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 head. Fifteen million dollars. No villain anywhere has ever commanded such a steep bounty.
Rebel couldn’t have picked a more dangerous family to hook up with, which is why I return her look with one that says oh-boy-do-we-need-to-talk-about-this-later.
“Dad will get him out,” Dante says. “No matter the cost.”
“Exactly,” Draven argues. “No matter the cost. We bring Uncle Anton back from the negotiations early and this will turn into all-out war.”
Dante snarls. “Sounds good to me.”
“Not to me,” Draven counters. “You know what happens in a war? People do stupid things that get other people killed.”
“As long as heroes are getting killed,” Dante replies, “then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that heroes wouldn’t be the only ones to die. And what if Deacon is one of the first casualties?” Draven sits next to Dante on the couch. “If we’re not careful, he could get…hurt in the crossfire.”
I bite my lip when he hesitates over the word “hurt.” I know he almost said “killed,” but that’s the last thing any of us want Dante thinking about. Getting Deacon out safely has to be the number one priority, not worrying about Dante going off the rails and doing something that might get everybody killed.
“It has to be the two of us.” I look at Rebel. “We can get him out.”
“You’re right,” she replies.
“No way,” Draven argues, at the same time as Dante says, “Absolutely not.”
Rebel’s jaw clenches in a stubborn gesture I am far too familiar with. Even with all this going on, it’s nice not to be on the receiving end of it for once.
“There’s no other choice,” she says. “You guys can’t get in. We can.”
“How will you get him past the guards?” Draven asks. “How will you even carry him? If he’s in as bad shape as Kenna says, he won’t be able to walk.”
“Carrying him out is no problem.” To prove her point, Rebel channels her power to move the living room couch back to its pre-tornado position. “Telekinesis comes in really handy sometimes.”