A notorious villain nightclub, the Lair has a reputation for epic brawls and SHPD raids. The club’s surrounded by enough protections—including an invisibility shield—that an ordinary like me couldn’t even see it unless they already knew where to look. It’s bad news.
The idea that Rebel not only went there, but went looking to hook up with a villain… If I’d known, I’d have had a heart attack.
“You went alone?” I whisper.
She shrugs like it’s no big deal. “He assumed I was a villain, and I let him believe it for a few weeks. I didn’t tell him the truth until I was sure of him.”
I stare at my best friend. She is full of secrets. I’m not sure whether I should be impressed or terrified. I can’t even keep the tiniest secrets from her.
“So, no,” she says, getting back to my original question, “Dante isn’t using me. If anything, I was using him.”
Without waiting for me to respond, she strides down the path.
I’m not sure if this revelation makes me trust Dante any more or Rebel any less. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Either way, I’m ashamed to find out that my best friend felt so alone she had to seek out a villain to make her feel whole, and I was clueless. Dante seems like a decent guy, but what if she’d found someone else? Someone dangerous.
Despite all the secrets and deception, she’s still my best friend. Whether I believe Dante’s innocent or not, for now we’re all on the same team. And that means Rebel and I have one more thing to talk about.
I catch up with her, and when we’re shielded from view behind a stand of trees, I grab Rebel by the elbow and pull her to a stop. “Listen,” I say, “the guys can’t go in with us.”
Rebel rolls her eyes. “Try telling them that.”
“Seriously Reb. You heard Jeremy. That villain signature sensor is serious business. If they get within fifty yards of the lab, it’ll set off every alarm on campus. We’ll all be toast. Including Deacon and maybe my mom.”
“Then what do you suggest we do?” she asks. “They’re not exactly in a reasonable mood. Am I supposed to levitate them onto a roof or something?”
I shake my head. “They’d find a way down.”
“You’re right.” She lets out a little laugh. “Dante loves to use his wind to fly.”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. Boys.
“We’d almost have to lock them in somewhere,” I say, thinking out loud. “Somewhere they couldn’t get out of. Somewhere safe.”
I run through all the possibilities I can think of. My house, clearly out. So is anyone else’s. I would love to see traditional stud-and-siding construction hold Draven and Dante for more than an instant.
“The vault in the lab would be perfect,” I muse. “Except for the fact that it’s in the lab and Nitro blew its hinges to bits last night.”
“Right,” she says with a snort. Then, “Wait. That’s it!”
“That’s what? Those are two big reasons why we can’t use the vault.”
“Not the vault,” she says, a smug smile spreading across her face. “Nitro.”
As if that makes more sense?
“Follow my lead.”
I hardly have a choice when she grabs me by the wrist and drags me back to the picnic table.
? ? ?
“Are you sure this is going to work?” I whisper as Jeremy pulls his van into the crowded parking lot.
She nods. Then pokes Jeremy in the ribs.
“Yeah,” he says too loudly, “six gallons ought to do it.”
“Tell me again why we need cranberry juice?” Draven asks.
Jeremy swallows. “The, um, acid will corrode the, um, sensors in the villain signature readers.”
Rebel gives him a death glare. He doesn’t need me to translate that it means, Way to sell it, moron.
“Whatever, man.” Dante shakes his head before climbing out of the van. “Let’s get this and get going.”
Draven jumps out after him.
I exchange a nervous look with Rebel, and then we follow the boys into the Lair.
Inside, it’s everything I’d always imagined a villain nightclub would look like in the wee hours of a Saturday morning. Dark, crowded, and full of pounding music and flashing lights. And leather. Lots and lots of black leather.
It’s like hero nightclubs, to be honest (sans the leather), but it feels more dangerous.
We weave our way through the crowd to the bar, where Draven and Dante exchange nods with a huge bouncer-looking dude pouring vodka shots. A massive tattoo of a desert-like landscape broken with jagged cracks and steaming fissures covers his shoulder and upper arm. Everyone in the super world knows that tattoo and the badder-than-badass villain it belongs to. Nitro’s brother, Quake.
I shiver and grab Rebel’s hand.