“Famously.” Spencer smiled as her face transitioned back into her own. No matter her mask, I would always recognise that aura.
“You didn’t threaten her, did you?”
“I told her to alert the Saint at Variant Sanctorum if she had to contact us,” Spencer replied, completely ignoring my question. Emerson tsked and I let it slide, thankful that she completed the mission without killing anyone in general.
I stretched out my leg to change the angle and get better access to my upper thigh. “They won’t believe she’s suddenly turned religious, Spence.”
She retrieved a necklace from her throat and dangled the silver in front of me. “Well, lucky she won’t have to wait long, huh. Tanner returns in a couple of days, then your precious boyfriend and his sister will be free. Then we’ll have the ammo to get to Maximus.”
It hadn’t taken us long to locate Ava. With her description alone, Spencer had already catalogued her image from previous scouting missions in Serpent’s Row.
Ava was heavily guarded and hidden in plain sight, her image solely what Maximus presented her to be. Disguised as a bartender in one of the Ludus’ most prominent and secure brothels, Forbidden Garden. The difficult part was finding a way to coordinate her rescue in conjunction with August’s. We could not take one without the other.
I reached for the necklace, Spencer snatching the chain out of reach at the last second. “Tell us what the tattoo means.”
I rolled my eyes, their never-ending questions and all-knowing expressions making me regret bringing them along.
Emerson bowed her head over my work. “Looks like another flower to add to the collection. What does this one mean, M?” Her tone was inquisitive.
I refused to answer, otherwise I’d never get any reprieve.
“Is that who I think it is?!” Spencer shrieked, launching across the room to point at an autographed photo amongst the countless others pinned to the wall.
My hand flinched at her outburst, barely correcting my hold to save a glitched line in my tattoo. I flicked a glance at the image she desperately fawned over. A smiling, dark-skinned man stood tall, his arm encircling a heavily inked brunette with purple eyes, multiple dogs surrounding their feet.
“Who is he?”
Spencer choked at the question. “Remember the guy who threatened the city last week?”
I stared blankly. “Of course I do. I was stranded at Oakview all night.”
Emerson huffed. “I wouldn’t call it stranded.”
They both giggled. They did have a point.
Spencer fastened the necklace over my head and rummaged through the desk, retrieving an unopened bottle of vodka. “Him. He’s the chemical weapon.”
Emerson and I zoned in on the photo, assessing his likeness with renewed fervour. “He got his hands on Amp, used his Variant to influence the air particles and caused chaos through the streets so he could rob a bank. Almost got away with it, too. Fucking epic, right?!”
“How do you know this, Spence?”
“His wife—the woman in the picture—used to work at Playhouse. She disappeared at the same time. Women talk, the streets talk.”
“Why would they cover that up?” Emerson asked.
I ditched the tattoo gun to contemplate the severity of the crime. “The authorities don’t want to cause panic. There’s already mass prejudice towards Variants as is. If the general public caught knowledge of Amp and the implications this drug could cause, there’d be all out war.”
Emerson nodded. “Anti-Variant protests have been intensifying recently. It’s only a matter of time before these peaceful rallies spill over into violence. Discrimination is at an all-time high. Amp has to be kept under wraps before the rest of the Variant population is placed at even greater risk.”
Spencer lined up three shots, unperturbed that we were digging through a stranger’s things. “I say we all take Amp, overthrow the leaders and blow this corrupt system to the fucking ground.” Her green eyes sparkled. There was no question she was already concocting a plan to seize the government and crush the amoral institution beneath her designer heels.
They approached my chair, each with a shot in hand, Emerson shoving the third under my nose. “Let’s start with the underworld, then the rest will follow. They will regret the day they ever forgot the name King.”
A ring of fiery determination whipped through our small trio.
“They will remember,” I said, sealing the vow by clinking my glass to theirs and downing the contents.
My blood ran thin as I laid the finishing touches to my tattoo, the bottle of vodka empty on the corner table. I could hear Emerson in the next room hunting for more liquor. I had no idea where Spencer had disappeared to. Suddenly, a piercing shriek echoed through the walls, followed by a plethora of curse words. Found her.
I didn’t rush, knowing Emerson would check it out, when she also released a subsequent shriek. “There is no way I’m getting anywhere near your vagina. Fuck no!”
I snickered and followed the sounds of my arguing sisters.
“Meek, please! I don’t want to stain my dress, and it fucking hurts like a bitch.”
“I’m not putting my hand on your pussy, Spence, so stop fucking asking. It’s your own fault.”
I leant against the threshold of the piercing room to find Spencer reclined in a massage chair, her dress lifted up past her bent knees as she pressed a thick dressing between her legs.
Emerson stood in front of me, arms firmly crossed, radiating disapproval.
I arched a brow at their regular roles, ready to play my own as referee. “What now?”
Emerson huffed. “Talk some sense into your sister. She got bored and pierced her own clit. Now she wants me to heal her.”
“You act like you haven’t got your nipple pierced.” Spencer rolled her eyes. “And it’s in fact the clitoral hood, not the actual clit. Get it right.”
