Damsel[ed]: Some Rescue Required (#2 of the Damsel[ed] series)

Chapter Eighteen: Plan

Jaylin.

I know depressing. I lived depressing. And watching Galaxy, the suposed greatest living superhero we have left, burst into sobs and stab a surrender note into the floor with a cheap glitter pen, is, well, somewhat depressing.

But mostly interesting.

This is the stuff philosophers eat up, the slow and cruel death of the human spirit, and I can't help crouching by her, glancing down at the splotches where her tears blur the purple glitter pen. Toby makes an uncomfortable sound in the back of his throat, a sound like a confused bear. Kind of looks one too, all hulking muscle. The man is chiseled. You can see all the lines his muscles form under his shirt, the smooth curves of his athletic body. Galaxy-Heaven used to look like that, too, a looming figure you shrunk away from if you knew what was best for you. I remember when Fallout's guys trembled at the thought of her, when she busted bank robbery after bank robbery, sting after sting. I remember pouring over the pictures printed of her in Super Weekly, wanting to be just like her.

To be like her, or to destroy her. Twelve years old and I wanted her blood on my hands, wanted her mask on a pike.

In a way, I did destroy her. Her and Angelos and by extension, Gatsby.

And it doesn't feel bad. It did, before, but now, it feels just like it should. Every supervillain likes to see their nemesis in a pathetic puddle at their feet. Is it my nature? My nuture? Is it who I am or what I am, a criminal, a monster? All I know is that when I lean back on my heels, I'm smiling despite the sound of her sobs.

Almost sixteen years of villainy can do that someone. Sure, I liked Angelos. Sure, I didn't want to hurt him and his cute little brigade. And sure, maybe I'll change, but when you're taught to act cruelly, taught only people who take what they want will ever have what they desire, that's how you act. A calculated attack. Aggressive. Swift. Brutal.

The louder the hero's cries get, the harder I bite into my lip to keep from grinning. I'll get Angel back, so I'm not worried about him, not at the moment. I'm thinking more about the opportunity at hand.

"Heaven." Toby edges toward his sister the way you'd edge toward a crab with a knife in its claw. "It'll be okay, okay?" His eyes are dark saucers in his face, and I slide my arm over her shoulder and squeeze.

"They'll be fine," I tell her, voice dripping poisoned honey.

"Don't touch me," she says softly. "You caused all this, Cat. Are you happy you drove the guy you like into the hands of a psychopath!"

I roll my eyes. "Testy, testy."

Toby fixes me a grumpy look, and I cup my hands into a heart below my breast. It's easy to trick people when you have a sweet smile. "Give me a minute with her, girl to girl," I continue. "We'll figure something out."

Toby glances at the crushed remains of the phone I broke. Heaven's still trembling, tears still pooling down her cheeks, silently now. Her brother hesitates. "I don't trust you."

"Well, your sister can protect herself, can't she?"

He sighs and glances at the door. "We need to call the Fibbs."

"And the police?" Heaven asks quietly.

"And the police," Toby says, humoring her in a gentle, even tone. "Sure. They can help, probably."

And we all know that's bullshit. We all know the police can't handle supers. That they could find a lair and barge in, but some supers are impervious to bullets, some can control minds, and most can twist metal bars and crush skulls like aluminum cans. We're something like natural disasters, and it's only smart four our mortal police to keep out of the heart of the storm. "You wanna come with me, or stay here with Jaylin? Or should I take her instead?"