The new face, with the same voice, sneered. “You’re staring.”

“How can I not? I wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t just watch you change your face before my goddamned eyes.”

“It’s like you’ve never seen a Variant in action before.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Most are barely anything to brag about. 90% can be used for household chores at best.”

She popped another bubble. “What can I say? I’m lucky to be a part of the remaining 10%.”

My brain strayed to the rest of the Kings and I shook my head. “That isn’t luck.”

“Amateur.”

“I’m for real,” I said seriously. “All of you are…gifted. I’ve never met one, let alone a group of people, that had such established and powerful Variants.”

After a second of contemplation, Spencer responded. “You’re right. There’s no luck involved. It was all premeditated.”

I scoffed. “What, your Variant?”

“Yes. Our father…he was batshit fucking crazy. And also a damn genius.”

It was common knowledge that Variants were hereditary, filtered through genetic makeup and biological relations. A part of evolution, human beings procreating to make future generations more equipped for survival. Besides that, scientists couldn’t establish better findings, the experiments volatile and results unpredictable. Through years of trial and error, only two components were infallible: a Variant was never guaranteed, and no Variant was ever the same. My test subject days as a kid provided all the education I required on the subject.

What does she mean, her father premeditated their Variants?

“Were you all adopted? Scouted for your ability by your father?”

When she started laughing, I realised how ridiculous it was to suggest. Although each King sister had diverse features and characteristics, when they were together, there was no denying their genetic relation, the tiny similarities that highlighted their affiliation.

Spencer shook her head in mirth. “We have the same father, all different biological mothers.”

“Where are they now? Your mothers?”

“Fucked if I know,” Spencer shrugged. “If I had to gather a guess, either dead or living the rich and lavish lifestyle off the pay out my dad gave them.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

Her brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “Why would I be? We could have been made in a lab, for all I know. Well, except for Chase…either way, I don’t have a mother, nor do I need one.” Her gaze flicked up, affection sparking in her burnt orange irises. “Micah does the job well enough.”

The statement was accurate, though also a little confusing. Tanner was the eldest—and the only one that looked nothing like them.

“What about Tanner?”

Her eyes searched mine, realising I wasn’t as dim-witted as she thought. Glad I could surprise the one that generally caused all the surprises. “He’s not biologically related, no. His father was my father’s adoptive brother, not that it matters. Tanner’s our brother, in every meaning of the word,” she hummed. “Didn’t Micah tell you all this?”

“With the limited time we had together, she told me about you all. Just never the intricate details of your genetics,” I shrugged. “It didn’t matter to me. Still doesn’t.”

“Sureeeee,” Spencer said in exaggeration. “No need to feel inadequate. Some of you have to rely on basic brains or, in your case, brawn.” She tapped me on the shoulder with fake reassurance. “We can’t all be a part of the 10%.”

I lifted a brow. Micah hadn’t told them about my Variant. It wasn’t a secret by any means, but to know that she kept my personal information to herself made my fondness for her grow impossibly higher.

We relinquished our hideout and returned to our tracking when a high-pitched scream vibrated through the air, followed by the muffled sounds of combat directly from Micah’s supposed location. I spared a glance at the stranger’s face beside me. “Who said I wasn’t?” I blurted as I thundered towards the noise.

I’ll show her 10%.

Chapter 30Psycho

Istormed into the gymnasium and stilled in the entryway, processing the scene before me. Eight Ludus guards were beating down on fragile women, all wearing flower designed lingerie—exactly what Micah was last seen wearing.

Bubbling heat spurred from my chest to ricochet to every cell in my body, the burst of energy barely subsiding when I couldn’t find my golden girl amongst them.

All heads lifted at my entry, having hardly enough time to process my presence before an animalistic roar tore from my throat. “MICAHHHHH!!”

The guards shook off their initial shock and charged, their previous victims left trembling in the corner.

I growled as the first guard lifted his fist to land a blow to my ribs. I dodged it easily, using his momentum against him and grabbing his outstretched arm in two places, snapping it clean in half. Two more barrelled forward without hesitation. I parried and dodged round the room, trying to locate Micah while fending off the encroaching Ludus guards.

“Stop, or she dies!” a rough voice shouted. My immediate opponents ceased their onslaught, bathing in their perceived glory at the scene.

My head snapped to the man who dared speak, who dared make commands. The ugly fucker’s crooked smile was lopsided, his scar discoloured from his reddening face. He held one of the girls up to his chest, a knife digging into her side. “Now here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to get on your fucking knees with your hands raised. Got it?” Like I gave a fuck about some random bitch. Still, I bristled at his tone. The brazen disrespect.

I couldn’t feel anything. I couldn’t even feel myself breathing, my Variant pounding in my bloodstream, overflowing with violent intent.

Of its own accord, my mouth lifted into a predatory grin, all my shining white teeth on display. In an eerily quiet voice that sounded the furthest from my own, I said, “Psycho only gets on his knees for one person…and that ain’t you.”

The space pitched with wired tension as soon as my name released from my lips, the guards suddenly hesitant on what to do or how to proceed. I soaked myself in their dwindling egos, as they slowly seeped into unadulterated panic.

Until the dumb one opened his mouth again. “I don’t give a fuck if you're Psycho or fucking God himself. Who’re you looking for? Your whore’s missing, right? Brown hair, golden eyes, a killer fucking body.” He licked his lips and my vision filtered over with red. “Well, guess what? I fucked her! I fucked her so hard, she couldn’t take it. The dumb whore is dead. So, if you don’t want to join her, get. On. Your. Knees.”

The demand thrummed in my mind as if from far away, at the end of a darkened tunnel I couldn’t reach.

A thick cloud of ominous peril suffocated the atmosphere as my vision transitioned from red to straight black, my beast finally unleashed.

My mind clicked into autopilot, nerves and muscles following through in perfect synchronisation.

Before he could even twitch, I removed and lifted my gun from its holster, firing a bullet straight through his shoulder. He collapsed to the ground in a dramatic flair, clasping his weeping wound and releasing agonised whimpers.

The rest came out of their stupor, opting to fight for their survival. They swarmed, attempting to work as a single unit to take me down.

It wouldn’t help them. No one could help them.

I used the gym equipment to my advantage, cutting off the group to alienate one or two on their own. Their muffled screams and pained grunts bled into my awareness, my beast growling in hunger, demanding more. Always demanding more.

Grasping a stray skipping rope hanging from the wall, I whipped it like a lasso, the metal handle hitting a guard in the face and smashing his nose inward. His knees hit the ground, blood pouring down his front.

A tall, lean guard managed to dodge the next whip, landing a solid blow to my temple. It was hard enough to blur my vision for half a second. I chuckled with mirth, the game more interesting now that there was a worthy opponent. Disturbed by my expressed delight, his step faltered. His ultimate downfall.

I kneed him in the gut, causing him to keel over with a grunt. Looping the sturdy skipping rope tight around his throat, I grasped the two handles and pulled on each end with a sharp tug. His neck snapped, giving a resounding crack, head tilting at an obscure angle as I let his limp body fall to the ground at my feet.