Envy (The Deadly Seven Book 1) Page 9

  “Camping. He’s a fuckin’ bush camper!” she shouted at the screen. “Die, motherfucker.”

  Sloan paused, and glanced at him, covered the headset mic and said, “Envy.” Then she went back to her game, dodging bullets and winning her Battle Royale.

  When seeing each other in combat gear, it was a rule to address them as their alter-ego. Envy instead of Evan. She’d covered the mic, but still… if she was live streaming.

  Oh shit, she wasn’t live streaming, was she?

  Better safe than sorry. Live streaming video went worldwide on the internet. He activated the voice modifier attached to his molar.

  Parker may be a proud son-of-a-bitch, but he was a genius with the tech, just like Flint. Between the two of them and Sloan, when she deigned to help, they’d created a multitude of life saving inventions available to use, including the inbuilt molar voice modifier cap.

  “I need you to find someone,” he said, voice low and gravelly, careful to remain out of the view of the screen in case Sloan’s TV cam was on.

  “Sloan,” Evan said again, but it was like talking to a brick wall. “Please.”

  When she ignored him again, he strode around the couch and hit the off button on her console, shutting the game and screen down. Then he glared at her and tugged his hood and scarf down.

  She slammed down her remote. “I was in the middle of a battle. Do you have any idea what you cost me?”

  “I need your help.” He let electricity spark between his naked fingers, bringing a new kind of glow to the room. He hovered his hand over her gaming console in warning and raised an eyebrow.

  Sloan stood, game suddenly forgotten, eyes glued to his sparking fingers. Evan was right about her attire, but hadn’t been prepared for the change in her appearance. Pink and white cosplay socks with a yellow crescent moon tugged up her legs to mid-thigh. Her black singlet—sans bra, and something a brother really shouldn’t see—rode up her soft belly, revealing she hadn’t worked out in months. She’d put on weight since he’d last seen her. Hard muscle had turned to soft flesh, and he knew she’d spent most of her time on the couch. Slowly, she pulled her kitten headset off.

  “What the hell is that?” she said, awe filtering into her voice.

  “I’ve leveled up,” he answered in a language she’d understand.

  “No way.” She stumbled in her haste to get to him, got tangled in the cord of her controller and fell to the floor. Cursing, she rolled, and began plucking the cord from her legs.

  Evan let the sparks dissipate and offered her a hand.

  She took it and he lifted her to her feet.

  “Oh-em-gee, bo-oy. When did that happen? Is that from the mating bond? Have you met someone? Like a lady someone?”

  “Didn’t Flint speak with you?”

  “Um.” Her blue eyes locked to the side as she remembered. “Something about Sara?”

  “I need an address for the woman I bumped into outside my exhibition.”

  “Oh, shit. That was tonight? What time is it?”

  “It’s eleven o’clock. And, yes, that was tonight.”

  “Sorry, little bras, guess I got distracted.” She scratched her head.

  “Sara stole her purse, including her ID. Considering Sara also murdered someone at the exhibition, I need to make sure Grace got home safe. Grace Go. She’s a doctor at Cardinal City General. Also works in the free clinic.”

  “Hold up. Sara. As in Sara, Sara?”

  It took Evan every ounce of restraint to stop from reaching over and smacking his sister in the head. She wasn’t dumb, by any shot. She knew how to hack into any computer system or website on the planet. But she funneled that energy into the idiot box instead.

  “Can you please just find her address?”

  “Okay okay. Don’t have a conniption. I get it.” She gave him a knowing look. “Chicks dig a guy in costume.”

  She pulled her laptop out from between two cushions, opened it and rested it on her legs. She typed away at some horrible black screen with incomprehensible green gibberish, chuckling to herself under her breath. “I’ll bet you’ve already hit that, right? Is that why you got new skills now, bras? Like electrical skills. I wonder what I’ll get. I hope I don’t have to screw a noob because I really can’t be bothered with that. He’d better like playing Fortnite. Ooh, but maybe I’ll get something dope like flying, or maybe some—”

  “You need to get off your ass and meet someone first, Sloan. You won’t find them in a computer game.”

  She grimaced and Evan knew she thought of the one who got away. The one who’d been ignoring her for the past few years. About the same time her ass had been stuck to that couch.

  “Sorry,” he said. “That was uncalled for.”

  Sloan shrugged. “It’s okay. You’re right. My pity party has gone on long enough.”

  Silence expanded as she continued her digital onslaught.

  “So, can you find her address?” he asked, impatient.

  She snorted through her nose and shook her head in mock disbelief. “Can I find her address. For your information: I can find her home; I can find her family tree; I can find out what she ate for breakfast.”

  “Home address will be fine.”

  She clicked a few more directives into the computer and a photographic database popped up. After a few more frantic commands, she stopped at the face of a woman who made Evan’s heart stop. Grace.

  Sloan wolf-whistled. “Boom! Dr. Grace Go, at your service. Sounds like a porn star name, and wow. You sure can pick ‘em, bras. She’s a babe with alpha level smarts.” She clicked a few more keys and peered at the screen. “Graduated top of her class. Was up for a fellowship, but turned it down recently after… oh shit, bras. She was in the building collapse. Look.” Sloan pointed to the screen. “See. Here is more about her career. After she recovered, she turned down the cardiothoracic fellowship so she could work at the local clinic. Who does that?”

  Warmth flared in Evan’s chest. “She wants to look after the people who need her the most. That her address?”

  “Yep. But I’ll do you one better.” A few more clicks, then, “Voila. The building blueprints.”

  “Thanks Sloanie. I owe you one.”

  “Blueberry Protein Shake.”

  “What?”

  “What she had for breakfast.” Sloan winked at him. “You know, in case you ever need to make it for her. In the morning. Get it?”

  Evan ditched a pillow at her head.

  Twelve

  The rain stayed away, so Evan traveled the city via rooftop. Sometimes he utilized the grappling hook and retractable tensile rope kept at his belt, but most of the time the buildings were so close together, all he needed to do was run, jump and leap.

  Nearing midnight, he landed on the top of the rundown five-level-apartment complex that Grace called home. Not exactly where he imagined a doctor would live. Hell, not somewhere he imagined anyone would live.

  He slipped off the roof soundlessly to land on the fire escape’s metal platform and then skirted down the rails to Grace’s level. According to the blueprints it had been level three, apartment second from the right. When he got to his target, his gut clenched at the sight of her window open a crack. The icy breeze gently billowed the white curtains inside. It was cold enough to freeze his nuts off. Why would her window be open? Against all his urges to rush inside, he forced himself to wait and gather more intel, starting with envy. He cast his awareness inside to search for intruders. Nothing. No sounds. No lights. No sense of envy. Could be a good sign. Could be bad.

  He wasn’t in the habit of breaking and entering on a whim, but he had to know. Had to be sure. If the window was open, Sara could have already been inside. He’d never forgive himself if he was too late. He placed his palm under the window frame and lifted. Immediately his tattoo itched like a motherfucker and he paused, holding his breath, heart skipping. That itch meant she was here. He was in the right place.

  From inside, a soft sigh d
rew his attention.

  Still perched on the fire-escape, he pulled the drapes to the side. Five feet away, Grace lay on a bed, pale skin gleaming in the moonlight, one naked leg artfully tangled in her sheet. Long lithe arms hugged a pillow lengthwise. A gust of cold air blew past Evan and ruffled her hair. She rolled into her bedding, hugging it tighter, exposing the soft curve of her round ass. Lace underwear. Hell.

  His mouth felt like sandpaper.

  Something primal stirred deep within him and, unable to stop himself, he stepped into her room, quiet like a breath.

  Sparsely decorated, the room consisted of a bed, a dresser with family photos, and clothes strewn on the floor. His lips curved in a grin. His girl was messy. He liked. It meant that despite her no-nonsense doctor’s demeanor; she wasn’t immune to fits of passion. What wouldn’t he give to explore that right now.

  Another sigh had him glancing back to the bed. Grace gripped her pillow tight, a small crease now between her brow, gooseflesh across her flesh. God, he wanted to be that pillow, to be pressed up to her breasts, to be embraced as though her life depended on it.

  One step. That was all it took for him to be enthralled. His body reacted with a sudden fierceness that consumed him. Heat suffused his pores in a chemical reaction. Wanting more, he closed his eyes and tugged his face-mask down until it pooled around his neck. The scent of her freshly washed skin became his world. Lavender and soap and future wet dreams.

  She breathed again, this time in a huff, sounding upset as she slept. He opened his eyes to see she’d rolled onto her back, taut nipples stretching to reach him through the white cotton of her lace trimmed singlet. All of it created a growing hunger that gave way to raw lust. He needed to be with her, to touch her, taste her. It was all he could think of. His body ached for her, fingers twitching at the thought of meeting her silky skin, as though an addict within reach of his vice.

  Just one kiss. One touch. He stepped closer—

  What are you doing?

  —then stepped back, suddenly hyper aware of his situation. Uninvited, in a woman’s room at night... dressed as Envy. The last time they were together, she’d run from him. Feared him. Kissed him…

  Still, it was wrong, so wrong of him to be there, but being near her did things to his body and mind.

  Slowly, embarrassed, he stepped back. He shouldn’t be there.

  Jesus Christ.

  He rapped his forehead with the heel of his palm and tried to force the heat inside to cool. He couldn’t trust himself like this. His body was on fire, his thoughts weren’t his own. He wanted to rip her clothes off and to take her like some sort of heathen animal.

  Quivering hands lifted in front of his face. They didn’t deserve to touch the woman in front of him. They’d sinned too much already, taken too much.

  Maybe this was it, the end. His undoing. It was falling under the influence of his sin because he was envious of the nightgown Grace wore. Envious of the air she breathed, and of the room she was in.

  It was better he kept an eye on her from a distance. Like across the road sort of distance.

  Evan lifted the scarf back over his mouth and nose, then left the room to check the rest of the house. First, he had to make sure the doors were locked, after all, she’d left the window open.

  The rest of the apartment was similar to her room: messy. Not dirty, just untidy. In the kitchen, Post-it notes covered the fridge. Each had a different affirmation on. He plucked one and read it. Be kind, for everyone is fighting a hard battle. He put the note back then, on a whim, found the blank pad and wrote a note of his own. Keep smiling, beautiful. He doodled around the words, then stuck the note in the middle of her bench, slot the pen behind his ear, and continued searching the small apartment.

  He found more photo frames in the living room and picked up one to find Grace with two older people. An Asian man and a white woman, most likely her parents. He put the frame down and moved to the dining table, strewn with newspapers and article clippings and Post-it notes.

  He shifted one out of the way and a headline caught his attention.

  Victims of the Cardinal Bombing. The article listed the names and photos of people who’d died in the building collapse. Scanning down the list, his gaze snagged on a surname and his heart stopped. It was the same couple he’d seen in the photo with her. Her parents.

  Resolve hardened in his bones, solidifying the wrongness of him being there. Time to go. And then, he’d make Sara pay. Make her rue the day she messed with Grace’s family.

  Evan put the paper down and checked the locks on the front door. Double bolted, but no good if she kept sleeping with her window open. He went back to her room, took one last look at her, and then slipped through the open window. His boot barely hit the metal landing when a gasp sounded behind him. He whirled to find Grace scrambling out of her bed, coming toward him.

  Shit. Fuck.

  He backed up, eyes wide, hands fumbling for purchase, ready to launch off the platform. He leaped onto the railing, balanced and poised.

  “Wait!” she shouted, and he froze.

  Her presence burned along his back.

  Don’t do it, Evan. Don’t turn around. Go. Go now.

  Instead, he turned his head a fraction until he caught the blurred shape of her body at the window. Try as he might, he couldn’t leave. Not when every cell in his body cried out to join her.

  “Just making sure you got home safe,” he said, without facing her. It was a stupid thing to say because despite his voice modifier, she’d know it was him. Who else would say that? Maybe he wanted that anyway, otherwise why else would he leave her a note. His muscles locked rigid, knuckles white on the railing, waiting.

  She didn’t answer. Not a sound.

  Finally he couldn’t stand it any longer. He twisted and their eyes locked. Damned if he didn’t want to pull his hood down, cast his gear off and push her back inside to her bed because she smiled at him and it was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. The neon street lights mixed with the moonlight to give her skin a soft glow. If he could capture the moment on canvas, he’d title it: Sunshine of My Life because that’s what it felt like—a ray of sun pointed his way, shining just for him.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “You should keep your window closed. It’s not safe.”

  Those words earned Evan a laugh, turning the sunshine into a fireworks finale, and then she shut the window, letting the drapes fall to hide his view.

  She’d smiled.

  At him.

  He wanted to float off the railing, but instead, he almost fell from the platform. At least one thing was for sure, if this was his undoing, she’d be right there with him.

  Later that night, eager to relinquish the adrenaline and pent up frustration pumping in his veins, Evan roof-hopped, searching for deadly levels of envy. The sense clawed his gut the longer he exposed himself to its substance. The more he searched, the closer he got. A spike in envy coming from the south had Evan running and jumping over parapets and beams, desperate to hone in on the source.

  He leaped over a building’s edge, sailed through the air and hit the flat rooftop on the other side with the force of a Mac truck, shaking the concrete underneath. Micro fissures spider-webbed from the points of impact and shock vibrated up his legs, wrangling his sensors into a stupor until adrenaline kicked in and he was off again, racing. The heat of his breath pushed at the cloth covering his mouth. He pumped his arms at his side, hurtling his body over gutters and drainpipes, awnings and annexes, letting his senses guide him to the strongest of sin. The unmistakable direction tugged unpleasantly in his gut and he was just about ready to do anything to get rid of it. It didn’t take long until he found himself in the mid-town area, below the freeway line that split the Quadrant from the lower class.

  There.

  Down there.

  Footsteps slapped in the dark night below him. The buildings were smaller here, flatter, and easier to travel across. The sinner was quic
k, but not as fast as Evan. For the next five minutes, he stuck to the anonymous shape like glue, as though an afterthought, never far behind. Every time the shadow jumped, so did he. Every time he splashed down another Cardinal City street, Evan leaped to another rooftop, parkour style. Watching, waiting for the sinner to be alone, to take a wrong turn.

  And now he had.

  Slowly, like a shadow, Evan shimmied down a drainpipe and dropped silently to the street below, right behind the criminal. The minute his boots touched the asphalt, he felt the sensation of envy spike. There was more sin down here, so much the hunger rolled inside him to the point of pain. The sinner he chased was only the beginning.

  His target turned down another dark alley diverting from the main street. Evan sidled up to the corner building, flattened himself, and peeked around. He caught a glimpse of a few gang members warming their hands around a drum filled with fire. A stiff gust of wind blew down the alley, lifting newspapers and cardboard discarded from a Dumpster. When Evan’s eyes tracked the trajectory of the trash, he discovered two boots poking out from the mess on the floor. When the wind hit Evan, he caught the scent of decaying flesh. Dead body.

  A spool of anxiety unfurled in his stomach. If the team were together, they’d have someone on comms in his ear, ready for news of this kind, and ready to notify authorities. The body would have to stay there until Evan got back to his apartment, and he could call in an anonymous tip.

  He cast his awareness beyond the drum of fire to where envy was strongest. There was something off about that sense of sin, so he crept forward, careful to stay to the slick shadows and remain unseen.

  Over the murmurs of gang members, a small voice raised in protest. “I saw it first. It’s mine.”

  “Kid, everything is mine here,” a gruff, older voice replied.

  The gang members laughed and went back to their barrel of fire.

  Then scuffles. And a muffled thud.