CHAPTER 2
Sparks
I will never grow tired of riding a motorcycle.
The rumble of the engine as you soar down the street, the wind ripping at your clothes, weaving through traffic at frankly unreasonable speeds.
It’s absolutely thrilling. When I’m off-duty, I rarely wear my helmet, but I need the extra layer of anonymity in my working clothes.
But that just means I can drive faster, right?
I’m sure Derek would disagree, but he loves to ride just as recklessly so he can’t say shit.
The Lightning Bolt comes into view and our trio pulls into the attached parking garage.
We find our reserved spots in the bottom level and turn off the engines.
The fresh air invigorates me as I pull off my helmet and hang it on my handlebars.
I run my fingers through my hair, hoping to counter the inevitable helmet head.
My mind wanders back to the rounds we just did.
One of our gambling dens has been slow delivering the profits, so we had to shake them down a bit.
They’ll pay tonight. They always do. But something bothered me about the stop this time.
I swear I heard something behind us, then the flash of blue. It’s almost like…
“Sparks!” Derek snaps his fingers. “You there or do we need to send out a manhunt?”
“Huh?” I jolt back to the present moment. “Sorry, I’m with you. What did you say?”
Derek is my business partner and my closest confidante.
We formed the syndicate a few months ago when the previous gang leader was killed.
Well, gang leader and my abusive boyfriend of eight years.
He was killed by my ex-girlfriend, Astrid.
She moonlights as a morally-superior vigilante, the Water Weaver.
That was… not a great day. Since then, Derek has become a surrogate older brother, helping me keep my head above water.
“I said that Oliver needs to go home to his family.” He gestures toward Oliver who groggily rubs his eyes. “His youngest hasn’t been sleeping, therefore he hasn’t been sleeping. I’ll go to the club tonight to ensure we receive payment in his stead. Want a drink?”
Oliver is the last member of what would be our “C-Suite.” He’s pretty much the accountant and HR rep for our gang.
First rule of running a criminal organization, ensure everyone gets paid – including Uncle Sam.
It’s never a good idea to skimp on felons’ salaries, and tax evasion tends to attract government scrutiny.
It could be said that Oliver has the most important job of the three of us.
As an added bonus, it’s one of the least dangerous positions.
While Oliver can hang with the rest of us, his wife appreciates getting him home in one piece to help with the children.
“I’ll be right up,” I answer. “Give me a minute to change.”
I wave to Oliver before stepping onto the elevator.
After scanning my thumbprint, it descends into the lower level of our compound.
We had our base built beneath the club to provide cover for our operations.
The club is an easy way to launder money and has people coming and going at odd hours.
Plus, I like to dance. Seems like a natural fit to me.
The elevator doors open, and I step into the living area of the dormitory.
Gray vinyl and white drywall cover the concrete foundations.
Modest, yet comfortable, couches form a U facing the TV on the wall.
The kitchen is always stocked with a basic pantry and whatever else Derek orders.
Three hallways branch off from the common area.
The eastern hallway leads to the barracks – spare rooms built for the staff to use at will.
Primarily used by those with overnight shifts who need a nap before driving home or those who are in-between residences.
They mostly keep to themselves, except for occasional movie marathons and video game tournaments.
One room is reserved for Oliver who will occasionally stay over when we need to have late-night strategy meetings and to use as his office, but the rest of the rooms rotate so frequently I don’t catch the names of the inhabitants.
The northern hallway leads to our amenities.
Armory, storage, med bay, gym – the basics.
The gym is pretty neat. Full weight rack with a few exercise machines and treadmills, a court to be used for basketball or volleyball, and of course, a fighting ring.
Derek and I spend a lot of time sparring together, partially for work-related skill development but also because sometimes, you just need to hit something.
But anyway, standard apartment amenities I suppose.
The final hallway leads to only two rooms – leadership quarters. One for Derek, and one for me. Derek’s the only family I have left, and vice versa, so we figured we might as well live on base full time. Instead of the small dorms in the eastern wing, we have much more spacious accommodations.
I punch in my keycode and swing open my door.
My bike keys clatter into their dish on my entryway table as I step out of my boots.
I nudge them into their slot on the shoe rack before walking down the three stairs into my den.
The furnishings are masculine and plain, mostly because I just had Derek order duplicates of whatever he wanted.
I wasn’t exactly in the best headspace then to be picking out backsplash colors.
Derek might have the same furniture, but he decorated his space.
Pillows, art, knick-knacks. I have none of that, claiming to be a minimalist.
Derek has shown me paintings from practically every gallery in Boston, but I never come home with anything, much to his chagrin.
He says that my room is too sterile, that it doesn’t feel like a home.
He’s probably right. White walls, white rug, white couches.
Dark floors, dark coffee table, dark shelves.
Even the adjoining kitchen is a combination of white and slate.
The only color is from the small collection of books on the bookshelf, even still, those are mostly muted.
I’m not blind, I see how stale and lifeless my place is, but any vibrancy I add just feels like I’m in a room that belongs to someone else, like I’m living a lie.
I pour myself a handful of almonds before walking into my bedroom.
I slide the lights up partly, keeping the room fairly dim.
I set my almonds on the top of my dresser, not caring about the crumbs scattering about.
Unzipping my bodysuit, I move toward the walk-in closet to find an empty hanger.
My bodysuit collection has expanded over the past few months.
They are all pretty much the same, black with silver aluminum thread woven through to provide a route for an electrical current.
I’ve upgraded to include light body armor panels on the torso, curved to fit me perfectly while being undetectable.
They won’t stop a bullet, but they will deflect a punch.
Do you know what the best part of owning a club is? I get to go whenever I want. We also use it to provide cover for business meetings and such, like tonight. Due to this fun fact, an obscene amount of my closet is skimpy dresses and tops. I can’t exactly fit in wearing sweatpants.
Tonight, I’ve picked out a loose tank dress covered in large silver sequins.
It won’t cover the long scar winding from my left palm up my forearm, but hey, getting struck by lightning is a cool conversation starter.
Besides, guys tend to not look that far down.
I buckle some ridiculously strappy black heels and then move to the bathroom to do my makeup.
I pull out my only mirror from the vanity drawer and set it on the countertop.
Looking into the tiny hand mirror, I can only see a small part of my face at a time.
Eyelid. Swipe of glitter. Lips. Swipe of red.
Cheek. Swipe of highlight. Swipe. Swipe.
Swipe. And then I’m done. The mirror goes back in the drawer, and I don’t have to confront my reflection for another day.
The elevator goes directly to the VIP section of the club.
There’s a booth that’s perpetually reserved for management.
Derek is already waiting for me when I arrive, wearing his standard black button-up and slacks.
His sleeves are rolled up slightly, showing off the latest addition to his watch collection.
A waitress catches my eye as I sit down, and moments later, a glass of whiskey appears before me. Ah, I love this place.
“Opening a club was the best decision we ever made.” I close my eyes as I take my first sip, savoring the burn in my throat and the warmth in my stomach.
“I don’t know,” Derek teases, swirling the ice in his drink – also a whiskey. “I really enjoy the elevator music we picked.”
I roll my eyes and recline in the booth.
From the loft, we can see the entire dance floor and the main bar.
The lights are dim so it’s hard for people to see up.
Derek is practically invisible in his all-back attire, however, the sequins of my dress sparkle in the faint light, casting a subtle glow over the rest of my body.
While I do enjoy a good amount of anonymity in my job, I also love the attention of the longing boys below.
“You’ve got a few admirers tonight,” Derek notices. “Any catch your eye?”
“Oh, you know how it is.” I take another sip of my drink and toss my hair over my shoulder. “I’ll see where the dancing takes me tonight, but of course, business first.”