Chapter Eleven
Owen
Back at the Lair, he watches as Astrid paces around the small room, circling the workbench and telling Quinn what happened at the house.
“Who were they?” Quinn asks, glancing at Owen as if he knows.
“I didn’t get a look at them,” he says. “Due to the whole running for our lives thing.”
“I recognized one,” she says. Both men look up in surprise. “Rowe, from the recruiting program.”
“You’re joking,” Quinn says. She shakes her head.
“Who’s Rowe?” Owen asks.
“One of the guys in my program. Quinn fought him. He’s tough—and a bastard.”
“Psychopath,” Quinn mutters.
“Jensen said he had a team for him to work on. I guess we know now that it’s local.”
“And hunting Supers,” he says. “What were you two doing there anyway?”
Astrid has a face of stone. She’s a good liar, probably because she lives under a protective shell. Easily she says, “We went to get a few of Owen’s things and his motorcycle.”
“And the Jeep is still there?”
“No,” she shakes her head. “I sent Mick to go get it.”
Mick is one of the trainers. It’s obvious from the tense expression on Quinn’s face he feels involving an outsider is an unnecessary risk. He’s probably right.
“So who do you think they were after?” Quinn asks, looking between them. “Is this something lingering from the Pixie Dust days, or is this about all of us?”
“I don’t know, Quinn,” Astrid snaps. She’s about to crack under the knowledge Jensen sent a team after Owen. Maybe after her. She’s got to sort this out. “I don’t know anything other than some assholes shot up Owen’s house and tried to take us both down. I’m sorry they didn’t announce their motivation.”
Owen spins in his chair. “We knew Jensen wanted me, but this could be more. It’s likely we made other enemies.”
Quinn grunts and runs his hands through his hair. “It’s more than likely. We’ve been too visible lately. The Gala, the fires.”
Astrid leans against the worktable. “It’s almost like someone wants us out in public and not hiding away in here.”
“If that’s their goal, it’s working,” Quinn agrees, sitting in the other desk chair. “I’m exhausted.”
“You probably need a cheeseburger,” Astrid says. “And fries. And to sleep past six every once in a while.”
“Not funny.”
Owen isn’t particularly attracted to men, but it’s clear whatever Quinn’s heath routine consists of, it’s working. So much that really, he probably should start asking him for training advice. Astrid’s workouts come with too many doughnuts as rewards.
She resumes her pacing, wound up like a caged animal. Owen gets it. He feels the same. The adrenaline from the events earlier make it hard to sit and do nothing.
“This is bullshit,” he says, getting both of their attentions. “We’re freaking superheroes, well, at least you two are. I mean, I have a suit and have some marginally-awesome skills. But hiding like this won’t solve anything.”
Quinn raises an eyebrow. “It may keep you alive.”
“Yeah but what’s the point if we’re trapped in here?”
“Do you have a suggestion?” Quinn asks.
“I think we need to get out of here. Go have some fun.”
Astrid stops her pacing. “Go out go out? Like go out?”
“Sure,” Owen replies. “To a bar or a club or just, you know, anywhere that’s not here.”
She looks uneasily at Quinn. “Have you ever been to a club?”
He shakes his head. “Holden kept a pretty tight leash on me.” He holds up his hands. “You know, with the whole, could possibly electrocute people thing.”
“Me either,” she says. “Did you aunt let you go out?”
“I snuck out and I’ve been on my own for a while.” He spins the chair around in a full circle. “And I was a drug dealer, so yeah, I’ve been out. What do you think?”
“You know I don’t like to be around a lot of people…”
Quinn nods. “I really can’t afford to miss my run tomorrow.”
Owen stares at them slack-jawed. “Seriously guys, you’re not fifty. You’re in your twenties and you’re both attractive, fun people.”
Astrid looks up in surprise. “You think I’m fun?”
He groans and drops his head into his hands. “What if I promise we can go to the Waffle Waffle afterwards?”
Her eyes perk up at the idea of carbs doused in butter and sugar. “Promise?”
Quinn rolls his eyes.
“Yes, I promise,” he tells her.
“Okay,” she looks between them, a little unsure. “Don’t laugh, but there is something I’ve always wanted to do.”
“Sure, name it,” Owen says, willing to do anything to get out for the night. He has a flicker of a fantasy that she’ll suggest a club and wear a short skirt and dance with him. Or maybe they’ll go to a bar and she’ll let him drink tequila out of her belly button. Thoughts like these have been running through his head since their experiment at the house.
But that’s not what Astrid suggests. With a smile she tells them her biggest wish and damn, it’s…well, it’s totally Astrid.