Belle Fury: Manhatten Ten, Book 3 (3 page)

“Great.” Belle’s dark hair had fallen out of its bun, and as miserable as she looked, she couldn’t be anything less than sexy.

“You’re better off. You get to skip the politics and deal with this as a grown woman instead of a confused kid.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you.”
 

I shrugged. “If I can deal with it, you can.”

“Can’t I just get rid of this?” Belle asked. “Powers don’t fit in my life.”

“Not happening. They’re more a part of you than you realize.” Jenny—Temptress—came to mind. She
could
take away Belle’s powers, but I wasn’t suggesting that. No one would volunteer to lose their abilities after they knew how amazing this life could be. Belle would realize that after she adjusted. Even if she didn’t, it was never a good idea to sacrifice a part of yourself. For good or bad, the powers were hers.

“Thanks, Mr. Voice of Wisdom.”
 

Belle stayed silent after that, which wasn’t a good idea. She needed to talk out a lot more of this. Tension would only cause another surge of energy.

“So you dance?”

“A little bit.” She rolled her eyes.

Batting zero today
. “I don’t know much about ballet. Ballroom dancing’s okay.”

“
You
can ballroom dance?” That perked Belle up.

“Barely. My mom owns a studio, so naturally she forced me into classes.” And there went my macho reputation.

“Now you’re trying to make me jealous. I had to fight Mama to dance. She thought I’d turn into one of those uppity rich girls.” Belle sagged. “Guess I got the uppity part down.”

“Not the rich part?”

She gave a bitter laugh. “You dance for love, not money.”

We chugged through the stop-and-go traffic in silence. How would Belle react if she really couldn’t dance again? With more pyrotechnics?

“What about you?” Belle stared at my profile. “I know you have powers, but I never understood what you hero guys do all day.”

Now it was my turn to get bitter. “Paperwork.”

“Really? I don’t follow the hero gossip much, but I thought it was all crime fighting and partying.”

“I wish.” And it had been once, when Angel and Tank had their super brains on task. Now that I was running the show, things weren’t so smooth. “We have teams working cases, but it’s not as glamorous as you’d think.” Especially lately. After Tank shacked up with Jenny the Temptress, there’d been so much fallout it made my lightning surge.
 

It was not cool to find out there’d been a shadow crime organization on your turf for years. Now that their boss was out of his powers—again, thanks to Jenny—the cockroaches were skittering. We’d apprehended most of the bad guys, but there were still a million loose ends to follow. And who had to clean it all up?

That’s right—I did. “Really not glamorous.”

“So you’re the boss?”
 

“Until the real one comes back from Vegas.”

She
hmph
ed. “Gambling problem?”

A laugh slipped through my lips. Tank? The man was an iron wall of integrity. “Wait until you meet him.”

She sank deeper into the jacket. Girl was so tiny her whole body squeezed in there. “What do we do about all of this? I mean, I know I’m in trouble, but how much? What do I…” Belle scrunched her eyes.

“No trouble.” I had to reassure her. I’d fried more than a few cell phones in fits of rage, but damaged gadgets were nothing compared to what I’d done coming into my powers. The electric company never figured out why they’d blown so many transformers that year. Until Belle learned to use her new abilities, every time she moved too fast there’d be carnage. “Really. No one was hurt, and the M-Ten will take care of whatever repairs need to happen. People are forgiving with new supers, and considering who you are, you’re golden.”

“You’re regular philanthropists.”

“Just trying to help.” At least she was thinking rationally and starting to work through some of her questions. We had a lot more unpleasant topics left to cover. Later. One step at a time.

The main thing was to get to home base without any fatalities.
 

Chapter Three

Belle

I couldn’t tell if the car ride lasted for seconds or years. All I could do was stare out at the traffic and pull Ryan’s jacket tighter. The scent of his cologne was the only thing keeping me grounded.

Nothing about this was me. I wasn’t supposed to be a psychopath, and I certainly didn’t sit and cry about my problems. Not that I was crying yet, but my throat tightened with that awful feeling that said I was close.

I was starting to understand my new reality, and almost confident I wouldn’t snap again. Running from the stage hadn’t been my smartest move, but it was better than dealing with the fact that I might not be able to—

No.
Not going there.

Instead, I snuck looks at Ruin. Ryan. I couldn’t use the superhero name when he was being so nice.

I could stare at him forever. Guys that looked like
that
tended to know it, and I’d fallen for those entitled assholes before. Ryan seemed…real. It wasn’t the time to be checking him out, but if my life was going to collapse around me, I was damn sure going to enjoy the eye candy.

“You might want to duck down again.” The block was choked with spectators and cameras.

“Right.” I crouched, shielding myself with Ryan’s jacket. Was my getting powers really so newsworthy? There were bombs going off in other corners of the world. Why were they wasting their time on the crazy ballerina?

The car tipped forward as we started going down a ramp.

“We’re good,” Ryan said.

We descended into a sprawling underground parking garage. We’d either reached our destination or Ryan had stopped off at some exclusive exotic car dealership. The garage was all candy-red hoods and chrome.

“We’ll head upstairs and get you settled.”

“I’d settle for a shower.” I’d been sweating before all of the debris started flying. Now I looked like a hobo, and the frosting crusting my hair wasn’t doing anything for my state of mind.

“Angel will take care of everything. She’s the lovechild of Martha Stewart and a supercomputer.”

“That’s a good thing?”

“She keeps the team in line.” Ryan came around to my door. “You okay to walk?”

“I think I can manage that much.” I wasn’t an invalid. Just a danger to the property.

Ryan stepped into the elevator. I took it slow, easing in behind him. If I pictured a bomb strapped to my chest, it was easy to move in a steady rhythm. I managed to get inside, but it’d wear my nerves to the nub if I had to stay this way.

The doors pinged open on the third floor and the sea of cubicles was the last thing I’d expected to find in a superhero headquarters. Even on Friday night, a few workers milled around. “You work here?”

“And live upstairs. This way.” He led us to the wall of larger offices. I glossed over the nameplates as we walked. Thinktank had the corner office, but the one for Red Ruin wasn’t much smaller. Then Panther, Thunder, Steel. Were they naming these guys from a list of men’s fragrances?

“Angel,” Ryan said.

My sudden stop popped the closest florescent bulbs. The woman was gorgeous, with luscious black hair, but I had to wonder if she was part cyborg. No fewer than ten computers surrounded her C-shaped desk, and she was definitely watching all of them at once. “Sorry about the lights.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Angel slid back her chair. “It’s so nice to meet you, Belle.” She extended for a handshake but pulled it back before I moved. “Sorry. Better not chance it.”

“Which penthouse will she be in?” Ryan asked.

“Ah.” Angel’s gaze shifted. “I haven’t prepared one.”

“You forgot?” Ryan blinked. “How could you…”

Who cared if the poor woman couldn’t remember everything? “It’s not a big deal. I—”

“No.” Angel frowned. “I don’t forget things. I
can’t
forget things.”

“So where should we put her?” Ryan asked.

That irritated me a lot more than Angel’s slip. Like I was a stray they needed to keep in the mudroom until they could find me a good home.

Angel took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When they opened again, it was like she’d found her misplaced coat of authority. “Right. I’ll get a space ready for her, but given the situation, you two need to keep close for training. You’ve got the stadium to yourselves all day tomorrow. Do you mind staying in Ruin’s spare bedroom tonight, Belle?”

“My—” Ryan coughed.

“Only because he seems so excited about it.” He tensed, and I wondered what he was keeping in there. Probably dirty sports equipment and old
Playboys
.
Shame, shame.

“Wonderful.” Angel slid back to her desk. “I’ll get some things sent over from your apartment.”

“Thanks.” It only then occurred to me that I was walking through their business offices in my stage costume, but apparently they didn’t sweat the dress code.

Ryan trudged us back to the elevator and punched the button for the eighth floor. When the doors opened, I had another post-ride surprise. It wasn’t a hallway. The whole floor was his apartment.
 

I priced real estate as well as any New Yorker. Midtown penthouses were for multi-millionaire moguls and celebrities. And apparently superheroes. “How many of you guys live here?”

“Ten or eleven at the moment. We’re called the Manhattan Ten, but the number’s more formality than anything. The roster’s varied from six to fifteen since the organization was founded.”
 

Ryan showed me into the living room. “You need anything?”

A lifeline would be great
. “Some water?”

“Sure.” He bustled into his gourmet kitchen, leaving me with the floor-to-ceiling bank of Manhattan skyline. The leather couches, flat screens and full bar screamed bachelor pad, but everything was tasteful. The man even had coasters.

“Here you go.” Ryan handed me glass.

I took a sip. “This is giving me some major apartment envy.”

“Comes with the job.” He shrugged.

Right. My professional dancer’s salary barely got me a shoebox in Manhattan while all these heroes were getting comped million-dollar views.
 

“Let me show you around.” Ryan gave me the tour, and it was like walking through my own dream house. Claw-foot bathtub? Check. Huge closets? Check. Oh, and heated floors? Check, check. We finally made it to the guest room. “This is where you’ll be staying.” Ryan flicked the light switch.

I’d been expecting the same dark tones and leathers as the rest of the apartment. This was…pink. The bed had a fluffy down comforter and a wrought-iron headboard. A makeup table sat in the corner and the most feminine chandelier ever hung from the ceiling in a cascade of crystal. I lifted an eyebrow.

“My sister visits.” Ryan shrugged again.

“You’re just the cutest superhero ever, aren’t you?”
 

“Ouch.” Ryan ran fingers through his hair.

Yes, you are
. Probably the sexiest too, but the qualities weren’t mutually exclusive. I stripped off his jacket and handed it back so he’d have something to cover those forearms. I was
not
allowed to jump him. Or really to jump at all in such an expensive place.

“I think I’ll just shower and go to bed.” It was late, and it had been a long day of stage prep before I destroyed my life.

“We’re training tomorrow. Come downstairs whenever you’re ready.”

“So…next year?” Everything was moving way too fast.

“Tomorrow, next week, next year. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks.” Maybe I’d hibernate a few weeks under the down comforter. “Goodnight.”
 

“Night.” Ryan closed the door. Bonus points to him for not showing me his own bedroom. I didn’t need a stage for any more fantasies.

Tossing my robe, I headed for the en-suite bathroom.
Thank the Lord for steam showers
.
 

I let the water burn my shoulders and melt my tension away. As I stretched out my shoulders, a mini-wave of energy shot loose, knocking over the soap bottles and vibrating the glass door.

Train wreck.

I wanted to believe that this was all fake. Anytime now, my psychotherapist would snap and say what a productive hypnotism session we’d had. I’d say it was a dream, but my brain wasn’t this creative.
 

Either I’d get rid of the powers or I’d put on my big-girl panties and start training. Somehow, I’d get back where I wanted to be.

I
would
do it. If I could fight my way to the top once, I could do it again.

After I toweled off, I crawled into bed. Down comforters were the best things for a wounded soul. I just prayed I didn’t take up sleepwalking.

Red Ruin

I couldn’t sleep. Every time Belle rolled over, the wall between us shook.