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RECKLESS IMPULSE
VILLAINS OF VANGUARD
BOOK 2

RYDER O’MALLEY
HEROES OF VANGUARD UNIVERSE
HEROES OF VANGUARD
Irresistible Power Prequel
(Newsletter Exclusive Novella)

Infamous Heart
Infernal Justice
Iridescent Lust
Invincible Nemesis

VILLAINS OF VANGUARD
Indecent Storm Prequel
(Newsletter Exclusive Novella)

Corrupted Desire
Reckless Impulse
Corrupted Desire

EXCLUSIVE MERCHANDISE
OR BUY PRINT BOOKS DIRECT
www.authorryderomalley.com
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you my Patreon Supporters

Jason Janes
Miranda Dal Zovo
Saxon Reiner
Jana Schumacher
Alyssa Tremblay
 CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue 1
Epilogue 2
Want More Clint & Hank?
Afterword
About the Author
 1

“WHAT ? HE DESERVED IT !”
I couldn’t figure out why they were surprised. They had done far worse. Doc rubbed the bridge of his nose, a sign that
something I’d said had tested his patience. I almost apologized, but Pauline Post’s podcast from this morning echoed in my ear.
I’m a boss, and I apologize to no one.
Patrons filled more seats than usual for a Thursday night at the Haven. The bartenders shook the cocktails high above their
heads, putting on a show for tips before filling glasses. The usual crowd, however, preferred beer straight from the tap. With
this many people, I’d expect it to be noisy or conversations relying on shouting, but while we hid in our usual corner, the rest of
the pub did the same. Haven—come for the drinks, stay for the dim lighting and no questions from the staff. It might as well be
our secret lair at this point.
“Clint. Buddy. Pal.” I snapped back to reality as Diesel spoke.
In our booth, the three of us sat side-by-side, with Doc opposite us. This had become our ‘therapy’ sessions. We sat
patiently while he attempted to make us better people. I thought it was a lost cause, but he bought us beer, so I stuck with it.
Past a laughing Vex, Diesel leaned forward to speak to me. “You spotted an ice cream truck.”
“Yeah.” Did he not understand my story?
“You wanted soft serve?”
“Chocolate soft serve.” The chocolate might not seem like an important detail, but it was the lynchpin of the story.
“They were out?” Either he was about to make a point, or I was going to need to start at the beginning. Did they not listen to
the part about an ice cream truck not having ice cream?
“And then you killed him?”
“No.” They never listened when I told stories. They might not be as self-righteous as Diesel’s stories and nowhere near as
masturbatory as Vex’s, but I did my best to be an active listener. “First, I asked him to double-check.”
“And then?” Asked Vex.
I pronounced each word so they could follow the conclusion. “I blew up the ice cream truck.”
“He’s an idiot.” Before I was aware, my hand was wrapped around Vex’s throat. Vex made it clear he didn’t like us. I
suspected it was an elaborate cover, and deep down, he looked forward to group therapy, but at times, he made it hard to tell.
But nobody got away with calling me an idiot.
“Whoa, boy.” Diesel jumped up, almost knocking bottles of beer off the table. “Let the asshole go.”
It wouldn’t win me points with Doc, especially not after he suggested I try three deep breaths before acting on my impulses.
I took three quick breaths. Nope, I still wanted to bounce Vex’s head off the table.
“Apologize.”
“I don’t…” The words tapered off. For this super-duper villain that clobbered the Centurions, he didn’t seem very tough. I
bet if I squeezed, I could make his head pop off his neck. It’d be messy, but it’d almost be worth it.
“Shove your ego and say you’re sorry.” Diesel was my favorite. He might act like he didn’t care about anybody but himself,
but he had my back. I’d have to ask him again about hanging out after a therapy session.
“S-sor-ry.”
 I let go of Vex’s neck, but not before giving him a little shake. He deserved a spot in hell next to the ice cream man and his
broken soft-serve machine. If he had my skills, then maybe I’d be worried. But his only superpower involved arrogance.
“I think we’re benefitting from these sessions,” Diesel said as he returned to his seat in the booth.
Diesel liked to poke fun at the Doc. Sometimes, they argued back and forth, but most of the time, they were snippy
comments. It was like watching one of those television shows where the actors spoke fast. Not only did I not have to steal this
from my neighbors, but Doc bought us drinks to keep us from leaving. It was a win-win situation for everybody.
“Clint.” Doc leaned on his elbows. That meant he was about to make a sagely observation. If he cupped his hands together,
it’d be serious. He took a deep breath before chewing on his top lip. That was a new tick, but when he cupped his hands, I
guessed it was another level of seriousness. “There are concerns about the level of aggression you’ve been showing.”
When he didn’t continue the statement, I leaned forward. Cupping my hands, I mirrored his mannerism. I caught Diesel
swigging his beer out of the corner of my eye. I couldn’t tell what the Doc was getting at. I hoped Diesel⁠—
“They’re going to can you.”
“Can me?”
“Fire you.”
“Who?”
Vex smacked his forehead. “LaToya.”
“What does she want?” Why were they always being cryptic? Life would be much easier if people just said what they were
thinking.
“LaToya is going to kick you off the team.”
I jumped to my feet, shaking my head. No. No. No. I didn’t know anybody else outside of prison. “You’re the only friends I
have since I got out.” I nearly spit out an apology, but Post’s voice whispered in my ear. No apologies, especially not to
somebody who’d take me away from my friends.
“Don’t worry, she’ll probably throw your ass back in Cold Iron,” said Vex.
I stepped back from the table, my back pressed against the wall. No way I’d go back to that horrible place. I could already
feel the weight of the collar rubbing against my neck. In there, I didn’t have my powers. I’d be nothing. Worse than that… I’d be
me.
“I’m sorry,” I spit it out.
I was about to get on my knees and grovel when the black lines coursed along the Doc’s neck. His demon co-pilot had
come out to play. He gave me a quick look up and down before vanishing.
“I believe you,” said the Doc. “But you’re going to need to prove it to LaToya.”
Diesel held his hand in the air, signaling for a member of the waitstaff. “We’re going to need another round of beers. Shots.
Just bring us the bottle.” See, Diesel cared. He had my back, even while LaToya made her threats.
I took a deep breath in through my nose before exhaling through my mouth. Repeated two more times. I could control
myself. Instead of smashing the table and hurling a chair across the bar, I relaxed. Wow, I wished Doc had suggested it sooner.
“Maybe next time, try that before blowing up a truck for not having soft serve.”
I narrowed my eyes, leaning across the table. Vex scooted closer to Diesel, learning his lesson from last time. “It. Was.
Chocolate.” I had stopped trying to impress the jerk. I don’t think he even knew the definition of friendship.
A young woman brought a tray filled with beers and a bottle of vodka. Diesel wasted no time pouring drinks. He didn’t
think I noticed the smirk on his face when he checked his texts or his liberal use of cologne, but I had. Nobody talked about it,
but Diesel had a beau.
Fine, I’d do it. “Are you going to tell us about this new guy?”
Doc and Vex turned to Diesel, who froze like a deer caught in headlights. His eyes widened and his brow scrunched
forward. Him mouthing, “I’m going to kill you,” was uncalled for.
“Do tell us,” Vex said.
“This is a safe space.”
Diesel gave Doc a one-finger salute. “You three are anything but safe.” I wouldn’t tell him, but seeing him get flustered was
endearing. We were a table of reformed… mostly reformed criminals. But after two months of meeting up and Doc making us
talk about our issues, I liked to think of them as my friends. Yes, even Vex. Everybody needed a frenemy.
“I’m seeing somebody.”
That’s it? He wasn’t going to spill details? If the others weren’t going to be nosey, I’d have to do it myself. “Cut or uncut?”
“None of your damned business.”
“Cut.” Vex and I said in unison.
“Obviously good in bed.” Diesel shot me a wink. See, friends.
“Guys—” Sorry, Doc, but we had questions that needed answering.
“Have you showed him the ol’ sizzle?”
“Guys!” When Diesel didn’t answer, Doc raised an eyebrow. The demon that possessed our safe-space leader formed
about his face and gave a slight laugh. When he retreated, Doc smirked. “You told him, didn’t you?”
Diesel crossed his arms like an angry child. I debated telling him he looked more adorable when he pouted. This might not
be the right time. I’ll let him know in the group text later.
“Yeah. He knows. Don’t worry; he doesn’t know about this.” He gestured to the table before grabbing a glass of vodka. He
drank like a frat boy who found the key to the liquor cabinet. He’d regret that by morning.
“Now that we’ve discussed where Diesel hides his dipstick…” Vex elbowed Diesel. “Get it? Diesel? Dip stick?”
“Oh!” I said with a snort. Before Diesel could shoot me a dirty look, I grabbed a glass of beer and hid behind Vex.
“Doc, we need to discuss LaToya and these childish errands she has us running.” Now that I thought about it, she hasn’t
dropped a manila folder in my living room in almost two weeks. The others hadn’t mentioned any super-secret missions either.
Doc shrugged. “You know as much as I do. She’ll call on you when she needs you.”
“I’m tired of waiting. Diesel got to blow up stuff all over Southland. So far, she’s only had me handing off packages to
people. I want to punch something.” At least then, they wouldn’t complain about the property damage. If it were for a mission,
anything was game.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this.” Vex rubbed his brow and let out a long sigh. “But the lug is right. What are we doing
here?”
“She’ll be in contact when she has need of your services.” It was the same answer we got every time we asked about the
mysterious director of Vanguard’s premiere superhero team. She liked her cloak-and-dagger approach. And what could we do?
Go public? The media would be banging down our doors, and before long, a hero would show up and try to throw us back into
the slammer.
I rubbed my neck at the thought. Nope, without my powers, I’d be… nothing. She had us by the short hairs.
“And with that, I have to go to work.” With all the drinks he downed, he’d be a mess flipping burgers. At least when he
passed out on the griddle, it wouldn’t burn anything more than his clothes.
“Diesel, any plans tomorrow?” It was worth a shot. Without the Doc analyzing us or Vex being a royal dick, we might have
a normal conversation. Talk like friends do. “Coffee before work?”
“I’ll have to see what… uh…”
“What our eloquent friend is trying to say is that he’d rather be shacking up than hanging with a half-wit.” Vex slid out of
the booth, grabbing his trench coat off the rack. “Maybe don’t try so hard.”
Diesel gave a slight shrug. “I’ll text you.”
It was down to me and Doc with the two of them gone. When it was three against one, he wasn’t so bad. But when it was
just the two of us, he focused all his attention on me. I didn’t need to be a mind reader to know the gears were already turning.
Between his psychoanalyzing and that damned demon, hiding wasn’t an option.
“Don’t take anything he says personally. Vex is trauma personified, and he’s lashing out.”
“He’s being a dick,” I grumbled.
“Yeah.” Doc lifted a glass in a salute. “He’s a dick.”
At least we agreed on that. But it wasn’t the blowhard that made me sad. Now that Diesel had some secret hottie, the
chances of us hanging outside our therapy sessions plummeted to zero.
“You can ignore my advice, Clint, but I think it might be time for you to socialize with folks outside this group. It’d be good
to make some friends.”
“I have friends,” I snapped.
“You can never have enough. You’ve got a lot to offer.”
According to Vex, I was all brawn and no brain. When he talked, he always spoke slowly, as if I didn’t understand. I
wasn’t dumb. I just didn’t care what the jerk had to say. And if they thought I couldn’t tell every time he lied about the number
of cars he owned or the money he had squirreled away, he was the idiot. The man’s face had more tells than a… well, a man
with a lot of tells.
“I promise you. It’ll do you some good.”
I nodded. “I’ll think about it, Doc.”
He took another sip before tossing some money on the table. He scooted out of the booth and grabbed his jacket. “No more
blowing shit up.”
I crossed my fingers, making sure he could see. “I promise.”
With that, I was the last man at the table. I’d have to give the Doc’s advice some consideration. But in the meantime, at least
there was plenty of leftover alcohol to drown my sorrows. It had been so long, I wasn’t sure if I even knew how to make
friends. Not that my efforts seemed to matter.

The doors to the world’s slowest elevator closed. For the millionth time, I listened to a generic pop song watered down by a
lackluster string quartet. As it jerked upward, I flexed my biceps, admiring my reflection on the shiny surface. Head to toe, my
body had become perfection. Muscles rippled as I made my pecs dance.
I was nothing less than a ten.
I ran my hands through my hair, giving it a tussle. My beard could tolerate a bit more moisturizing, maybe even a slight trim.
I always kept it long enough to call it a beard but short enough that it didn’t look messy. The same went for the chest hair to the
tapering treasure trail… and beyond.
By the fourth floor, my nose turned bulbous. The brown hair on my head turned a fire engine red with tight curls. By the fifth
floor, a seven-foot-tall clown stared back at me. I giggled as I raised a foot, the long shoe flapping back and forth. The paint
bled from my skin until I turned a pale white with a giant red grin.
“How can anybody find you scary?”
On the tenth floor, the clown had shrunk, replaced by a man-wolf. It was scarier than the clown, covered in dark blue hair
and a long snout. With a quick shake of the head, red eyes appeared. The face wasn’t quite right. I let the fangs grow until they
slipped outside my lips, leaving my face in a perpetual snarl. Nightmare fuel stared back at me.
The music changed to a song I hadn’t heard. Unlike before, it had a dance beat to it. When I tapped my foot in time with the
music, the wolf-like claws clacked against the floor. I couldn’t dance to save my life, but it bordered on comical seeing a
werewolf bobbing his head.
With hands overhead, I swirled about, hips thrusting back and forth. I leaned over, snapping my fingers. If anybody saw
this, they wouldn’t know if they should run screaming or join the flash mob. Oh, I’d love to be part of one of those. I’d never be
able to keep up, but it’d be a riot.
The elevator shook as it stopped on the fifteenth floor. I had a quick glimpse of an overweight man trapped in the elevator
doors. I clenched my eyes shut, visualizing my usual body. There’d be muscles all over, a chiseled jaw, and just the slightest
tan. I breathed a sigh of relief. Everything returned to normal.
The doors parted. On the other side stood Margaret, pronounced Mar-gah-reet, as she often reminded anybody within
earshot. My arch-nemesis stood in the middle of the exit, refusing to budge, expecting me to somehow teleport out of the
elevator. Worse yet, she had her tiny hairless demon dog tucked in her obnoxiously oversized pink purse. With a flick of my
finger, I could shatter every bone in her body. Lucky for her, I didn’t want to mop the blood from the hexagon tile in our
hallway.
“Are you checking me out? Perv.” Her voice couldn’t be more annoying if it were nails on a chalkboard. I’d give anything
to not share the top floor of the building with this trust-fund baby.
“Don’t you have a sugar daddy to bleed dry?”
I pushed past when the demon dog barked. If I shifted into a werewolf and ate her, did that make me a cannibal? It wouldn’t
be worth it. There wasn’t an ounce of body fat to enjoy, and I’m sure she tasted like menthol cigarettes, bad decisions, and
entitlement.
“You’ll regret next time I see you.”
“I’m regretting it now.” She pushed her way past me and pressed the button to the lobby. Her nose scrunched up as she
sniffed the air. “Ugh.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle of perfume. With a few sprays in the air, she shot me a
dirty look. “You smell like a wet dog.”
“At least I don’t look like one.”
The doors closed. I don’t think I won the battle. But I’d win the war. I’d need to revisit this eating her idea.
Walking down the hall, I couldn’t help but admire the ornate black and white wallpaper. I couldn’t afford such a fancy
apartment on the outskirts of the Ward, especially not one with a doorman. Being LaToya’s henchman didn’t pay enough for
these sweet digs. I knew the owner, and after a few too many drinks at the bar, he ran his mouth. Pure coincidence that he
accidentally slipped into a coma. Before he went unconscious, he offered me the keys to his penthouse to make amends. Such a
nice guy.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but something in the apartment felt… off. As
I stomped through the hallway toward the living room, I shifted. A second set of arms stretched from my shoulder. I let my nails
extend like razors to make it extra menacing. When I reached the end and turned into the living room, I froze.
“Clint Taylor.” Direct LaToya sat on the bench next to the grand piano. All at once, she appeared relaxed and ready to
attack. She let the brown curls hang past the shoulders of her navy-blue suit jacket. She might sign my paychecks, but something
told me to be nervous around her.
“Director.”
All four of my palms grew sweaty. Nothing about her screamed dangerous, and that’s what worried me. She stood,
buttoning her blazer. There were no weapons, at least not that I could see. She spent her days surrounded by superheroes, and it
showed by the way she strolled through my sunken living room. If she feared my four hundred pounds and four furled fists, the
emotion didn’t reach her face.
“I’ll overlook your…” she glanced about the living room, “housing situation. But making a scene in public? Do I need to
revisit the rules of your release?” There. She didn’t need a gun or knife for a weapon. Director LaToya wielded my freedom as
if she had earned a black belt in manipulation. But as she froze next to the glass coffee table, I studied her body language.
Two could play this game.
My skin tightened as I stepped into the living room. By the time I reached her, she stared at a perfect replica of herself. She
thought herself unreadable, the pinnacle of self-control. Her tell might not be noticeable to the average person, but I found it in
seconds. I could transform into anybody, but to truly become them, you needed to study the finest details.
“You need me.” I watched her eyelids as the blinking continued, one slow, two fast. I was right.
“This is true.” Score. “But because of your impulsive behavior, I’ve assigned a handler. He’ll be ensuring that you don’t
make the evening news.”
Did she know about the soft serve, the chocolate soft serve? Surely, she’d understand if she had all the details. “I work
alone.”
“Not anymore.”
“If I⁠—”
“There’s a cell waiting for you at Cold Iron. Should I have them fluff your pillows?” She wasn’t lying. I folded my arms
over my chest, having to adjust for her sizable breasts. How did women deal with these things?
“Is that all?”
“No.” She reached into her jacket. I tensed, ready to tackle her if she pulled out a weapon. “Put this on.”
A watch? LaToya scolded me like a child and now offered me an expensive timepiece. I understood why she unsettled
people. Women were complicated. And seriously, the breasts were an issue. I tensed my chest until they shrunk. There, better.
“Thanks?” I took the watch. “So… are you staying for coffee?”
She stepped around me, heading toward the door. “I have a world to keep safe.” From people like you, she didn’t say it, but
I got the message. “Don’t disappoint me, Clint. I’d hate to see you behind bars again.”
I hope she bumped into Margaret and her demon dog. They’d make the perfect evil duo. She thought I was the bad guy for
destroying an ice cream truck? Who was the real villain here?
 2

“OH BABY,” I BELTED , “ DON ’ T LET ME GOOOOO .”

The song ended, and I gave one last thrust of the hips. My towel dropped to the floor. Bare-assed, I pushed the booty out
and gave twerking my best effort. No luck getting that perfect bubble butt to clap. I might not win any dance competitions, but
who could resist a scalding hot shower with some Scarlet Volkov blaring on the surround sound?
I hope it made Margaret’s walls rattle. Part of me wanted her banging on the door so I could answer it in my birthday suit.
With a quick glance down, I gave my hips a shake until my cock grew to a respectable eighteen inches. Overkill? Yes, but it’d
make for a handy weapon should she unleash the demon dog.
“Diana, turn off the music.”
The house AI silenced as I jived my way into the kitchen. I needed a snack before bedtime. Dealing with LaToya required
stress eating. I messaged Diesel and Vex to let them know our favorite ice queen had made an appearance. Vex wanted to know
if I had a mission yet. With a glance at my phone, Diesel hadn’t responded. He was probably busy at work. They weren’t any
help. Cereal, however, that’d solve all my problems.
I flung the cupboards open. The owner had an obsession with granola. How many types does a man need? Chips made from
veggies? Protein powder? What the hell was flax seed? He spent all this time treating his body like a temple, and where did it
get him? A coma, that’s where it got him. I wonder if anybody has trademarked the DoucheBro Diet? The lesson here is, don’t
eat healthy unless you want to get slapped and thrown against a wall.
In the back, I found a box of Chocopuffs. I poured the entire box into a giant silver mixing bowl. Standing in front of the
fridge, I searched for milk. From a cow. Almonds. Soy. Oat. Cashew. “What the ever-loving hell?” He deserved a coma. I
settled on soy milk.
I crawled onto the white leather couch. With the first spoonful, I cringed. I would wage an unholy war against the makers of
nut milk. Yes, it made me giggle. I should have thrown it in the trash, but I couldn’t waste perfectly good Chocopuffs.
Why had LaToya given me a watch? It wasn’t as if I were going to fancy parties. “Ohhh!” Was she sending me to infiltrate a
sor — sour — soiree? I set the bowl on the coffee table and slid the watch over my hand.
It’d go with my tuxedo. My skin rippled in response until long black sleeves covered my arms. Still no pants. It’d be that
kind of fancy party. I checked it as if I were wondering what took the valet so long to get my Porsche.
“Huh.”
The second hand didn’t move. I tapped the glass. It appeared LaToya’s taste in jewelry left something to be desired. I
pressed my pointer finger against the glass, and it flashed. The metal sped along my hand, wrapping it in a metallic, fingerless
glove. “Now, this is cool shit.” It tickled as it raced along my forearm and across my chest. It wrapped around my cheeks and
covered my face with goggle-type lenses. Nice! A real super suit.
“Not that I need it.”
My hand transformed. The suit seemed to sink inside my skin as my arm sprouted hair similar to the werewolf's from
earlier. People would be shocked to know that when I showed up to work, I was sitting there buck-naked with imaginary
clothes on. I grew tired of tearing through shirts. It wasn’t surprising that LaToya had access to the coolest toys.
I grabbed the bowl, and as I brought a spoon filled with sugary goodness to my mouth, the suit’s mask receded. I’m sure
she’d give me a lecture about lounging about in my new threads, but oh well.
“Diana, play cartoons.”
On the other side of the room, a television the size of a small theater screen flipped on. “Seen it. Next.” The channel
flipped. “Nope. Next.” Flipped again, this time showing a cartoon from my childhood. I grinned as I slurped a spoonful of
chocolatey milk. “Next.”
“Go back!”
Some would call the sound that escaped my lips a scream. I’d refer to it as a high-pitched, but still, manly alert. Whichever,
it didn’t stop the bowl from flipping over and landing on the carpet. I'd deal with that later.
I eased myself off the couch. Holding my hands like claws, I forced my nails to grow several inches until they transformed
into blades. Perhaps the voice came from another dimension or some godly being. It wouldn’t be the first time a pantheon of
gods descended upon Vanguard. Hell, it wasn’t the first time this week.
“God? Is that you?”
“Yes! T’is me, your God.” The soft giggling suggested otherwise. I poked my head into the main bedroom, searching for the
voice’s owner. Nothing. I peered at the couch, lifting the cushions to see if one might contain a tiny person tucked between the
seats.
“Don’t make me burn the building down.” I barged into the kitchen, reaching for the knobs on the stove. “Who are you
really?”
“Whoa. Whoa. No burning down the building. LaToya wasn’t kidding. You are extra.”
LaToya? I scanned the living room, looking for some sort of tech she left behind. That’s why she was in my apartment. She
bugged it to keep tabs on me. I wanted to revisit the inferno idea.
“Calm down, big guy.” I hated that phrase. “It’s an intercom in the suit. I can see and hear what you do.”
I let my arms turn human as I glanced down at my package. “Everything?”
He laughed. “Every. Thing.” Well, I hope he enjoyed the bulge in my suit. At least I wasn’t naked, swirling my hips like a
stripper. Though, the idea of an audience… we’ll put that in the maybe column.
“Who are you?”
“The name’s Hank.”
The watch had turned into a gauntlet when it transformed into my suit. I pressed a finger to it. With a red flash, the little bits
of metal slid off my body, condensing into a silver band. She might want to keep tabs on me, but there was no way I was going
to have a sidekick chiming in my ear.
“Still here.”
“Dammit,” I cursed.
“There’s a nanite in your ear keeping coms open. From here on out, I’m your handler. Not going to get rid of me that easy.”
I poked inside my ear, trying to dig out the nanite, whatever that was. It was bad enough that LaToya didn’t trust me. But a
babysitter? Diesel and Vex didn’t have somebody watching their every movement. Nothing about this seemed fair.
“Are you done?”
I threw myself down onto the couch. “Can you still see?”
“I only have visuals when the suit is on.”
“So you can’t see this?” I wiggled my cock about.
“What are you doing?”
“Touching myself.”
“Oh. Oh!” I laughed out loud. If that shocked him, he had no idea what he got himself into. “I… uhm…” I couldn’t breathe. I
wish I could see the look on his face. His cheeks probably turned a bright shade of red. Would LaToya blush? Did she even
have blood in her veins?
I wiped the tears from my eyes. If we were going to be working together, I guess I had to at least be polite. My momma
taught me manners. “Hi. I’m Clint.”
“Clint Styles,” he said. “I haven’t gone through your dossier yet, but it’s… big.”
“Above average, I’d say.”
“I’ve seen bigger.”
“Whoa, fella.” I glanced at my package before eyeing the piano where she had been sitting. Was Hank taking in a peep
show? “Are there cameras?”
“See,” he laughed, “two can play this game.”
I had to smile. Okay, maybe having Hank’s voice in my head wouldn’t be so bad. Doc suggested I make new friends. This
might be more of a co-worker situation, but who knows, maybe we’d be able to grab a beer after… whatever it is I was
supposed to be doing.
“Nice to meet you, I think.”
“Likewise,” he said. “I’m going to need the night to go through your files. LaToya said there’d be a mission coming your
way.”
That got my attention. “I get to blow shit up?”
“No.” His voice didn’t leave room for negotiation. Now that I thought about it, he sounded kind of sexy. Deep voice. Fast
with a joke. Would it be rude to ask him what he was wearing? Maybe he liked to work in the buff?
“My job is to prevent collateral damage, which, by the looks of it, there’s a lot. Did you really destroy an old folk’s
home?”
“They had it coming.”
“And the grocery store?”
“Out of Chocopuffs.”
He let out a long sigh. People seemed to do that a lot when talking with me. I’d need to ask Doc to use his fancy degrees
and find out what it meant.
“I’m going to sign out. Get some rest. Tomorrow, you’re going on an assignment.”
“Yes!” Thankfully, he couldn’t see my happy dance. “I mean… that sounds cool.” I waited for a snarky reply, but the voice
in my head stayed silent. “Hey, you still there?” Nothing.
I couldn’t wait to tell Doc. I could already hear Vex and his snide comments about me needing a babysitter. What would
Diesel say? Maybe he’d be jealous that he just got bumped to number two. Just to be sure, I checked my phone again. Still no
reply from him. But that was okay. He wasn’t the only person in my circle of friends.
Dammit. I wanted more Chocopuffs. I’d have to try some nut milk.
Giggle.
 3

V: S ERIOUSLY? YOU GET A MISSION ?

C: You’re always the bridesmaid but never the bride.
D: LOL
D: Vex should take an early retirement.
C: He’s got the wrinkles for it.
V: Killing you both has become my top priority.

“I’m going on a mission. I’m going on a mission. I’m going on a mission.”

Teeth brushed. Deodorant applied. Cute underwear on. The essentials were covered. It didn’t matter if I’d be kidnapping
executives or blowing up a bank—I’d be ready. I hoped it was the latter. I hadn’t blown something up in… two days? That
might be a record. It didn’t matter what LaToya had planned as long as it put me back in the field. Before the end of the day, I’d
be cracking skulls.
As I walked toward the door, my skin did its usual thing. Black t-shirt, ripped jeans, and a pair of boots. As I passed the
mirror, I paused. Something about the outfit was missing. I looked good, but it didn’t scream badass. Flexing, the shirt rippled,
and a leather jacket appeared. Now, I could slay the day.
“You have the coordinates.”
“Yup.”
“Once you’re there, I’ll go over the specifics.”
“Sounds good, chief. Over and out.”
Hank cleared his throat. “That’s not how this works, Clint.” I could hear the lecture on the tip of his tongue. “I’m with you
until you’ve cleared the mission. Remember who calls the shots.”
“How assertive. I’m getting a little aroused.”
I assumed he couldn’t respond as he rolled his eyes. That happened a lot when I talked to people. They might think of me as
insufferable, but at least I wasn’t boring. If LaToya was going to force us together, he’d have to learn to roll with the punches.
I headed out of the apartment. As I waited for the elevator to climb its way upward, I swore the lights flickered. If blood
flowed down the walls, I was going to bolt for the stairs. There was an evil presence about. It could only mean one thing.
I turned to see Margaret dragging a rolling suitcase behind her. The demon dog snarled in my direction. It was bad enough
that she wore a long purple summer dress, but the hell beast had dressed the dog to match. Going to my happy place, I imagined
swinging her by the ankles and bouncing her off the walls.
“Take a picture. It’ll last longer.” She lowered her purple-rimmed sunglasses, her icy blue eyes trying to drill holes through
my face.
“Cameras don’t work on vampires.”
“Who are you talking to?” Asked Hank.
“Margaret. Pronounced Mar-gah-reet.”
 “Oh, good! He learned my name.”
What the hell took the elevator so long? I sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm the rage she incited. I’d have to be more
careful responding to Hank, or people were going to think I wasn’t right in the head. This was going to be a challenge.
“Don’t you have a daddy to bleed dry?”
“Don’t you?” Despite outweighing her by two hundred pounds, she closed the distance between us. She extended a finger,
accentuating the motion as she pressed a purple nail against my chest. “And I’ll have you know, I make my own money.”
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. I backed up into the tiny space, and she followed, her finger still poking into
my chest. I could snap her wrist. Would pulling her arm off and beating her with it be overkill? I’m pretty sure the hydra would
grow another limb as I bludgeoned her with the bloody stump.
“So let’s be clear about something, you nimrod.” I had traded blows with Lightyear and defeated Crimson. I had spanked
some of the best superheroes in the game. And yet, none of them had the testicular fortitude of this tiny blonde. “Get in my way,
and you’ll regret it.”
No more nice guy. I grew until my head pressed against the top of the elevator. My body transformed until my torso turned
into a giant mouth with razor fangs. I growled, blowing her hair blew back. Even the demon dog whimpered as he hid in her
purse, nestled between lip gloss and her compact.
“Oh, he’s a scary super. Oh, no.” She said the words, but they came out flat. “This isn’t the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.
Hell, it’s not the scariest thing I’ll see today. Now, back off before I get my mace.”
I reverted to my normal shape. She turned to face the door, glancing up at the lights as it approached the lobby. Did I just
lose? I’m pretty sure if somebody was keeping score, Margaret got the point. I reached up, ready to grab the side of her head. A
quick spin and she’d be a dead lump of purple vapidness.
“Clint. Whatever you’re about to do, don’t.”
“I’ll just kill her a little.”
“Don’t even think about it.” Creepy. Margaret and Hank spoke in unison. I tried not to pout. Demon dog gave one last yelp
in my direction as the door opened, and she stormed off with her suitcase in tow.
“See, you can control your impulses.”
Hank would need to be annoyingly attractive if he wouldn’t let me snap the neck of my arch-nemesis. This handler thing
was already cramping my style. I take that back. It didn’t matter if he was the hottest man alive. Him barking orders like he
called the shots wouldn’t work for me. I would have my vengeance, and then I’d cackle as Margaret fought with Satan for
control of hell.
“You will feel my wrath,” I whispered.
“No, she won’t. Now get moving.”
“You’re not the boss of me!”
When he didn’t respond, I considered it a minor victory. Having a sidekick wasn’t all I thought it would be. I understood
why so many villains used their hired help as human shields. Exiting the elevator, I tried to get myself pumped to be on a
mission. I couldn’t wait until I recounted every detail, and Vex had to suffer through my tale of heroics. The smile stretched
across my face.
Vex’s misery gave me all the motivation I needed.
 4

“WHAT FRESH HELL IS THIS ?”

I stood outside Vanguard’s civic center. Six stories of windows reflected the afternoon sun. I didn’t know the city had
repaired it after the League of Lemurs tried converting it into their headquarters. Could hundreds of wet marsupials smell any
worse than the group standing at my side?
In the heart of Vanguard, thousands of people congregated, milling outside the building. I would have thought it was a
sporting event except for the number of people wearing costumes. Almost everybody wore a mask or cape, as if there were
tryouts for the So You Want to be a Sidekick.
“It’s Super Con.”
“Speak to me like I don’t live in my mom’s basement.”
“Super Con is hosted by the HeroApp™. It’s the largest celebration of superheroes in the world. How have you not heard
of it?”
“I was busy getting laid.”
“I get it. I get it. You’re a stud. But you have to admit, it’s pretty cool.”
Did I, though? I tensed as I spotted Hyperion and the Zipper. Wait, no. Hyperion wasn’t a middle school girl, and I don’t
remember Zipper having that much acne. Having a criminal record and going into a building celebrating superheroes was a bad
idea. Unless…
I shifted until I assumed the appearance of the last hero I spotted on the television. I took a photo with my phone just to
make sure I nailed the look. Not even Sentinel’s mother could tell us apart. I couldn’t waste the opportunity to send the photo to
our group chat.

C: Wish you were here, Vex.

V: Dead. You’re so dead.

As I made my way toward the door, I spotted another Sentinel. The skinny teen had done a great job with his outfit. I pulled the
cowl over my head. I might not fly or wield lightning, but nobody here needed to know that. Jerking the axe out of the teen’s
hands, I pushed him to the floor. There, now, my outfit was complete.
“Did you just rough up a teenager?”
“No.”
“I have access to the security cameras.”
“Maybe?”
I pushed my way past a throng of Cobalts taking group photos. While there were plenty of lazy costumes, some of them
were almost as good as the actual hero. I wouldn’t be able to tell them apart. I had to hope that none of them turned out to be the
real deal. It’d be awkward having to murder a bunch of geeks.
“You’re telling me you don’t think this is cool?”
 “Dressing up like do-gooders with your friends? I’m going to pass.”
“Says the shapeshifter, pretending to be Vanguard’s favorite hero.”
If Hank only knew. Being able to shift into almost any form sounded like a great time. I could be a model from a magazine. I
had bedded more than one guy pretending to be a celebrity. It had its advantages, but at some point, it became impossible to be
myself. I could be that imperfect troll, or I could be this idealized version. I didn’t like thinking about it. It made my stomach
twist and tie into knots.
“You’re looking for a man named Malignant.”
My phone vibrated. I received a photograph from Hank. I hoped it’d be a photo of him in the buff sitting at the keyboard,
but no, he was all work and no play. The photo had been taken by a security camera. The man in the photo looked like a pasty
white asshole. His angular goatee must have required hours in front of the mirror.
“Does he have a man bun?”
“There isn’t much known⁠—”
“Man bun?”
“Yes, he has a man bun.”
“Diabolical,” I whispered.
Hank let out a long sigh. If only he knew. Man buns were like a gang sign. It might as well scream evil asshole. That and the
goatee? I was dealing with a criminal mastermind. This is why LaToya had brought in somebody from her team of rogue
villains.
I pushed through the doors into the convention center. There were hundreds, no, thousands of people in the lobby. To the
right, archways led into the main room and, by the roar of voices, more people gathered inside. I got it. People in Vanguard
liked their superheroes, but this bordered on insulting. They weren’t that good, especially when they’re dropping you into a
prison yard.
“Rumor has it Malignant is going to show. He’ll be looking to do an exchange with his contact.”
“Exchanging what?”
“That’s what you’re going to find out. Your job is to apprehend Malignant.”
“Oh good, I was hoping for a kidnapping today.”
“I’ll be monitoring through the security cameras. Keep your eyes peeled. We’ll figure out our next step when we locate
him.”
A couple waved at me, holding up their camera. I struck a pose, holding the axe above my head. They squealed as they
snapped a picture. I turned, nearly bumping into a man in a Hyperion costume. His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward,
inspecting my face.
“Sorry for staring. Your costume is amazing.” I didn’t lower the hammer as I inspected his suit. If I didn’t know better, I’d
have sworn he was the genuine hero. “Griffin, check out this Sentinel.”
He tugged on the arm of a cute cub. The two beefy men made for the perfect couple. When Griffin stopped gawking at a
group of vigilantes, his eyes went wide. He poked at my cheek. I discovered personal space didn’t exist at the convention.
“It’s perfect, down to the last detail. Sentinel would be impressed.”
“Griffin, stop touching cosplayers.” Hyperion tugged on his boyfriend, wrapping his arm around his waist. “My husband is
a bit of a superhero aficionado. He’s always got his face in comics.”
They were an adorable pair of bears. Hyperion held up his camera, the universal symbol of, ‘Can we take a picture
together?’ How could I resist getting between two burly men?
“Are you looking for Malignant?”
I ignored Hank, smiling at the camera. He snapped a photo and said his thanks before wandering into the crowd. Okay, I
understood why heroes saved the city. A little hard work, and then all eyes turned on them. They were admired for their efforts,
loved even. I couldn’t imagine doing it full-time. It’d be exhausting trying to save little old ladies from time bombs. So much
easier to be the one blowing them up.
“Clint,” Hank barked.
“I’m looking! I’m looking.” By the low groan in my ear, he didn’t believe me. I pushed through a crowd of comic book
geeks as they tried to get signatures from artists. The world had gone mad. When did being a geek become fashionable? Had I
been in prison that long?
“You know what happens if we don’t capture Malignant?”
It was my turn to groan. “I know. I haven’t spotted any nefarious man buns yet.” Plenty of Vanguardians wearing spandex
strolled through the aisle between artists, but I couldn’t spot anybody resembling a villain.
“There’s nothing on the cameras, either.” He hemmed and hawed into the microphone. “I’ve located you. There’s a blind
spot in the cameras near the stage. Make your way over there.”
“On it, chief.”
“I need to know. Why Sentinel?”
 Sure, I could have transformed into anybody. I’d make the perfect Hyperion or Cobalt. My abilities would make me
indistinguishable from Synch or Lightyear, but none of them were as admired as Sentinel. Just for once, I wanted somebody to
look at me like his fans did for him. The media called him a hero when he saved Vanguard. The magazines loved posting
articles about him with his handsome husband.
“It’d piss off, Vex.” The truth made me sad. Hank wouldn’t understand, and I didn’t want him to psychobabble me like Doc.
“Fair reason,” he said. “I hear pissing him off is good fun.”
“Oh, it is.” That was a truth I’d openly admit. “I’ll tell you about the time I showed up at his house dressed as Sentinel to
scare the piss out of him.”
Hank laughed, one of those deep belly laughs. I had yet to see him in person, and I already had this image in my head.
Watching his belly quiver would be the icing on the cake. Thankfully, the leather hid the tent in my pants.
“It’s a date.”
A date? I couldn’t remember the last time I went on a date. Sure, being the hottest guy in the room landed me plenty of
phone numbers. Some of them even advanced to the main event in the bedroom, but an actual date? Now I wanted to lure him
out of his secret headquarters so I could see the man behind the voice.
I froze in the middle of a cross-section. On one side, a giant television screen blasted the trailer for the Centurions sequel.
Off in the distance, I could almost see the stage. For the moment it appeared empty, but it stood high enough for me to see the
entire showroom floor.
“I’m heading to the stage.” First, I break a bad guy’s legs and beat him within an inch of his life. Once he confessed his
plans, LaToya would be off my back. Then we’d revisit this date idea.

From atop the stage, I could see the entire showroom. They were like an army of superhero fanatics. If the mob wasn’t busy
swarming toward B-rate heroes selling their signatures for a dime, they’d be dangerous. But they fixated on browsing comics,
haggling over action figures, and posing for the camera. The horde reminded me of when the Reanimator woke the dead and
unleashed them on the city. I bet they smelled about the same, too.
“How’s it going?”
Okay, mission first. I could do this. Prove Vex and LaToya wrong. I wasn’t an impulsive buffoon. Before the end of the day,
I’d clobber Malignant, figure out his plan, and ride off into the sunset a hero. I just had to find the villain.
I stepped to the side as men in black shirts set up the stage for whatever event came next. They dropped microphone stands
and continued running wires. A woman at the back of the stage unrolled a banner that read “Cosplay Championship” in giant
comic book letters.
“What’s cosplay?”
“Costume play.”
“Like harnesses? Pup hoods?” I mean, I wouldn’t think this was the right crowd for light BDSM play. But who was I to
judge? It wouldn’t be the first time I barked while clad in leather straps.
“Like people wearing costumes and playing the part of their favorite hero.”
“How is that not as kinky as pup hoods?”
“I mean… it can be.” Did I hear Hank blushing? We’d need to stick a pin in that conversation. I had so many questions. If I
opened his closet, would I find superhero costumes with a zipper strategically placed down the crack of his ass? Now, this
cosplay thing sounded interesting.
“I think we have movement.”
Mission, right. I could focus and save daydreaming about superheroes getting railed for the shower later tonight. It’d be the
perfect victory celebration once LaToya gave me a medal. Okay, maybe that wouldn’t happen. Not being thrown into prison
would be almost as good.
“He’s wearing a dark trench coat and carrying a silver briefcase.”
I scoured the audience, stepping around the trio of men setting up a DJ booth. I was almost about to give up when I spotted
him. “For a man with paper white skin, you’d think he’d stand out more.”
“Wait for him to make contact.” Hank turned all business as he gave orders. “Do not, I repeat, do not move in before he
makes the trade.” There was a pause. I couldn’t tell if he was talking as if I was his employee or if he thought I couldn’t follow
directions. “Clint, do you understand?”
“I hear you.”
I stood at the microphone, tapping it while my eyes followed the man bun of doom. He had all the signs of being a villain.
Pasty white skin. Trench coat. Narrow chiseled jaw. If there were any actual heroes here, they’d have already clobbered him.
He darted through the throngs of people, checking over his shoulder to ensure he wasn’t being followed. While most of the
geeks gathered in front of tables or wandered about, he moved with a purpose, and I doubt it was to get Dr. Craft’s signature. If
the man bun wasn’t enough, he stole his angular goatee from Supervillain Weekly. Everything about him screamed, ‘I’m the bad
guy.’
“Girl, you have no right being this fabulous.” The voice pierced the white noise with far too many R’s in girl. But no, I
ignored the owner and focused on the mission just like Hank demanded. As soon as Malignant did the handoff, I’d zip through
the crowd, tackle the man, and save the day. It was good as⁠—
“Well, I’ll be damned. An authentic leather daddy ready to lift me up and carry me home.”
What was happening? I glanced to my side to see a person in a tight body suit covered in silver sequins all the way down to
their six-inch platform boots. The only color on them was the fiery red hair shaved on one side of their head, with the other half
hanging to the shoulder.
Everybody in Vanguard would recognize the infamous talk-show host and diva extraordinaire Aman Toogo. I listened to the
podcast where they did a deep dive into the psychology behind boxers and how they’re destroying the fabric of America. No
pun intended. But mostly, they were known as the local voice of all things hero. During the day, they had a newscast about
superhero activity. But by night, they’d host Lights Off, a salacious talk show walking through the sauciest details about the
powered community.
“Hi?”
“Darling.” They didn’t so much walk as strut with flair. “What I would do with you and two scoops of ice cream?”
I glanced back to Malignant to see he had stopped to talk to somebody. Could that be his handoff? He didn’t seem to hand
the person the briefcase.
“Tell me, how’s it feel to be the daddy everybody wants a spanking from?” The loud smack caught my attention. They had a
hand on their ass, giving it a playful jiggle. “I’m first in line.” I held still, tightening my jaw as I had seen Sentinel do a
thousand times. He wouldn’t react, not at first. He exuded confidence without speaking. Being the stoic hero took little effort.
“Has he reached his target? Do you see him?” Hank was getting excited. “Do you?” And impatient.
“What I wouldn’t give to…” Aman’s voice quieted to a whisper as they stuck their tongue out, flicking the tip against their
microphone. Their eyes never looked away, making it far more intimate than it should be on a stage in front of thousands of
people. “Interview you.”
“Clint, why aren’t you responding? I can’t see him on the cameras.”
I glanced over my shoulder to see Malignant standing at a table. “He’s stopped.” The man on the other side of the table
wore a shameful version of the Machinist’s body armor. But even from a distance, I could make out the U painted on his
forehead. Something about it was familiar, as if⁠—
“Oh, king of the dad bods, I’ll never stop.” Aman got close enough that I could feel the heat coming off them. “What do you
say? Let me have my way with you, and you can leave the pants of Vanguard…” They leaned in, breath tickling my ear.
“Moist.” I wanted nothing more than to trade explicit stories and introduce Vanguard to… Sentinel. My heart sank as I realized
Aman didn’t want to talk with me, but the former head of the Centurions.
“I… I…”
“Dammit, Clint!” Hank shouted in my ear. “He’s getting away.”
I spun about. Malignant was nowhere near the table. Scanning the crowd, I couldn’t find the target. I had screwed up, big. It
wasn’t just my head on the line. If LaToya would throw me in prison, what would she do to Hank? I needed to fix this, and fast.
“He’s exiting the rear of the convention center.” I could hear shuffling through the earpiece. “Screw it, I’m going after him.”
No, Hank was a handler, not a man in the field. We didn’t know what Malignant was capable of or what powers he
possessed. I wouldn’t forgive myself if the last thing I heard was him dying. No, time to step up and be the hero.
“You can lick my mic another time. I have a sexy voice to save.”
Today would not be the day I went back to prison.

“Oh shit,” Hank yelled into the microphone. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
I was closing in on the back doors, ready to crack Malignant’s skull off the asphalt until he begged for mercy. I’d stand
victorious over his body, and Hank would see me as a hero, and LaToya would consider me for the Centurions.
I leaned into the charge, and my shoulder smashed against the metal door. I burst into the alleyway to see a chubby man
with a thick, red goatee backed against the wall and a man looming over him. I recognized the poorly constructed Machinist
armor. The arm was hanging by duct tape as he drew back his fist, ready to attack.
Was that Hank on the ground? He had an earpiece with a small mic. Who else could it be? He matched the image in my
head almost perfectly. My handler was thick in all the right places, and despite this punk about to pummel him, he didn’t back
down. He had gusto. This was my chance to save a burly damsel in distress.
“Stop!” He… listened? He turned, and for a second, his eyes widened at the site of Sentinel. “The Centurions are on their
way.” Might as well lean into it. It bought Hank enough time to scurry away on his hands and knees. His ass was almost too
distracting.
“You’re not Sentinel.”
“You’re not the Machinist.” Ha, good comeback. I swear I recognized him. Where had I seen that stupid U before?
“I don’t know who you are.” He drew back his fist as he ran toward me. “But prepare to face Unbeatable.” Oh! Now I
recognized him. I had listened to him cry himself to sleep the first week he spent in Cold Iron. He got beaten plenty when he
pissed off the resident crime lord.
I dropped the Sentinel form and let my arms grow into long octopus tentacles. With a quick snap around his ankles, I
flipped him backward, tossing him against the wall. I could have transformed into a Kraken, but it’s best to keep it simple when
fighting a second-tier crook.
Hank had gotten to his feet. I couldn’t get over the way his t-shirt hugged his belly and emphasized his arms. “You okay?”
He gave a nod. Would it be inappropriate to carry a co-worker from battle? Was it the polite thing to do? Right? Not weird at
all.
Lost in a daydream, I didn’t see Unbeatable launch himself into the air. I barely had time to spot his fists drawn over his
head like a club. When he struck my chest, the ground cracked, and I tumbled into the small crater. For a man who spent his
evenings weeping about getting caught, he had more than enough brawn.
He paused, narrowing his eyes as he studied my face. “I recognize you.” Good, then he’d remember me stealing his cookie
during dinner in the mess hall. This time, when he kicked, his toe bounced off rock. I stood, letting my body shift into one of my
personal favorites, a golem.
Being made from mud, they had many iterations over the years. Unbeatable’s fist punctured my chest. He tried to withdraw,
but I trapped him. Now, it was time to prove he needed to pick a different name. Mission-sanctioned violence. Nobody could
get mad at me for this.
My body morphed until I held his wrist with one hand. With the other, I drove my knuckles upward, catching the edge of his
jaw. He hadn’t hit the ground as I transitioned into a giant were-bear. Just for effect, I let out a loud roar before jumping on him.
Unbeatable tried to land a punch, but none of them landed with any force. I wanted to carve a giant B in his forehead for
“Beatable.”
With a couple of smacks across the face, he spit blood. His body went limp before the begging started. “I give up. I
surrender!”
With another slap across the face, I made sure to leave claw marks. He’d remember getting his ass kicked. There were a
thousand powers a guy could have. A little extra strength didn’t mean he deserved a codename. I bet they debated to send him
to Cold Iron or just toss him in with the civilians.
“You let him get away,” Hank growled. “LaToya is going to kill me.” He started pacing back and forth, hand dragging down
his face. He’d be cuter if he wasn’t mad at me. I wanted to explain myself, but according to Doc, sometimes being quiet was
the smartest thing to do in these situations.
“I’m going to get fired. If I’m lucky. She’s going to… I don’t know. It won’t be good.”
He stopped pacing and glanced at me. Unbeatable tried lifting his head, and I smashed it against the ground. I smiled the
best a human-bear hybrid could. “Hi.” The voice was gruff, almost animalistic.
“And what are we going to do about him?”
Hank walked closer. From my spot on the ground, I could see a thin line of skin where his t-shirt had lifted. Oh, Hank ‘the
handler’ had himself a happy trail. I let my eyes travel that road and to where it ended. Unbeatable grumbled, but I couldn’t
make out the words while I pressed a paw against his bloodied face.
“He’s seen our faces,” Hank said.
Oh, he was worried about protecting our identities. Even if the cops showed up and carted Unbeatable off to prison, he
only needed to make a phone call. Criminals with leverage always found a buyer, and we couldn’t have Malignant aware that
we were trailing him. I pulled Unbeatable upright. The poor guy, he should have changed his name. Too late now.
SNAP.
With the strength of a superpowered bear, his neck snapped like a cheap number two pencil. “One problem taken care⁠—”
“What the hell did you do?” Hank threw his hands up in the air. The anger in his voice made it impossible to enjoy his shirt
lifting above his belly button. Well, almost impossible. He growled and shouted swears as he paced back and forth.
“You’re sending mixed signals. Did you not want him dead?”
He froze. “He could have told us where Malignant is hiding.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” his voice had gotten louder, “definitely, oh. Do you ever think before you act? LaToya is going to be pissed.”
I let go of Unbeatable’s head, letting his body hit the ground. By the time I heard the thud, I had reverted to my usual form. I
couldn’t look Hank in the eye. It was one thing to get myself in trouble, but I felt bad getting him involved. Our first mission
together, and I screwed up.
“I’ll tell her it was my fault.”
 His eyes widened. This wasn’t how I wanted our first meeting to go. I thought there’d be more high-fives and patting on the
butt. But, like always, I botched things. There was no bringing Unbeatable back from the dead, at least not without the help of a
necromancer.
Hank stormed toward me. This is where we should have shaken hands and offered each other congratulations. Instead, he
drove his finger into my chest.
I prepared myself for the verbal assault. He’d lay into me about not doing my job or being an unfocused idiot. It wasn’t
anything I hadn’t heard before. Even with the angled brows and flash of teeth as he snarled, he remained handsome. There was
no point in admiring. This work relationship failed before it started.
He didn’t say a word. That made it worse.
Turning around, he stormed off. Down the alley, he stopped and looked over his shoulder. I hoped it was an “I’ll see you
tomorrow” or some other statement that ensured we’d still be working together.
“Hide the body.”
Hank continued on, leaving the alley and me behind.
 5

I PUSHED MY FACE INTO THE STREAM. THE WHOOSH OF WATER PELTED MY FACE AS I BRACED MY HANDS AGAINST THE SHOWER
wall. I couldn’t be bothered with my usual evening ritual of porn and a lengthy handjob. Reaching for the handle, I turned it
further into the red. This would need to be an extra hot shower to wash away the sense of dread.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Hank’s face. He had been angry, no, more like livid. I didn’t know how to make it right.
It would take more than an apology. My first actual mission for LaToya, and I botched it. I wanted to bang my head against the
tiles. No amount of scalding water would fix this.
I shut off the water and toweled off. Doc suggested I go out and make some new friends. Easy for him. I bet he walked into
a room, and heads turned. Same for Diesel. They had charisma and could charm the pants off anybody they wanted. Vex… he
bought his company. Those weren’t friends; they were henchmen.
I stopped in front of the mirror above the vanity. What did I have? There was nothing special about me. Maybe Vex was
right, and I was an idiot. Maybe this is how it would be? Me doing my own thing by myself.
I pulled my phone off the vanity, hoping it had vibrated while I tried to drown myself in the shower. But it was the same as
always. My text remained unanswered.

C: Diesel, can we talk?

I tossed the towel on the floor and wandered through the living room and into the bedroom. The floor-to-ceiling windows made
for a pretty sight. The lights of Vanguard twinkled. In a building across the street, I indulged in the lives of normal folks.
Workout guy stood in front of his big-screen TV following a yoga instructor. Violin girl sat at her desk. I enjoyed listening
to her rehearse. But it was Man-in-tie I wanted to find. I located the window, and like always, he was wearing his signature
blue shirt and dark blue tie.
I imagined he had a job at a bank or maybe selling something. But even when he got home, he stayed in his shirt and tie until
it was time to go to bed. Older, maybe in his sixties, he stood in his kitchen putting something on a plate. I envied him. No, I
didn’t envy his perfectly pressed shirts. It was the relationship between him and the person who ironed those shirts.
He carried a plate into the living room where his wife sat. He plopped down on the couch next to her. Setting down the
plate, he removed his tie, carefully laying it on the back of the couch. He reached for the plate, grabbing a… cookie? Handing
it to his wife, she smiled and kissed him on the cheek. He draped his arm over her shoulder as she nestled against him.
With a quick double clap, the lights turned off, and they settled in for a night of watching television. My heart wanted to
explode. Man-In-Tie and Mrs. Man-In-Tie gave me hope that someday, somebody would bring me a cookie. I wanted to be
jealous, but they were too perfect.
I crawled into bed. The king-sized mattress novelty had worn off. It had gone from luxury to a reminder that I occupied the
bed alone. Well, except for Mr. Chubs. I searched under the blankets until I found the large stuffed bear who protected me
while I slept.
The oversized teddy bear had seen better days. He had flattened from too many nights of squeezing while I fell asleep. One
of his eyes had gone missing during a prison riot, but otherwise, he made it out alive. I pulled him against my chest, burying my
face in the back of his head. Unlike the rest of the world, he put up with my antics and didn’t judge.
Maybe tomorrow would be better? The same question I asked every night as I drifted off to sleep.
“I’m sorry, Hank.”
 6

THE TEXT FROM DOC HAD BEEN OMINOUS . THIS WASN ’ T OUR USUAL DAY FOR GROUP THERAPY. AN UNSCHEDULED MEETUP MEANT
LaToya wasn’t happy. The only positive, at least she wasn’t showing herself. If I walked into Haven and she sat in our normal
booth, I’d be running and taking my chances at being a hunted man.
I pushed the heavy oak door. I would have thought a bar would be empty before breakfast. Apparently, businessmen needed
liquid courage before they ventured into corporate Vanguard. As I walked past the bar, I recognized my mailman throwing back
shots of tequila. I guess that’s why I always got Margaret’s mail. That’s okay, though. It made good kindling for the fireplace.
I slowed as I spotted the booth. I couldn’t see Doc’s face, but across from him, Hank sat with his arms folded. He didn’t
look thrilled. I don’t know if it’d help, but I was prepared to take responsibility. Going back to Cold Iron would be horrible…
but I couldn’t drag another person down.
I straightened my shirt and ran a hand over my beard, trying to make myself presentable. “Okay, time to get yelled at by my
shrink.”
I approached the table, giving Hank a slight wave before sliding into the booth. I scooted over until Doc sat across from
me. Hank didn’t move as I bumped into him. Did that mean he wasn’t still mad?
“I’m still furious,” he whispered.
Well, that answered that. But hey, we were talking? Any joy faded at the sight of Doc. I searched his blank face and folded
hands. Everybody had a tell, a way to discern what they were thinking, but not him. I could copy his appearance, but it’d be
almost impossible to be him. As minutes passed, his steady breathing, in through the nose and out through the mouth, didn’t
change.
“Do you know why I’ve asked you here?”
My parents used to play this trick on me. Ask a question and see if I fessed up to cheating on a test or stealing my dad’s
Thunderbird for a joyride. I mimicked Doc’s calm demeanor, refusing to fall for the ploy.
“We failed the mission.”
We? Hank could have lobbed the blame on me, and rightfully so. He didn’t offer any more information. Maybe his parents
played the tattle on yourself game, too? It’d be smart to be quiet, but I couldn’t let him burn with me.
“I screwed up and let the target go. I might have also accidentally killed our only lead.”
“Might?” Hank and Doc said it in unison.
“Mission-sanctioned killing is okay.” Doc had made the rule. He couldn’t go back on it now.
“LaToya is less than thrilled with Malignant getting away. She says the contents of his briefcase could lead to the
destruction of superheroes. She needs the contents, but she also needs to know how Malignant plans on using them.”
Hank leaned forward on his elbows. I tried to ignore his leg bumping into mine. Having this gorgeous man only inches
away made it hard to focus. It’d be way more fun to run my hand up his thigh. No. No. Focus. I needed to be a good partner.
“Are you saying she’s giving us a second chance?”
Doc gave a slight nod.
“Oh, thank God.” I let out a quick breath.
“We found a business card in the man’s pocket you accidentally killed. LaToya has reason to believe it’s where
Malignant’s next meetup is taking place. She wants you to infiltrate it, find Malignant, and capture him.”
“Oh.” Sounded easy enough. “I can do that. I promise I won’t accidentally kill him.” Hopefully, the air quotes made my
intentions clear.
“You’re using air quotes wrong,” Hank said.
“Unfortunately, I don’t think he is.” Doc didn’t seem convinced.
I slumped back in my seat, arms folded across my chest. I understood those businessmen getting wasted before they headed
off to their jobs. If they kept poking at me, I’d need a shot or four of tequila. The mailman had the right idea.
“What do you need him to do?”
Doc shook his head. “Not just him. You’re both going into the field.”
“Wait, what? I’ve never been in the field before. Look what happened yesterday. I’m tech support. You know, average.
Boring. Human. ”
“Aww, I think you’re above average where it counts.” The dirty look meant it wasn’t the right time to flirt. “I meant you
have guts. You went after the bad guy.” His eyes softened. Good save.
“You’ll learn on the job.” Doc’s voice dropped to a whisper. “There’s a resort for the super elite. A man of Clint’s abilities
will make him valuable for this mission. Hank, you’ll be posing as a tech mogul interested in forming a team to rival the
Centurions. You’ll be attending, hoping to find recruits.”
“Rival the Centurions?” Even I wasn’t ballsy enough to compete with the world’s most famous superheroes. Nobody had
ever tried, or at least never been successful, in repeating the experiment.
“This sounds like a one-man job to me. Clint can hide in plain sight.”
Doc leaned back in his chair. His hands crossed, his pointer finger tapping a steady rhythm. He only pulled away from the
table when he was about to deliver bad news. We saw him do that a lot, usually whenever Vex opened his mouth.
“The resort is for couples.”
“Dynamic duos?” I asked.
The smile spread across his face. It was even more unsettling as his demon co-pilot popped up. When the black covered
his face, it, too, had a disturbing, toothy grin. Apparently, I was missing something.
“Whoa. Whoa. Let me get this straight.” Hank didn’t seem thrilled by the situation. I understood after yesterday that he
might not want to be my sidekick, but the tone made it sound even worse.
“You want Clint and me, the tech support, the guy who never spent a day in the field, to pose as a couple? And then you
want us to infiltrate a resort filled with heroes like we’re on a little league-scouting trip? No. Nope. No way in hell.”
Oh! That’s what Doc meant. Okay, now Hank’s refusal to be my pretend boyfriend stung. I’d make a great imaginary
boyfriend, even if he didn’t think so.
“If you refuse, you’ll need to have a one-on-one with Director LaToya.”
Even I could sense the tension as Hank stiffened. I didn’t need to be a mind reader to know time alone with her wouldn’t
end well. If he was lucky, she’d have him clear his desk. More likely, he’d never be heard from again. She might work with
superheroes, but everything about her said she understood how to get things done like a criminal.
“I’m in,” I said. I had little choice. It was either take a vacation to a tropical resort or go back to Cold Iron. But I could see
Hank debating his options. He bit the top of his lip, chewing on it while his vision focused on the table.
“I’m in,” he whispered.
“That’s awesome, cubbiekins. We’ll have drinks, get some sun, stop some bad guys.”
“Don’t think this is anything but me keeping my job.” Hank slid out of the booth. “When do we leave?”
“Tomorrow. Pack for a tropical paradise.”
“Text me the details.” Hank said nothing as he shoved his hands into his hoodie and walked away. It could have been
worse. Nobody died. That’s me, the eternal optimist.
“Clint,” Doc had that lecture voice. “Foremost, this is a mission. Make no mistake, if you fail, I won’t be able to protect
you from LaToya. Beyond that, there’s potential here for some self-improvement.”
“Like?” I thought I was pretty damned near perfect. Has he stared into these baby blues?
“Expanding your circle of friends.”
“You want me to make friends on the island?” First, he wants me to infiltrate; then, he wants me to make friends. For a guy
with so many degrees and a demon possessing his body able to see into my soul, he never made sense.
He took a long, steadying breath.
“Hank,” he said. “Work friends are still friends. He’d be a good person to connect with.”
“Hank? The guy hates me.”
“Then it’s up to you to fix it. That’d be the friendly thing to do.”
I hated when he had a point. What do friends do when they’re mad at each other? I could send him an e-card? Punch him in
the shoulder and laugh about it? Apologize? Oh, that sounded good. “I’ll apologize.”
“Sounds like a good start. Go pack.”
 I laughed. “I’m all the wardrobe I need.” To emphasize the point, the front of my shirt turned from a flat gray to gray with a
giant yellow smiley face. I gave him a wink and scooted out of the booth. Before I headed home, I needed to make a stop. An
apology might not be enough to win Hank over. Some advice from somebody other than my therapist could be helpful.
“Oh, and Clint…” Doc looked over his glasses as I got out of the booth. Oh no, I was in trouble. “Next time you hide a
body, don’t shove it in a chute slide at the local playground.”
Noted.

“Welcome to Lou’s. Sit your ass down. If you order a milkshake, I’ll stab you with a fork. The specials are on the board. You
want coffee? Of course, you want coffee. You look like hell.”
The door hadn’t closed behind me before the small woman wearing a bright red bandanna laid into me. The moment I
spotted the white apron stained in ketchup, I knew this must be her, the legendary Lisanette, owner of Lou’s Diner. Diesel said
she was the only woman more terrifying than LaToya. I could see why. If I arranged a cage match between her, LaToya, and
Margaret, who would walk out the winner?
“The dog,” I whispered as I hopped on a stool at the counter.
Since meeting with Doc, I had spent the day browsing the internet looking at beach attire. I sent a few dozen photos to my
phone in case I needed a reference. When you didn’t need to shop for clothes, packing a suitcase came easy. Mr. Chubs and a
toothbrush. What more did I need? But just to be safe, I took a drawer from my landlord’s bureau and emptied the underwear
into my suitcase. That way, if anybody inspected or had x-ray vision, they’d think I had an underwear fetish… which wasn’t far
from the truth.
Lisanette dropped a cup in front of me. “Coffee. Black.” It fell somewhere between a recommendation to not ask for sugar
and a threat that if I did, she’d hurl a meat cleaver at my head. I just smiled, accepting it. It tasted like death, but I was too
scared to say anything.
I sipped the sewer water as I got a glance at the place. Diesel had been working here for months. It was exactly what he
described. It fell somewhere between American nostalgia and Vanguard modern. He didn’t need a job, but he kept coming
back. Was she holding him hostage?
“What would you like to order?”
“I’m just here to talk with⁠—”
“That sounds like a burger of the day to me.”
“But I⁠—”
“Burger. Of. The. Day.”
“I wouldn’t argue with her.” The young boy sitting on a stool reading comics spoke without looking in my direction.
“Nobody ever wins.”
“Burger of the day, I guess?” LaToya wouldn’t stand a chance. She’d need the Centurions to take down this hurricane.
“Oh, great. That’s what I would have recommended.” She scribbled it on a pad and then hooked it on the carousel before
spinning it through the window. “Diesel, you’ve got company.”
“Tell Cal—” He froze when he saw me. He hadn’t said the diner was off-limits. Perhaps he implied it with a threat or two,
but never said I couldn’t stop in. But now I had questions about Cal. Was that the boyfriend eating up all his free time? He
waved me back.
“Stop hogging the handsome men. I’m going through a serious drought over here, and I need a man with the upper body
strength to—” She froze when the young man lifted his head. “Help me fix the drain in the sink.” Her son. Definitely her son. I
held back a grin.
I slid off my stool and went behind the counter and through the swinging door. To my surprise, Diesel had his hand over the
grill, fire pouring out over a pair of burgers. Now I understood why he came to work. He got to show off his powers without
getting in trouble.
Then it dawned on me. “She knows?”
“Shh,” he said. “Yes, she knows. We have an arrangement.”
“You cook for her, and she doesn’t kill you in your sleep?”
“No. Well, sort of. She found out when I—” He grabbed a spatula and flipped a slab of meat in the air. His body language
differed from group sessions. He didn’t work because he had to. He liked it here. “Never mind. It’s a long story. She knows,
and we have an arrangement. What are you doing here? I’m pretty sure⁠—”
“I know. But you never answer your text messages.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“With Cal?” Yes, I wanted information about his new boy toy.
“Yes. Sort of. I’ve got another job going on. It’s kept me busy. I wasn’t intentionally ignoring you.”
 I appreciated the half-assed apology. “Anyway, I need your advice.”
“Hand me the buns.” I stole a glance at his ass. I mean, if he insisted. “Over there.” He gestured toward the back wall. Oh,
that made way more sense. I opened the bag and handed him the bread.
“LaToya was pretty pissed with me about the incident. So, she gave me a babysitter.”
“Harsh. Who wants a sidekick?”
“Oh, he doesn’t have… voosh.” I gestured to the flames. “He’s a tech geek. But he’s a nice guy.”
“So you want advice to get in his pants? Buddy, you’ve got that one covered.”
I shook my head. “No. I mean, maybe. No. Definitely no. Look, I know what you and Vex think of me. You’re the mean one.
Vex is the arrogant one. I’m the dumb one.”
“For the record, I don’t think you’re dumb. Impulsive, yes. Oh, hell yes. But dumb? No.”
It’d be awkward to say thanks. I didn’t expect him to say anything nice. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I turned about as I
inspected the kitchen. I needed a moment to collect myself. Being a shapeshifter, can avoid crying or make my voice deeper,
but he was right. I had a knack for wedging my foot in my mouth.
“How do you…” My voice trailed off.
“I can’t hear you over the grease.”
I leaned in close and whispered in his ear. “How do you make friends?”
The fire stopped, and he turned, one eyebrow freakishly high. “Wait, you’re serious? Do you not have any friends?”
I didn’t want to throw my entire childhood on the table and tell him shapeshifters are good at being everybody’s friends.
They’re just not good at making friends when they’re themselves… or at least this version of myself. I could transform into any
man’s fantasy and get freaky in the bedroom. Have an authentic conversation? It’d be years of therapy with Doc before I sorted
this out.
“Okay, look, it’s easy. Be yourself.”
“Shapeshifter. I’m everybody but myself.”
“Good point. Talk to him. Ask him about work. Learn about him. If you have something in common, talk about it. Perhaps…
and hear me out on this… be yourself with him.”
After years of sculpting this look, that wasn’t going to happen.
“Like this.” He gestured back and forth between us. “We’re having an honest conversation.”
“True. And you’re not a friend.”
He punched me in the shoulder hard enough it hurt. “We’re pals. I’m sorry if I come off like I don’t care. I’m not exactly the
get-to-know-you type.” See, the universal sign for an apology between men.
“Did you just admit that we’re friends?”
Before he could respond, I let my arms elongate, wrapping them around his chest. I squeezed him in a bear hug, lifting him
off his feet. As I squeezed him, the door swung open. How the hell did she both look confused and angry at the same time?
“Oh! One of those hombres.”
“Put me down. She’s speaking Spanish. The apocalypse is coming. Save yourself. Run. Now.” My arms snapped back into
place. I pressed against the door, easing my way past his boss. At least I didn’t need to worry about outing myself to her.
“Good luck, buddy.” I mouthed a, ‘I’m sorry.’ I’d need to send him an e-card, too.
“Text me if you need me.” I slid out of the kitchen as the Spanish flew. I didn’t need to know the language to hear the tone.
A braver me would stay and help Diesel, but I’d rather not die tonight.
“It’s fine,” said the boy. “She only yells when she likes you.”
Okay, maybe I didn’t understand adult relationships. I dropped some money on the counter and booked it for the door. I’d
say a prayer for Diesel. But at least he gave me the boost of confidence I needed. I could do this. Stop a supervillain from
destroying the planet and make amends with Hank.
Two friends. And Doc was worried about the size of my social circle.
 7

“YOU’ RE A GENIUS ,” SAID VEX . “YOU’ RE BETTER THAN ME IN EVERY WAY.”

I opened the pantry looking for something, anything, that wasn’t healthy. At some point, I’d need to fence a few of the
owners’ watches or break into the safe hidden in his closet. I couldn’t survive on kale chips.
“Clint, why don’t you come over, and I’ll cook you a burger,” Diesel begged.
With one last check-in at the fridge, I gave up. Carrots wouldn’t cut it, and the bottles full of green sludge made my stomach
turn. I could either go out or find something else to distract myself.
“Maybe you can work on yourself,” said Doc.
“It’s pointless,” Vex interjected. “He’s perfect.”
“Aww, thanks Vex. You’re still an asshole.”
“I’m making up for my tiny penis.”
I walked into the bedroom, standing in front of the full-length mirror. A naked Vex stared back at me. This wasn’t a new one
for me, but removing his package and making him smooth as a doll amused me. Unfortunately, he was still sexy otherwise. I let
my face shift until the eyebrows grew unruly and my frown turned comical. Dammit, even stretched like silly putty, the man still
maintained his brooding charisma.
My body shifted to Diesel, wearing nothing but an apron. “Would you like me to handle your meat?” I snorted. “Let’s make
something in the kitchen sizzle.”
Being a shapeshifter meant I could be my own entertainment. I never had a problem laughing at myself, especially as
somebody else. I did a quick inspection of the room, just to see if I could spot any cameras LaToya might have left.
“Clint!” LaToya yelled. How did she look terrifying, even naked? I gave one of my breasts a poke. She had a rocking body.
There was no way she could be this stunning without having work done. I let my boobs sag, and the lines around my eyes and
lips darken. Her hair turned white, and she went from sexy to… sexier. How did they do it? “We’re just naturally beautiful.
Jealous?”
I let out a long sigh. LaToya vanished, replaced by an enormous belly, thick thighs, and a round face. I couldn’t remember
the last time I let myself relax and wear my own skin. I wasn’t ugly, but nothing like Vex or Diesel. My belly proved I had an
addiction to junk food and didn’t spend enough time at the gym. I smiled at myself. Crooked, even hidden behind the already
whitening hair of my beard.
“Nope.” With a slight flex, the Clint everybody knew returned. It was bad enough that they thought of me as the idiot. It
forced me to rely on good looks and charm. But to be the ugly idiot? What would they think then? They’d probably kick me out
of group therapy. Would Diesel want to be seen with me if he didn’t have to?
What about Hank?
My skin rippled and shifted until I looked like Hank from this morning. He was even more handsome than his voice
suggested. I squinted as I inspected the beard. I think it was a little more orange than red. With a subtle color switch, the picture
was perfect. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Hank stood on the other side of the mirror staring back at me.
If LaToya hadn’t broken down my door after imitating her, I assumed the apartment wasn’t bugged. Hank said he could only
see when I had my goggles on. I let the clothes sink into my body until I stood in nothing but tighty-whities. I had never seen him
without clothes, which meant my abilities drew from the imagination.
“Nah. Too revealing.”
The fabric crept down my legs until I was in boxer briefs. They showed off his thick thighs and made the curves of his ass
even more pronounced. But after hearing him over the comms, he was more conservative. The fabric grew loose until I wore a
pair of yellow boxers with a giant smiley face on them.
“Yeah, that seems about right.”
They didn’t show off his body, but something about them made him even more endearing. He might call the shots on a
mission, but he was shy. He’d blush from removing his shirt, let alone his pants. By the time it came to his underwear, his
cheeks would glow as if they contained an inferno.
“Speaking of…”
I hooked my thumbs in the waistband. Wiggling my ass, they fell toward the floor, absorbed along my legs as they went.
Another naked doll, like Vex had been earlier. But I bet behind that geeky smile and commanding voice, there was something to
be proud of. Eight inches? Check. Not too thick. Circumcised or not? Tough call. White, no obvious religious ties… but I bet he
had conservative parents. Circumcised it is.
“Well, hello, good looking.”
My cock stiffened at the sight. Not because of my powers, but good ol’ fashioned arousal. Hank was a drop-dead gorgeous
bear of a man. I flexed, my cock jumping as I struck a pose in the mirror. How mad would Doc be if I skipped friends and
moved straight to friends with benefits? Though, I guess after my screw-up, that’d be impossible.
I gripped my cock and let out a moan. I imagined him standing in the mirror and me cozying up behind him, reaching around
to caress his belly and slide my hand onto his package. While I stroked, my other hand caressed circles around my nipple. That
would be how it’d start. My hands exploring every inch of his body.
Another arm formed, caressing my other nipple. It wasn’t as good as somebody else having their way with me, but it’d
suffice as I lost myself in my imagination. But with all the teasing and caressing, it’d only be foreplay for when I nestled my
cock between the cheeks of his ass. There’d only be so much resisting before I wanted… no, needed to mount him.
I locked eyes with the doppelgänger in the mirror. I continued stroking, pulling the skin tight before squeezing my fist and
sliding to the tip again. The fourth arm formed along my spine. I gasped as a finger slid across my hole.
I grunted as a finger slid inside, followed by a second, leaving me growling. The precum beaded on the tip of my cock,
vanishing as I wiped it across the head. The thought of Hank writhing underneath me, begging for more, made it difficult to hold
back. I didn’t want it to end, not yet.
“Come in me.” Hank’s voice urged me forward. “Breed me. I want your—” My body tightened as the electricity surged
through every muscle. I lurched forward, bracing two hands on the wall while the third continued milking my cock. My heart
raced, lungs gasped for breath as cum splashed across the mirror. I grunted as the fingers slid from my ass. With a quick slap on
the ass, the arm along my spine rejoined my body.
“Damn,” I gasped. The sight of Hank glistening with sweat might very well be the sexiest thing I had ever seen. I gave the
belly a jiggle, leaving a trail of cum. As the extra arm vanished, I returned to myself, my real self.
It was hot to imagine getting down and dirty with Hank. But even if we could get past our workplace spat, he’d never
accept this train wreck of a person. It was for the best to keep it under wraps and let him daydream about his ripped co-worker.
With a quick flex, I returned to my usual self and ran my hand through the thick hair along my torso.
This was the better version. Now to take my sexy ass and wash off the mess. Tomorrow began my chance to win Hank over
and go from foe to friend. He wouldn’t be able to resist this devilishly good-looking stud.
First, clean up this mess. Then, hunt for snacks.
 8

“THIS CAN ’ T BE REAL.”

The sun shimmered off the water as the yacht cut through the choppy waters. We had been moving at a steady clip since
early this morning. Hank used the time to run over the parameters of the mission. Diagrams and notecards covered multiple
tables in the dining hall. By the looks of it, he hadn’t slept last night, instead spending his off hours researching.
I couldn’t handle another round of ‘Here’s what we know’ and ‘Are you paying attention?’ I needed a break. Ironically,
most details about the resort and who created it were a mystery. Being a superhero hub meant secrecy. But if I sat through
another PowerPoint presentation, I’d literally throw myself overboard. Drowning beat another pop quiz.
I checked my watch, still not working. It must have been late afternoon. I shifted into my casual beach attire with white
shorts and an open Hawaiian shirt. If only I could find myself a good floppy hat to complete the look. I’d worry about that later.
It was hard to focus on anything other than the sound of the waves splashing against the hull as we approached paradise.
Hank hadn’t said a word that wasn’t related to work. I could tell he wasn’t over the accident at Super Con. He didn’t talk
with me, but more at me. His insistence on detailing every possibility siphoned the fun out of the mission. Had I been like that
the first time I robbed a bank? No, I don’t think so. I think I just walked in, took the manager’s form and walked out with the
money.
Every time I tried Diesel’s advice. He shut me down and said, “You need to focus,” or “We’re in this mess because of
you.”
In the distance, I spotted the island. From here, it wasn’t much more than a speck in an endless ocean. I leaned on the
railing, watching the shadows in the water. To the side, a trio of dolphins jumped as if they were begging for the spotlight. If I
had been by myself, I might hop in the water and splash about with them.
“Wow.”
I turned to see Hank wobbling his way toward the front of the boat. The way he bounced about suggested he’d never live on
the high seas. What it did to his belly, however… I appreciated the waves even more. Unfortunately, he kept his shirt with
black flamingos buttoned all the way to the neck.
“Never been on a ship?”
Hank didn’t reply.
The last few steps, he staggered toward the railing. He held on for dear life, his knuckles turning white. I couldn’t help but
chuckle when I spotted the white patch under his sleeve attempting to combat seasickness. He might be worried about the
mission, but first, he’d have to survive the cruise there. At least he hadn’t hurled. Yet.
“There’s the island.” He flinched as the spray smacked us in the face. “We should go over our cover story again.”
Nope. I’d sink the ship before that happened. I couldn’t tell if he was worried about the mission or if he enjoyed being in
control. He had scripted every word as if he predicted the million questions people could ask. Improv and Hank did not go
together.
“Or we can just spend a moment enjoying the scenery.”
“You should be more worried about the mission. How can you be so casual about it?”
I had to take a moment and think about my answer. We could run through the mission a thousand times and have it scripted
down to the letter. Would it really help? The moment somebody asked his favorite color, I’d have to make it up on the fly. It
was impossible to plan for every variable.
“I am.” He thought I tried to avoid his PowerPoint presentation because I didn’t take it seriously. I don’t know if he
understood what failing LaToya’s errand meant. He might get fired from his desk job. Oh, no! That’d be horrible, but I’d be
powerless behind bars.
“You can’t plan for every detail.”
“I beg to differ.”
“What’s my favorite color?”
He raised an eyebrow. The boat lurched, and he clung to the railing as if the ship might go down. “I don’t get it.”
“You’re trying to plan for every detail. So, what’s my favorite color? There might be a life-or-death situation, and you⁠—”
“I doubt somebody’s going to ask that.”
“Yours is green. Kind of flat, but still rich. It’d go unnoticed by most, but that’s why you like it.” His presentation had been
covered in green graphs. When he switched between them, I spotted the background on his computer, and one color stood out.
I kept my eyes on the island as it grew larger. Despite our approach, it stayed a small speck. I guess owning an island was
expensive, and they had to go with a small one. I’d have to check resort prices when I get home.
In my peripheral, Hank stared, his jaw hanging open. “How did you⁠—”
“I observe people. It’s what I do.”
He turned back to the water. While he studied the landscape, I stole a glance at the man. We were about to arrive at an
island where we’d need to pretend to be this iron-clad power couple with a history. He had proven himself incredibly smart as
he ran through the floor plan of the retreat. I could handle a handsome man, but a smart man? How did I compete with that?
While I tried to get through his ‘all business’ attitude, it became apparent that this was nothing more than a mission to him. I
repeated Doc’s words in my head. Work friends were still friends.
“It reminds me of home.”
“What does?”
“Viridian. It has a cool name, and it reminds me of the trees around my old house.”
“Aaaaand?”
“It’s usually overlooked,” he admitted with a huff. “Fine. You’re right.”
Score. I wasn’t just a pretty face. Don’t get me wrong, I had an extremely handsome mug, but I had other tricks. Hank
smiled, brief, but it was a step in the right direction. I’d take that over drilling his finger in my chest. It was a start.
“You need to relax. Take it from somebody who gets into places he’s not supposed to be. The key is going with the flow.
Make it up on the fly.”
“Your impulsive behavior got us here.” He said it with a slight growl. “If you fuck this up…”
“I’ll do my part. In the meantime, loosen up.”
I flashed a toothy grin. He rolled his eyes. I guess we were going to be that kind of couple. I’d be the fun-loving dork. He’d
be the overly stressed control freak. I bobbed my head as I hummed the jingle to our sitcom.
“You’re insufferable.”
“Thanks!” I threw up a hand for a high-five. Wait, did I know what insufferable meant? He left me hanging as he staggered
toward the cabin. “What? Nothing?”
“Your fly is down,” he shouted.
I reached down. That’s embarrassing. At least I know he was looking at my junk. There was hope for this mission.

We walked up the stairs toward the main building of the resort. The island wasn’t much more than a beach leading up to a small
forest before it turned into a pair of mountains. Nestled at the base, a series of buildings made up L’isle des Méchants. I’m
pretty sure this was the first image that popped up when you Googled ‘expensive island resort.’
“Are you ready?” I asked.
Hank tried to navigate the stairs with three suitcases. It bordered on comical as he dragged them behind. I barely had any
belongings, and it looked as if he had packed everything but the kitchen sink. I bet if I asked, he’d have at least ten different
types of socks despite it being a sandal-only mission. The real question came down to boxers or briefs.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Nope!” I grabbed one of his suitcases, wrestling it away. We continued until the path widened into a giant circle, complete
with a water fountain in the center. The surrounding hedges had been manicured, several of them shaped like mermaids. The
building stood like a giant white cube, stark against the greenery of the island. Behind it, similar white squares peppered the
side of the mountain. I assumed one of those would be our room.
“It’s gorgeous,” he muttered.
 I charged ahead. Even the water fountain outdid itself with a cupid on top and water pouring from a jar. Everything said
money. After three more stairs, we were standing in front of a wall of glass with doors leading into the lobby. I wondered
which heroes we’d bump into. Hopefully, nobody I had fought or, weirder yet, bedded. Hey, I like to live dangerously.
We reached the front doors, and they parted, a draft of cold air wrapping about us. The resort reminded me of my
grandmother and how she always had a fresh clipping of lilac in the kitchen. The rest, however, screamed ultra-modern to the
point of feeling sterile.
“Let me get your bags, Mr. & Mr. Styles.” A man in a black suit relieved me of my suitcases. Hank, however, put up a
struggle until he admitted defeat and let go of his luggage. “I’ll bring them to your rooms while you check yourselves in.” He
slid them onto a cart and dashed toward the exit.
The lobby was by far the fanciest place I had ever seen. Almost three stories tall, the back wall was made entirely of glass,
letting in light with an amazing view of the mountain base. There were sunken areas like my living room, couches surrounding
tables covered in fire. Above the check-in desk, a painting thirty feet long took up the wall. I knew nothing about art, but the
depiction of demons tearing apart humans seemed like an odd choice. I was ready to give it five stars, and we hadn’t even seen
the bedrooms.
Another man, almost identical to the first, approached, holding a silver tray with two drinks. “Cocktails, sir?” He could
have been an identical twin of the bellhop. Maybe it was a family-owned business?
“Why yes, yes I would.”
I snatched the goblet without reading the placard on the tray. I took a sniff of the dark red liquid and finished it in a single
gulp. Tart. Not my usual hard alcohol, but I wouldn’t say no to a free drink.
Hank looked horrified. He held up his hand, refusing. Snatching his glass, I downed it as fast as the first. I wiped my mouth
with the back of my hand and flashed a smile.
“Vacation is awesome.” I had to keep my fake boyfriend on his toes. It’s what maintained the magic in our relationship. I
was starving. Did this guy have another brother holding a tray of chocolaty treats?
On the far side of the lobby, I spotted two guests. The man had so much muscle that he might be wider than tall. It was
almost comical seeing him in swim trunks and wearing flip-flops, that made a smacking sound with each step. The woman,
however, wore a skimpy bikini and heels. But it wasn’t the exposure of skin that made her intriguing; it was the lack of clacking
from her shoes. She walked quietly enough to sneak up on a person.
“I’ll be seeing to your orienta⁠—”
I recognized that shrill, deathly voice. She stood up from behind the front desk. Now, the flowing dress and luggage made
sense. Evil incarnate had descended upon the island. I’d just as soon wrestled a giant radioactive dinosaur than see her. Hank
reached for my hand, giving it a harsh squeeze.
“You know her,” he whispered.
“Mar-gah-reet.” I couldn’t say the name without a snarl.
She leaned over a black journal, flipping to the last page. “Your name is Clint Styles? I guess it’s better than calling you
‘The Himbo Down the Hall.’”
Hank had a worried expression on his face. I didn’t need to ask. He feared our cover story had been blown. We were
barely minutes into the mission and already he encountered a situation he hadn’t prepared for. It was time to show him how to
roll with the punches.
“She-Witch, you work here? Does Satan know you have a side hustle?”
She continued flipping through the book, scanning pages as she glanced up now and then. What had LaToya supplied them
to get us on the island? Did she have our backstory? But more than that, I had to think if Margaret had any reason to suspect I
was anything but one of the pristine good guys. This dashed any chance of getting upgraded to the presidential suite.
“Honey, this is the harpy that lives on my floor.”
She gave me a middle finger. “You’re in the fifth room on the mountain. You’ll book your activities once you arrive at your
room. The counseling sessions will be⁠—”
“Counseling sessions?” Hank asked.
“Yes.” She smiled as if she had been caught with the canary. Did Margaret know she hosted a resort full of supers? Was she
one of them, too? That would explain so many things.
“I don’t think we need counseling, but thanks.”
She slowly folded her hands on the counter, blinking far more than necessary. I should have killed her in the elevator. She’d
have slid right down the garbage chute without issue. The smile had frozen, making her go from scary to terrifying. I prepared
for the impending apocalypse.
“Counseling is mandatory.” She leaned forward, eyes glazing over. If she cackled, I’d kill her now. “No exceptions.” She
smacked the counter. “Maybe they can help with your personality.”
“Great,” Hank mumbled.
Before the end of the trip, I’d drag her to the entryway and drown her in the water fountain. Or maybe strap her down to a
fire table and let her burn? I keep a note of every way I could kill my arch-nemesis in paradise. This was the perfect vacation
spot to dispose of corpses.
“I’ll add it to my calendar.” Hank let go of my hand and reached into his pocket. Pulling out his phone, he tapped the screen
and waited. When nothing happened, he tapped it again as he grumbled.
“Oh, did you not read the brochure?” Margaret had found the perfect job. Paid to be condescending. She’d have to add that
to her resume. “There’s no electronics on the island. No phones. No television. No satellite uplinks to your low orbit space
stations.”
Hank’s plans crumbled. My tech-dependent partner must have felt lost. I wrapped my arms around him. For me, it meant no
porn. For him, his entire job had been stripped away. “Just roll with it, punkin’.”
He snarled as he shook free.
“Trouble in paradise? Oh no,” Margaret feigned a shocked face. “Marcos will show you to your room. It’s been absolutely
lovely seeing you.” I couldn’t say for sure, but I don’t think the personification of evil was being sincere.
I tugged at Hank, pulling him away from the fifth horseman. We’d get to the room and regroup. We still had a job to do. I’d
take care of Margaret later. For now, we needed to play nice and fit in.

“This isn’t a bedroom. It’s a house.”

I agreed with Hank. Standing in the living room, the wall of windows opened onto a deck, and our very own infinity pool
was suspended on the side of a mountain. Further down, we could see the main lobby and plenty of beaches. From there,
nothing but water. We weren’t in the top room, but we were high enough that I wouldn’t argue. The apartment in Vanguard might
be ritzy, but it had nothing on this.
“If you have any needs, the phone is a direct line to the front desk.” The bellhop made a slight bow and then backed out of
the room, closing the door behind him. Yes, definitely the brother of the other guy in the lobby.
Our island filled with supers was the definition of picturesque. I’d gladly pretend to be a hero to enjoy this until I had the
opportunity to strangle Margaret.
“No phones,” Hank yelled from the bedroom. “Tablets won’t turn on. Computer is the same. No surveillance gear.” I had to
pull myself away from perfection to help pull him out of a downward spiral. “Our comms don’t work. Dammit, you were right
about everything.”
I wasn’t used to somebody saying I was right. The living room led to a pair of French doors that opened into the bedroom.
In the middle, a king-sized bed with swanky gray blankets and pillows almost appeared to hover off the ground. I resisted the
urge to jump on the mattress and bounce up and down.
“It’ll be okay.”
“What the hell am I doing here? Why couldn’t you just focus?” He ignored my assurances. I didn’t know what else to say.
Did he need a hug? “We’d have Malignant, and I’d be drinking coffee at my desk.”
He had dumped his suitcases on the floor. One contained the usual clothes, while the other was nothing but technology. I
had been kidding when I called him my IT guy, but I was right about that, too. Thankfully, I didn’t rely on technology except for
my watch. I tapped it. Nothing.
“Dammit, my suit doesn’t work.”
“I can’t do this.” He plopped down on the bed while he held his laptop against his chest. “I’m not built for the field.”
“You’re built just fine.”
Did his cheeks get red at the compliment? He took a deep breath. Closing his eyes, he fell back onto the bed. “What am I
going to do?”
“Be the best fake husband you can be?”
He shot up to give me a nasty look. Whoops. We hadn’t moved on, not yet. His hands had balled into fists, and every
muscle tensed. He held his head back and let out a slow breath. The tension eased from his body as he repeated it a second
time. “And counseling? Seriously? I guess it’s good this relationship is failing. It’ll give us something to talk about.”
I jumped onto the bed, landing on my belly. “That’s what I’m talking about. You’re pivoting. That’s what fieldwork is
about. Problem happens. You punch the problem in the face.”
His head rolled to the side as he raised an eyebrow. “You mean that literally, don’t you?”
“Sometimes.” Okay, truth be told, punching the problem in the face should be my motto. Maybe I’d get it tattooed on my
chest. What problem couldn’t be fixed by knuckles to the throat?
“Now get off my bed.” He sat up. “You’re taking the couch.”
“Whoa. Wait a minute.”
“You got us into the mess. The bed’s mine. Go suffer.”
“But it’s so big.” I wasn’t trying to negotiate for him to sleep on the couch. We could both fit. There’d be plenty of room for
Mr. Chubs in the middle. It’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about Hank being the big spoon. That wouldn’t happen while
sleeping on the couch. I said nothing. He was angry, but at least we were talking. Small victories, right?
“Fine. You win.” I hid the disappointment in my voice. “But I’m still using the shower.”
I rolled off the bed. Another set of double doors led into the bathroom, and it was glorious. “Holy shit.” Cold Iron had
showers lined in a communal room where the guards watched our every move. My temporary apartment had more space than I
had seen in years. But this, this bordered on sinful.
The shower could fit five or six people. With the number of rainfall shower heads and jets sticking out of the marble, it’d
keep them clean, too, no matter what dirty activities they got into. The tub was large enough to fit two and stood in front of
another glass wall overlooking the mountain.
I spun about in the doorway, my clothes vanishing. I hoped the water pressure was high enough to knock me against the
wall. “Do you see this? This is amazing.” Maybe I got too excited. But who wouldn’t want to stand in front of the glass
windows watching the waves on the beach as they soaped up? What kind of diabolical things would I have to do to get my own
island? This was the lifestyle I was meant to live.
“That is impressive.”
“Right?” Wait… did he mean the bathroom? I glanced down at my nakedness before running into the bathroom to hide the
heat in my cheeks. Turning on the water, I let the steam fill the glass enclosure. I caught him looking before he went back to
shuffling through his tech.
As soon as I stepped in, the water peppered my shoulder blades like a gentle, wet massage. The tension faded and my body
relaxed. With a long sigh, I gave myself over to the magic of the island shower. Glancing down, I could see a hairy belly, my
abs nowhere to be found. I stole a quick glance at Hank, consumed with unpacking. Holding my breath, I sucked in my gut until
it returned to the sculpted physique with a hint of a treasure trail.
Logical me took over. Hank and I were talking. His growling had trailed off. That must mean something? Sure, he just
kicked me and Mr. Chubs to the couch. At least he said it instead of throwing my suitcase into the living room. Baby steps.
Tomorrow, I’d try Diesel’s suggestion. Small talk. I could do small talk. How hard could it be to ask somebody about their
hobbies? We’d be friends by lunch. I glanced over my shoulder at Hank, carefully putting his clothes in the bedroom closet like
a psychopath.
He hung each shirt, careful not to wrinkle them as he slid them on the hanger. As he reached in, his shirt lifted, and I could
spot the waistband of his underwear. I think it was time to admit there was a slight crush. I had a thing for the guy I couldn’t
have. He saw me as chaos on two feet. If he got to know the real me, I doubt he’d be thrilled. Better to keep playing our roles.
I turned on the second jet, and now the spray hit me from both sides. Staring out the window, I watched the waves in the
distance as they rolled along the beach. It could be worse, right?
 9

“VEGETARIAN BACON ? THIS PLACE IS EVIL.”

I held out my plate, hoping for the best, certain I was about to regret my decision. The man behind the breakfast buffet
dropped a few pieces on my plate. Was he the same man who offered cocktails yesterday? If I was here to infiltrate, it was time
to ask questions. When Hank woke up, I wanted to show off my skills running solo.
“Did we meet in the lobby the other day?”
He smiled. “I think we did.”
“Oh, good. I thought you might have a brother.”
He placed the metal lid over the sin against bacon. “It was my brother.” I hunted for any tells that would give away what he
meant. “We’re all Marcos.”
As I moved toward the eggs, he held his position behind the bacon. His body rippled as if I were looking through water.
Another Marcos tore himself free, standing next to the original. Now, it made sense. Why hire an entire staff for the island when
you could have a single man capable of endless duplicates? It was nice to see a variation on shapeshifting. There were plenty
of us out there, but we all seemed to have a unique spin.
“Nice trick. Nice to meet you… again.”
“Thanks. I’ll take all the paychecks I can get.” He gave a slight laugh. “Dr. Mal handpicked me for the job.”
Dr. Mal. I tucked that name away for later. Hopefully, it’d mean something to Hank. I held out my plate. Marcos scooped
out the eggs, dropping them on the plate. He shot me a wink and gave me another half scoop. Unlike Margaret, Marcos secured
a place in my ‘good people’ column. Tomorrow, I’d have to see if I could convince him to sneak some real bacon onto the
menu.
The dining room sat to the side of the main building. It wasn’t large, but it carried that modern cold feeling. Glass walls
had been opened to extend the space onto the patio. I wanted a view of the beach while I choked back my poor substitute for
pork.
Wandering outside, I found two guests sipping mimosas. I tried my luck and approached cautiously. The ladies were
wearing long flowing gowns blowing in the breeze, sitting opposite one another. I had never seen them before, or at least I
didn’t think so. Without capes or cowls, superheroes could be anybody on the street. Sexy anybody’s, but still.
“Mind if I join you?”
The blonde gestured to a chair. “Please, do. It’s a little unsettling being on an island with nobody but the Marcos.”
I took a seat. “My name’s Cl⁠—”
“Codenames only.” The brunette waved her finger back and forth.
I didn’t have a codename. It was one of those things that felt foolish to give yourself. When the papers covered my crimes,
they referred to me as “a run-of-the-mill villain.” Not a name that inspired fear. Diesel had gotten his name from a hero. Arson.
It was short, punchy, and related to his powers. Shifter? Shaper? Variety? Version…
“Variant.”
“This is Shade. I’m Flare.”
On first inspection, the women appeared relaxed. The blonde — Flare — wore bright red lipstick, emphasizing the green
flecks in her eyes. Her right hand held the stem of her glass, finger tracing the condensation. But her other hand hid beneath the
table, and from the flexing of her biceps, her fingers tightened around a weapon. A gun? No, more like a knife. Did she know I
wasn’t hero material? Or did a strange man invading their personal space set off alarms?
“No need to stab me.” I shoveled some eggs into my mouth and bit off a piece of bacon. I covered my mouth while I spoke.
“Sorry, the husband gets first dibs on shanking me. I’m harmless.”
Shade laughed. “I like him. It happens every time we go on vacation. A walking erection sees two women together and
thinks he’s going to live out his lesbian fantasies.”
“You’re lesbians?” I hammed it up. Men had taught them to be cautious. I dialed up the personality to put them at ease.
“Don’t worry, I’ll handle all the dicks for you.”
Both women laughed. With both of Flare’s hands visible, I had won her over. I hope they didn’t think I was kidding.
Handling dicks was an important job and somebody had to do it. Consider it my sacred duty.
“Where are you from?” Asked Shade. Unlike her partner, she wore black lipstick, making her face appear pale white. The
eyes were almost entirely hidden in a dark void. Body language suggested she never perceived me as a threat, or if I were,
she’d take care of the problem. Confidence. Of the two, she’d be the one to watch out for.
“Vanguard.”
“Really?” Flare looked shocked. “They have the highest ratio of heroes in the country. Why not set up camp in Sin City?”
I often forgot that Vanguard wasn’t the only city filled with supers. “What can I say? I like a little friendly competition. I’ve
considered moving, but it’s home. Might as well carve out a niche there.”
“Sin is where we met. College sweethearts.” At this point, I had to wonder why they were here. There must be trouble in
paradise if they thought a couple’s retreat would repair their relationship.
“That’s adorable. Are you guys in the field together?”
Neither responded. Flare’s eyes flashed red, and Shade turned as if admiring the scenery. That was their conflict. I was
about to press onward when I spotted Hank storming toward me. I didn’t have to be in a relationship to know a marital spat
was about to go down.
“Ladies, this is my husband…” Tech? Computer. Mr. Sexy Pants? “Joystick.”
He froze. Oh, I could tell he didn’t like his codename. But I couldn’t help it. I knew nothing about computers, and I’m sure
he had a joystick worth mentioning. I’d pay the price for this later.
“Good morning, ladies.”
“The tech mogul,” Flare said. “You’ve got the rumor mill going.”
He gave a slight wave. “Just here to enjoy some quality time with the husband.” He turned his focus on me, eyebrows
furrowing. Yup, he was annoyed. “Can I speak with you?”
“Trouble in paradise,” Shade mumbled.
“They’re never going to survive the week,” Flare said as she popped a piece of melon into her mouth.
I snatched a piece of bacon and scarfed it down as I followed Hank to another table. I took a seat, gesturing for him to sit
down. He paced for a moment before sitting. I slid my plate in front of him. “Eat something.”
“You ditched me.”
“I let you sleep in.”
“Then you fraternize with another couple? What are you doing? We’re supposed to be gathering intel.”
I snatched another piece of bacon. Yes, I admit, this demonic creation grew on me. “Marcos is the only attendant here other
than Margaret. He can multiply himself. I don’t know the limits of his abilities. He’s doing it for the paycheck. Each version
has a subtle change in appearance. They could pass for identical, but I think you’d be able to tell them apart under close
inspection. Nice guy.”
Hank’s mouth dropped. “I didn’t⁠—”
“The ladies are named Flare and Shade. Flare carries a knife on her outer left thigh. I suspect there’s another on the right.
Shade is her spouse. They met in college. It wasn’t love at first sight. I bet they got together in the field.”
I paused while Hank blinked at me. He might be the man with a plan, but I had my own skills. I won’t lie. I left him
sleeping so I could adventure on my own. He probably thought me an idiot like everybody else. I didn’t want to leave him
behind, but I wanted a chance to prove myself.
He grabbed a piece of bacon. He winced at the first bite. “God, this is nasty. Anything else?”
“Their relationship is on the rocks ever since they decided to work together. Shade doesn’t talk about it. They’re in denial.
Flare has some sort of fire-related powers; Shade’s I don’t know about. But I’d call it an opposites-attract situation. So, I’m
guessing shadows? Darkness?”
“How did you find that out? I mean, have you been down here for hours?”
I shook my head. “You hear shapeshifter, and you think about transforming into somebody. Looking like another person is
easy. But it takes time studying them if you’re going to kill them and step into their lives.”
“Is this experience talking?”
 I shrugged. I couldn’t reveal everything on our first full day as a married couple. He’d have to woo me if he wanted to
know the intimate details of my past.
“Sorry.” He threw the bacon over the balcony. “I thought you⁠—”
“Were screwing up?”
He shook his head before nodding. “Yeah, I guess I did. Look, I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be doing this.” He
gestured to the resort. “But we don’t have many options, do we? It’s safe to say I need you as much as you need me.”
“Do you trust me to do my job?” I didn’t think we’d rebound after I nearly got him fired from LaToya’s secret operation. If
we could get past me almost sacrificing his livelihood, then maybe we had hope.
“Trust is going to be our issue.”
“I don’t understand.” I gave him a confused look. Was making friends always this hard?
“If we have to pretend to be a couple with issues. Let’s make ours trust. It’s close to the truth. The best lie is a half-truth,
right?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” He didn’t trust me. I knew that, but it stung to hear it out loud. I guess I’d focus on the job and our
pretend crumbling marriage.
He leaned back in his chair. “This is going to be a long trip. I’m not looking forward to counseling.” I couldn’t blame him.
Doc’s therapy sessions could be brutal.
“I could just kill everybody and sort out the bodies later?”
He gave a slight nod. “Not the worst plan I’ve heard. Let’s save that as our backup.”
“Deal.” I offered him a hand. “Unless we should hug? Be warned, if we do that, your ass is getting groped.” I smiled. Sure,
it qualified as workplace harassment, but not for my newly-minted husband.
“You couldn’t handle this ass.” It wasn’t much, but it gave me a glimmer that maybe there was something here. He gave my
hand a shake. “But thanks for the compliment.”
I wasn’t used to somebody turning my sass around. My cheeks grew warm, and I gave him three firm shakes before letting
go. I was hopeful. Another person added to the contacts on my phone. I wish I could text Diesel and let him know how it was
going.
Next time Hank walked away, I’d be checking out that ass.
“Joystick, though? Serious? That’s a horrible codename.”
“Depends on who’s playing with it.”
I hopped to my feet, grabbed him by the hand, and dragged him into the dining room. He might not like it, but I needed to get
some more bacon before we showed up for our counseling session.

“You will not deviate from your schedule.”

Each couple sat on a loveseat beneath a massive pergola with the mountain behind us as a majestic backdrop. Margaret
held up a clipboard, wielding it like a weapon. If she paced any longer, we were going to sweat to death. The breeze had
faded, and my sweat-soaked shirt clung to my torso. It made it too miserable to appreciate how Hank’s top was almost see-
through.
“For such a small thing, you’ve got a mouth.” I learned the woman in the heals from yesterday went by Fay. She had come
to the island to repair a failing relationship with Beast, her husband of thirteen years. At the moment, I didn’t know their
powers.
“We’re here for vacation. Our relationship is perfect.” I didn’t know the man’s name, but the blue skin and white beard
made him easy to spot. His partner could only be described as the bad boy. He had plenty of muscles, too many tribal tattoos,
and was determined to make sure everybody knew his nipples were pierced. I bet he was one of those heroes who only wore
their undies while saving the city. But so far, he hadn’t said a word, instead letting his partner do the speaking.
We were one of four couples. Malignant was nowhere to be found amongst them. For now, the plan was to play along with
the island’s rules and then choose a course of action. Sitting next to me on the loveseat, I could tell Hank didn’t like the
situation. Without his tech, he didn’t have reports on the couples, and doing it the old-fashioned way and socializing didn’t
seem to be his cup of tea.
“You’re here for a reason, Alpha. Should I read your intake form for everybody?”
“No,” he growled. Alpha flexed every time he spoke. He relied on his muscles to get what he wanted. Bruisers were the
most powerful heroes and often had a chip on their shoulders. If he meant to intimidate Margaret, she didn’t seem fazed. His
partner did the same thing, as if he were trying to imitate Alpha.
“Leaving isn’t an option. You signed the terms of service, so don’t try. I don’t want to kill you.” Margaret’s smile didn’t
falter as she threatened the man. My therapist was possessed by a demon, and he didn’t hold a candle to the sinister expression
on her face. I bet she’d feed the bodies to her demon dog.
 “You should have read the fine print on your contracts.” She fluttered her eyelashes. What might get her free drinks in a bar
raised her evil level to maximum. “Now, if you’re done. I can run through what you can expect from L’isle des Méchants.
Questions?”
Alpha slumped in his chair, folding his arms. Sore loser. Egotistical. If he were any more transparent, he’d be see-through.
I was more curious about his partner. So far, I hadn’t gotten an original thought out of the man. Every movement had been in
reaction to his other half. Alpha wasn’t just a codename, but a mark of status in their relationship. I bet their luggage included a
leash and dog collar.
“There is a waterfall next to the resort. Be careful climbing to the top. While there is no worry about the volcano erupting,
it is active.”
“Seriously?” Had Hank never been this close to a natural disaster before? How adorable! “Are there safety protocols?
What if it erupts?”
The rest of the heroes laughed. Margaret, however, appeared annoyed that he interrupted her monologue. She had more in
common with supervillains than I thought. If somebody interrupted their big reveal, they’d threaten to burn a city to the ground.
Margaret would do the same if she could figure out how to light a match.
“Just give us the schedule, hell-spawn,” I said.
“I hope something poisonous bites you.”
“You mean venomous,” Hank corrected.
Margaret’s glare turned from me to Hank. He had painted a target on his forehead, and if she could shoot lasers from her
eyes, he’d be dead. But I appreciated the assist. I held my hand up for a high-five. Still nothing.
An alarm went off on Margaret’s watch. “It’s time to move along to your therapy sessions. I’ll be waiting afterward, and
I’ll walk you through the schedule.” Her eyes narrowed. “If somebody doesn’t interrupt me.”
She stormed away as we got to our feet. I found it hard to make small talk when the only intel we had revolved around their
failing relationships. Flare gave Hank a pat on the back. “Thank you. Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard.” He gave her a
slight nod as she walked away with Shade.
“Margaret is going to get her revenge.”
He shrugged. “Teach her to pick on my husband.”
Alpha walked by, shouldering Hank as he passed. “Didn’t see you there.” He said it with a grin as if he were trying to get a
rise out of the man. If we were going to talk about defending a fake spouse, my opportunity presented itself. Nobody touched
my partner without consequences.
I pushed Hank behind me as I grew another two feet. Now, even Beast looked small by comparison. I roared with the
power of a lion. “Touch him again, and we’re going to have a problem.”
He didn’t seem bothered. “What are you going to do?”
Hank pulled at my arm. “He’s not worth it.” When that didn’t work, he belted out a “Down, boy! Down!”
Alpha and his mate turned, walking away. Fay and Beast followed, leaving Hank and me alone on the patio.
“I’m going to kill him.”
“Did you just stand up for me?”
“Nobody touches my husband without losing a limb.”
Hank gave me a pat on the chest as I transformed into my usual self. “No killing.”
I shook my head. “Nope. That’s not the agreement. No killing Malignant. That’s the rule.” He didn’t get to change the rules
of the mission on me.
“Fine. Kill whoever you want, but not until the mission is over.”
“Deal.”
He watched as Alpha and his partner vanished inside the resort. He rolled his lip as if he were going to chew on his
mustache. Hank didn’t hide his emotions, but I had yet to map them out.
“What are you thinking?”
“Something doesn’t sit right with me. The vibe is off. This isn’t what I expected from heroes on a tropical island.”
“Couple’s retreat.”
“Even then, it should be massages and fine dining. These guys are all rough around the edges. And what do they have to do
with Malignant? Does one of them work for him?”
I shrugged. Staring through the glass doors, we could see into the dining room. Fay and Beast were having a heated
argument. Despite the Beast’s hulking physique, Fay jabbed him in the chest. From this distance, I couldn’t read her lips, but I
noted the way she held her other hand at her side, hip pushed out to accentuate her curves. I suspected, unlike Shade and Flare,
Fay had no problem using her feminine wilds.
“Have you met Vanguard’s anti-heroes? They’re a rough bunch.”
“Can’t say I have. Hardly bumped into any heroes since I moved there.”
“Vigilantes are even worse. Hellcat? Know who she is?” I didn’t wait for his reply. “She’d beat a bad guy to a pulp before
handing him off to the cops. They might call her a hero, but if that’s the case, then I’m one, too.”
“Heroes don’t rob banks.”
“Matter of perspective.”
Hank shook his head. “No, that’s not how perspective works.” He threw his hands up in the air. “Come on. We’ll discuss
your moral conundrums in therapy.”
“No conundrum about it,” I mumbled. “I needed money. They had it. Easy.”
 10

“S O YOU’ RE A BELLHOP AND A THERAPIST ?”

Doc would need to up his therapy game. We sat in a bungalow at the end of a dock overlooking the water. The hut had
sparse furnishings with a teal rug and two matching couches opposite of one another. Hank and I sat shoulder-to-shoulder, and
across from us sat… Marcos?
“If you must know, I received my degree in clinical psychology from Vanguard University. My doctorate research focused
on the identity crisis of heroes and their alter-egos.”
None of that made sense to me, but Hank let out a low whistle. Maybe I should be impressed. College hadn’t been for me.
They forced us to go to school, and then people opted to go for more. Willingly? Nope. By that time, I was fencing cars and
taking jobs for a local mob boss.
“How many of you are there?”
Marcos wore red swim trunks and a white shirt with a red floral pattern. Doc also needed to embrace the beachwear. It’d
make him and the demon in his head more approachable. Next group session, I’d have plenty of ideas for improvement. Marcos
stared off into space, the pen in his left hand pressed against his cheek. The first clone we encountered held out the tray with
his right hand. None of it seemed important… yet. I squirreled the information away.
“Currently, there are seventeen… no, eighteen.” He returned, shaking his head and crossing his legs. He eyed the clipboard,
similar to Margaret’s. Thankfully, he didn’t wave it about as if he were about to throw it. “But this is about the two of you, your
relationship, and helping you discover a path forward.”
It was time to test our abilities at playing pretend. If it were anybody else and we faltered, I’d snap their neck and throw
them in the ocean. If Marcos could talk to his duplicates, the moment we blew our cover, everybody would know. I reached out
and took Hank’s hand, lacing my fingers with his.
“What brings the two of you to L’isle des Méchants?”
Before I could reply, Hank scooted to the edge of the couch. “Trust.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“We’re here because he screwed up.” He let go of my hand, resting his elbows on his knees. “He got me in some trouble,
and I need some assurances. I need to know I can trust him to be a partner and respect this relationship.”
Hank wasn’t holding back. My make-believe tech mogul husband couldn’t trust me. Fine. That had been our cover story
from the start. But something about his tone made it personal. I wasn’t sure if he was pretending.
“And Variant, what about⁠—”
“He can be impulsive,” Hank continued. “It’s endearing in theory. But how many times can he ignore logic before it gets
tiresome? Or hell, dangerous?”
Now it hurt.
“I hear⁠—”
“If he wants this to work, he’s going to need to stop acting like a self-serving asshat and take me into consideration. He’s
used to doing things his way, and he needs to learn that his decisions affect more than just him.”
“If I can⁠—”
 “Do you see it? Honestly, are you even aware that you’re doing it?”
Hank directed the question at me. Macros didn’t interject. I wondered if Beast or Shade were getting pummeled by their
other halves. Therapy with Doc had been brutal, but never did the other guys lay their feelings on the table, not like this.
Nobody wanted to open up in our group. Hank had gone the other extreme, and I melted into the couch under the weight of his
words.
“I’m sorry,” I squeaked out.
“What if we⁠—”
Hank’s hand shot up, holding out a finger to silence Marcos. He turned on the couch, facing me. “I’m heated. Sorry. But I
need an answer. Do you realize you’re doing it?”
“Being impulsive?” He nodded. I had to think about it. No, I guess I didn’t. Not that I wanted to be difficult. I lived in the
moment and tried not to worry about the consequences. Was it a bad thing to live life from one whim to the next?
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
My head dipped, ashamed that I couldn’t muster the foresight to see what my actions would do. Maybe Vex was right. I was
an idiot. I couldn’t complete a simple mission without getting into trouble. Hell, even my capture to Cold Iron — Hank cupped
the side of my face, forcing me to stare him in the eye.
“I don’t want you to change.”
“Huh?”
“I think what he’s trying⁠—”
“Marcos, shut up! We’re having a moment.” Hank had a commanding streak in him. We’d file that away as something to
explore later. I might be a bit aroused. Bossy Hank was even sexier than geeky Hank.
“Why do you think I’m mad?”
“Cause I got you⁠—”
“Nope.”
“Because I didn’t listen⁠—”
“Wrong again.”
I scowled. “No idea.”
“I know everything about you.” I found that hard to believe. He could read every page of my file, and he’d only know the
lies I let the world see. “You’re better than that.”
“I’ll work at⁠—”
“No. Not work at. You are better than that. You’re pretty amazing.”
“I know. I’m a stud.”
His grip on my face tightened. “I’m not talking about your appearance. I’m mad because you’ve got all this potential.” He
stressed his point by poking me in the forehead.
“Potential?” Shapeshifters don’t cry. Nope. Nobody could see it, but those tear ducts vanished. I wouldn’t let anybody in
this room see me be vulnerable.
“Yeah. I want you to be the best variant of yourself.”
“I see what you did there.”
The edge of Hank’s lip turned upward. He was so damned handsome when he smiled. I covered his hands with mine.
Nobody had ever called me amazing. They’d say I had impressive powers, or I did a good job destroying a daycare, but never
me. And potential? I didn’t have words to express the tingling sensation along my skin or the lurching sensation in my chest.
“Variant, how does that⁠—”
“Shut up,” I barked. “Having a moment.”
Marcos slumped back on his couch. The duplicate muttered something about wasting money on a degree. I didn’t need him
ruining what might very well be the nicest thing anybody had ever said to me.
“You’re not mad at me?”
“I was… I am… but that’s going to happen. Co-workers aren’t always going to see eye-to-eye.”
“Co-workers?” Marcos asked.
“Uhh...”
Hank froze. He had blown our cover. I hopped to my feet, fists resting on my waist as I struck a pose. “Joystick is putting
together a team. Think Centurions, but better.” Marcos’s eyebrow raised. “The world is ready for a change. I’m helping him vet
potential candidates.”
“I really hate that name,” Hank whispered.
“Sorry, snookums.”
Marcos froze. He had taken the bait. If he could communicate with the other clones, they were aware of the situation now.
It’d only help our cover. Let all the other heroes know we’re hunting for potential candidates. With an offer like this, they’d
come crawling to us.
 “Who knows, maybe somebody here will make the cut.”
Hank tugged at the waistband of my shorts, pulling me onto the couch. His eyes were wide. Non-verbal communication
wasn’t a language I spoke. Was he impressed with how I crafted our story? Or was this another one of those moments where
being impulsive would get me a stern lecture?
“Hon, don’t share all our secrets.”
When Marcos snapped back, he jumped to his feet. Holding the clipboard to his chest, he stood close enough both of us
leaned back on the couch. When I tried to speak, his finger shot out with a loud “Shh.”
“Today, we’ve established that Joystick feels Variant needs to be more considerate about his actions. This sentiment is
coming from a place of support. Variant has admitted that his actions can be… reckless.”
Marcos wanted to make sure he squeezed every penny out of that degree. I wonder if Doc would agree? I’m pretty sure
Marcos would run screaming if he joined our group sessions.
“Variant, are you hearing Joystick?”
“Yes. I wanted to⁠—”
“Shh. The doctor is speaking,” Marcos said. It seemed rude when he did the silencing. “Joystick, do you understand these
feelings are your responsibility and that you need to communicate this with Variant?”
Hank mumbled an agreement.
“I’m going to give you both some homework.”
“Are we graded?” Hank didn’t share my smile. “What? It was funny.” The expression on Marcos’s face said otherwise. I
crossed my arms while I giggled at my joke.
“I want you to spend time together and communicate. Be clear and considerate of the other person. Ask for what you need,
and be sure to respond to the other person. The goal is expressing yourself while also listening. Tomorrow, we’ll explore
activities you can use to check in with one another.”
“Fine,” Hank grumbled.
“Are we cured?” I asked.
Marcos laughed. “Oh, God no. You two have serious issues that need to be worked out. It’s like you’ve never had a
conversation with one another. Might as well be strangers on your first date.”
Well, damn. Those degrees had paid off.
“Now go. Snorkel. Sit on the beach. Explore the waterfall.”
We didn’t move until he backed up, gesturing to the door. Doc had never kicked me out of therapy. Were we so far gone that
he needed time to process our problems? I suspected the information we shared was being whispered between his clones. But
to what end? There was something odd about this retreat, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
 11

WE HAD BARELY TALKED SINCE THERAPY. THE DECISION TO WALK TO THE WATERFALL HAD BEEN BASED ON ME POINTING AND
Hank shrugging with a nod. Sand gave way to a rocky path moving through the jungle. The further we ventured forward, the
taller the shrubs became until all signs of the resort faded away.
I didn’t know what to expect when Doc said we were going to a tropical island. After hours at sea, I had no idea how far
from Vanguard we had traveled. But this met every expectation. From the birds perched in the trees to the tiny lizards scurrying
along the rocks, it made the Vanguard Arboretum look quaint. If not for the relentless sun, it’d be perfect. Without the breeze
from the beach, my shirt had soaked through with sweat.
“I hear water.”
He talked!
Hank said I had potential. It had nothing to do with my chiseled jaw or the shredded six-pack. He didn’t comment on
anything about my body. I tried to remember a time when somebody complimented me after a screw-up. Nope. Yelled at? Yes. I
got a lot of disappointed looks. But never did somebody come back and say they thought I could do better.
Around the next bend, I spotted water. It was impressive. Even if the falls weren’t a roar of water falling from a hundred
feet, they were unlike anything in Vanguard. The water poured down, filling a lagoon twenty feet below us. It took a moment
before I realized we were alone, secluded by nature.
“This is amazing.”
“Changing your mind about fieldwork?”
“It’s not horrible. Yet. I stress the yet.”
Staring over the edge, the ripples of the water couldn’t be more inviting. I’d do anything to escape the heat. Hank kept his
distance from the ledge. I watched as he spun about, taking in the little bubble of privacy. I couldn’t tell which plant might be
the same green as his viridian, but I imagined he was hunting for the perfect shade.
“Let’s go swimming.”
“We’ll have to go further down the river to get in.” He meant the safe way to get in, where the rocks dipped low enough for
us to wade back to the waterfall. Marcos’s words rattled about my head. I needed to communicate. I gave this talking thing a
try.
“Or we could jump.” See, I spoke before putting on my birthday suit and plunging headfirst into the water.
Hank inched his way toward the edge. He shook his head before he got close. “That’s a long way down. Nope. Not
happening. I like my limbs intact.”
As I walked toward him, my clothes shifted from swim trunks to speedo and no shirt. I held out my hand. He eyed it before
raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”
What was I doing? I was trying to be a supportive pretend husband. “I’ve been told I’m on the impulsive side.”
“So, I’ve heard.” He laughed.
“Want to be impulsive with me?” I gave a head nod to the water. His face scrunched up as if he were imagining all the
ways he’d die. Before he could spiral, I snatched his hand and tugged, pulling him toward the edge.
“But what if—” He let out a long sigh and pulled off his shirt. Tossing it on a rock, I got the first glimpse of… wow. He’d
make the perfect pillow, just the right amount of padding, making his belly hang over his waistband. And the treasure trail… of
course, I followed it. Was it too forward to suggest skinny dipping?
We stood on the edge of the rock. His nails dug into the back of my hand as we peered twenty feet below to the water. He
let out a hiss and shook his head. “Nope. Can’t do it. I’ll walk further down and⁠—”
“No, no. Live a little. Let loose.”
He stopped and eyed me, not convinced. “What if I break a leg?”
“Marcos probably has a medical degree.”
“I don’t think so.” He said it, but the hesitation in his voice suggested otherwise. Hank, the perpetual planner, didn’t know
how to live in the moment. It seemed he needed a little Clint magic.
“Somebody needs to be a little more impulsive.”
He scowled. Hank could try to look mad, but as he inched closer to the edge, my words hit home. “I’m never impulsive.”
“How’s that working for you?”
“How’s that working for you?”
“I’m on a beautiful island with a handsome man. I’d say it’s working pretty damned well. Besides, think of the stories
you’ll be able to tell.”
His toes reached the edge of the cliff. His hand wrapped around my wrist. I locked fingers with him, ready to take the
plunge together. “This is a horrible idea. You know you’re a bad influence, right?”
“Better to have a life full of regrets than not have lived at all.”
His eyes went wide as he turned his head. He might think less of me for not controlling my actions. But I had a thousand
stories. Sad. Happy. Outlandish. It was far more interesting than sitting at a computer all day looking at graphs.
“But what about⁠—”
I pulled at Hank’s arm and jumped.
“Woohoo!”
“Mother fu⁠—”
Legs tucked against my chest, I plunged into the water in an epic cannonball. The bubbles raced along my skin as I sank.
Hank hit the water with less grace, flailing as he sped downward. I tried not to laugh when I spotted his bathing suit drifting
toward the bottom of the lagoon.
I interlocked my ankles until my legs morphed into a merman’s tail. Speeding in front of Hank, I was about to save him from
drowning when he kicked toward the surface. No shame. I got a murky look at his junk. I wish I had packed my goggles.
I raced to the bottom, snatching his shorts. With a few thrusts of my tail, I reached the surface. For dramatic effect, I shot
upward, lengthy golden locks whipping about as if I were a model for a merman romance novel.
“You could have killed me,” Hank said. When he splashed water at me, I wanted to comment on already being wet, but it
might not be the right place.
“Was it fun?” I asked.
“Terrifying!”
He looked up at the ledge. Seconds ago, he had given himself a thousand reasons not to jump. He probably weighed the
danger, the energy, the wind direction. If I was impulsive, Hank was the opposite. I’d have to look up the word for that when
we got back.
“Woohoo!” His hooting echoed off the rocks, matching the volume of the waterfall. Had he hit his head? He spun about, a
smile plastered across his face. “My heart feels like it’s going to rip out of my chest.”
“Like you ripped out of your shorts?”
I held up his bathing suit. I snorted when he buried his face in the water, verifying he was indeed nude. If I had been a nice
guy, I’d have handed them back. But I wanted to savor the moment. He swam toward me, and I expected him to reach for them.
I nearly choked on the island water as he grabbed my shoulders, shoving me beneath the surface.
Not fair. His penis was only inches from my face. Sometimes, it’s hard being a good boy. I could feel Hank tugging at his
suit, but I refused to let go. Caving, I released it, and he stopped holding me under. I surfaced, laughing.
“Nice birthday suit.” Hank blushed, his cheeks turning a bright shade of red. But I didn’t intend to embarrass him. If I
stopped joking and thinking with my penis, he was an incredibly handsome man. I had been consumed with taking Doc’s
advice. I hadn’t stopped to admire my co-worker. Hank wasn’t just handsome; he was downright beautiful.
“What?” he asked.
“Do you have any idea how handsome you are?”
“Ha. Ha. Very funny.”
If I was Diesel or Vex, maybe I could express my admiration in a way that didn’t sound like a horny teenager. I had been
fixated on making a friend and completing Doc’s homework assignment. I didn’t stop to think about Hank as anything else.
Curiosity wanted confirmation if he looked like I imagined the other night in front of the mirror. But as he hid his face behind
his hands, I wondered what it might be like to have his goatee rubbing along my neck.
 “You’re going to give me a complex.”
I shook my head, coming to my senses. There was no way Hank would be interested in something intimate like that. He had
barely gotten over me getting us sent here. When we finished our mission, LaToya would promote him to the Centurions, and
I’d never hear from him again. The most we’d ever be were co-workers, and I’d have to be okay with that.
I waggled my eyebrows at Hank.
“Would it make you feel better if I got naked?”
“Not when you can morph into a suit whenever you want.”
I mean, it sounded fair to me.

Hank didn’t put on his suit. He kept it in one hand as he swam about the lagoon. We had spent the last half hour diving to the
bottom, exploring the watery depths. I hadn’t laughed this hard in a long time. When Hank wrapped an arm around my neck,
dunking me under, I could hardly keep from inhaling water as I laughed.
He pointed to the waterfall before swimming forward. As he paddled along, I had a chance to see his butt glide through the
water. The hair matched the same reddish-orange of his goatee. Out of habit, I swam toward the orbs.
When we reached the falls, he vanished into the spray. I loved Vanguard. The city had a sense of calm despite the million
people running about their lives. At night, I loved peeking into the windows and watching everyday people simply existing. But
as I rolled onto my back, the water falling against my chest, it was missing something. For once, I almost appreciated the
solitude.
I coughed as the water went up my nose. Magical moment over. Once it tried to kill me, that was it. Rolling over, Hank was
standing on the rocks, pulling up his suit. It’d be inappropriate to suggest spending the day naked, right? We could just be two
co-workers, hanging with our junk proudly on display.
“There’s a cave.” Hank finished pulling up his bathing suit, tying the string extra tight. It didn’t make him any less sexy. As I
climbed onto the rocks, I continued stealing glances at his dripping torso.
I started toward the entrance. “Are you coming?”
“I didn’t mean we should go in.”
I shrugged. “Call me curious,” I said. “Come on. It’s another adventure. You don’t want to miss out.”
He threw his arms up in the air. “You’re going to get me in trouble. Again.” He said it, but it didn’t stop him from climbing
up the rocks to join me. I held still as his hand grazed mine. I wanted to feel his fingers wrapped around mine again. Just when
I was about to throw caution to the wind, he walked inside.
There was just enough light to make out a small stream running along the center of the cave. If I were a maniac threatening
mankind, this would be where I’d hide my lair. It’d be a little cramped, but I didn’t have many needs. We’d have the henchmen
staff meetings on the beach. This would be for me to dwell on my plans for world domination.
We ventured in, and the light had all but vanished. “If not Joystick, then what?”
“What?”
“Your secret identity?”
“I never thought about it.” He was lying. Everybody in Vanguard thought about that moment. It could be a random lightning
strike, a chemical spill, a radioactive gopher, or hell, aliens with magic. But everybody fantasized about what it would be like
to be more than average.
“Anything would be better than Joystick. Code Breaker? Matrix? Firewall?”
“Damn. Those are better.”
“Access. Kilobyte. Hotspot.”
Hank was right. I wouldn’t be asked to hand out codenames again. They might be cooler sounding, but they didn’t make my
eyes wander every time I said them. Who cared if it didn’t strike fear in the hearts of his enemies? It got a rise out of me.
“How far back do you think the cave goes?”
I shrugged. I was about to suggest we find out when I heard voices. Had one of the other couples wandered out and
explored the waterfall? It’d be a good opportunity to learn more about what brought them to the island and maybe figure out
what Malignant had to do with it all.
“Do you hear people?”
Hank shook his head. A rumbling erupted through the cave. It went from nonexistent to shaking rocks free from the ceiling. I
grabbed Hank, pulling him in tight as the sound reached a deafening roar. I wrapped my arms around him, growing until I
covered his body. Rocks pelted my back. I growled as they grew larger, threatening to force me to my knees.
It ended as quickly as it started. The cave went silent, but I didn’t let go of Hank, holding him buried against my chest. I
opened my eyes, squinting, trying to see in the darkness. Whatever had caused the rockslide had blocked the entrance, leaving
us trapped inside.
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 My first procedure was to shave the dark, soft, silken hair from the
lower part of the young man’s head. I then made two V-shaped
incisions with a lancet at the base of the skull, where phrenologists
locate the organ of amativeness, and raised the flap of skin from the
skull. The next thing was to get at the brain itself, and this I
accomplished by boring two fine holes through the skull with the
smallest trephine known in surgery. The portion of the brain thus
exposed, I was amazed to find, was in a highly inflamed condition.
Instead of attempting to relieve the surcharged brain with any
instrument, I now placed a leech at each orifice, and allowed a
considerable amount of blood to be thus withdrawn. I then dressed
the wound antiseptically, and closed it with sutures.
My patient soon came out from under the influence of the
anesthetic, but appeared very weak. I lifted him in my arms and
carried him to the couch in my private room. Enjoining strict quiet,
and, if possible, sleep, I left him alone for a couple of hours. At the
end of that time, considering it safe to permit him to talk, I reentered
the room with considerable curiosity, not to say agitation, and asked
him how he was feeling. To my astonishment, he grasped my hand
warmly, exclaiming that he would consider me his greatest
benefactor as long as he lived. “For,” he cried, “you have saved my
soul from its otherwise certain ruin. Thank God! I feel now no more
emotion at the thought of that woman than of any other of her sex.”
I brought my patient some refreshment, and at three o’clock he left
my office in high spirits, promising to return again the next day to
report upon his condition.
For three weeks the Rev. Alexander Maeck—as I will call my
clerical patient—haunted my office every day, and we became fast
friends. During all this time he was entirely free from disturbing
sentiments. The flames of love, he declared, were quenched, and he
was supremely happy.
So favorably, I must confess, did this experiment dispose me
towards the neglected science of phrenology that I at once began to
direct my studies in that direction, and soon accumulated a large
number of expensive books on the subject. I also began to write up
the details of my experiment, so as to get the matter into permanent
shape while it was still fresh in my mind.
About six weeks after the occurrences above related, and just
after I had posted an order for several hundred dollars’ worth of
phrenological works, the letter-carrier came into my office and
presented me with a large, square, cream-colored envelope. I tore it
open carelessly, removed the enclosure from the inner envelope,
and bent over two beautifully engraved cards which fell upon the
table. They bore the names of Rev. Alexander Maeck and Miss Ethel
Plympton.
The wedding was a strictly private affair: and perhaps the most
remarkable thing connected with it was the fact that the would-be
annihilator of Cupid was permitted to kiss the bride.
 The Williamson Safe Mystery.
BY F. S. HESSELTINE.

One morning in the spring of 1894, the attention of persons walking

along Sudbury Street, Boston, was attracted to a huge iron safe that
was being put out from the warerooms of a well-known safe
company, which for many years had done business on that street.
The way was blocked, and all passage by cars and teams
prevented while a number of men, with great effort, by the aid of
blocks, rollers, and windlass, drew the huge mass of iron onto the
platform of a stout dray by which it was to be transported to its
destination.
Of course passers-by wondered and queried as to the purpose
and possible use of a safe of such unusual form and dimension. But
the curiosity of the questioners remained unsatisfied; no one
standing by knew, and the merchant with his employees was too
busy to answer those who ventured to interrupt with their inquiries.
This much, however, was evident: the safe was not new; indeed,
the style and appearance of it indicated that it had been built many
years ago for some special purpose, in which it had doubtless seen
long service. Altogether the appearance of this strange object so
excited my curiosity that, although I was in a hurry to reach my
office, I waited until the thing was finally loaded and moved slowly off
up the street. Then I entered the store of the safe company, and,
being well acquainted with the manager, I asked if he could give me
the old safe’s history.
He replied that there was a strange story connected with it, known
now only to himself. For certain reasons it never had been known
except to two people, and they had been sacredly bound, one by
personal interest and the other by a solemn vow, never to divulge the
secret. “This promise,” he said, “has been faithfully and sacredly
kept; but now all those in any way connected with or affected by it
have passed beyond the dark river. The safe, which has stood here
for many years like a specter, reminding me of the dead past, has
now, to my great relief, vanished forever, and I know no good reason
why the strange story should not be told. While I may withhold or
change names in the recital, that which I am about to relate is true,
and is capable to some extent of verification.
“More than fifty years ago a stranger of good appearance, whose
speech and manner indicated that he was of English birth, entered
the shop of one Kershaw, a manufacturer on the corner of Chardon
and Green Streets, in this city, inquired for the proprietor, and stated
that he wanted constructed a strong, fire-proof safe, giving the
description and dimensions desired. By his conversation he
appeared familiar with such work, and stated plainly how he wanted
this constructed and the kind of lock required,—the keyless
combination not having then been invented. In answer to inquiries he
said that he was about to open a jewelry store in Hanover Street,
that he did not intend to do a retail business, but would carry a
considerable stock for wholesale, visiting for trade dealers in
neighboring cities. He added, also, that as he would be absent from
his store from time to time, he desired a safe of large dimensions
where his stock could be safely stored during his absence, as well as
at night. He required no shelving in the safe, and wanted it of
unusual depth, that he might put directly into it the cases and trunks
in which he would keep or carry his stock.
“Being convinced of the stranger’s responsibility by a large
advance deposit, and by the promise of full payment on completion
and delivery, Mr. Kershaw accepted his order, and in due time the
safe was completed and delivered. Soon after a sign was put up on
the store,—‘J. Williamson, Wholesale Dealer in Watches and
Jewelry.’ No great display was made in the window. Goods were
received and shipped by the rear entrance opening on an alley-way.
Apparently, but little business was done at the store, and frequently
Mr. Williamson was absent visiting his customers or buying
additional stock in New York City. He contracted no indebtedness,
paying cash for everything. He expressed a lack of confidence in
banks and bankers, saying that he had once lost a large sum by the
failure of a bank in which he deposited, and for the future should be
his own banker.
“Shortly after he began business he took up his residence on
Sheafe Street in the North End of the city, and attended regularly the
Baldwin Place Baptist Church. No subscription paper or contribution
box ever passed him without a fairly liberal donation.
“In disposition he was quiet and retiring, and rarely spoke except
in response to some inquiry. His earlier life he never referred to
except in reply to one or two persons who ventured the question,
when he briefly stated that he was the second son of a well-to-do
English squire, that at an early age he found that there was no future
for him in the old country, and that when little more than a boy he
came to New York where he acquired a knowledge of business, and
by diligence and economy saved enough to start in business.
“Within a year after his arrival in Boston Mr. Williamson sought the
hand of the eldest daughter of a respectable merchant, a deacon in
the church which he attended, producing at the same time letters
from New York indorsing his worth and character. Having thus
satisfied her parents, he was accepted and with little delay married.
Very soon after he was received, on profession of his faith, into the
church, and by his quiet, correct life, liberality, and honest dealing,
secured the confidence and respect of all who knew him.
“About this time a strange epidemic of crime swept over the
Puritanic city of Boston. The houses of the wealthy were entered and
robbed of their valuable contents. Packages of money were boldly
seized within the very enclosures of the bank, the thief escaping
through some passageway or by fastening behind him the door
through which he escaped; the satchels of bank messengers, filled
with valuable contents, were suddenly snatched, and the robber
eluded pursuit. At night persons were garroted and robbed on the
public street. The police force was small and, although they
exercised unusual diligence, every few days some new and startling
crime, committed with wonderful skill and boldness, was announced.
It was thought that a gang of experienced criminals had made a
descent upon the city so long exempt from crime, and every stranger
was under suspicion and carefully watched.
“One night, not long after his marriage, Mr. Williamson was found
on Charlestown Bridge in a dazed, exhausted condition, and
assisted to his home. When sufficiently recovered he stated that
while crossing the bridge he was suddenly seized from behind, his
throat grasped so that he could not cry out, and his pocketbook,
containing a large sum of money, taken from him. He struggled to
free himself from his unknown assailant until he gasped for breath,
and fell exhausted, unconscious.
“On the following day Mr. Williamson offered a liberal reward for
the arrest of the highwayman, but as he had not seen him he could
give no clue to aid in the detection of the criminal. Some of the
persons robbed, however, who had caught a glimpse of the thief,
described a dark person with heavy black hair, wearing blue glass
spectacles; and, as it was believed that he and the assailant of
Williamson were one, search was made for a person answering this
description.
“One evening the whole city was startled by the news of a crime
just committed, bolder than any that had preceded it. The store of
Davis & Palmer, jewelers on Washington Street, had been entered
between the hours of seven and eight P. M., and the most valuable
part of their stock taken, the trays containing many valuable
watches, diamonds, and jewelry, having all been emptied. As was
customary, the store was closed at seven o’clock and a night-
watchman came on duty within an hour after. On this evening when
the watchman entered he found the cases stripped of their valuable
contents and immediately gave the alarm. The police were sent for
and an investigation began. It was soon discovered that persons
near the store had seen a sleigh drive up, a man alight, unlock and
enter the store. Not long after he came out bringing two heavily
laden bags, one after the other, which he placed in the sleigh and
drove away. At the time no suspicion had been excited, as there was
nothing peculiar about his manner of entering or leaving the store.
From his course of action the thief was evidently well acquainted
with the fact that there was a brief period between the closing of the
store and the arrival of the watchman; and, having at some time,
doubtless, obtained an impress of the key and made a duplicate, the
task of entering and robbing the store at a time when it was least
expected was an easy one.
“In those days there was no detective force or special police to
investigate crime and capture the criminals. The attention of the few
policemen employed by the city was given wholly to the preservation
of order, and to preventing a breach of the peace. There was,
however, a force of a few constables who served civil processes and
worked as private detectives for a reward, headed by an old
experienced officer, Captain Darius Clapp; and when it was known
that a large reward had been offered for the discovery and return of
the goods irrespective of the arrest and conviction of the criminal,
Clapp devoted himself at once to that object. As a first step he visited
every stage-office, stable, vessel, and mode of egress from the city,
but to no purpose. The owner of the sleigh was found, but could give
no information except that it had been hired in the afternoon by a
dark-haired man wearing colored glasses, and that late in the
evening the team was found without any driver in Haymarket
Square.
“As weeks passed and the mystery seemed no nearer a solution,
the strange robbery became the universal topic of conversation.
Every clue and suspicion was followed up. Strangers were arrested
and obliged to prove their innocence. Everybody became a
detective.
“Some weeks after the robbery, a stranger came to the express
office with a trunk which he wished transported to New York.
Something in the manner of the man, an unnatural, half-disguised
appearance, excited the suspicion of the alert, sharp-eyed express
agent, who had been cautioned by Captain Clapp, and while he
proceeded to make out the receipt he secretly sent a messenger to
the constable. Upon his arrival that official instantly began to
question the stranger, demanding to know the contents of the trunk.
His inquiries were frankly answered with proper explanation, and the
key produced that the captain might verify the same by examination.
The innocent frankness of the stranger disarmed the constable, and,
half apologizing for not accepting his statements as sufficient, the
captain stooped to unlock the trunk, when suddenly the stranger
leaped by him and out through the door, barring it after him by
thrusting a stout cane through the iron handle. Throwing himself
against the door the captain soon broke the improvised bolt and
rushed off in pursuit, following the fugitive down through Dock
Square, Marshall, and Hanover Streets, into a narrow court leading
from the last street, where the man had disappeared. But though
there was no outlet other than that by which he had entered, a
thorough search of this place a few moments after failed to discover
the fugitive, or the way of his escape. After the houses opening on
the court were searched without discovering any trace of the
probable thief, the proprietors of the stores fronting Hanover Street
on each side and having rear entrances, were sent for. Among these
was Mr. Williamson, but as it was ascertained at his residence that
he was absent from the city, entrance was gained to his store by a
side window. Here, however, as in the other stores, no person or
sign of one was found. The burglar, for such an examination of the
trunk at the express office proved him to be, was never captured, nor
was trace of him discovered, although diligent search of that
neighborhood was made by the whole police force.
“Not long after, the city was again startled, this time by the
announcement in the morning papers of the mysterious
disappearance and probable murder of Mr. Williamson. He was
known to carry large sums of money upon his person, and as there
was no good explanation of his absence, it was thought most
probable that he had been robbed and murdered. In fact there were
some who reported hearing at night cries for help in the vicinity of his
store, and a hat which had been found one morning on the street
near his store, proved to be one worn by him on the morning when
he last left his home.
“Information was sought by advertisement in the newspapers with
promise of liberal reward, but all investigation proved unavailing.
“After some weeks of vain inquiry and search, the general
suspicion that he had been murdered and his body thrown over the
Charlestown Bridge became a settled conviction; but his faithful,
trusting wife refused to believe him dead, and her father finally
proceeded to New York to see what information, if any, could be
gained from those with whom his son-in-law had had dealings in that
city.
“What he ascertained there I do not know, but immediately on his
return he came to my employer for a workman to go to the store and
open in his presence the safe containing the stock stored therein.
After some drilling the bolt was sprung and the door swung open,
disclosing a sight at which I started back affrighted and amazed, and
which so horrified the troubled and anxious father that he fell like a
dead man on the floor. There within the safe lay the dead body of Mr.
Williamson, the trusted and respected jewelry merchant!
“On recovering consciousness, the good deacon, heartbroken,
implored me for his sake and the fair name of his daughter never to
make known the sight then revealed, and to assist him in concealing
all evidence which would tend to disclose it. To both these requests I
at once consented, and that night I helped him to carry out the body
privately for burial—no matter where.
“An examination of the safe disclosed a hardly discernible aperture
drilled through the back near the top, from which, on the inside, hung
a flexible tube by which respiration was made possible for a person
enclosed, and through which noise from without could reach the
inmate.
“On the inside of the door a hole had been cut so that the key
could be inserted and the bolt thrown. The handle of this key had
broken off, leaving the key in the lock. There were indications that
food and water had been stored in the safe, but none remained;
even the shoes bore marks of the teeth, as if gnawed for
sustenance. A black wig and blue glass spectacles lay on the floor of
the safe. Seeing all this, we soon conjectured for what purpose this
safe was made and used—a temporary place of quick retreat. We
wondered if the key was broken by accident in the haste to elude
that last pursuit, or in attempting to re-open the door. We thought we
knew now, though each was silent, the mystery of the many recent
crimes; but one thing was certain, they ceased and the author of
them was never found or arrested.”
 How Small the World.
BY E. H. MAYDE.

I.
The letter of Mr. Robert Fairfax to the Rev. Arthur Selbourne,
Innasittie, Colorado:
Manchester, July 24, 1892.
Right you are, Old Hoss, and no mistake. Europe was a great lark
—all the better for having been as unexpected as a wedding fee in
advance. I’m mighty glad I’ve seen it all. I used to be afraid that
foreign scenery would make that of home seem tame in comparison.
It has, on the contrary, been rather enhanced for me, and New
England continues to stir my aged blood as nothing else does.
I stopped over a day in New York, and dined with Ellis, who told
me about poor Jack Simms. Awfully sad case. Of course you know
he was eager for the operation—it really was the last hope—and
went into it with the greatest amount of pluck and nerve. Ellis is
interne at St. Luke’s hospital, and was with Jack all the time, and, up
to the last day, believed he’d pull through: but it was no go. Jack’s
life was insured for ten thousand dollars, and his wife’s uncle had
just left her thirty thousand dollars. So he had the comfort of knowing
she was provided for. It’s a lucky thing, for she has weak lungs or
something of that sort. It strikes me that women as a race are pretty
delicate in spite of their modern fad for athletics.
I saw Adams and Lennox Vandewater in Boston. Van looks rather
peaked. Adams says he’s just made his annual proposal to the girl
he’s been in love with for six years (nobody knows who she is) and
she has rejected him again. Van never recuperates in less than three
months, so Adams has consented to go across with him, and they’re
going to bike about England during August and September. Adams’s
legs must be a better match for his head than they were in college.
I’ve run down here for a week with my mother and sister who are
at the Masconomo. Have strolled along the shore this afternoon, and
wish you were here to enjoy this comfortable ledge of rock and the
strong salt air, and to talk over old times. I put a writing pad in my
pocket, and the faithful fountain permits one side of a conversation at
least. I’m confoundedly sleepy, however,—don’t grin like a dog when
you read that,—and think I’ll stretch out and take a snooze, in the
hope of imparting a little brilliancy to my style.
Evening. My dear fellow, I am madly in love. Fact, and you may as
well take it seriously. I went to sleep, as I intended to, and dreamed I
was discussing methods of executing criminals with your wife, when,
in reply to some remark of mine, she said, “I always use a kitchen
knife.” Then some one laughed and I woke up. Then a Voice—such
a delicious voice—said, “Don’t grin like a dog,” and I thought I must
be dreaming, for it was all mixed up with you, and you know I had
just written those very words. Then the Voice went on, “Billy said it
was inane, but I didn’t care, for the result was just as good as his.”
Then followed a most amusing talk, which must have lasted fifteen
minutes. You need not put on a look of professional disapproval at
my eavesdropping. I pledge you my word, I hadn’t the faintest idea I
was doing it until it was too late. You see, I was half asleep and half
awake at first, and when I discovered that I was all awake I hadn’t
the nerve to get up and apologize for being there, and walk away. It
would have been as embarrassing for her as for me. Besides,
though she was talking confidentially to some woman friend, she
hadn’t said a word which there was the slightest objection to my
hearing, so I thought best to lie still. I was completely hidden by the
ledge, though she couldn’t have been six feet distant. It was
immensely amusing. The Voice was relating her experiences in
keeping house for some one she called Billy on “the ranch”—location
unknown. For a long time I thought “Billy” was her husband, and it
seemed to me he ought to be a happy man, for she called him a
saint (not the canonized kind: she meant a brick), and she said Billy
called her a better cook than his mother. But it turned out that Billy is
her brother. He’s married now, and she apparently dotes on the
‘twins.’ Once they—i.e., the Voice and Billy—had a Mr. Adams to
dine with them, and as he was from Boston I think it may be our
Adams, and, perhaps, through him I can get a clue to her identity.
You think this is all nonsense, but I assure you I’m in dead earnest.
She’s the most interesting girl I’ve ever seen—or ever haven’t seen
—for I know little enough about her appearance. I looked over the
ledge after they’d gone away (they couldn’t see me) and saw them
walking off towards the road, and she wears tan shoes and a blue
dress. I’m going forth to hunt those articles to-morrow. Why shouldn’t
I be the happy man I supposed Billy to be?
I pity Van more than I did when I began this letter.
If Adams’s reply is favorable, and I find her and she’ll have me, I’ll
send for you to come on and tie the knot. You may impart this
information to your wife (I know you can’t keep it to yourself), for she
once told me that she took comfort in the most incipient stages of
love-making, because there was always the possibility of a fee
ahead. My best regards to that mercenary woman.
Yours,
Bob.
P. S. What do you suppose she uses a kitchen knife for? It must
be something unusual.

II.
The letter of Mr. Winthrop Adams to Mr. Robert Fairfax,
Manchester-by-the-Sea, Massachusetts.
Boston, July 27, 1892.
Dear Fax:—Sorry enough to hear of your accident. A sprained
ankle is no joke. Thought you were the most surefooted of men.
I append the memorandum you ask for of all the Williams of my
acquaintance. Are you writing a paper on The Influence of Christian
Names on Christian Character? And, if so, why in thunder don’t you
begin at the other end of the alphabet?
Van and I sail on the second. He’s dumpier than ever before. What
a girl she must be to refuse a million, and Van thrown in!
Yours,
Winthrop Adams.
Memorandum. (Ages only approximate.) William A. Curtis, fifty,
lawyer, widower, New York; Wm. B. Slater, twenty-six, physician,
bachelor, Iowa; Wm. Thorndike, thirty, merchant, ?, Charleston, S.
C.; Wm. Martin, forty, teamster, married, Boston; Wm. Berkeley
Vandewater (our Van’s father); Wm. (generally called Billy) Posey,
(colored), seventy-five, janitor, Boston; Wm. Winthrop Adams, my
three-months’-old nephew, still unmarried, Boston.
I don’t recall any other Williams whom I have met within the last
two years.

III.
The telegram of the Rev. Arthur Selbourne to Mr. Robert Fairfax,
Manchester-by-the-Sea, Mass.
Innasittie, Col., August 2, 1892.
Probably uses it instead of a fork.
A. Selbourne.
Collect.

IV.
The letter of Miss Polly Forsythe to Mrs. Arthur Selbourne,
Innasittie, Col.
Pride’s Crossing, July 24, 1892.
 My dearest Lucie:—I have the most delightful and most disgusting
things to tell you. First to the first. Of course you know all about poor
Nannie Simms’s trouble and about her husband’s death a month
ago, at St. Luke’s Hospital. Perhaps you do not know, however, the
only gleam of comfort in the whole sad affair—that she has a very
comfortable fortune. Old Mr. Dupuy left her thirty thousand dollars,
and when poor Jack died it was found that his life was insured for ten
thousand dollars. It is so fortunate, for she is all alone in the world,
and not a bit strong. Of course she’s perfectly heartbroken, but she’s
just as brave and sweet as you might know she would be. She says
she can never be sufficiently thankful for this year they’ve had
together. You know at one time there was talk of postponing the
marriage for a year, and when Jack was taken ill he reminded her of
that. She sent for me immediately, and Carrie was quite well, so I
came right on. I really think it’s better now that she and Billy and the
babies should be by themselves. They have a very good servant,
and a nice motherly woman for a nurse. But this is a digression.
Jack’s family dote on Nannie, and they all want her to go and live
with them, but she says she couldn’t bear it just yet, and so she has
asked me to be her companion for a year, until she feels able to
decide on her future.
Dr. Ellis, an awfully nice young surgeon, and a college classmate
of Jack’s, has been just as kind as he could be to Nannie. He says
she mustn’t stay North this winter, but we haven’t yet decided where
we are going; perhaps to Florida, and perhaps abroad. We came
down here a week ago, and it is perfectly enchanting, but we are
going away to-morrow on account of the horridest thing that
happened this afternoon. Now, Lucie, before you read another line
you must promise not to breathe a word of this to Arthur. Well, this
afternoon Nannie and I walked down to the West Manchester rocks.
We sat with our backs against a nice ledge and looked off over the
quiet sea and talked for hours. When we got up to go I had an
experience before which Robinson Crusoe’s footprint on the sand
sinks into nothingness. Right on the other side of the ledge against
which we had been leaning I saw, not a footprint, but a foot. Two
feet, in fact, and attached to them two legs. All, evidently, the
property of a man. I felt as if every drop of blood in my body flew into
my face, but I never said a word to Nannie until we got back to the
road. Then she looked around, very carefully, of course, and there
was that disgusting creature looking over the ledge at us. Did you
ever know anything so horrid? If I’d only his legs to judge by—that
was all of him I saw, because the rest of him was hidden by a rock—I
should have thought him a gentleman, for he wore fine russet shoes
and blue trousers. I never want to see that combination again as
long as I live. But no gentleman could have done so rude a thing as
to listen to a long conversation like ours. I dare say you will think this
is funny, but I’m sure you won’t laugh when you hear the rest of the
story.
What made it so perfectly dreadful was that Lennox has proposed
to me again—for the sixth time, my dear,—and I was telling Nannie
all about it. Of course, Lennox Vandewater’s name is as well known
here as Jay Gould’s or George Washington’s, and you know how
perfectly horrid men are, and how they always think girls boast of
their offers. And you know, too, Lucie, that you and Nannie are the
only living souls that know about that affair, and that Lennox told
Nannie himself. And you, dear thing, never would have known it at
all if you hadn’t overheard his first proposal, and that ridiculous
declaration that he was going to repeat it annually until I accepted
him or married some one else. Dear me! I never imagined then he’d
keep his word. I do really think the constancy of man is awful.
Of course, now you’ll want to hear how it happened, and I suppose
you might as well know. Lennox had something to do with the
company in which Jack’s life was insured, and he came to see
Nannie several times on business. Of course he saw me, but
somehow his manner was different, and I really thought he meant to
be just nice and friendly. Once or twice I saw him alone, but he never
even looked at me in a way to make me suspicious, and always
before that when we’ve been alone together—well it has been

“The embrace of pining eyes,”

all the time. The last afternoon he called—with some papers and
things for Nannie—she was in bed with a headache. He explained
the business matters to me, and then we actually talked politics—not
a word of anything else, I assure you—for half an hour. Then he told
me he was going to Boston that night by the Fall River Line, and
bade me good-by. But just as he reached the door he turned around
as if he’d forgotten something, shut the door, put his back against it,
and said, “Polly, will you be my wife?”
I was utterly taken aback. “Lennox,” I said, “how long do you mean
to keep up this absurd performance?”
“It isn’t a complimentary way of alluding to my offers of marriage,”
he replied calmly, “but I intend to repeat them until you are engaged.”
“Then,” I said desperately, “I will be engaged to the very next man
that offers himself to me.”
“How good of you,” said he, “to afford me such unexpected
encouragement. I will be that happy man, Polly.” And with that he
dropped on his knees and said, “Polly, will you be my wife?”
Now, Lucie, of course, this was perfectly ridiculous, and who could
imagine Lennox Vandewater behaving so? I don’t know what made
me do what I did, except that I had been under a severe strain with
Nannie, and was rather unstrung, but instead of laughing I burst into
a fit of hysterical crying. Lennox came to his senses—and his feet—
immediately. When I got myself pulled together again I thought we
might as well “have it out” then and there, and I prayed that I might
say the right thing. I told him how much I admired him, and valued
his friendship, and that I had really, honestly tried to love him, but I
couldn’t—in that way. I told him about the imaginary scenes I had
gone through with him, in which he announced his proposed
departure to South Africa as a missionary (only I really think Lennox
isn’t an ideal missionary), and that I had always gone through the
parting without a pang. I told him I longed to hear of his marriage;
and I was going on to use further arguments to convince him that I
didn’t love him, but at this point he said, “Well, I guess you needn’t
rub it in any more, Polly,” and I looked up and saw that his face was
quite white. I can’t tell you the rest, but—I don’t think Lennox will
propose to me again, though we—well, we “parted friends.”
 Now, my dear Lucie, that was the tale I told to those russet
shoes.... Was ever anything so—oh, words fail!
And Nannie, you know, has always believed I some day would
marry Lennox, so it was about as hard to convince her that I couldn’t
love him as it had been to convince him. Luckily, it didn’t take six
years in her case; though, if it had, those russet shoes would have
starved to death instead of living to tell the tale. That would have
been some comfort. After all this conversation Nannie was so “low in
her mind” about my affairs that I put forth my best efforts at
entertaining her, and actually made her laugh telling her about Billy’s
and my experiences on the ranch. And then the whole day was
spoiled by this awful discovery. I’m sure I know now exactly how a
woman feels when she finds the long-looked-for man under the bed.
This, my dear, is the end of the tale of woe. And quite time, too. It will
make a hole in my salary to pay the postage.
I’ll send you a postal when we are settled in some secluded spot
where shoes and trousers are unknown—and the wearers of those
articles.
Meantime, I am thinking more about myself than ever before in my
life. Every morning when I unfold the paper I expect to see in
enormous headlines:
Discovery of L—n—x V—d—r’s
Best Girl,
or
Did P—y F—s—e
Refuse Him Six Times or Seven?
Good-by, you dear, sweet, patient, long-suffering woman. Arthur
little imagines how much I’ve contributed towards making you a
model wife.
Your dejected
Polly.

V.
 That part of Miss Forsythe’s conversation overheard by Mr. Robert
Fairfax.
To Mrs. Nannie Simms:—I always use a kitchen knife. Don’t grin
like a dog. Billy said it was inane, but I didn’t care, for the result was
just as good as his. You see we had no end of fun experimenting
with all sorts of things. The ranch was twenty miles from the nearest
town, and I ‘got my hand in’ at almost everything from cooking to
carpentering. We even painted the house in the most artistic style,
mixing our own colors. It was such fun, ladling up little dabs of paint
from a circle of cans, and stirring up the mixture. We were trying to
get a red like the cover of my prayer book. And we did it, too. We
had only one kind of wall paper, and it required ‘treatment.’ It was a
pretty bluish gray, with scraggly daisies on it. We painted one room
in olive green, floors and woodwork, and that killed out all the blue,
and gave us a gray and green apartment. And another room, painted
in dark brown, brought out the blue and gave us a blue room.
Then the cooking was a great picnic. You see the most I’d ever
done was to stir up the ingredients of cake, according to Miss Parloa
and Mrs. Lincoln, and then—the cook baked them. What I wanted to
learn was how to get a dinner for a hungry man. Billy was a perfect
saint. You can’t imagine what blunders I made, with no one to give
any help. But I’d wade through it all again to know what I know now,
and Billy says I’m a better cook than mother.
One day we had a narrow escape from a tragedy. An accident on
the railroad had delayed our supplies a week. Meantime we had to
live off the country, and such things as we could get at ‘the store.’
Well, I was going to have fish-balls for dinner—Billy loves them. I
didn’t know how codfish shrinks, and I put on what I thought was
enough, and when it came out of the water it had wizzled up into a
little worm. However, it made six fish-balls, and I thought we were all
right, but when Billy walked in,—brotherlike—without warning, with
Mr. Adams, of Boston,—did you know about his coming out to the
ranch?—I had what Mrs. Stearns used to call “an inward spasm.” I
made a mental inventory of the contents of the pantry while I was
expressing my joy at meeting Mr. Adams—it was a joy, too,—and I
thought of “the woman who hesitates.” I went into the kitchen and put
those six fish-balls—they weren’t fried—back into the bowl, and
mixed them all up together. Then I made them over into nine, just as
big round, but thin to the point of emaciation. In the hen house I
found five nice fresh eggs, and I fried these, and “garnished” the
platter of fish-balls. And we had potatoes, and good bread and
butter, and coffee, and I really believe Mr. Adams thought he had a
fine dinner. He said the meal was a “taste of Boston.” We went
hunting the next day, and Billy shot a wild turkey, and that time we
did have a dinner. Billy was quite proud of my shooting. He taught
me to use a rifle, and we had fine times together. Then the evenings
were delightful, sitting in front of our great fireplace, and reading
aloud; and afterwards music by the firelight. It was just as nice after
Billy married and Carrie came. She fitted in beautifully, and they are
very happy. And the twins are darlings, the sweetest things. Really, if
I begin on them I shall talk till night, and you must be tired to death
now. Let’s walk towards home.
Oh! I—I turned my foot. It’s all right now. Come along—this way—
there! Give me your hand; that’s it. I was just going to say that—

VI.
Mrs. Arthur Selbourne’s good-night remarks.
To Mrs. Jack Simms.—You are really growing fat, Nannie, dear. I
was sure this Colorado air would build you up. Yes, it is a lovely
country, with a charm that is all its own. Something of life will come
back to you here—if only added strength to bear its pain. Good-
night, dear; sleep well.
To Miss Forsythe.—Yes, Dr. Ellis and Mr. Fairfax are coming to-
morrow. Nannie really seems to look forward with pleasure to
meeting another of Jack’s old friends. You know she has never met
Mr. Fairfax, though she’s heard so much about him. How much
better she seems! You have been the best tonic she could have had.
I want to caution you about one thing in regard to Mr. Fairfax. He,
of course, only knows your brother as Poindexter, and he has m—m
—m—er—associations with the name of Billy, so I wouldn’t use it