Call and ask them to release him? Politely?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far.” In fact, my thinking hasn’t progressed much beyond don’t-get-killed. “But I know that running in, powers blazing, will only get us caught and you dead. Deacon too, probably.” It’s a low blow, but I figure even if they’re willing to endanger their own lives, they won’t want to do anything that might turn retribution against Deacon—especially after everything he’s suffered.
They might have broken in last night with a stolen security pass and a guy who can wipe minds, but under the new protocols they wouldn’t get through the front door if they had Mr. Malone’s own badge.
“We go to my dad,” Dante says.
“No way,” Draven counters. “Telling Uncle Anton is a bad idea.”
“Uncle Anton?” I echo. “As in Anton the Annihilator? As in—”
“Yes,” Rebel interrupts, ending the questions.
Dante’s father—Draven’s uncle—is Anton Cole, the leader of the Core, the supervillain equivalent of the League? The guy is a legend, in the worst possible way. Rebel’s own father—who usually only gets involved in the most heinous of cases—is the one who set the price on his
A mini tornado tears through the house, tossing around everything in its path. Every time Dante yells, it gets stronger, adding another gust of wind to the destruction.
Guess I know what Dante’s power is.
“Baby,” Rebel yells above the din. “Baby, come back to me. We’ll find him.”
Draven shields me against the nearest wall.
“You shouldn’t have told him,” he growls at me, as debris pelts him in the back.
Who is he to decide what Dante should hear? “It’s his brother. He has the right to know.”
I shove at his shoulders, but Draven doesn’t move. He just glares at me. His obvious blame mixes with my own guilt about abandoning Deacon, leaving me angry at myself instead of him. I stop trying to push him away. Take the protection he’s giving me.
“We can go get him,” Rebel says, still trying to get through to Dante. “Kenna knows how to get to the secret level. We can rescue him.”
In a blink, the wind is gone. Airborne objects fall to the ground and the windows stop rattling.
“Now.” Dante’s voice is rough and harsh. “We go now.”
“Damn straight now,” Draven replies, backing away now that the threat is gone. He asks me, “How do we get in?”
“ You don’t.”
“The hell we don’t. Either you tell us how or I will make you.” His voice is calm, which only underscores the menace in his gaze. And the absolute confidence that he can bend me to his will.
His irises grow colder, start to crystallize, and I know that if I don’t stop him, he’s going to use his mind power on me. And when it doesn’t work, I won’t have to worry about keeping my immunity a secret anymore.
“I mean you can’t ,” I hurry to explain. “No villain can.”
He frowns, like he wants to argue, but his eyes go back to normal.
“She’s right.” Rebel squeezes Dante’s hand. “The new security protocols the zeroes put in place will keep out anyone with a villain power signature.”
“They can’t keep me out,” Draven insists.
Everything about him—his shoulder, his jaw, his voice—is tense. He might be looking for a fight, but he and Dante would be dramatically outnumbered. They would never stand a chance, and then neither would Deacon.
“Even without the new protocols,” I interject, trying to be the voice of reason, “the place is swarming with guards and heroes. They’re on high alert, especially since I set off the fire alarm. There’s no way we’ll be able to get in, get him, and get away without being caught.”
Draven’s eyebrow shoots up in the middle of my speech. I lift mine right back up, as if saying, Yeah, I said we .
“Then what do you suggest, hero girl?” he asks. “Call and ask them to release him? Politely?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far.” In fact, my thinking hasn’t progressed much beyond don’t-get-killed. “But I know that running in, powers blazing, will only get us caught and you dead. Deacon too, probably.” It’s a low blow, but I figure even if they’re willing to endanger their own lives, they won’t want to do anything that might turn retribution against Deacon—especially after everything he’s suffered.
They might have broken in last night with a stolen security pass and a guy who can wipe minds, but under the new protocols they wouldn’t get through the front door if they had Mr. Malone’s own badge.
“We go to my dad,” Dante says.
“No way,” Draven counters. “Telling Uncle Anton is a bad idea.”
“Uncle Anton?” I echo. “As in Anton the Annihilator? As in—”
“Yes,” Rebel interrupts, ending the questions.
Dante’s father—Draven’s uncle—is Anton Cole, the leader of the Core, the supervillain equivalent of the League? The guy is a legend, in the worst possible way. Rebel’s own father—who usually only gets involved in the most heinous of cases—is the one who set the price on his
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