Chapter Nineteen Monika
Chapter Nineteen
Monika
The web of lies may have begun with Taranis, but it ends with me.
That’s what I keep telling myself as I sit down with Mr. Singkham, my last encounter with Darius replaying itself in my mind.
I’m so uncomfortable, sore as hell, and my meeting with Emily and the COE gyno definitely did not help.
She was ecstatic when I told her that Darius and I had been intimate, and even had a name for what happened to his penis when it . . . expanded. She called it knotting.
I had a little bit of tearing, and she asked me way too many questions about why my asshole looked inflamed.
She gave me cream for all of it, a prescription for extra-strength ibuprofen, and the courage to keep having sex with Darius if I’m enjoying it.
And I am enjoying it. Even if I want to give him a lobotomy.
Entirely breaking doctor-patient confidentiality—or maybe that doesn’t even exist for the COE—she let me know that he was clean and that I didn’t need to worry about pregnancy because he’d had a vasectomy.
Huh. Emily also told me he hadn’t been in yet, but she asked me to encourage him to come see her.
She wanted to have a look at all his shiny new bits.
I snorted and wished her luck. If he didn’t want to see her, he wouldn’t come to see her. Nothing I could do to change that.
“This is what it looked like?” Mr. Singkham has a binder open on his desk in front of me. He’s sitting in the chair next to mine rather than across from me, excitement oozing from him like he’s a little boy on Christmas Day. Wait—do they celebrate Christmas in Thailand?
I glance over at him and see that his full concentration is on the laminated sheets. “No. It’s not a long sword. It’s short. Two of them.”
“You think he has two separate weapons?”
I shake my head, then shrug. “There were two of them, but they were identical.”
Mr. Singkham releases a long, thoughtful sound, stroking his chin.
“Back to the thumbnails.” He flips pages until he arrives at a set of two-by-two-inch images, each one depicting a separate “weapon” against a backdrop of plain white.
Some of them don’t much look like weapons, though.
Most of them don’t look like much at all, but there are a lot of them. Two dozen at least.
“Shouldn’t I just focus on the ones that have been stolen?”
“These are the ones that were stolen.”
“Oh shit.” I shake my head and go back to the pictures. They look hardly more useful in battle than kitchen utensils. “The weapon I saw was sparking blue and white.”
“And you say it started to radiate energy because he was upset with you for the social media post?”
“I mean . . .” I reply, shifting in my seat, my face growing surprisingly warm.
The marriage license crinkles in my pocket.
I flap my hands. “I don’t know. He was angry and it was glowing.
Whether the two things were related, I couldn’t hazard a guess.
” It also sparked after he left, but for whatever reason, I don’t mention that.
“Fascinating. Just fascinating.”
“What is?”
Mr. Singkham looks at me. He’s grinning. “That he’s managed to turn his weapon on at all. We haven’t had a Champion who’s been able to do so yet.”
“What about the Wyvern?”
Mr. Singkham gives me a funny look, then silently shakes his head. “There’s . . . more to it than that.”
When it doesn’t seem like he’ll say more, I look back at his book. “You know who these all belong to?”
“Some were found in the backs of the pods of the Forty-Eight that crashed, but less than a dozen. Eight, I believe. The rest, we haven’t a clue.
And the Champions don’t feel anything in particular when they approach the various weaponry that would give us any indication who the weapon might belong to or what it might do.
” He adjusts his tie. It’s red with little blue comets—the pods falling from the sky.
I feel uncomfortable giving this information to Mr. Singkham without Darius’s knowledge, and I’m worried I acted too hastily.
In the last seventy-two hours, I’ve watched the guy who I grew up idolizing turn into a gigantic blue beast, fucked him, dealt with my godsister getting her legs broken by the Marduk, met with the Marduk—who I’m pretty sure was going to kill me until he found out I was Taranis’s key, whatever that means—and then been fucked again by monster dick after being presented a series of contracts meant to strip me of autonomy and bind me to him.
I haven’t admitted it out loud, but the truth is that I’m scared.
I don’t know what to tell to whom. I don’t know who to trust. What to feel.
What I’ve started to feel for Darius is in complete conflict with what I feel for Taranis.
For a minute there, lost in the expanse of his blue skin, I thought that Darius might be surging as his dominant personality, but after our last meeting, I’m concerned that Taranis is winning.
And I don’t trust Taranis. Especially not after hearing his talks of murder.
I swallow hard, sparing Mr. Singkham a glance.
Does he really deserve to die? He might be a shrewd businessman at the end of the day, but does that qualify him for the casket?
If Darius is looking for an out, he has other options.
Or is Taranis simply looking for a reason to make a grab for even more power?
“Anything on this page?” Mr. Singkham asks, pointing to a new sheet. The weapons are all rusty and dark, some too difficult to hardly make out.
“Is this an axe?” I ask.
“We aren’t sure.”
I grunt at the photograph of a weapon that looks like an axe blade but has a handle in the shape of a circle. “Terrifying.”
“I certainly wouldn’t want to see it in practice—at least, not in the hands of a villain.”
“Me either.”
“Any others look familiar?”
“No . . . these aren’t swords. This is a whip.
” Black and dull and utterly uninspiring looking.
“Wait. I think . . .” I drag the binder closer to me and squint at a rusty red thing.
It does seem to be the right shape . . .
and the markings look almost familiar . .
. “The color is wrong. Do you have anything bigger? Closer up?”
“Yes, of course.” He flips a few pages farther, and I recognize the weapons on first glance.
My finger stabs down on the large images taking up the full-page spread. “It’s that one.”
“The wrist swords.”
“Yes. They were the same shape. Not the same color, though. These look kinda rusted and dim. His were bright white and, like I said, buzzing with electricity.”
Mr. Singkham immediately moves around his desk, leaving me with the binder. He fires up his computer and starts typing furiously. An email to the SDD head? Sending the Navy SEALs to arrest Taranis right now? Or just taking notes? “Incredible.” He shakes his head.
“Are you going to . . . confront him?”
“Yes.”
I tense. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“We have no concrete proof that Taranis stole these weapons, so I’d like to see if there isn’t a way to convince Taranis to come to us willingly with this.” He pauses typing and shoots me a glance. “You could be exceedingly helpful in convincing him to come in.”
“No thank you.”
He grunts. “Then I may need to consult the SDD president, Ms. Lemon.” He frowns. “It could be dangerous.”
“And yet, you asked me to do it?”
Mr. Singkham has the decency at least to blush. “Did you see any other weapons in Taranis’s possession?”
“Nope.” Whew. At least I can admit that in the negative. But what to do with the other information I have on Taranis? Before accusing him point-blank of conspiracy to commit murder, I know I need to talk to Darius first.
“This is fantastic work, Ms. Neumann, simply fantastic. I cannot thank you enough. If there is anything else you might have come across or any other information you have for me, please do let me know.”
I hesitate, debating. “There is . . . something.”
His eyes ping to mine. His fingers once again freeze over the keys.
I exhale and rub my face roughly with one hand. “I visited my godsister, Cynthia, yesterday in the hospital.” Was that even yesterday? Quatsch. Time has ceased to have any meaning anymore. “Sorry—Saturday,” I correct. “Anyway, it was after the video stills I took were posted to Taranis’s socials.”
“Oh yes, I did hear about that. I reached out to the South Korean ambassador to wish her my condolences on her daughter’s injury.
” He turns to face me fully, elegantly arraying his arms over his desk.
It’s wood—glossy and dark and warm. His whole office is full of light up here on the thirty-fourth floor.
A stark contrast to Taranis’s evil lair.
Which is annoying. Because I’d still rather be there bent over his desk, tits mashed into the concrete, tail deep inside my ass, knot fully inflated inside me, pinning me.
I snap out of it with a start, my whole body heating.
Mr. Singkham gives me a discerning look.
“I also was a bit confused as I thought that the pictures of Taranis and Cynthia seemed rather . . . lovey-dovey, to use the American expression, but that’s not the impression I got from the ambassador.
” I make a face. Mr. Singkham quirks his head.
“Something tells me there is more to the story.”
“The images were clips from a video I sent Taranis’s PR team.
They were cropped—made to appear that way—but the reality was much different.
” He electrocuted her. “There is no love between Taranis and Cynthia. He’s since taken the post down and is fairly pissed about it. ” Fairly. Mildly. Hardly at all. Ha.
“Oh.” Mr. Singkham’s eyes suddenly grow large. “Oh my.”
“Cynthia wasn’t in a car crash either. She was kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped? By whom?”
“The Marduk and an ally of his. They wanted information about Taranis’s reversion, but when they realized she wasn’t . . . the cause of it . . . he broke her legs.”
Mr. Singkham emits a curse in a language I don’t speak.
Still, I nod. “She’s pretty freaked out, but she’s safe. The Marduk and whoever was with him let her go after. They were the ones who dropped her off at the hospital.”
“My God.”
“She did say one thing I think might be worth mentioning. I asked her about the place they took her when they interrogated her and then broke her legs. She said it was a warehouse that smelled like the sea. I know that’s not a lot to go on, but I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and I did a shoot at the docks once as part of an exposé on forced sex work and human trafficking that passes through Sundale.
I can’t see how it would be possible for an underground ring of supervillains to hide out there, but it’s the first place that came to mind. I just . . . thought you should know.”
Mr. Singkham stares at me with his lips ever so slightly parted. I think he might be drooling.
“Mr. Singkham? Can I . . . be dismissed? I’ve had a hell of a week.” Weeks. Not to mention, I still have a pile of unanswered emails and clerical work to do for my February gallery opening. Plus, feelings about an annoying alien to contend with. And a marriage license in my pocket.
Mr. Singkham nods, but as I rise to stand, he speaks carefully, like he’s saying the words out loud as he puzzles through them. “Not the docks, Ms. Neumann. The harbor.”
“The old Sundale harbor?”
He nods. “It could be. We have reason to suspect there may be VNA activity in that area. The fact that your godsister called it a warehouse narrows it down even more. We may have reason to launch a covert mission, Ms. Neumann—one that might uncover a fair cache of the Marduk’s hidden weapons.
This information may be helpful for our cause. ”
“Good,” I exhale, relieved. “I’m glad I could help.” I start to leave—try to leave. I don’t make it two feet.
“Ms. Neumann, the COE may need your help again.”
I groan and stare up at the ceiling, wondering what I did so wrong in my past life to deserve this level of excitement. Okay, universe, I know I asked for thrills, but could you tone it down a bit?
Mr. Singkham turns away from his computer to give me his full, undivided attention.
I want none of it. “We have been developing plans for the Wyvern to lead a contingent of COE officers to investigate our findings. We have scouted a few locations so far but haven’t found more than traces of the VNA’s presence.
If your lead proves to have merit, this could be a big coup for the COE.
And regardless, we need coverage, even if the mission turns out not to recover anything of direct value.
There is a lot we’re missing relying solely on bodycam footage.
I would like you to accompany the next mission and document their findings, whatever they may be. ”
I groan and sulk toward the exit. “Fine.”
“Excellent. I’ll send word when the plan comes together and it’s time for your troop to leave. We also may need to interrogate your friend, Cynthia.”
“Give the girl a break,” I say, but not just for Cynthia’s sake—also because I don’t want her confessing that the Marduk gave me a cell phone that I can use to contact him and may or may not kill me if I share that information.
Mr. Singkham’s face screws up. “We can wait, but if our next mission proves fruitless, we will need to speak to her. In the meantime, do let me know if you have any trouble with Taranis. He’s not to know about these plans for now.”
I nod, understanding that entirely. “Taranis is giving me grief about my contract, but I think we might be able to work it out. If not, then I may need to get my lawyers involved.”
Mr. Singkham frowns. “You’ve been doing exceptional work, and he has no idea you captured that footage of him with Bia and the Meinad, correct?”
“No, he doesn’t know about that.”
“Then what seems to be the problem?”
“I . . . uh . . . It’s just an issue with him trying to get approvals . . .” And marry me. I shake my head. “I think I can handle it, for now.”
“Well, keep me in the loop. We don’t have him on assignment for the next few weeks, for obvious reasons, which means you shouldn’t have much contact with him.
Though I appreciate the information you’ve been able to provide about him, I don’t want you engaging if it’s at risk to your safety or general well-being. ”
“Right. I’ll just stay away from Taranis for now.” And I’ll try to stay away from Darius too.