Chapter 26
CIPHER
What the fuck is wrong with me?
The thought hammered in my skull with each beat of my pulse. My fingers tightened around the champagne flute, and for a brief, satisfying moment, I imagined it shattering in my grip, glass shards embedding in my palm. Pain would be better than my hollow performance.
Ms. Winters—Clarissa? Christina? Fuck if I remember—pressed against my side. Her hand rested on my chest, fingernails occasionally scratching against the fabric of my suit. Each touch made my skin crawl.
“Don’t you agree, Thomas?” Some bloated corporate parasite looked at me expectantly, his jowls quivering as he waited for my response.
“Absolutely,” I said, having heard exactly none of the preceding conversation.
They all laughed. I had apparently said something amusing. Or agreeable. Or fucking insightful. It didn’t matter.
What the actual fuck is wrong with me?
Across the room, Annie laughed at something Valor said, her head tilted back, exposing the line of her throat. The same throat I had my mouth on yesterday.
But when Annie stopped laughing, there was a brief pause before her brain caught up and she remembered to smile. In that pause it was all hollowness. She was broken.
I had done that. I had fucking broken her.
I’d blamed her for the kiss. Blamed her for not saying no. For not causing a scene. Blamed her for being violated. Because that’s what I’d been a witness to. A violation.
Jesus. How could I be so fucked up?
Winters slid her hand down my arm, squeezing my bicep. “You’re so tense,” she purred.
I wanted to throw her across the room and tear out the throat of every smiling, vapid asshole surrounding me.
Instead, I smiled. Thomas Smith smiles. Wealthy playboy Thomas Smith with his empty eyes and emptier soul smiles at these people he’d happily watch burn.
“Another investment in the medical sector?” one asked. “You’re becoming quite the philanthropist.”
I nodded, playing the role. Thomas fucking Smith. The mask I hated more than any other.
“I believe in giving back,” I said, not meaning a fucking word.
Winters giggled. “So generous,” she murmured. Her hand slid up my chest toward my tie.
If she touched my neck, I was going to snap her wrist. I wanted to hear the bone splinter. I wanted the screams to start so I could finally rip this tailored facade off and let the monster out.
Instead, I smiled wider. Laughed louder. Played my part.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Speaking of high-profile acquisitions,” the bloated parasite began, “did you get a good look at what that Hero dragged in tonight?”
The other men in our little circle chuckled.
A slick-haired executive leaned in, glancing across the ballroom to where Annie stood frozen beside that golden fraud.
“I’ll admit, she’s got a tight little body hidden under that dress.
But Christ, she looks like she’d freeze a man’s balls off if he looked at her wrong. ”
“Exactly,” parasite agreed, taking a sloppy sip of his whiskey. He nudged my elbow. “You had your hands on her, Smith. What’s the verdict? Is she as stiff as she looks, or is the Hero actually getting a decent ride out of her?”
The math flooded my brain instantly.
Parasite was closest. I could drive the heel of my palm up through his jaw, splintering his nasal bone directly into his frontal lobe.
Time to kill: zero-point-four seconds. The slick-haired exec would inhale to scream.
I’d crush his larynx before the air hit his vocal cords.
The third man would turn to run. A single strike to the cervical spine.
The blood would spray in a wide arc. It would coat Winters’s designer gown. It would be warm and wet and utterly silent after the initial crunches of collapsing anatomy.
My fingers tightened around the champagne flute. The pressure built, the fragile material groaning against my grip. I wanted to hear it shatter. I wanted to use the jagged stem to carve into their throats for daring to speak about her.
“Oh, please,” Winters chimed in, tracing a manicured nail down my lapel. Her voice was a grating, shrill hum. “She’s so incredibly plain. Did you see that dress? It’s wearing her. She looks terrified. I have no idea what that Hero is thinking. He could have anyone and he settles for that.”
My vision tinted red. The monster writhed under my skin, clawing at the seams of my Thomas Smith suit.
Plain.
They were looking at a masterpiece and complaining about the frame.
They couldn’t see the fire in her. They didn’t know the sounds she made when she surrendered, the way her nails dug into my back, or the absolute, terrifying beauty of her mind.
She was mine, and these insignificant, breathing corpses were dirtying her with their words.
The flute in my hand let out a microscopic tink as a hairline fracture formed in the crystal.
If I stayed in this circle for one more second, I was going to slaughter them. I would drop the civilian mask, rip the room apart, and paint the walls with their blood.
But Annie would see it. She would see me turn a charity gala into an abattoir, all because I couldn’t control my own possessive rage.
I forced my jaw to unclench. I carefully set the fractured champagne flute on a passing waiter’s silver tray before the glass could explode in my palm.
“Excuse me,” I muttered, extracting myself from Ms. Whatever-the-fuck’s grip.
I moved to the edge of the room, positioning myself against a pillar where the smart-glass cast shifting blue shadows. Perfect vantage point to watch Annie without being seen.
Annie laughed again at something Valor said. It was mechanical. Her eyes remained dead.
I flexed my fingers, imagining the satisfying resistance of Valor’s windpipe collapsing beneath my grip. The thought brought a momentary flash of pleasure before the self-loathing crashed back in.
My gaze drifted upward to the transparent ceiling.
The structural weak points were obvious to me, six primary junctions where the programmable glass connected to the support frame.
The Hammer could destabilize those in seconds.
The entire ceiling would come down in a crystalline rain, slicing through flesh and bone. Beautiful, really.
How many Heroes were here tonight? Fifteen? Twenty? All of them would come for me. Havoc would hang back, analyzing, before unleashing chaos that would actually challenge me.
Maybe that’s what I needed, twenty Heroes trying to kill me at once. Maybe that fight would be enough to drown out the fucking hatred churning in my chest. Hatred for everyone in this room except for Annie. Hatred for myself.
Because I broke her. I fucking broke her.
“Enjoying the view?”
I didn’t turn.
“Did it feel good?” Havoc asked, his voice deceptively casual as he moved to stand beside me, both of us watching Annie. “Hurting her like that?”
My jaw clenched and still I said nothing.
“Must have been satisfying,” he continued, swirling the liquid in his crystal tumbler. “Making her pay for the audacity of doing what she was ordered to do by people she can’t disobey. People who would strip her of everything if she refused.”
Something hot and vicious clawed up my throat. I forced it back down because I didn’t know what would come out if I opened my mouth.
“You’re quite the strategist,” Havoc continued. “Calculated enough to know exactly where to strike. Tell me, was it worth it? Watching her shatter? Watching an empty shell walk around wearing Annie’s face?”
My fingers twitched. The pillar behind me creaked as my hand unconsciously pressed into it, the material compressing beneath my strength.
“You know what’s fascinating about Annie?” Havoc’s voice dropped lower. “She survived Halcyon. She survived Dread. But you? You she might not survive.”
“You should have stopped this,” I hissed. “Don’t stand there acting concerned when you could have shut this whole fucking charade down with a word.”
Havoc took a slow sip of his drink, unruffled. “Is that so?”
“She can’t tell the Aegis to fuck off. She can’t tell Alliance PR to go to hell.
” I turned to face him fully now, my back to the room, letting the truth I’d known from the start spill out.
The truth I was too hurt to really accept when Annie had come to me.
“But you can. You’re fucking Havoc. One of the most powerful Supers in existence. Don’t pretend you’re powerless here.”
The lights from the ceiling shifted to a cool purple, casting shadows across Havoc’s face.
“The situation escalated before I was aware of the details.” He studied the amber liquid in his glass. “By the time I understood what was happening, the announcement had already gone public.”
“Bullshit.”
“Do you honestly think I’d let Annie endure this if I had any idea this was going to happen?” Havoc asked, his voice maddeningly calm. “I can promise you. It will be taken care of by tomorrow morning.”
I huffed an incredulous laugh. “Tomorrow morning? That’s your solution? While she stands there tonight with his fucking hands all over her?”
“I’m here supporting her. My plan was to fucking shut it down if it appeared to be more than she could handle. But you?” Havoc’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You had to come, force Valor’s hand. Break her in a way I couldn’t stop.”
“Force his hand?” The pillar creaked again under my grip.
“You don’t think that kiss was spontaneous, do you?
” Havoc’s mouth curved into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“You showed up, looking every bit the covetous, hungry bastard with the way you stared at her. Valor saw an opportunity to stake his claim. And then,” he gestured toward Winters, “you punished Annie for it.”
“Bravo.” His voice dripped with mockery. “Truly a strategic masterstroke from the so-called genius.”
My jaw clenched so tight I could hear my teeth grinding. Every muscle in my body coiled, ready to lash out.
“For someone with your intellect,” Havoc said, finishing his drink, “you can be remarkably stupid when it comes to her.”
He set his empty glass on a passing tray.