Chapter 5
Chapter five
Mandie
Iwoke up with my head heavier than a bag of bricks. Doc is going to regret showing me where the wine was kept. Hope they don't mind the three bottles missing.
I stretched, the sheets sliding off my bare legs. I took a quick shower, which didn't really feel like a shower. The water pressure was so weak I wasn't sure I’d washed away everything I needed to.
I pulled out an oversized sweatshirt and pants from the drawers and slid into them. I really needed to get some clothes that fit me. I felt ridiculous.
The pants dragged on the ground as I padded barefoot into the common room.
The hum of a video game filled the space, the one-hundred-inch screen flashing with neon explosions.
Roger was sprawled on the couch, controller in hand, his broad shoulders taking up half the seat.
Donovan sat cross-legged on the floor, his black nails tapping against his own controller, messy hair falling into his gray eyes.
They both looked up when I entered. Roger with that easy, sun bright grin of his; Donovan with a quieter, more hesitant lift of his chin.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," Roger said, voice warm like buttered rum. He set his controller down, stretching his arms behind his head in a way that made his biceps flex under his fitted tee. "Did you actually sleep last night?"
I smirked, running a hand through my hair. "I did, but not before I drank a few bottles of cab."
"Well, you know who that wine belongs to. I won't tell the boss if you don't." Roger mimed zipping his lips.
Donovan uncurled himself from the floor, standing in one fluid motion. His black skinny jeans, band tee with torn-off sleeves, and fingerless gloves stood out against the room's pristine white and chrome aesthetic.
"Coffee anyone?" he asked, already heading toward the kitchen. "I was about to make one for me."
Roger nodded. "Yeah, man, I’ll take some. Mandie?"
"Extra strong," I said, voice rough from sleep. "Black. No sugar, no bullshit."
Donovan’s lips twitched, almost a smile. "You got it."
He headed to the espresso machine, which was a beast of chrome and steam that looked more expensive than my car.
I dropped onto the couch beside Roger, close enough that our thighs brushed.
He didn’t pull away. The heat of him seeped through the sweatpants, and I had to fight the urge to lean into it.
Instead, I grabbed the remote from the coffee table and flicked the TV away from the game, channel surfing until I hit the news.
The screen flared to life.
—breaking updates on the disappearance of Amanda Weaver, data analyst for Sum Zero Tech, last seen two nights ago. Authorities are urging anyone with information to come forward—
Roger tensed beside me. "You don’t have to watch this," he said, voice low.
I ignored him, turning up the volume.
The footage cut to Cassie, standing in front of the Sum Zero Tech headquarters, her blonde ponytail whipping in the wind.
Her blue eyes were red-rimmed, her usual sunny demeanor cracked wide open.
"Please," she said, voice trembling. "If anyone knows where Mandie is, if she’s safe… please, just let us know. She’s my best friend. I just want her back with us."
My chest tightened.
I wish I could talk to her.
Then the screen switched to Victor. His expensive suit was immaculate, his scar barely visible under the careful angle of his tie.
His gray eyes were cold, his jaw set. "Sum Zero Tech is offering a substantial reward for any information leading to Amanda Weaver’s safe return.
No questions asked." He paused, his gaze flickering just slightly, like he was looking at me rather than the camera. "We just want her home."
The room went still. The only sound was the coffee machine hissing in the kitchen, rich aroma curling into the air.
Roger exhaled sharply. "Well, looks like your friends care about you."
"Cassie? Absolutely. My boss, Victor? Hell no. That bastard is just doing this for publicity. He doesn't give a damn about me."
Donovan returned with three mugs balanced in his stretched-out hands, literally. His fingers elongated to cradle the ceramic like some kind of gothic octopus. He set mine down in front of me, dark liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
"Careful," he murmured. "It’s hot."
I wrapped my hands around the mug, the heat biting into my palms. "Good."
"You guys hungry?" His voice was quiet, but clear.
I considered lying. But my stomach chose that moment to growl, loud enough that Roger barked out a laugh.
"That’s a yes," he said, grinning. He stood up and stretched, shirt riding up just enough to flash the defined lines of his abs. "Donovan makes a mean breakfast. Best in the world, hands down."
Donovan’s cheeks flushed. Actual color, high on his cheekbones.
"It’s just eggs, bacon, and toast," he muttered, but there was a flicker of warmth in his eyes. He was adorable when he smiled, which wasn't often. "I’ll make extra. Roger likes to eat."
Roger leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching me with that infuriatingly knowing look. "Guy’s got a secret ingredient. Won’t tell anyone what it is."
I raised an eyebrow. "Poison?"
Roger laughed, deep and rich. "Nah, nothing that exciting. But it’s good. Real good." He winked. "You’ll like it."
"Fine," I said, because I was hungry, and because the way Donovan’s posture eased when I agreed made something tight in my own chest loosen. "But if I die, I’m haunting both of you."
Roger clapped his hands together. "I might enjoy that. Who wouldn't want a ghost like you haunting them?"
The kitchen was open concept, separated from the common area by a long island topped with sleek black quartz. Donovan moved behind it with efficiency with no wasted motion, no hesitation.
He pulled a pan from the cabinet above the stove, his arm stretching just a little farther than it should have, fingers elongating to grasp the handle before snapping back to normal. The display was so casual, so natural, that I almost missed it.
Roger noticed my stare. "Neat trick, huh?" he murmured. "We get breakfast and a show."
I didn’t answer. Instead, I watched as Donovan cracked eggs one-handed into a bowl, wrist flicking with practiced ease. The shells landed perfectly in the trash can three feet away.
Show-off.
"Hey, I almost forgot," Roger said, turning to me. "The boss wanted us to give you this."
He handed me two enormous shopping bags. Inside were shirts, nightgowns, undergarments, blouses, and leggings. All in my size. All the stuff I liked.
"Will that work for now? The boss wants to know if there are any issues," Roger asked.
"It's alright. I am not sure if it is flattering or creepy that he picked out things in my size that I like."
"Probably both." He laughed.
"So, where is our man of mystery today? Actually, where is everyone?"
Roger cleared his throat, like he might say the wrong thing.
"Well, the doc is putting out wildfires in California.
Johnny is transporting emergency supplies to tsunami victims. And the man of mystery, as you call him, is doing some digging into this Capital Punishment guy we have been having trouble with. "
My mind flashed to that fight on the news where all six heroes struggled against one villain.
The scent of food hit me. Butter melting in the pan, garlic, and something smoky and sweet. My mouth watered. Roger wasn’t wrong; it smelled good. Donovan worked in silence, focus absolute.
I turned back to Roger. "That psycho seems to be a problem for you guys."
Roger shrugged. "We don't know much about him, or how he got tied in with these other super villains.
But every time we fight him, he gets stronger.
That is why the boss is trying to gather information on him.
We don't know why he hits the places he does, or why he is after you. It all seems random."
Roger shifted closer to me on the couch, his thigh pressing against mine. The heat of him was distracting. "You ever cook?" he asked, breath ghosting over my ear.
I side-eyed him. "I can microwave a mean Lean Cuisine."
He chuckled. "That’s not cooking, that’s survival."
"Same difference."
"Breakfast is served." Donovan proudly placed a plate in front of each of us.
The first bite of Donovan’s eggs hit my tongue like a revelation. Creamy, rich, with just the right amount of salt and that smoky-sweet edge from whatever he’d done to the garlic. I let out a quiet hum of approval.
“So, no adventures for team Fulcrum today?” I asked.
Donovan shook his head. “Not for me, Roger, or Matt. We got guard duty today for you.”
Roger turned to me. “Honestly, we don’t even use that whole Fulcrum name. That is just some lame title the media gave us.”
“It is kinda lame,” I admitted.
Donovan finished his quicker than Roger and me. He was halfway out of his chair when his watch started buzzing.
I watched the way his black hair fell into his gray eyes as he glanced at the screen, the way his long, stretchy fingers tightened around the device.
His expression didn’t change much, but there was a flicker of resignation before he muttered, "The boss is swinging by to pick me up.
" No inflection. No complaint. Just fact.
"Hey, be safe out there," Roger called out.
But he was already out the door. The sound of the motorcycle roared to life and idled for a few minutes before taking off.
I set my fork down. "What does Quantum Knight need him for?"
"Who knows? He doesn't have powers himself, so sometimes he needs one of us on his wild goose chases. Not surprising, with Capital Punishment on the loose."
"You are considered the most powerful of the heroes. Why not ask you to go with him?"