A New Day (StrikeForce #1) (26 page)

“Jesus Christ, woman,” he said, his voice sounding even more hoarse than usual. “I’ve been making everyone’s life miserable, trying to get in to see you.”

“Are you stupid? You shouldn’t be here. If he finds out—“

“He won’t. It seems that Jenson likes you. Or she likes me. One or the other. It’s okay,” he added. I had the stupid urge to lean into him, and, after a moment, I did. It was awkward, and I wanted to draw back almost immediately, worried that I’d done something stupid. But then he put his arms around me, and gently started rubbing my back. I took a breath and rested my head against his chest. “He’s dead. The first chance I get, I swear I’ll kill him myself,” he growled.

“And then you’ll be labeled a villain, and not just a vigilante,” I said, pushing away from him. “He’s rich. He’s got connections. He has power over too many people here.”

“He can’t just be allowed to go on with this,” he said.

“I’ll figure something out. Once I figure out how to use these again,” I said, looking down at my useless fists. “I want them to bring a punching bag in here. If Dr. Ali won’t do it, I’ll ask Portia. Or Jenson. I need practice.”

He nodded. “And that’s good. You do what you think you need to. But there’s something I want you to keep in mind.”

I looked back up at him, wishing I could see his face, his eyes. “What’s that?”

He took my hands, my clenched, useless fists, in his hands, held them gently. He rubbed his thumbs over the sides of my fists. “These fists aren’t the only ones at your disposal anymore. Point me in the right direction, I’ll be your fists. I can’t hit as hard as you, but I’ll do my best.”

I tore my gaze away from our hands, at the sight of my small, pale fists in his large gloved hands, and I looked back up into his face. “That makes two of us. More than I can even say,” I said, and I hated that my voice caught a little. “But it’s not the same.”

“It’s not. But you’re not alone. Toxxin, Portia, Jenson…. me. We’re all here. And we all want to make him pay.”

I nodded. “Eventually, he will.” I pulled my hands out of his, mostly because the one thing I wanted to do most right then was stand there and lean on him, have him close to me. It wasn’t something I was ready to deal with anytime soon. “I have work to do, first.”

He took a deep breath.

“And I need you to promise me that you’ll stay away from here. You can’t help me if you’re in a cell somewhere,” I added before he could argue.

After a moment, he nodded. “Fine.”

“Someone has to be out there, actually helping people,” I added.

“Do you have any idea how much they love you, Jolene? You should see it. After what Mayhem did, after seeing what Maddoc did, and the way you kept fighting… you have a whole lot of people who love you.”

“Not if they find out who I really am,” I muttered.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that. Take care of our bigger problem, and that one disappears.”

“Want to hear something crazy?” I asked.

“Sure.”

“I was thinking, when it was down to Portia and me versus Maddoc, that it would have been a really good time for a vigilante to show up.”

He nodded. “I saw it on the news and was thinking the same thing. I was in Chicago.”

“Why?”

“Work thing,” he said, shaking his head. I left it alone. There were still so many things I didn’t know about him, and I was too tired and my head was too full, trying to figure out how to fix my own life, that I just couldn’t focus on delving too deeply into his life just yet. “I wish I’d been here, though,” he added.

His hands lifted to my throat, and his fingertips rested lightly on the thin metal band at the base of my throat. My dampener. “I hate this fuckin’ thing,” he said.

“Me too.”

His hands continued their soft touch, up my neck, to my jaw. His face was tilted down toward mine. “I’ve never seen anyone fight so hard. You’re unstoppable.”
“Not completely, I guess,” I said, trying to keep my tone light.

We stood together, and I wasn’t sure if I was happy or scared having him so close. He was a complication I didn’t need, a mystery I didn’t have the time to figure out. I knew that I trusted him. I also knew it was stupid to trust someone I barely knew, yet there it was. I knew that, in that moment, if I asked him to let me see his face, he would have taken the mask off. But I’d lived a whole life made of secrets and lies, and I knew that sometimes, we held onto them because we had to, because showing anyone who and what we really were was just too much to handle. I wanted him to show me when he decided to, not when I decided to nag him about it.

“Thanks for the socks, by the way,” I murmured, looking up at him.

“I’m glad you got them. I wasn’t sure.”

“They are hideous.”

“You probably don’t have enough hideous socks. Figured maybe you needed some.”

I smiled, and it was the first time it felt real since that day with Maddoc.

“I’ll send you more,” he said.

“Lean down a little,” I said, and he did, slowly leaning down toward me. I pressed a kiss to his cheek, another to his jaw. I worked my fingers under the bottom of his mask and felt warm skin, the way his stubble lightly abraded my fingertips. He didn’t draw back or ask me to stop.

I revealed just a sliver of his face, a small expanse of jawline from his chin to his earlobe, sprinkled liberally with golden-red stubble. I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his jaw, feeling his skin against mine for the first, and hopefully not the last, time.

“I spend too much time thinking about you,” I whispered, pulling his mask back down.

“You’re killing me here. You say something like that, after telling me I have to stay away for a while?” He leaned his forehead against mine. “And back at you, Jolene.”

“It’s crazy,” I said.

“Totally nuts,” he agreed. “But, then again, so am I, according to just about everybody.” He straightened up. “Let’s just kick his ass together.”

I laughed. “And then what? No. He has too many people under his thumb, too many people who can’t decide what they want because of him. A simple ass-kicking isn’t going to solve all that.”

“But it’ll make me feel better,” he growled, and I smiled.

“And I appreciate the sentiment. But we’ll figure out another way. It’s not just me.”

“You’re the only one I care about right now.”

“We both know that’s crap,” I said as I rested my head against his chest again. “But you should totally remember that when we finally have a chance to spend some actual time together,” I added. And then, because there are some things I can still do with my hands, I reached down and gave his firm ass a squeeze. It was something I’d wanted to do since the first time I’d seen him.

Dr. Ali did warn me that my impulse control might be a bit off now.

He laughed a little. “Yes, ma’am. Looking forward to it.”

“Now get out there and piss Alpha and Nightbane off some more. Make them look bad,” I said. Killjoy pulled the bottom half of his mask up and pressed a quick kiss to my jawline, just as I had kissed him. I appreciated that he seemed to know that my nose, my face in general, would still be tender from Maddoc’s fists. It made me adore him a little bit more. I realized it was ridiculous that I was likely, maybe, falling a little bit for someone whose face I’d never seen. But, really, of all the crazy things in my life, why not add one more?

He drew away a tiny bit, drawing his mask back down before I’d even had a chance to see what his lips looked like.

“My name’s Connor. Remember it,” he said before drawing back completely.

“Not likely to forget it,” I whispered.

“Good. Stay safe,” he said.

“Stay crazy,” I told him. He laughed, and then he left my room. Toxxin peeked back in.

“I’ll make sure he gets out okay. Jenson said your cameras are going back on in a bit before Alpha notices they’re off,” she said. And I blew a kiss at her.

A while later, a portable punching bag showed up in my room while I was in the bathroom. I smiled, and then I stood in front of it and started hitting. My punches were slow, weak. Nowhere near what they once were.

But it was a start, and right now, my life was all about fresh starts and trying to find a new beginning. After an hour, I was sweating and sore, and my forearms hurt from the repeated impacts of fists against bag. I finished up, did the exercises Dr. Ali had recommended (focusing on moving each finger individually, practicing picking up coins from the small table in my room) then I took a shower. When I came out, Dr. Ali was waiting in my room. She looked angry.

“What’s up, doc?” I asked, and she rolled her eyes.

“Very funny, Faraday. Look. I tried. I want you right here for at least a few more weeks…”

I got it. “But he wants me moved.”

She nodded, looked away. “He gave me through the end of the week with you, and then you have to go back… now that there’s no concern you’ll die on us.” She looked up at me. “I’ll keep arguing for it. But he’s not taking my calls. You still have more therapy to do.”

I shook my head. “We both know it won’t make a difference.”

“I’m the goddamn doctor here. The whole reason he hired me was to keep his team in top shape. Why he won’t just listen—“

“We both know why, Dr. Ali,” I said, meeting her eyes. “I piss him off. I don’t obey orders, and yet, he needs me, because though he has lovely powered people under his command, they can’t fight, or, if they do try to, they don’t do it very well. And he has people like you here because you have some level of power and you don’t know how to live in the regular world and he capitalizes on it.” She gave me a surprised look, but she didn’t try to argue. “I am the only actual weapon at his disposal. For now, at least,” I added. “It’s okay,” I said, trying to make her feel better. “It is what it is.”

“I’ve heard all about you. It’s not like you to just go along with something like this,” she said.

“I know when I’ve been outplayed,” I said. She checked my vitals for the last time before heading out, and then I settled into my bed, adjusted the angle so I could watch TV comfortably. End of the week. Friday transfer. I had two days to figure something out. Too bad I wasn’t all that brilliant to begin with, and it was likely that Maddoc’s little hug had left me short a few precious brain cells.

I settled into bed and started flipping through the channels. One of them was showing
9 to 5
, a movie that I’d absolutely loved as a kid. I left it on and settled in, laughing as I watched Dolly Parton and Lily Tomlin’s antics.

It wasn’t until the credits started to roll that I had the beginnings of an idea.

I pulled the notebook and special pen I’d been practicing with from my bedside table. It was thicker than a normal pen, weighted a bit to help it stay on the paper, and contoured so I could hold it easier. I thought for a few minutes, then started writing a note. After I’d finished, I settled into bed and closed my eyes and tried to go through every way my little plan could go wrong.

So many ways. But it was the only chance I’d have anytime soon. I would have to count on others for help, which was something I’d never, ever thought I’d do.

The next morning, I drank my orange juice, took my pain pills, and waited for my daily visitors to check in on me. When Portia and Toxxin came the next morning, I showed them the note I’d written, holding my breath, hoping they’d play along, hoping they’d understand what I was trying to say, hoping they wouldn’t run screaming to tell someone I’d lost my mind.

Or, worse, tell someone what I was planning.

“Sounds good,” Portia said after a while. “We should be able to get these ingredients. You have some weird cravings, girl,” she said.

“I hope I don’t burn it. I’m awful at cooking,” Toxxin said.

“You’ll be fine. I really appreciate it,” I added. “Hey, can you send up my guard when she gets off work? She was asking to see me, and I’m always too tired.”

“Sure. Maria, right?”

I nodded. They left, and a while later, Maria entered the room with a smile.

“It’s good to see you!” she said. “I would have brought you some shitty spaghetti, but I figured you’ve likely suffered enough.”

I laughed. I was fully dressed for the first time since I’d regained consciousness, and I almost felt normal. Or, I guess, I felt my new normal, which would have to be good enough. “Thanks.” Then I met her eyes. “Did you see my new punching bag?”

She hesitated for a moment, walked over to it with me. I’d figured out that the cameras in my room were above my bed, above the door, and in the main, non-toilet part of the bathroom. The punching bag, for the most part, was out of the angle of the cameras. I hit it a few times, and she remarked on how nice it was that I was improving.

“Need your help,” I said softly as I punched, so it would cover the sound for any bugs in the room.

“You have it,” she said.

“That thing you can do?”

She gave a slight nod.

“I’m gonna fall down like I’m hurt. Bend over me and act like you’re taking my pulse. Do your thing to the band around my neck, big enough so I can slip it off. Okay?” I was punching the entire time, as quickly as I could.

“Yep,” she said.

I nodded, just slightly, then hit out again and fell, landing on my back.

“Oh, shit! Are you okay?” she asked, and then she bent over me, put her hand to my pulse point. At first, nothing seemed to be happening, but then I felt the band loosen, heard it as it clanked against the floor.

“How long does that last?”

“About two hours unless I specifically make it go back,” she whispered as she helped me stand up.

I grinned. “Perfect. Thank you.”

She helped me back to my bed, then hugged me, wishing me luck, and left.

Phase one, done.

Chapter Twenty-One