Mutiny's Rebellion Page 4

  And then, as I’m mere feet from the door, the music stops mid-song, a record needle scratching and then nothing.

  The murmurs of the crowd grow louder and I pick up my feet, the thought that this isn’t just some bit of DJ artistic flair thundering in my mind.

  “My apologies for the inconvenience,” says a voice far too familiar—even-toned, deep, and with a touch of condescension only ever dropped when alone in my arms. “But you see, we have some business to attend to here. A message to send.”

  With a whoosh, all light is dissolved in the room as Vim cloaks it in darkness.

  Camille! I think. Clive… I head to the end of the hallway at a run, slamming into a warm body I didn’t see in the dark, my eyes still not quite adjusted.

  “Oof.”

  I know that voice, too, and the musky aroma of charcoal deodorant and fresh springs aftershave.

  Someone’s hands are gripping mine, squeezing hard. “Jo?” says Clive, my eyes blinking to bring him back into focus.

  “What’s going on?” asks Torynt softly behind us and I startle, pulling back. He sends a grin my way and then the smile falls as he looks up at the stage where the DJ once was.

  Vim is recognizable by his billowing black cloak first and foremost. The rest is too much detail to make out in the dark and at this distance. But there’s no mistake—it’s him.

  He sees me just fine. Always has in the dark. He’s a master of light and lack thereof. It never seemed a particularly formidable power, but then again, neither is memory-erasing, and we still managed to get into more than enough trouble.

  “So glad you could join us, Mutiny,” says Vim. The crowd around me is murmuring louder, moving, shifting, a mass of unintelligible forms. I’ll never find Camille like this.

  I realize with a start Clive’s hand is still clutching mine as Torynt lays a hand on my shoulder.

  “Hey, Vim!” Torynt shouts. “Been a while. Still up to your old theatrics, I see?”

  “You!” says Vim, his cloak billowing. “And him? That grad school goody two-shoes? Even after I kidnapped him?”

  “Grad school?” Clive stares at Vim’s billowing form and then at me. “Is he talking about me?”

  Fuck it. I wave my hands over my face and let Clive’s memories come back. He might need them if things get dicey again. Who cares if he hates me for it?

  Who… cares…?

  Fuck, I do, but his safety is more important.

  “Jo?” says Clive, doing a double-take. “Where are—what… Did I…?”

  “How touching,” says Vim, his voice carrying over the murmurs of the crowd in the darkened room thanks to the DJ’s microphone. “If you’d have let him forget you, I might have left him alone.”

  I step in front of Clive, putting myself between him and the DJ stage.

  Torynt stands at my side. “S’up, Vim? Been a while since we had a tussle, hasn’t it?”

  Vim’s growl echoes over the speakers.

  One by one, a spattering of the crowd makes its way toward the door.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you all to stay put,” says Vim, and with a flourish of his hand, a ball of light shoots out to the middle of the room. Some people scream, and the light helps me spot Camille, who falls into her dance partner’s arms as the ball of brightly-burning light anchors down into the floor beside her, the impact brushing against her and sending her hair fluttering around her face. She stumbles, blinded by the light, tumbling to the floor.

  “Camille!” I shout. “Get as many people out as you can,” I whisper to Torynt, nodding my head toward Clive.

  “Now wait a minute, Jo,” starts Clive, “you don’t—”

  “Fine,” says Torynt gruffly. As Vim raises his hand to project another orb of light into the air, Torynt raises both hands upward, a heavy torrent of wind rising up to meet the light, keeping it from landing on the dance floor again.

  “Now!” Torynt shouts. “Get your asses moving!”

  People run toward us and the exit on the other side of the bar. There are a few with powers of their own, but instead of stopping to help Torynt—whose brow is covered in perspiration in the glow of Vim’s hovering light—most just shoot their powers out to clear the way. Lasers, flower petals, a foul scent. It’s chaos as I push myself forward through the crowd. One guy almost bowls me over with his simple determined strength. I don’t even know if he’s Typical or Natch. I need to get my friend out of here.

  Her dance partner hasn’t abandoned her, thank god. But he’s having a tough time keeping the crowd from trampling her as they make their escape.

  Camille cries out as someone steps on her foot.

  “Enough, Vim!” I shout, shoving past the people in front of me to reach my friend. “Enough of your games. Stop interfering with my life already!”

  But before I can get to Camille, the sneering bartender steps between me and the ball of light, her arm growing shiny, green scales from elbow to wrist.

  “Settle down, short stuff,” she snaps. “Tonight isn’t about you.” She flicks her eyes up all lizard-like toward the stage at Vim. “Right? This little high school drama shit isn’t what we discussed.”

  We? Since when was Vim allied again?

  “Listen, lady, I don’t care what you’re up to,” I say, “just let me get to my—”

  The bartender digs one of her sharp, blue nails into her skin and peels up a scale. It sticks to the skin by a long, sticky membrane-like string until she finally snaps it clean off. I actually dry-heave at the sight.

  “Jo, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  I whip around. Clive fought his way forward through the crowd, instead of hightailing it out like I expected him to. Like I needed him to.

  “Get out of—” I start, but a high-pitched whine buzzes in my ear, my neck suddenly stinging. I lift a palm to my throat and it comes back with a small amount of blood.

  “Damn it,” says the bartender. “Missed.”

  Beside me, Clive winces, yanking the bartender’s scale from his shoulder with a grunt. The damn thing is sharp, like a knife. And she tried to slice my throat with one. She stabbed my boyfriend—ex-boyfriend!

  “Becky?” he says, tossing the scale to the ground. He looks a little pale, but he clutches his shoulder, gritting through the pain. “You’re a Viper, aren’t you?”

  The bartender’s eyes are glowing. Actually glowing. “I am. And now that you know, don’t use that name—call me ‘Needle,’ baby.”

  Needle, a Viper…?

  Oh, right. The Vipers. The trashy band of Natches who aren’t above hurting people to get whatever they want.

  I thought most of them were behind bars, though—all except one, I realize with a start. Needle.

  Behind us, with a mighty roar, Torynt’s stream of wind aims outward like a miniature tornado and Vim’s ball of light slams into the floor with a supersonic boom. It always did that when he put extra energy into it, and he must have been putting all he had into it with the resistance he was meeting thanks to Torynt’s blast.

  Screaming, I barely have a chance to register the fact that I—we, everyone still on the dance floor—am flying back.

  I blink rapidly and shake my head to clear it as I get my wits about me. The strong, invigorating scent of familiar aftershave fills my nostrils, the warmth of a solid set of arms around me offers comfort.

  Blood trickles down Clive’s shoulder onto my chest. He somehow took hold of me and protected me during the blast.

  His blue eyes meet mine. Instead of hatred or confusion, I just find glimmering adoration there. “Jo,” he whispers. “You all right?”

  I have to check myself to be sure. “You tell me,” I say, tilting my head to have him get a better look at my neck.

  “Shallow,” he says, pushing his fingers against the wound.

  “You look worse off than me.” I nod toward his shoulder.

  “I’ll be fine. Listen—”

  A crocodile-like prehistoric
shriek pierces the air and Needle the bartender jumps up to her feet a short distance away, her fists clenched at her sides, scales blossoming outward and growing everywhere on her body, stopping just short of the blonde hair on her head. “You imbecile!” she shouts. I realize with a start she’s directing her wrath toward Vim on the stage ahead of her.

  My heart thunders as I look around to find Torynt, but he’s okay, stumbling to his feet and locking eyes with me. I locate Camille and the last of the other patrons on the other side of one of Vim’s glowing orbs, pointing toward them and getting a curt nod from Torynt in return. Clive and I stand on shaky feet, stepping forward to be the distraction as Torynt weaves around the giant orbs stuck in the floor to guide everyone else out through the fire exit.

  Needle is rambling about something, keeping Vim’s eyes on her. “The plan,” she says, then something about making a statement—it’s all very Vim-like modus operandi. Make a scene. Cause some destruction. Leave his glowing balls.

  Though his targets are usually Typical-bigot-owned businesses. Everyone knows Moonslicer welcomes Typicals and Natches alike.

  “We’re supposed to take hostages to negotiate the release of my team!” Needle shrieks. So that’s her motivation, shaky though it may be. But why is Vim helping her?

  “Quiet,” snaps Vim in a guttural growl after he’s had enough—another ball of light forming in his hands just as Torynt gets the last of the patrons out. My mischievous man turns, raising his hands to shoot out some more wind. Needle rips another scale off her arm, but Vim moves faster this time, shooting an orb at Needle.

  Clive grunts and pulls me backward, surprising me by running in front of me to tackle Needle, bringing her to the floor just in time to avoid getting hit directly by the orb.

  The orb curves, though, and heads straight toward Torynt and the fire exit—and Torynt’s wind isn’t enough to stop it this time.

  He goes flying out into the alleyway, the door swinging shut behind him, the light orb sticking to its metal surface, effectively welding it shut.

  I blink. That was some impressive orb control. Vim’s been practicing in the days since we’ve spent any meaningful time together.

  Vim’s cloaked figure is gone from the stage—and I feel something oppressive right behind me.

  I whip around, my hands out, ready to knock him to the floor, to make him forget me—something—anything, just to have that side effect of rendering him unconscious, but I freeze.

  From beneath his billowing hood, Vim’s dark eyes peer out at me, and they glisten with the reflection of his light orbs still stuck on the dance room floor. His gravelly voice cracks as he says, “Mutiny.”

  I can’t. I can’t make him forget me—I can’t even make him forget the outfit I’m wearing in an effort to render him immobile. I turn to mush in his presence.

  Clive startles me back to the moment as he jumps up and reaches into his back pocket. “Freeze, everyone! Police! Natch Division!” He’s waving a badge around above him and it takes a second for my brain to catch up with what he’s said.

  Fellow law school grad student, sort of ex-boyfriend… chap-in-trouble I just saved earlier in the week. He’s police? And in the Natch Division? That means he has powers.

  And he had the nerve to be upset I hadn’t told him I’m a Natch.

  The realization hits me like a bolt of lightning. He must have known I was a Natch. He’d probably targeted me for an investigation. He’d figured out that I used to be Mutiny.

  Needle cackles and whips another scale off her body, this time her inner forearm. “This is too perfect,” she says. She aims it at Clive, and I scream, ready to run toward him, but I’m too far and then… Clive just vanishes.

  He doesn’t move anywhere. He just ceases to be.

  He’s turned himself invisible.

  Damn, that’s a perfect ability for spying on people. I wonder if he ever used his invisibility to trail me.

  “You can’t hide from me, little pig!” screeches Needle, her head tipping back as she chortles toward the ceiling. “I can smell you!”

  I move forward, but I’m yanked back. I turn to find Vim pulling me toward the now-abandoned front door.

  There are sirens shrieking in the night air that I can hear even from inside the nightclub.

  “Come with me,” he says. “I have to leave before more police arrive—”

  “But Clive…”

  Vim’s eyes narrow. “Is a Natch apparently. And trained to handle the likes of Needle. Come.” He isn’t asking this time.

  And that turns me to mush again. Why does he have to have this effect on me?

  Biting my lip, I nod and follow, allowing him to lead me by the arm. Once we reach the sidewalk, he whips his cloak around me, guarding me from the eyes of any stragglers who failed to get too far from the club. I spot Torynt trying to calm a crowd in the corner—Camille safely nearby, her head against her dance partner’s chest as he soothes her.

  Then Vim raises a hand and sucks all of the light from the street in both directions, setting off the crowd once more.

  “Come on,” he whispers to me, directing us down the block as the crowd buzzes behind us, some errant uses of power shooting off into the sky—another laser, a cloud of smoke.

  “My van’s over here,” says Vim gruffly, and our steps slow as we blend into the darkness surrounding us, his heart beneath my palm thundering almost as hard as my own.

  It’s quieter several blocks over, and in true strategic fashion, Vim stops sucking the light as we near his vehicle, not wanting the darkness to act like a breadcrumb trail to his location.

  His dark van is hidden down an alley, a couple of dumpsters blocking it from view of any passersby on the block.

  Vim yanks me behind the nearest dumpster and then against the wall, embracing me and planting his scorching lips atop my head.

  “I’ve missed you,” he says.

  I inhale the burnt scent of him, like charcoal and matchsticks, a side effect of taking on so much light energy. There’s far less for him to draw on here in this dim alley, a single flickering yellowed lightbulb overhead the only source of artificial light.

  Slipping a single finger under my chin, he lifts my face to meet his, his lips claiming mine, gently at first, then more unyielding.

  A craving starts building up from my apex, my heart beating faster than it had when retreating from the nightclub. I want to give in, to have him inside me once again, but—

  I push against his chest, my breaths coming out shallow and hot in the slight chill of the night air.

  “I left you for a reason,” I say, as much to remind myself as him.

  Vim removes his hood and his jaw twitches. “Because you wanted to go legit.”

  “And you didn’t think you could ever work within the confines of the law to get Natches better treatment.”

  “The Renegades didn’t, either—” he starts.

  “And now they do,” I say. “More or less.” I run a nervous hand up and down my arm, considering Torynt and his team. They definitely fall into “shades of gray” these days when it comes to the law. “You know… When I was barely out of high school, I thought you knew everything. I trusted you to make the world a better place—”

  He growls. “I am—”

  “No, you’re not. Busting up businesses, leaving Natch-like graffiti… It’s just put a target on your back, Vim.” My voice grows quiet. “It hasn’t changed minds. It just makes you look like some punk criminal.”

  Vim takes a step toward me and I back up, my butt slamming against the van.

  “I wasn’t a punk when I was with you. I admire your tenacity,” he says, “your strength. Your intelligence.” He takes a lock of my hair in his hand, stroking it up and down softly, his fingertips brushing against my cheek like feathers. Groaning, I bend my face into the touch.

  “I know I can’t change you,” he whispers—deep, throaty. “I don’t want to. But I don’t want to lose you.”

  His
lips are on mine once more.

  I hesitate to return the kiss, reminding myself that Mutiny has to be behind me if I’m ever going to have a future as a lawyer.

  But his tongue slides across my lips and delves inside and I’m lost, my hands running over the close-cropped, tickling hair on his scalp.

  “Take me,” I whisper between kisses. “For old times’ sake.”

  He lets out a gruff chuckle and then reaches behind me to grab hold of the van door. I step aside, my arms thrown around his neck, my lips peppering his skin as he opens the sliding door, revealing the tidy but packed interior. I pull away to gander at it. “You’re still living in the van.”

  He shrugs. “I can’t risk leasing an apartment and getting a job.”

  I bite my lower lip. He has a point, but…

  The bench seat is down, spread out to match the width of a full-sized bed and it’s covered in a plush, well-worn quilt.

  Vim directs me toward the edge of the bench, peppering my face with kisses, his warm hands sliding up under my blouse.

  “I guess I’m glad to see our granny-blessed fuck station hasn’t changed,” I say, referring to the quilt and the bench-come-bed.

  Vim pulls back and whirls me around so quickly, I nearly tumble, but he catches me, steadying me. He slaps my butt cheek once—hard. “Watch what you say about my granny.” He snarls. “Especially at a time like this.”

  One hand on my abdomen, the other firmly on the small of my back, he leans me forward, bending me over the bench seat. He’s standing outside of the van door, the distance just right between us.

  His fingers fumble for the zipper on the side of my skirt with one hand as the other slides up underneath, already at work massaging my thigh.

  With a whimper, my toes shudder and stretch to contain the rising euphoria, and I realize my purse is somewhere back at the nightclub, dropped in all the confusion. “Do you still have condoms in the glove compartment?” I ask.

  “Not since I lost you.” Vim grunts.

  He yanks the skirt off with both hands, grabbing for my panties and pulling them down my legs as well, both items of clothing collecting at my ankles.

  I shift slightly to raise myself up on my elbow and look him in the eye. My breaths are shallow still, my body given no chance to slow down and process everything that happened. “I don’t know if we should—”