Page 62 of All Superheroes Need PR
They grin even more maniacally. “Why don’t you go help him get his memories back, be a good girl and help him find his map, and when he’s ready to lead us, I’ll remind him to go easy on you.” They give my bruised right hip a condescending pat.
“Who are you?”
“Why don’t you ask the COE?” They lean in abruptly, brushing their lips over my cheek. “I’m number Three.”
They take a step back, and then they just ... disappear.
There’s no rush of wind or swirling smoke. They just are ... and then they aren’t. I sway forward, about to fall, but some strength I didn’t know I possessed keeps me on my feet. I grab the edge of the kitchen island in front of me and clutch it with shaking arms until I’m certain my legs will hold me. Then I turn.
My chest is clenched so badly, each inhale tears at the seams. My face is hot, but when I rub it roughly, trying to get my shit together, I find that it’s dry. I didn’t cry here. Not often. Not until they left me alone like Three just did. But I’m stronger than I was back then because I have people ... who love me ... who care ...
I can do this.
... fucking badass ...
I’m making my way around the island, heading for my phone first and then the open front door, through which I can see the overgrown yard crawling with trash and weeds and memories. The press of ghosts all around me is palpable, and they’re all me, all my childhood, and they each wound mepainfullyin turn. I make a loud choking sound and reach down, my foot kicking my phone once before I actually manage to bend over and grab hold of it. I catch myself on the floor, staggering wildly as I come back up to stand, and lunge for the front door.
A gust of strength fuels me as I stagger out of the shadows and into the sunlight. My hands are shaking as I hold my phone up to my face. I have a few people I could call, but I scroll past all of them. Number Three believes I have every right to fear him. But I don’t believe people who hurt me. I believe people who look me in the eye and tell me they’ll try for me, who issue me vows of hope.
Chapter NineteenRoland
The design meeting was derailed slightly when I refused to wear the gloves—not so muchwouldn’tascouldn’twear the gloves. “How have you kept this hidden?” Margerie is holding my hands. It’s fucking weird, but I get why she’s holding on to me like this. Like we’re about to break out into a slow dance.
Dr. Larsen is looming over her shoulder, having just arrived. She gasps theatrically and then cackles like she’s lost her marbles. “Oh my God! That’s just since last Sunday?”
Even after I texted her a picture of my nails, she still wanted me to let them grow. Our official checkup is still scheduled for Friday, when Nessa has her checkup for her ankle. The little asshole hasn’t been wearing her brace since our dinner. She feels fine—like the doc said she would—but I still catch her wincing every once in a while when she puts weight on it. If I deny her sex, I wonder if she’ll put it back on.
Who am I kidding? I’ve been denying her sex all damn week.
I’ve been denyingmesex all week because I know that if I let myself go with her, there’s a high chance I’ll grab her too hard, and right now I can’t afford to do that. Not with my nails looking like ... this.
That doesn’t mean I haven’t been enjoying her screams.
Her spread out across the kitchen island. All that brown marble underneath her body made her look a part of it. She glittered in sweat. She spread her legs on command, and she let me eat her pussy through two orgasms without giving her a break.
And it isn’t like she hasn’t noticed that I haven’t taken things further yet. She’s been needy, all but begging for my cock, but I don’t want to show her my nails or my fresh marks. What if they freak her out? Hell. They freakmeout.
I shiver and flex my hands. “Test failed. I need ’em cut.”
“Are you sure?” Emily has the stones to ask.
“The fuck are you talking about?Yes.”
“We could wait just to see what happens, for scientific purposes.”
“I will scratch your eyes out if you don’t cut these nails off.”
Emily sighs and gives me an annoyed look, her scrunchie and nails both pink today. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Roland.” She reaches out and grips my shoulder like she’s about to give me six months to live.
“Fucking say it.”
“I will if you’ll stop interrupting.”
I huff but manage to stay quiet as she comes even closer, too close, standing up on her tiptoes to get closer yet. Margerie leans in, too, not wanting to miss it. “You don’t have nails, Roland. You have claws.” Margerie’s still holding my hands but drops them like hot stones the moment the words are out. She gasps.
I squint. “What?”
“You have claws. I suspected as much from the sample I took from your hand. It seems as if, unlike most mammals that have claws, you have six layers of a keratin-like substance coating a keratin nail bed. The COE scientists looking into the matter haven’t been able to isolate each individual biological component that makes up your claws yet. We’re not even sure all the types of matter exist within earthly human biology.” Her voice rises at the end, finishing in a squeak.
