Chapter 6
Chapter six
Mandie
The weight of Roger’s arm draped over my waist was heavy, comforting. His breath warmed the back of my neck, slow and steady, a rhythm that lulled me into a false sense of safety.
I traced the edge of his bicep with my fingertips, following the faint scar there, a remnant of some battle I hadn’t been around for. His skin was warm, alive in a way that made my pulse stutter.
I was exhausted. We’d just returned from Maui. Well, above Maui, and my body still hummed from the way he’d handled me, the way the sky had swallowed our sounds, the way his hands had left marks I could still feel.
But sleep wasn’t coming. Not with the way his chest rose and fell against my back. Not with the way his fingers idly sketched patterns on my hip, like he was memorizing the shape of me.
"You ever miss it?" I asked, my voice low, rough from the scream I’d let loose earlier.
His fingers stilled. "Miss what?"
"Football."
A beat of silence. Then, a slow exhale ruffled the hair at my temple. "Every damn day."
I turned in his arms, shifting until I could see his face. His blue eyes were distant, fixed on some point beyond the ceiling, like he was watching a replay only he could see.
"Then why’d you quit? You can obviously play now. Your broken knee works fine."
His gaze snapped to mine, sharp and sudden. A smirk tugged at his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Oh, yeah. My broken knee. I faked that."
"What?" I blinked. "What do you mean by faked? That injury ruined your whole career. You were about to go pro."
Roger sighed, rolling onto his back and pulling me with him until I was sprawled half across his chest. My tattoos were a stark contrast against his golden skin. His fingers found mine, threading through them like he needed the anchor.
"I got my powers a month before the championship game," he said quietly. "Biggest game of my life. Scouts were there, all the experts and teams thought I would get drafted first overall, the whole nine yards."
His thumb traced the ink on my wrist.
"Vince was my best friend and our star receiver. He and I were stupid. Thought we could get an edge. There was this back-alley chemist selling supplements. Not the legal kind. The ‘I don’t give a fuck if this kills you’ kind."
I propped myself up on my elbow, watching his face. The way his jaw tightened. "And that's how you got your powers?"
He nodded. "I can't tell you all the random stuff we took. But it made us faster. Stronger." A bitter laugh escaped him. "At first, it was just that. Like the best pre-workout you’ve ever had, times a thousand. Then…" His voice drifted away.
"You can tell me." I squeezed his hand.
He flexed his fingers, and for a second, the air around us shimmered like heat off floor. "Then I picked up a dumbbell. It felt like nothing. I played around with it and realized I could bend it. Like it was made of Play-Doh."
I could see it. The young Roger, all cocky grin and swagger, thinking he’d hit the jackpot. Laughing in the face of consequences because he’d never had to face any. Until he did.
"Vince took more than I did," he continued, voice dropping. "He always did. Said if a little was good, a lot would be great." His free hand lifted, palm up, weighing something invisible. "By the time we realized what was happening, it was too late. I could fly, Mandie. I could lift a car."
"And Vince?"
"Vince… he could do worse. Now, he isn't… alive anymore."
"The supplements killed him?"
Roger looked at me, eyes bleak. "No. I did."
I froze. Roger killed his best friend? He was supposed to be a hero.
"I had no choice," he whispered. "There were victims. All women. Every day, five, sometimes ten women, all over the world. No one knew where he would strike."
The realization hit me like a punch. "Vince was the Crimson Rapist."
Roger nodded, blinking back tears.
I knew the story. Or at least, the end of it. The Crimson Rapist was Riven’s first real villain. The one Roger had to stop. The one he’d killed.
But hearing it like this, raw, unfiltered, without the superhero gloss… it made it real in a way the headlines never had.
"I tried to talk some sense into him. He was mad with power.
He enjoyed knowing he could take any woman in the world, and no one could stop him.
I tried to beat some sense into him. Then he tried to kill me.
I felt I had no choice. The world called me a hero.
I felt like a fraud. Every day I am out there saving people, I am really just trying to convince myself that I am not the murderer who killed my best friend. "
"You are a hero," I said fiercely. "Do you know how many more victims he would have had if you didn't stop him?"
"I try to think that way. Doc has been helping me with that. It’s hard, though. I lost a lot that year. Football. My best friend."
"You could’ve kept playing. No one would’ve known. You could’ve been RC Rattler. The legend."
His laugh was hollow. "Yeah. And then what?
Some linebacker takes a hit from me and dies?
Some wide receiver gets his spine snapped because I misjudge my strength?
" He shook his head. "I was already a weapon, Mandie. I wasn’t going to let myself become a bad guy before I even turned pro.
Plus… who knows what would have come up in those drug tests?
I had a mission. To save the world. To make up for who I killed. "
The words hung between us, heavy and jagged. I’d known Roger was strong. Known he was fast. But I’d never stopped to think about the control it must’ve taken. The fear.
The silence that followed was thick. The Keystone’s hum filled the gaps, machines keeping the world turning while we sat here, two people who’d lost things we couldn’t get back.
I thought about Teddy. About how I’d walked out on him. About the walls I’d built. And here was Roger, a man who’d had everything, and walked away from it all to save others from himself.
"You ever regret it?" I asked.
His eyes darkened. "I used to." He leaned in, forehead resting against mine. "And then I remember what happens when people like us don’t have limits."
I grabbed onto him tighter, to comfort not just him, but me as well.
He took a deep sigh. "I used to be so sure about everything. Now? Those villains we fight… I could kill most of them. End it so we never have to fight them again. But I am not a killer. Not anymore. I will fight them, but I won't kill them."
"No one would blame you if you did."
"I would."
He stood up and grabbed his helmet from the dresser. The mirrored surface was flawless, an orb reflecting my own face back at me.
"My problem is I always feel like people see me as a killer, even if they don't. The helmet was Doc's idea. That way, when I am out there fighting, the villains see themselves. They can't see me for what I think I am."
“That’s why your helmet looks like this reflective orb?”
“Exactly.”
I reached out, touching his arm. "I think you are amazing. As Roger and as Riven."
We smiled at each other in the quiet dark.
Then, the garage door opened. The rumble of engines echoed through the Keystone.
"They're back!" I hissed. "Shoot. I am supposed to have a session with the doc later today."
"Get dressed," Roger said, already pulling on his shirt. "I'll distract them. You get back to your room."
Roger was dressed in half a second. Must be nice having superpowers. He headed out to the common area. I threw on my clothes as fast as I could, listening at the door. Roger was loud, boisterous, guiding their attention away from the hallway.
I did the tiptoe of shame back to my room, and no one noticed.