No wonder her skin is itching.
“I’m heading upstairs to take a shower,” she declares, needing air from the churning emotions of the room. She may not be able to read their echo, one of the side effects of being in Project 12 together, but she still has a heightened sense that she can’t shut off. And right now, things are boiling in this room like a pot about to overflow.
“Need any help?” Owen offers. His smile is a lopsided quirk. Quinn slams a door in the other room. He shrugs. “Just kidding.”
“You’re not helping,” she says, but in a way, it does help. He doesn’t tiptoe around the tension. She likes that about him. Whereas Quinn…he seems to get more tense daily. Although she’s definitely found a few ways to work that out.
She’s not the most experienced, but she’s spent her life around men, including a few dozen flirtatious guys in the gym. None ignite her curiosity like Quinn, and now Owen. There’s something about them that gives her a spark.
“Well, the offer stands,” he says, booting up the computer. “You holler if you need another hand.”
She shakes her head and leaves the Lair, wondering how long it’s going to be before she takes him up on his offer.
Chapter Two
Owen
It’s been a month since he moved in with Astrid and Quinn, which he did because the police were looking for him in conjunction to the Pixie Dust business. According to Astrid’s contact, Jensen, taking out James gives the police and FBI the false comfort the drug trade is over—they didn’t believe a word he said about WIND-E in the chemistry lab that day, that he was nothing but a pawn in a greater scheme. One where one of the kids from Project 12 grew up to be an evil super villain.
Now that he’s here, and part of this little vigilante team, he’s trying to figure out his place. He has his own powers enhanced by the project doctors: the ability to manipulate time and space. He’s strong—not a beast like Quinn—but whatever they did to the kids brought out high levels of strength, dexterity, pain resistance, and more.
He’s been working with Astrid in the gym—she trains him personally—in her spare time between training the recruits for the Elite FBI program and fighting crime in Crescent City. Currently that involves tracking down a serial arsonist.
Owen glances over to the changing closet. Quinn is still in there, cleaning up from the fire. He was in rough shape but he, too, heals quickly. He’s found a spot working with Astrid in the gym, filling a role as a trainer—sometimes a manager—and then back here leading their missions. With Casper gone, he also now handles a good deal of the tech work.
That leaves Owen figuring out what to do with his time, although he has found one thing to focus on.
Demetria.
The Gala wasn’t his first run-in with the woman and her twisted mind. He hadn’t told Astrid or Quinn about it yet. He wasn’t sure how to, especially after they told him about their past together. It made everything even more confusing.
It means Demetria knew who he was all along, but never told him.
“You held your own tonight,” Quinn says, coming into the room. Owen closes out the screen filled with research on Demetria. He spins in his seat, taking in the other man. He’s clean, free of soot, and smells like soap. If he’s annoyed by Owen’s flirting with Astrid earlier, he doesn’t look it.
“Thanks. I won’t lie, it was pretty scary.”
“Scary as shit,” the man agrees. “It’s one thing to face a robber or carjacker. It’s another having to help victims. I felt out of my comfort zone for sure. Anything on the trending?”
Owen pulls up the early news reports.
Third Fire Engulfs the Harbor Line, Arson Suspected
The search engine spits out a list of similar headlines that agree that there seems to be a trend. The police and fire have no leads, and despite all their personal efforts to track down who’s behind the fires, they’ve also got no leads.
“I’d feel better out there with Casper back in the driver’s seat,” Quinn says, buckling his belt. He brushes his damp hair out his eyes and leans against the worktable.
Owen spins on his chair, propping his feet up again. “Seems like he’s intent on hiding out. Is that such a big deal?”
“I don’t have a problem with him being off the grid, but we’re being hunted by someone and he’s one of us. We need to take care of each other.” He holds up the melted gloves. “We also really need someone to help with repairs.”
“Yeah, I hear that.” The gloves are a mess. They each have one spare but after that…
“I don’t know if you noticed, but Astrid was pretty shaken tonight. Reading that woman’s echo—it got to her.”
“I noticed.” Owen just isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do to make her feel better. Cracking jokes and flirting are pretty much the only assets in his wheelhouse. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“I’m going to go check on her,” Quinn says, heading to the door. Their eyes meet and there’s an unspoken agreement, male and testosterone-fueled. He needs some time alone with Astrid.
“Yeah, okay, I’ll be down here keeping up with the news if you need me.” He fights a snort. Quinn definitely won’t need Owen’s help any more than Astrid did. He’s not exactly sure about the parameters of their relationship, and neither has shut down his flirtatious comments. He suspects, like everything else with their situation, they’re relying on one another and figuring it out.
Owen hears his footsteps on the stairs and opens up the research page he’d been looking at earlier. If they’re going to fight Demetria, it’s going to take all the information they can get.
Chapter Three
Quinn
Before
“Good night, boys,” Rosalie said from the hall. Quinn rolled over and adjusted his blanket before reaching for the alarm. The light backing the numbers flickers and he felt the buzz in his fingertips.
“Does it hurt?” his roommate asked. His name was Rex. He’d just turned fourteen and was new at the home. Quinn hadn’t figured out why he was here other than he was an orphan like the rest of them.
“Does what hurt?”
“The doctor. I’m going tomorrow.”
“Oh,” he replied, thinking about it. “They just do some tests.”
“What kind of tests?”
Quinn laid on his back and looked at the ceiling. There was an unspoken rule at the house not to talk about abilities. They all had them. Some more developed or better controlled than others. Quinn’s were erratic. Embarrassing. Sometimes dangerous. The other kids, the ones that had been around the house for a while, started keeping their distance.
“Is there something you do that’s different from everyone else? Something kind of weird?”
Rex had dark brown skin and hair cut close to his head. A thin scar slashed through his eyebrow. Quinn heard him shift in the bed opposite of his, the springs creaking. He looked over and found the boy staring at him. “Did you hear about that train crash a few weeks ago?”
Quinn shakes his head.
“The conductor was going too fast, like way too fast. The train jumped the rails and flew off a bridge. Six cars fell on the highway.”
“You were in the train?”
“I was on the highway, with my parents. The train landed on our car. Smashed it into a pancake.”
Quinn couldn’t help his interest. “And you survived?”
“They thought I was dead. At least, that’s what they told me. I don’t remember any of it. Woke up in the hospital. They sent me here.”
“So what is your thing? What makes you different?”
“I’m not sure,” he said, eyes nearly glowing in the faint light of the room. “But I think I can’t be hurt.”
Quinn sat up and faced the boy. What he was about to do could get them in trouble, but he wanted to know. “Want to try something?”
The current ran through his fingertips; it never really stopped. He felt the charge—the electricity always seeking--and he stepped toward Rex.