Super Bad (a Superlovin' novella) (4 page)

“The feed was on a
loop. She’s out.”

Mirage didn’t remember
her escape. One minute she was in her cell, her mind twisting in a melancholy spiral,
wondering if it would be best to just take whatever magic pill Eisenmann could
find to disengage her powers, and the next she was blinking back to awareness
inside what was, unmistakably, a bank vault.

“Shit.”

She quickly scanned the
vault, checking for open safe-deposit boxes, signs she might have already
lifted something, but apparently whatever her subconscious had wanted her to
steal hadn’t yet made the transition to her possession. So the limit of today’s
sleepwalking was breaking and entering, rather than felony larceny. She’d take
her victories where she could.

Mirage raked a hand
through her hair. It had come loose from her usual ponytail and felt greasy and
thick—like it hadn’t been washed in days. Crap. How long had she been loose and
unaware? Right now, she felt surprisingly lucid, but she knew better than to
expect that to last. For all she knew, she’d had other moments of lucidity
since she left Trident that she couldn’t remember. Just the fact that she
remembered Trident at all was a victory.

She should leave the
vault. She should call Lucien. He would come for her. Along with the men in the
white coats who would take her back to Trident’s Crazy Nutters wing where she
belonged. Or to Area Nine, where perhaps she
truly
belonged.

She knew what she
should do, but instead Mirage sank down to sit on the floor of the vault, her
legs too gummy to hold her. Tucking her knees to her chest, she wrapped her
arms tight around them. This was neither the time nor the place for a nervous
breakdown, but Mirage pressed her forehead to her knees and began to rock back
and forth.

Was it day or night? Was
there a security guard on duty? Had she already twisted his mind to get him to
ignore her or were the authorities on the way? She didn’t hear a siren, but
that didn’t mean much. Who would they send for her? Lucien and Darla? Or a SWAT
team with superstrength Tasers? If it wasn’t Lucien, should she let them
capture her or blind their senses and keep running?

The vault door clanged
and Mirage jerked, crab-crawling to the far corner of the vault and squeezing
herself tight against the rows of safe-deposit boxes. The heavy metal door
swung pendulously inward. She instinctively reached into the mind on the other
side, disguising herself, even though she still wondered if perhaps she
shouldn’t just let herself be caught.

Then the door stopped,
cracked partway open. Mirage held her breath, waiting to see what would come
through. Gas canisters to knock her out? Luc? Would he use his superspeed to
rush her?

But the figure that
came through the opening and shoved the vault door closed behind him was slow,
giving her plenty of time to adjust to the sight of him.

And what a sight
.

He was tall,
broad-shouldered and well-muscled. Blond hair, blue eyes and a firm, square
chin gave him a sense of All-American sex appeal. Her first thought was
poster-boy
,
though for what she wasn’t sure. Virtue? Heroism? Truth, justice, and the
American way?

Justice
…

He was in street clothes—dark,
crisp jeans and a soft, grey sweater over a starched, white-collared shirt—but
she recognized him even without his supersuit. Captain Justice. The
sanctimonious super whose primary claim to fame was the fact that he was
banging Kim Carruthers from
The Sentinel
.

She only knew what
she’d read in the papers, but he didn’t seem like the sort who would be
forgiving of a confused former-villainess who just happened to find herself in
the middle of an accidental heist. Definitely best to stay hidden and sneak
past him. Back to Lucien.

But that didn’t mean
she couldn’t enjoy the view. The man was certifiably drool-worthy. She could
have stared at him all day.

Until she realized he
was staring back.

“Hello, Mirabelle.”

Panic flashed, hard and
cold, through her bloodstream. She reached for his mind again, frantically
throwing a veil over his senses to mask herself, but he didn’t even blink. What
was happening? Had Lucien neutered her after all? Without even talking to her? Or
had he talked to her and she just didn’t remember? Had she given permission? God,
had she asked for this? Was it permanent? Her breath started coming fast,
hyperventilation imminent, as Captain Justice came toward her, slow and casual.

“Easy now,” he said,
his deep voice surprisingly soothing. “My senses won’t lie to me, so your power
doesn’t work on me. Understand?”

She shook her head, a
denial of the idea that her powers didn’t work more than an indication that she
didn’t understand him. Her powers worked on
everyone
. Always. She could do
this.

But even as she
focused, concentrating harder than she’d had to since she was thirteen, nothing
happened. He just sat down next to her, not touching, but close enough to be
strangely companionable. Just two supers hanging out in a bank vault. No biggie.

Wrong. Everything was
wrong.

She shot him a look out
of the corner of her eye—as if she could be invisible to him if she avoided
looking at him head on—only to find him watching her, eyes intent, from a
distance of inches. He
saw
her. Even when she was invisible to the rest
of the world.

Oh God, the entire time
she’d been ogling him when he first walked in the room, he’d been able to see
her. A flush burned her cheeks. Captain Justice had the grace to pretend not to
notice, though as pale as she was, everything showed in Technicolor.

“You wanna tell me what
you’re doing in a bank vault at three in the morning?”

“I appear to be having
a nervous breakdown in the middle of a heist. What are you doing here?”

His lips twitched, but
he didn’t smile. “Your brother sent me to get you.”

Lucien. Something tight
in Mirage’s chest unraveled. She recalled with crystalline clarity the look of
disappointment that flashed across his features whenever he looked at her now. “How
long have I been missing?”

“You don’t know?”

“Right now the sum
total of my memory for the last few days is coming to in this vault about
fifteen minutes ago.”

Justice frowned. “You
aren’t lying.” He sounded confused.

“Not much point in it.”

“Three days.”

“What?”

“You disappeared three
days ago.”

Her heart stuttered. God.
She could have done anything in three days. Flown halfway around the world or
slept in a gutter. Where had she been? How many minds had she bent? Dear God,
what had she done?

“Mirabelle? Stay with
me here.”

She turned her head, looking
at Justice full on. His blue eyes grounded her. “I’m okay.”

He almost smiled again,
this time with a rueful twist. “Liar.”

She gave a low huff, a
dry, mournful shadow of amusement. “Fine. I’m not okay. I’m going crazy in fits
and starts and it’s slightly disconcerting.”

Then he did smile and
something warm and wanting twisted in her chest. He wasn’t the type of guy
she’d ever be attracted to. Too wholesome by half. She liked her men with an
edge. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to enjoy the scenery. It wasn’t
every day a girl got up close and personal with Grade A Premium Beefcake. Even
if he was dating Kim Carruthers.

Not that she cared who
he was dating. Mirage had gotten more than her fill of dating when her last
boyfriend had mind-fucked her into stealing a catastrophic weapon and then
tried to use it to kill her brother. After that, she’d just as soon stay single
for a good long while, thank you very much. Like for the rest of her life.

But if anyone could
tempt a sinner back to the dark side, Blondie here could.

She closed her eyes for
a moment, needing a break from his penetrating gaze. “What now?”

“Do you want to go back
to Trident?”

She opened her eyes,
surprised. “Does what I want matter?”

“My question first.”

She shrugged. “I guess.
Though I don’t know how much good it will do.”

“So you want to get
better.”

It wasn’t a question,
but she answered anyway. “I’d like the world to stop sliding sideways every
time I blink, yeah.”

“And if I could help
you with that?”

Mirage blinked,
unstable fragments of her world shifting briefly into logical order. “You’re
Darla’s friend. The one she wanted to fix me.”

He frowned. “They told
you about that?”

“You’d be surprised how
easy it is to eavesdrop when you can make sure no one sees you.”

His frown darkened. “I
doubt I’d be surprised.”

She grimaced. “Careful,
Justice. Your disdain is showing.”

“I’m not—” He broke
off, regrouping. “You know who I am?”

“Sure. You’re the one
dating Kim Carruthers.”

If she hadn’t been
sitting inches from him, she might have missed his subtle flinch.
Trouble in
paradise?
No. Not for Mr. Perfect and his headliner honey.

“My relationship status
aside, I may be able to help you sort fact from fiction. If you’re serious
about wanting to leave your criminal past behind.”

“Do I have to take a
vow of virtuousness or something for you to consider me worthy of your help?”

“Would that be a
problem?”

Mirage tried to sift
through her thoughts, never a hundred percent sure anymore that everything
inside her head belonged there. Memories, opinions, nothing was sacred. She was
forced to rely on instinct beyond logic, and on a gut level, a piece of her
soul down deep at her core rebelled at the thought of turning hero. “Yes,” she
said finally. “It would.”

Captain Justice
recoiled a few inches, as if physically repelled by anyone who didn’t long to
be wholesome and pure. “You mean that.”

“Is it so shocking that
I might not want to be a hero?”

His expression locked
down, darkening with disapproval and something else she couldn’t quite name—regret?
“So you’re an unashamed villain.”

“No,” she snapped, and
the unfiltered irritation that flashed through her felt brilliant. It felt like
her.
Her thoughts. Her opinions. No one else’s. If only she could be
positive that feeling wasn’t a lie. “Just because I don’t want to be a fucking
hero doesn’t make me a villain.”
Sanctimonious prick
. “There is a middle
ground. Ninety-nine point nine percent of the population lives in that middle
ground.”
Asshole
.

“Sure they do. Just not
the super percentage of the population.”

“So because I have some
little quirk of my brain that
I didn’t ask for
, mind you, I have to
choose between being the uber-bitch from hell or a squeaky-clean Marine like
you?”

“Yes,” he snapped,
muscles bunching and jumping even though he didn’t get up from the floor. He looked
like he could’ve snapped her like a twig even without superstrength. “Your
powers give you a responsibility to your community—”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Was I unclear? Bull. Shit.
Who died and made you policeman of the world?”

“My
parents
. They
gave their lives for the public good, protecting the world from villains. They
saved
millions
when they brought down the Consortium.” He flung the
words at her like weapons and they landed hard, but Mirage refused to flinch.

“That’s a tragedy and
I’m sorry,” she said, too worked up to be able to put much sincerity into the
words, but Justice looked too angry to care about her sympathy right now
anyway. “But
my
mom was just an average, everyday lady who died when a
hero chose to save someone else.”

“And your father is one
of the most notorious supervillains in the world,” he barked. “Are you proud to
follow in Daddy’s footsteps?”

“You don’t know shit
about my family. My father is a
scientist
. He’s never hurt anyone. We
only steal the supplies he needs for his research from major corporations who
can afford it—”

“Demon Wroth? What
world are you living in?”

“The
real
one. Not
the one defined by rigid moralistic assholes who named themselves Protectors of
the Universe just because they happened to be born with superstrength.”

“Are you such an
authority on what’s real?”

This time she did
flinch, cowering away from the words. Who’d have thought a hero knew how to
fight so dirty? She didn’t know reality. She didn’t even know her own mind. Were
these even her words? Her opinions? How could she be sure? The tower of anger
she’d built crumpled in a cascade of rotted stone.

“I’m sorry. That was
uncalled for.” Justice’s voice was soft, his remorse apparently sincere, but
she couldn’t meet his eyes. Mirage studied the fingers clasped in her lap as he
went on. “I want to help you. Do you even know what you came here for?”