“We’ll keep practicing. If you can push back like that, then I think you can do more. Maybe separate out the bad stuff. Control the intensity. Search for what you need and get rid of everything else.”
Although it could be the lingering echo, Astrid feels hopeful that maybe he’s right. There’s more to this than she knew. She reaches for her gloves but takes one last chance and brushes her fingers over his. Pleasure rolls through her body. Warm desire. She pulls away and pretends that it didn’t almost knock her off her feet.
Owen wants her.
Or maybe she wants him, and it transferred back. Whatever it is, her body is tied in knots.
He frowns. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just, you know…practicing.”
He reaches for his bag at the same time the window shatters and a zing tears through the room. Astrid spins, looking out the front window. Owen stares at the shredded pillow behind him.
“Get down!” she shouts, reaching out with her senses. An engine idles out by the street. Two heartbeats pound in the yard. Owen stands and waves his hand, distorting the air between them and the window. It doesn’t stop the gunfire. “There’s two of them.” She cocks her head. “At least. Maybe one more outback.”
Owen grabs his bag and her hand, yanking her out the back door. A man stands in the back and they stop, but whatever shield he’s holding up protects them. Owen jerks his hand and the sound of dogs barking begins. The man jumps and holds out his gun in the direction of the growls. Astrid sees his face and stops cold.
No.
She’s yanked out of the yard—out of her paralysis. Owen pulls her into a small garage attached to the back of the building. The space reeks of oil and gasoline and she watches as he throws a tarp off a motorcycle and slings his leg over the seat. “Get on,” he says, tugging her and jump-starting the engine. The sound rips through the garage and Owen drives the bike right out the side door. Astrid wraps her arms around his waist, holding on as they fly through the back yard and down the back, muddy alley, away from the men and their guns.
“What the hell was that?” he yells into the wind.
“No fucking clue,” she replies, clinging to his waist as he breezes through a stop sign. Her heartbeat races in her chest, matching the thud coming from Owen’s. He’s scared and now she’s worried. She recognized that man in the yard. She knows how dangerous he is. She trained him.
Rowe.
Chapter Eleven
Owen
Back at the Lair, he watches as Astrid paces around the small room, circling the workbench and telling Quinn what happened at the house.
“Who were they?” Quinn asks, glancing at Owen as if he knows.
“I didn’t get a look at them,” he says. “Due to the whole running for our lives thing.”
“I recognized one,” she says. Both men look up in surprise. “Rowe, from the recruiting program.”
“You’re joking,” Quinn says. She shakes her head.
“Who’s Rowe?” Owen asks.
“One of the guys in my program. Quinn fought him. He’s tough—and a bastard.”
“Psychopath,” Quinn mutters.
“Jensen said he had a team for him to work on. I guess we know now that it’s local.”
“And hunting Supers,” he says. “What were you two doing there anyway?”
Astrid has a face of stone. She’s a good liar, probably because she lives under a protective shell. Easily she says, “We went to get a few of Owen’s things and his motorcycle.”
“And the Jeep is still there?”
“No,” she shakes her head. “I sent Mick to go get it.”
Mick is one of the trainers. It’s obvious from the tense expression on Quinn’s face he feels involving an outsider is an unnecessary risk. He’s probably right.
“So who do you think they were after?” Quinn asks, looking between them. “Is this something lingering from the Pixie Dust days, or is this about all of us?”
“I don’t know, Quinn,” Astrid snaps. She’s about to crack under the knowledge Jensen sent a team after Owen. Maybe after her. She’s got to sort this out. “I don’t know anything other than some assholes shot up Owen’s house and tried to take us both down. I’m sorry they didn’t announce their motivation.”
Owen spins in his chair. “We knew Jensen wanted me, but this could be more. It’s likely we made other enemies.”
Quinn grunts and runs his hands through his hair. “It’s more than likely. We’ve been too visible lately. The Gala, the fires.”
Astrid leans against the worktable. “It’s almost like someone wants us out in public and not hiding away in here.”
“If that’s their goal, it’s working,” Quinn agrees, sitting in the other desk chair. “I’m exhausted.”
“You probably need a cheeseburger,” Astrid says. “And fries. And to sleep past six every once in a while.”
“Not funny.”
Owen isn’t particularly attracted to men, but it’s clear whatever Quinn’s heath routine consists of, it’s working. So much that really, he probably should start asking him for training advice. Astrid’s workouts come with too many doughnuts as rewards.
She resumes her pacing, wound up like a caged animal. Owen gets it. He feels the same. The adrenaline from the events earlier make it hard to sit and do nothing.
“This is bullshit,” he says, getting both of their attentions. “We’re freaking superheroes, well, at least you two are. I mean, I have a suit and have some marginally-awesome skills. But hiding like this won’t solve anything.”
Quinn raises an eyebrow. “It may keep you alive.”
“Yeah but what’s the point if we’re trapped in here?”
“Do you have a suggestion?” Quinn asks.
“I think we need to get out of here. Go have some fun.”
Astrid stops her pacing. “Go out go out? Like go out?”
“Sure,” Owen replies. “To a bar or a club or just, you know, anywhere that’s not here.”
She looks uneasily at Quinn. “Have you ever been to a club?”
He shakes his head. “Holden kept a pretty tight leash on me.” He holds up his hands. “You know, with the whole, could possibly electrocute people thing.”
“Me either,” she says. “Did you aunt let you go out?”
“I snuck out and I’ve been on my own for a while.” He spins the chair around in a full circle. “And I was a drug dealer, so yeah, I’ve been out. What do you think?”
“You know I don’t like to be around a lot of people…”
Quinn nods. “I really can’t afford to miss my run tomorrow.”
Owen stares at them slack-jawed. “Seriously guys, you’re not fifty. You’re in your twenties and you’re both attractive, fun people.”
Astrid looks up in surprise. “You think I’m fun?”
He groans and drops his head into his hands. “What if I promise we can go to the Waffle Waffle afterwards?”
Her eyes perk up at the idea of carbs doused in butter and sugar. “Promise?”
Quinn rolls his eyes.
“Yes, I promise,” he tells her.
“Okay,” she looks between them, a little unsure. “Don’t laugh, but there is something I’ve always wanted to do.”
“Sure, name it,” Owen says, willing to do anything to get out for the night. He has a flicker of a fantasy that she’ll suggest a club and wear a short skirt and dance with him. Or maybe they’ll go to a bar and she’ll let him drink tequila out of her belly button. Thoughts like these have been running through his head since their experiment at the house.
But that’s not what Astrid suggests. With a smile she tells them her biggest wish and damn, it’s…well, it’s totally Astrid.
Chapter Twelve
Astrid
The smell is awful, sweaty and a little bit like feet. Antiseptic spray mingles with the fried food coming from the snack bar.
It’s everything she ever dreamed it would be.
“Bowling?” Quinn asks for the twentieth time. He’s compliant though, lacing up the green-and red-striped shoes. “Only you would think this is a good idea.”
A few lanes down, a ball crashes into the pins and she jumps from the explosive sound. “I admit it’s a little loud and very, very smelly, but I’m trying to push my boundaries a little.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
Owen walks up carrying a pitcher of beer and three glasses. He agreed to bowl but said he was only doing it if he could get drunk.