Chapter 3
Chapter three
Mandie
The first thing I noticed was the silence.
It wasn't the quiet of my apartment, where the hum of the fridge or the distant chatter of neighbors always bled through the walls. This was different.
My skull throbbed in time with my pulse. A dull, insistent ache behind my temples. I groaned, pressing my palms against my eyelids until colors bloomed in the dark.
What the hell did I drink last night?
Then the memories came rushing back. It wasn't alcohol. It was adrenaline. The alley. The villains. The way Quantum Knight’s gloved hand had closed around my wrist, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade: “Get on.” The wind in my face, the roar of the bike beneath me, me clenching his body as we fled.
Did I imagine all that?
I bolted upright, breath sharp in my throat.
The room was wrong. Too clean. Too white. The bed beneath me was firm, the sheets smooth and impersonal. It was nothing like the threadbare comforter I’d had since college. The walls were bare except for a single framed blueprint, some kind of sleek, futuristic circuit diagram.
A nightstand held a glass of water, a small black device that looked like a cross between a phone and a walkie-talkie, and a single, unmarked pill bottle. My birth control was next to it.
I didn’t touch any of it.
Then I realized something.
I’m naked.
My clothes were gone. In their place, someone had left an oversized gray sweatshirt and a pair of black sweatpants folded at the foot of the bed. The sweatshirt smelled faintly of fabric softener and something warm and masculine like cedar and leather.
I yanked it over my head, the shirt swallowing me whole, the hem falling mid-thigh.
The sweatpants couldn’t stay on, like they’d been meant for someone taller.
I pulled the drawstring around the waist to tighten it.
My tattoos peeked out from under the rolled-up sleeves, the black ink stark against my pale skin.
Barefoot, I padded to the door.
It opened soundlessly, revealing a hallway bathed in soft, blue-tinged light.
The floor beneath me was cool, polished concrete reflecting the glow of recessed lighting.
I followed the hall until it spilled into an open space.
There was a living room, kitchen, and dining area bleeding together in one vast, minimalist expanse.
The furniture was sleek, black and chrome. Expensive, but it looked uncomfortable as hell, except for the massive leather sectional. A massive TV hung on the far wall, dark and silent. The kitchen gleamed with stainless steel, not a crumb or fingerprint in sight.
A noise startled me. I turned too fast, shoulder slamming into a wall of muscle. A grunt escaped me, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs. I stumbled back, my gaze snapping upward, up, up, until I met the cold, assessing stare of a man who looked like he’d been carved from granite.
Holy shit.
He was enormous. Not just tall, he had to be nearly seven feet and built.
Shoulders broad enough to block out the light, arms corded with veins that stood out even beneath the sleeves of his black Henley.
His beard was dark, neatly trimmed, long hair draped past his shoulders like a Viking.
But it was his eyes that held me. Blue, sharp, like chips of ice in a face that had seen too many fights.
I screamed.
The sound tore from my throat before I could stop it, raw and panicked.
I scrambled back, pulse roaring in my ears, fingers clawing at the air like I could somehow put distance between us.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched me, expression unreadable, like a predator deciding whether I was worth the effort.
"Easy," a voice behind me cut through the haze of my terror.
I whirled.
Another man stood in the kitchen. His spiky blond hair caught the light, his lean frame a stark contrast to the mountain of muscle behind me. He was dressed in ripped jeans and a band tee clinging to his chest, green eyes bright with something like amusement. Or concern. Or both.
"Don’t scream," he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "You’re safe."
Safe. Right.
I swallowed hard, throat dry. "Who the fuck are you?"
The thin man's mouth quirked. "Johnny. And that—" he said jerking his thumb at the giant Viking, "—is Matt."
Matt. The name fit him like a second skin. Short, blunt, no-nonsense. He finally moved, crossing his arms over his chest, shirt straining against his biceps.
"You’re awake," he rumbled. His voice was deep, rough, like gravel under boot heels.
I glanced between them, mind racing. "Where the hell am I?"
"Somewhere they can’t find you," Johnny said, stepping closer.
"Okay. How do I get out of here?"
Johnny pointed to a door.
I can outrun these guys. I was fast. Always had been. Years of dodging shitty exes and worse landlords had taught me that much.
I looked at both of them before pointing at empty air. "And who is that?"
They both turned to look. No one was there.
Suckers.
I raced for the exit. My feet pounded against the floor. But I wasn’t fast fast. Not like the blur of motion that happened in a single burst.
Johnny materialized in front of me, a streak of color and light solidifying into a man. His hand shot out to grip my wrist. Not hard, not painful, but firm. Unyielding.
I gasped, jerking back, free hand swinging wildly. He caught that one too, fingers wrapping around mine, thumb brushing over my knuckles in a gesture that was almost… gentle.
He stopped, brows furrowing. "Hey. It’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt you. We are in a place in the middle of nowhere. There isn't exactly a street or car you can hop into around here."
My body tensed. I started to stutter. "You—you… are fast."
"Yeah," he said. "Faster than anyone."
Then it hit me. "You’re Pulsewave."
"You hear that, Matt? Our guest is quite the detective," he said, tone thick with sarcasm.
I ignored it. "And who the hell is that?" I pointed to Matt.
Johnny shrugged. "That… well, that is Matt. The handyman. He is here to fix a leaky faucet."
Matt rolled his eyes. "I just came to get something for this pain."
He walked into the kitchen, pulled an ice pack out of the freezer, and pressed it against his head. He slumped into a giant chair facing us.
"So, superheroes have handymen now?" I glared at Johnny. He wasn't as intimidating as Matt, so I felt a little braver.
"I am not the handyman," Matt growled.
"Look, we are the good guys," Johnny pleaded, eyes sincere now. "No one here is trying to hurt you. Just protect you."
"Yeah?" My voice came out sharper than I intended. "Then why’d you bring me here?"
Matt exhaled through his nose, a sound like a growl. "Because you were targeted. Those assholes in the alley? They weren’t after some random civilian. They were after you."
A cold weight settled in my stomach. "That’s impossible. I’m nobody."
Johnny’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Trust me, if you were nobody, you wouldn’t be standing here."
I barked out a laugh, brittle and sharp. "Oh, now I’m supposed to trust you? After you kidnap me?"
"We rescued you," Matt corrected, voice low. "There’s a difference, Mandie."
My name on his lips sent a jolt through me. I hadn’t told him my name. How the hell?
"Relax," Johnny murmured. "You’re not a prisoner."
I yanked my hands free, chest heaving. "Could’ve fooled me."
Matt appeared beside us, silent for a man his size. "Look, the doc was supposed to be the one to talk to you. He’s better at this stuff. He had to go out on a mission, and you woke up earlier than we expected."
"Doc? What kind of superhero team has its own handyman and its own doctor?"
"I told you, I am not a handyman," Matt growled.
"Then who are you?" I demanded. "I recognized Pulsewave. But you… you are bigger than any of the heroes I have seen. So tell me, who are you, Matt?"
"Wrong question to ask him." Johnny chuckled but then he shrugged. “You know him better as Gorath.”
“Gorath, the alien?”
“I am not an alien,” Matt grunted.
"Look, just wait until the boss gets here," Johnny said. "Then we can figure out what we can and cannot say to you."
"This doctor," I asked. "He is your boss?"
"No," Matt said bluntly. "Doc is Doc. The boss is the boss."
Then it hit me.
"When I woke up, there was a bottle of pills next to me. Is this Doc guy the one who drugged me?"
"He just gave you a little something to help you relax," Johnny smirked. "You were quite hysterical."
"Gee, I wonder why," I replied, sarcasm dripping from every word.
"Hey, those pills were supposed to knock you out for a few more hours. You are awake early. You must have been quite the party girl to build that tolerance."
Johnny was starting to get on my nerves. And the giant was a man of few words. I needed to talk to someone with a brain.
A motorized robot zipped into the room. Standing three feet tall, it moved like it had its own personality.
“What is that?” I pointed to it like it would attack me.
“That is a cleaning bot,” Johnny said. “Keeps the place tidy. We have six of them.”
Cleaning bots. If this situation wasn’t ridiculous enough.
A sonic boom hit like a thunderclap, rattling the walls so hard the glassware in the kitchen clinked. I flinched, fingers digging into the armrest before I realized I’d tensed up.
Johnny cut off mid-sentence, green eyes flicking toward the ceiling. Matt didn’t move, but his jaw tightened.
"About time they got back," Matt muttered.
Then the door slid open.
Not the one Johnny had sworn was the only way out, but next to it. This was a different panel, seamless in the wall, revealing itself only as it hissed apart.
A tall, handsome jock stepped through first. Broad shoulders, easy confidence, side-parted blond hair perfectly in place.
Behind him moved an older man. He moved with the precision of a scalpel. Distinguished. Fashionable. He wore a deep burgundy merino wool cardigan over a crisp white Oxford.