“You do that,” Rooney said with a nod. “The work’s not going anywhere.”

  Dave put on a half-hearted smile and kept walking, until Rooney disappeared in the elevator. He turned on his heel then and retraced his steps to the waiting room.

  Skull and Luke were inside, and they fell silent when Dave walked in. “Hi,” he said, trying to keep his face nonchalant. “Is Peter busy?”

  Skull gave him a long look before cracking open the office door. “Dave here to see you.”

  “Sure,” Peter said.

  Dave squeezed in past Skull, finding Peter tidying up his desk. He wasn’t in his usual shirt and pants but in a black turtleneck and gear bottoms instead.

  “Hi,” Dave said, noting the wide-open door to Peter’s room.

  “Hi there,” Peter replied with a smile. “You done for the day? Anything new?”

  “No, nothing new. I’m about to turn in, so I thought I’d swing by, in case you got anything on Victoria.”

  Peter shook his head, lips pursed. “No, not yet. But we’re working on it. You’re with Rooney all day, aren’t you?”

  Dave nodded, taking a few steps closer, until he stood just across from Peter’s living room.

  “How are you doing, Dave?” Peter asked, pausing his cleaning. “I know I haven’t been around much, with everything that’s been going on. Haven’t even had a chance to ask how it went with Albert. But you seem to be doing all right, huh?”

  “Yeah. He’s… something else. And he did help. Being busy helps, too.” Dave pushed the topic from his head, remembering to forget all about the days before their long weekend, about Elena and his trashed penthouse and the Commandos’ lab. “Have you checked up on Pain today?” he asked, pretending to rub his neck as he cast his eyes at the couch in Peter’s room.

  “Not yet. Was going to in a minute. Why, is there any change?”

  Dave shrugged. “Dunno, just asking.” He backed away from the table. “Okay, I really should get some sleep. Good night.”

  “Good night,” Peter said with another one of his good-natured smiles.

  Only this time, instead of comfort, his smile brought anger.

  Because there in the living room, strewn carelessly on the couch, were Peter’s body armor and twin swords.

  * * *

  Peter was in the infirmary with Pain when he got a call from the basement, informing him that Victoria had come around.

  His first impulse was to run to the cells, but he thought better of it. The longer Victoria waited, unsure of what they would do to her, the more worked up she’d be, the bigger the chances that she’d slip—and spill something useful.

  So instead of going down, he went up to his room, took a shower, made some coffee, and read Rooney’s latest report. There was a possible lead, the company that owned the warehouse where Pain got shot, but Rooney needed more information so he could cross-reference it with everything they had.

  An hour after the call, Peter pulled up the surveillance feed from the cells on his laptop—Victoria was pacing her cell. Good, he thought, closing the laptop and standing. At least she was nervous.

  He paused as he walked by a mirror, wondering if his plain white shirt and jeans were a bad choice for the situation, but then again, full gear and weapons probably wouldn’t scare her. For now, he just wanted to talk and see if anything came out of it.

  That didn’t stop him from taking Skull along, just to impress her.

  They got down to the ground floor, where they headed to the far wall, on the opposite side from the backup infirmary. Skull took out his keycard and slipped it into a crack in the wall. There was no sound as the hidden camera switched on for the guard to see their faces and let them in. The wall slid aside and closed behind them as they descended a narrow set of stairs.

  Patrick was on guard duty, his face pale in the bright light. He looked up from the stack of papers before him, dark circles under his eyes.

  “College stuff?” Peter asked, crossing the small room.

  “Yeah.” Patrick made a face, then pointed at the computer screen. “She looks nervous.”

  “Still pacing?”

  “Yep.”

  Peter nodded, entering a code into the electronic lock. The three-inch-thick steel door slid aside, revealing a long corridor and six cells on each side. The lights overhead brightened as he stepped in.

  Six Commandos and a Beast followed him and Skull with their eyes as they walked down the corridor to the cell in the corner. Peter had put Victoria in one of the two nicer cells, which included luxuries like a padded bunk, a small sink, and a white plastic screen in front of the toilet. Two cameras perched under the ceiling, their way of keeping an eye on the prisoners without risking their guards, should anything go wrong.

  Victoria halted mid-step when she saw Peter. Her eyes grew two times bigger when Skull strolled into view. He stopped behind Peter’s shoulder, arms crossed, and Victoria had to crane her head back to stare at him, even with the distance between them.

  Skull studied her with his heavy, unblinking gaze, and Peter had to hold back a smile, knowing what that gaze did to people.

  “Surprised?” Peter said, putting on a polite smile. “He was in your apartment, too. You just didn’t see him.”

  She snorted, fixing her angry stare on Peter. “Impossible. Don’t take me for a fool, Ghost.”

  So much for rattling her cage. “My name’s Peter,” he said, stepping closer to the iron bars. “And if you want to keep this nice cell, you’d better play nice. After all, you’ll be spending the rest of your life here.”

  Her face gave away her rising anger, but she stuck her chin out all the same. “You think I care where you put me? I’m already as good as dead.”

  “Not if you give us what we need.”

  “What you need,” she hissed, “is to be exterminated, like the vermin you are.” She bit her lip, as if she hadn’t meant to say anything, and backed away from the bars.

  “This is worse than I thought,” Peter muttered, both to Skull and himself. He switched topics, adopting a hard tone, “What did you do to our men?”

  “They’re dead,” she spat.

  Peter didn’t believe it for a second.

  “What are you trying to do? What’s with the experiments?”

  Silence.

  “Who’s sponsoring your psycho mission?”

  More silence.

  “Who taught you that we’re the bad guys, Victoria? Why do you hate us? Is it because of your husband?”

  Her eyes flashed—and looked away. “You know nothing about me.”

  “No, and I’m trying to understand. What made someone like you, a distinguished military officer, go off the grid and join some inter-species war and slaughter innocent girls as if they were lab rats.” Peter breathed out, looking at her sneering face, pushing down his anger.

  “I won’t tell you anything. You’re wasting your time. I’ve got nothing to lose here.”

  His patience snapped. He might as well say what he was thinking. “You look at us like we’re monsters. But we don’t kill people here, and don’t bleed them dry—you do.”

  He walked away, not expecting a reply, and kept walking until he realized he was in the waiting room. Luke stared at him, eyebrows high.

  Peter stalked off through the office door. A second later, Skull followed him inside.

  “You were right,” the giant said. “About bleeding them, you were right. Did you see it?”

  Peter nodded, rubbing a hand over his face. Victoria had flinched when he said that.

  Without a word, he went into his living room and grabbed a bottle of scotch and three glasses. Skull raised a scarred brow at the sight.

  “Really? She got under your skin like that?” he asked, while Peter put the glasses on the conference table and poured the liquor. Luke stuck his head inside, his eyes locking on the bottle.

  “She has a way,” Peter said through his teeth, unsure how to continue. How to say it while keeping his emotions bottled up. “Reminds me of someone.”

  “Pain?”

  The reply was so quick, so sudden, it gave Peter pause. He looked up at Skull, finding a rueful smile on his face.

  “It’s the eyes,” Skull said. “And the attitude.”

  Peter put the bottle down and braced both hands on the table, expelling a shaky breath. He’d forbidden himself to even think about it, to say in his head that he might still lose Pain, thanks to the Commandos. Because then no number of steel doors would keep Victoria safe.

  But he could only keep things buried for so long, and Skull was right, there really was something similar in the way Victoria and Pain behaved, something so basic it pulled at all the wrong strings in him.

  He took a deep breath to keep himself from grabbing the bottle and smashing it against a wall.

  “She won’t tell us anything,” he said, straightening up.

  Luke and Skull reached for their glasses and downed them in a second. Peter stared at his, suddenly sick to the core.

  “Maybe we won’t need it,” Luke said, lifting a shoulder. “You got her phone, right? Rooney should be able to track it to their lab.”

  “Who knows where it is? Unless it’s someplace isolated, we won’t know where to look.” Peter threw back his scotch, after all, and folded into his chair. “No, we need to speed this up. At least try something while we wait.”

  “Want me to go rattle her some more?” Skull offered.

  Peter closed his eyes, the gears in his head turning fast despite the late hour. “No, that’s not enough. She’s not scared of us.”

  “Then who? There’s the Devil’s Whore in the cell next to her, but he doesn’t give a shit about her.”

  Peter sat up straight, remembering the eighth prisoner who’d slept through the conversation, his face to the wall. He still had trouble imagining how Pain had gotten him there. The Beast really wouldn’t care about Victoria, but she would hate someone like him. A cold-blooded killer, someone to get under her skin.

  Someone not like Peter at all.

  He fished in his pocket for his cell phone, pointing a finger at Luke.

  “Get another glass. We need Phoenix.”

  Chapter 31

  Phoenix showed up fifteen minutes later, nearly bowling Luke over as he stalked through the office door.

  Everyone fell silent as they took in his blood-splattered form, his heavy coat hanging askew as he dragged some poor bastard into the office, blood smearing on the floor, teeth clacking on the threshold, and feet tied with a rope that Phoenix’s scarred fingers gripped like a vise.

  Luke stared at the six feet and two inches of scars and fury before him, eyebrow arched. “Don’t you look lovely today?”

  Phoenix narrowed his only eye. “I woke up like this.” And he went straight for the bottle.

  “Who’s that?” Peter asked, pointing at the tied-up man.

  Phoenix shrugged. “A friend.” He put the empty glass back on the table. “I wasn’t done with him when you called. Thought I could use the basement.” He ran a hand through his short red hair, shaking off dried blood like a flea-ridden dog. “You wanted something?”

  “Yes. I thought you might help us make Victoria talk. We don’t have much time, and we gotta press her, but we have to do it right.”

  Phoenix nodded, and Peter filled him in on the plan. By the time Peter was done talking, a troubled grimace had set on the man’s face.

  “I’m not sure I’m any good at this, the whole get-under-her-skin thing, but I’ll try,” he said. “I’m sick of these humans scaring away my game. You dug up anything on her?”

  “There was a contract with Houston HQ, something to do with her husband and a group of terrorists in Kuwait. Both he and Victoria served in the Army. Houston refused to reveal any details, but I suspect it was bad. Because Victoria’s husband ended up wheelchair-bound and with severe PTSD. The trail stops at the clinic. She checked him out, and they went off the grid. Maybe she was looking for other ways to help him and found whoever is sponsoring the Commandos, or they found her. We need to find a way to get through to her. Maybe we can give her what she needs in exchange for information.”

  Phoenix blew out a breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “Shit, that’s tough. I guess I can work with that.” The man at his feet stirred, and Phoenix blinked, as if surprised he was still there. “Ugh, I suppose there’s no time for this then.”

  He crouched, slapping the man’s cheek to bring him around. “Change of plan, motherfucker. This is your lucky day. Don’t thank me.” He grabbed the man’s head and snapped his neck, the ugly sound bouncing off the bare walls.

  Peter blinked, speechless. Phoenix had always had his ways, but knowing about it and watching the man at work were two different things.

  He dropped the dead Beast and straightened up, rubbing his hands. “I’m starving. Just let me go wash up and eat something, and I’ll get right on it.”

  Peter snapped out of it with a shake of his head. “Actually, I’d rather you didn’t. This is perfect.” He indicated the man’s messy outfit with a wave of his hand.

  Phoenix looked down at himself. “Really?”

  “Yes. More blood would be even better. Maybe we could break your nose, too. Skull?” Phoenix stared at him, and Peter smiled. “Kidding. I’ll get you something to eat.”

  He headed to his fridge, smiling as he heard Phoenix grumble, “Fuck off. My nose stays the way it is.”

  “Just a little,” Skull insisted. “I’ll be gentle.”

  “I said, fuck off.”

  * * *

  Dave cradled a cup of coffee in his hands, lost in thought.

  The others had left the canteen a few minutes ago, but Dave stayed, too captivated by what was going on with him to move. He hadn’t seen it at first, the rippling air that surrounded his table. But he had sure as hell felt it, because for once, he’d been paying attention.

  Since the night he’d invited his power back in, it had been a constant presence inside him. He wanted to ignore it, but sometimes a mere thought was enough to bring it forth. Like now—he’d asked Jane if anyone had ever made a shield against bullets, and there it was, his shield. Just a regular one, probably, not like he could test it but still. It wasn’t anything like the others’.

  He’d switched it off before anyone noticed, only to turn it back on the second they left. It felt strange, this bubble of energy, ready to snap back into him at any moment. This resistance between them, the charged air inside.

  Dave inhaled, allowing it to shrink a little, and exhaled, spreading it even farther out. It was an exercise Albert had shown him—a way to learn control, to feel the connection with his power after it left his body. With his table in a corner, and the two tables close to him vacated, he had plenty of room to play. So he pushed, sending the barrier farther away, until it pressed into the tables.

  Now, this was the real trick.

  He focused on the table to his right first, ordering the shield to open up and swallow it, together with the chairs. Then, keeping a piece of his mind focused on the right, he turned to the left and did the same with the second table. It held. For a few seconds, the shield stayed in place, until the resistance became too much, and Dave let it go.

  Except, he must have done something wrong, because it didn’t dissipate into nothingness, like before. It had been just a little nudge, a fleeting command to go, but he realized his mistake too late.

  The shield broke into a thousand shards and shot through the air, bumping into a few fighters as it went.

  Dave froze—and dropped his gaze a heartbeat before they turned to stare at him, their expressions perplexed. It shouldn’t have been more than a tap on the back, and this made it all the more surprising.

  They got back to their meals, and Dave got up and left, keeping his eyes down.

  He took the elevator up to the fifth floor, thinking about what he’d discovered last night. His mood soured at the thought that Peter was lying to him, together with Rooney and God knew who else. He thought about skipping work today and going down to the infirmary instead, maybe dragging Chad out to the pool, but he was already pushing the door open, and there—

  Dave halted, staring at Rooney’s unlocked screen, with the man himself nowhere in sight.

  “Dave, that you?” Rooney’s voice reached him from the bathroom.

  “Yeah,” Dave answered after a pause.

  “I got nothing for you today—might wanna take a day off.”

  “Uh-huh.” Dave stared at the laptop screen.

  Because in the bottom right corner, a message had popped up, and it wouldn’t have caught Dave’s eye, if not for the subject: Re: Recorp Holdings.

  Before Dave could grasp what he was doing, he opened the email, his eyes widening at the long chain of messages that had started a day ago. And attached to the very first one was a file titled Recorp Holdings property.

  Watching his hands move as if they weren’t his own, Dave clicked Forward and typed in his personal email, then clicked Send. Rooney would be in the bathroom for a while, or he wouldn’t have yelled through the door and would’ve waited until he was back.

  Dave’s heart beat like a drum as he marked the latest email as unread and switched the folder to Sent, where he deleted the email he’d forwarded. When he stepped away from the laptop, everything was as it had been before, except the notification, which would’ve disappeared eventually anyway.

  Dave looked around the room, belatedly remembering to watch out for cameras, but there were none here. It was just a temporary workplace.

  He breathed out and turned to his desk, before he realized that Rooney had let him go, and he wouldn’t want to open that file on this computer anyway. Rooney probably had access to it at any time. I got nothing for you, my ass, Dave thought as he quietly opened the door and left the room. The hacker had had a whole day to tell Dave they finally had the info they needed, and he’d chosen silence.

  Dave ran up the stairs once again, this time heading to his room so he could use his personal laptop. He had no idea what exactly was in the file, but something told him it would be better than sifting through meaningless data all day, like the day before.