Page 37 of Villainous Rise

Annie’s eyes were still locked on my face, her chest rising and falling rapidly. I could taste her indecision in the air between us. The war between what she wanted and what she thought she should want.

I was so fucking close to breaking through. So close to having her admit that this thing between us wasn’t dead.

The comms chirped a different tone and some part of my brain registered that it was the emergency override code.

Someone was about to die. Possibly whoever was interrupting us.

“Fuck.” I pressed the button to answer the goddamn call.

The screen flicked back on, interrupting what had possibly been the most important fucking moment between Annie and me. One of the Syndicate’s agents appeared, a woman in the standard black suit and mask.

“Cipher,” she said, her voice modulated and professional. “The League is issuing an immediate sanction for your attack on a junior Alliance Hero.”

I caught Annie’s expression from the corner of my eye. That unmistakable “I told you so” look.

I glanced at the screen with deliberately mild interest, as if the agent weren’t issuing a professional sanction that would cost me approximately 1.2 million in fines and at least one week of restricted operations. An inconvenience, but one I’d factored into my decision matrix when I’d decided to punch Valor’s fucking face.

“The Syndicate finds this behavior beneath someone of your rank,” the agent continued. “A Super Villain targeting a junior Hero reflects poorly on the entire League.”

I shrugged. The gesture would communicate exactly what I wanted both Annie and the Syndicate to understand: that I considered the price worth paying.

“Noted.”

“You are ordered to return Keeper Bishop to the Tower immediately. Any further delay will result in additional sanctions. One more thing,” the agent added, consulting something off-screen. “The Alliance has informed us that the Hero, Valor, is formally demanding an apology for the unprovoked assault.”

Annie’s jaw literally dropped. She turned to me, and I knew if she could see them, my eyes must have been as wide with disbelief as hers. The audacity of Valor’s demand momentarily united us in shared incredulity.

“He’s demanding a what?” she blurted, her composure slipping.

The screen went dark, leaving us in silence once more. My shock quickly transformed into dark amusement. Of course Valor would want an apology. He couldn’t simply accept that he’d been punched for being an ass.

My mind was already calculating the various ways I could comply with the letter of the demand while subverting its spirit. The possibilities were delicious.

Annie exploded into motion, pacing the length of my office. “The absolute nerve of that man,” she seethed, her cheeks flushing with anger. Her hands flew through the air, punctuating each of her words with sharp gestures. “An apology? From you? For what? Interrupting his precious manhandling of me? His chance to grab my ass fully?”

I subtly tapped my wrist comm twice, signaling Number Eight to redirect our course to the Tower. This unexpected show was far too entertaining to interrupt.

Annie’s hair framed her face in wild waves as she continued her tirade. I leaned against my desk, utterly transfixed.

“And his stupid, perfect face,” she ranted, throwing her hands up. “God, I’m so sick of looking at it. He practices his smile in the mirror, did you know that? He has different smiles categorized for different occasions. Who does that?”

This was a side of Annie I loved to see. Completely unfiltered and gloriously furious.

“The man has the emotional depth of a puddle and the self-awareness of a narcissistic toddler,” she continued, barely pausing for breath. “And now he wants you to apologize? For what? Damaging his precious ego? Or his jaw, which, by the way, would have healed before we even left the stupid terrace?”

She finally stopped, chest heaving, cheeks flushed, looking breathtakingly beautiful in her righteous anger.

“Finished?” I asked, unable to keep the amusement from my voice.

Annie glared at me, still breathing hard. “For now.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” I said, pushing off from the desk and moving toward her, “but isn’t he supposed to be your boyfriend? That was quite the character assassination for someone you’re dating.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“I know,” I said, stopping just short of touching her. “My question is: did you ever rant about me like that? When we were sleeping together?”

“You? I didn’t need to rant about you. You’re perfectly aware of your own insufferable qualities.”