Chapter 5
CIPHER
I leaned against the balcony railing, swirling the whiskey in my glass while scanning the crowd below. The ballroom sparkled with enough wealth and power to make any self-respecting League member salivate.
Retiring Nemeses always drew the elite. A reminder of what waited at the end of the rainbow if you played your cards right.
If I managed my new contract with Havoc exactly as I planned, this would all be for me eventually. A legendary Hero and his ultimate Villain taking a final bow while the cameras flashed and the syndication rights multiplied.
I had already secured the coveted Nemesis status. The ink was barely dry on the paperwork, but my trajectory to Arch Villain was officially locked in. I just had to survive Havoc’s particular brand of chaos and a history-making legacy was mine for the taking.
But I hadn’t planned on attending this specific circle jerk of mutual admiration until I’d spotted it on Havoc’s schedule. And where Havoc went, Annie followed.
I had fucked up by showing up at the Nexus. The look on Annie’s face when she’d seen me, like I’d personally reached into her chest and ripped out her heart all over again, hadn’t exactly suggested a warm welcome. Maybe I should have gone incognito like I’d initially considered.
No. Absolutely not. Fuck that.
I didn’t hide in shadows, except when I stalked Annie through security cameras, but that didn’t count. Surveillance was different from cowardice.
If I saw her in person, I would be fucking visible. I didn’t skulk.
My jaw clenched as I remembered Menace’s monumental screwup. The idiot had let it slip to Annie that I’d been the one sending her food. All that careful anonymity shot to hell because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut for five goddamn minutes.
Annie had skipped lunch today. Again. I’d sent her favorite sandwich from that little place on Seventh and she hadn’t touched it.
Fuck.
That’s exactly what I’d wanted to avoid. The food wasn’t supposed to be from me. It was just supposed to be there. No strings, no reminders of everything that had gone to shit between us.
I took a long swallow of my drink, enjoying the burn. I wish I didn’t like Menace so much. Then I could kill him without feeling bad about it. As it stood, I might actually miss his stupid fucking face if I did.
I drained my glass, signaling a server for another.
At least thanks to Dawn’s social butterfly routine at the Nexus, the bandage had been ripped clean off and I was finally confronted with everything I’d been avoiding. The hatred, the rage, the complete fucking devastation I’d caused.
And somehow, that was better than nothing at all. Better than being a ghost in her life, watching through cameras. At least hatred required engagement.
The server arrived with my drink, and I took it without looking away from the floor below. At least last night had proved to me that I couldn’t go back to only watching her on screens. Not when I could watch her hate me in person instead.
A ripple moved through the crowd below, drawing my attention. Havoc had arrived, resplendent in his signature white, blue and gold. The man knew how to make an entrance. Always had, even back when he’d been on my side of the moral fence.
I straightened, instinctively adjusting my posture, something competitive stirring in my chest. My Nemesis. My fucking idol, though I’d rather have my fingernails pulled out than admit that aloud to him.
And where Havoc went...
I frowned. Annie wasn’t behind Havoc, tablet in hand, making sure everything ran like clockwork. Instead, some blond pretty boy trailed in Havoc’s wake. One of his new protégés. Helios? Was that it? Fuck, it didn’t matter.
My eyes scanned the crowd for Annie’s Keeper uniform, that crisp, professional armor she wore to these events. Nothing. Surely she hadn’t skipped the event.
Then I saw her.
In place of her uniform was a deep crimson evening gown that clung to the swell of her hips and the dip of her waist like a second skin.
The rich, violent color made her bare shoulders glow under the chandelier light.
She had swept her hair up into a soft twist, exposing the long, delicate line of her neck and the hollow of her throat.
Her lips were painted the exact same shade of blood-red as her dress. I wanted to cross the ballroom and smudge that pristine lipstick with my mouth and fingers. I wanted to bite her bottom lip and drag that crimson stain down her neck. I wanted her mouth on me, smearing it all over my own skin.
The light from the chandelier caught her eyes and it hurt to fucking breathe.
That specific shade of blue had become my favorite color in the entire world.
Those eyes were the part of her I loved more than anything else even though they haunted me—shifting in my thoughts from the hazy, blown-out look she gave me when I had her pinned beneath me in bed to the shattered, hollow stare she’d leveled at me right before I walked away from her.
She was the most devastatingly beautiful thing I had ever witnessed and my grip tightened on my glass as something possessive surged through me. This was Annie, not Keeper Bishop.
My Annie.
Except she wasn’t looking at me. She wasn’t even looking at Havoc.
She turned, glancing up at the man beside her with a smile I couldn’t read from this distance. Tall, fair-haired, with the unmistakable bearing of a Hero. Havoc’s other protégé—what the fuck was his name?
As I watched, he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to his side. She didn’t pull away.
My brain just stopped. Fucking. Working.
The glass in my hand cracked, sending a thin line of whiskey down my wrist but I barely noticed.
What the fuck was I seeing? Annie was letting him touch her? Smiling up at him like—
No. There had to be an explanation. Annie wouldn’t -
But she was. Right there in front of me, leaning into the touch of another man.
Valor.
The name hit me, a fucking neon sign flashing in my brain. Valor, whose face had been plastered across every billboard in Chroma Bay since his mentorship announcement. Valor, whose hand was resting on the small of Annie’s back as they moved through the crowd toward Havoc and Helios.
I watched them glide across the ballroom floor, her red dress a splash of blood against the sea of black tuxedos and pastel gowns.
Valor leaned down, whispering something that made her cheeks flush pink.
My vision narrowed to a pinpoint, the rest of the room fading to static.
In that moment, I could envision with perfect clarity exactly how I’d kill him.
Slowly. Starting with those perfectly manicured hands that dared touch what wasn’t his.
I’d crush each finger individually, let him feel every bone splinter before moving to the next.
Then his wrists. His arms. Work my way up methodically until that perfect face was nothing but pulp.
The fantasy was so vivid I could almost feel the wet crunch beneath my hands.
What the actual fuck was happening? Annie didn’t date Supers.
I’d been watching her for months. There had been no indication, fucking none, that she was seeing anyone, let alone this preening jackass. If anything, she’d looked annoyed whenever they’d interacted, maintained rigid professional distance.
This made no fucking sense.
I watched them work the room. Valor paraded Annie around like a fucking trophy, his arm possessively wrapped around her waist as they moved from one group to another.
Each time they stopped, he’d introduce her with that camera-ready smile.
Each time, she’d nod and shake hands, her lips curved upward in what anyone else would call a smile.
But I knew better.
I’d memorized every expression Annie Bishop could make. I’d studied them, fucking dreamed about them. That wasn’t her real smile. That was her professional mask, the one she wore when dealing with League bureaucrats and Alliance officials she secretly wanted to choke out.
Valor leaned down again, his mouth brushing against the shell of her ear, and something in me snapped.
I imagined the sound his spine would make if I ripped it out through his throat.
The way his perfect teeth would look scattered across the marble floor.
The satisfying crunch of his skull beneath my boot.
I forced myself to breathe. To focus. To actually fucking look.
That’s when I saw it.
Annie wasn’t leaning into his touch. She was enduring it.
Her shoulders held a tension I recognized now that I was looking beyond my rage, the same rigid posture she adopted when forced to attend functions she hated.
Her smile never reached her eyes. Each time Valor touched her, there was the slightest, almost imperceptible flinch.
No one else would notice because no one else had spent months learning the language of Annie’s body, the subtle tells that betrayed her true feelings. No one else knew how her real smile started at the corners of her eyes before reaching her lips.
This wasn’t attraction. This was fucking tolerance.
Annie wasn’t on a date with this fucking asshole. She was enduring him. Playing some kind of role.
My murderous rage transformed into something colder as Valor’s hand slid lower on her back, fingers stopping just above the curve of her ass. Annie’s smile tightened fractionally, her spine stiffening even as she maintained her polite facade.
Fuck this.
Almost as if she felt my rage, Annie’s gaze snapped up, finding me instantly among the crowd. I watched every emotion that flickered across her face—surprise, anger, confusion, recognition.
Then horror. Pure, undiluted horror.
She gave the smallest shake of her head, barely perceptible to anyone who wasn’t watching her every fucking breath like I was. But I saw it. Clear as day. A plea.