March went by in a flash, now it’s already the middle of April. I know I haven’t been around much these past months, but I haven’t forgotten about my Besties. Here is the next part of my new superheroine in peril adventure Bombshell: Riverside Origins. Miranda’s investigation continues as she confronts the traumas of her past, and the villains of her present.
If you haven’t read part 1 of Bombshell: Riverside Origins, you can find it here.
If you still need to read part 2, that one’s here.
Or if you already want to skip the “parts” and read the whole adventure you can purchase the ebook on Smashwords right now, where you will also get the exclusive Villain Ending.
Before (ten years earlier)
“…Alright you pervs and degenerates,” the DJ crooned oily-smooth, as the last song faded out. “Let’s hear it for Ca-andy!” The crowd applauded, a few hoots and hollers. The young naked blonde was still gathering up the rest of the bills they’d thrown on stage as the DJ gave a rundown of prices for private dances. “Alright, now get your sexy ass off that stage girl, cuz it’s time… gentlemen get your drool cups ready… it’s time for the smooth the sexy the cooool Velvet Ice…” Miranda hurried off stage as the lights went down and a deep R&B bass throbbed through the club.
“How’s the crowd?” asked a sexy brunette with blonde and caramel highlights. She was on her way to the stage, and Miranda slapped her ass as they passed.
“Always good for you!”
Miranda was straightening and counting her bills as she walked into the dressing room. It had been a decent set, a ton of ones mostly, some fives, one twenty, and -she did a double take- five hundreds?
Hundreds weren’t that unusual, plenty of guys, dealers mostly, came into the club acting like high rollers, but she hadn’t seen any of them. And on a Wednesday, it did turn a decent set into a great set. She remembered the two guys wearing suits and ties.
“Fucken yuppies,” she chuckled appreciatively.
The dressing room was a blare of yellow light, and the air was thick with glitter and the sickeningly mingled scent of cocoa butter and a thousand perfumes. There was a row of vanities along one of the walls, the rest were lined with lockers. She rolled the bills and hid them in hers, then put on a silk robe.
“How’d it go?” The girl who called herself Jetta was sitting at one of the mirrors. She had rich, dark skin and the phatest ass in the club.
“Good for a Wednesday,” Miranda replied, sinking into the seat next to her. “Couple white boys in the corner throwin’ big cash.”
“Mm, I heard that,” Jetta said. “One o’ them boys is super foyne! I take him in back?” She gave Miranda a devious wink. “There will be some sex in the champagne room!” She cackled and continued applying her makeup.
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Miranda lied, but for just a moment, the thought of a pair of intense blue eyes blazed through her head.
“Candy!” shouted the manager from the doorway. “You got one on the hook so slut up!” He guffawed at his own wordplay.
She glanced over her shoulder. “It’s not that old guy is it? He’s clearly drunk, and I just don’t-“
“Girl, you better make that money,” Jetta elbowed her, laughing.
“Nah, it’s the American psycho from table eight,” the manager said. “Waitin’ for you in room 3.”
Miranda nodded. “Be there in five.”
“He’s part of a matched set y’know,” the manager waggled his bushy eyebrows. “Hook ‘em both, play it a little loose and I bet you wrangle up some big tips.”
“I know how to do my job,” she replied, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice.
“Just saying, sweetness,” he shrugged and headed off.
Miranda went back to her locker and started digging through her lingerie. “What do you think he’ll be into, Jet?”
The dark-skinned girl thought about it for a moment. “You got that frilly pink number? You know them yuppy boys like you cuz you got that real-life Stepford thing goin’, give ‘em the fantasy.”
“Maybe, but my ass looks better in these,” she replied, sliding a silky pair of crimson cheekies up her long legs. She tucked her perky breasts into a sheer red demibra, then slung her robe back on.
“Keep him busy, doll,” Jetta said as Miranda headed for the door. “I’m a go shake my ass at the other one, we’ll clean ‘em out tonight!”
Room 3 was Miranda’s favorite for private dances. It was decorated in navy blue and a cool gray. She tended to be energetic on stage, loving the excitement of performing, but for something more personal and intimate, she preferred the feel of the darker colors. She knocked on the door, then slipped inside.
The young man was already reclined in a large plush chair with big arms. There was another smaller chair as well, with no arms and velvet cushions. A wooden dresser, mostly for aesthetics, held up the single lamp in the room.
“Hi, I’m Candy,” she said in her tinkly work voice.
“Yeah, you look like it,” he replied with a wink. “I’m Donovan.”
He was handsome. Angular features and dark eyes, with sleek dark brown hair. He’d laid his suit jacket and tie over the smaller chair, wearing just a pair of black slacks, and a silver button-up with the top three buttons open. He looked like he belonged in that room.
“Hi, Donovan, did my manager explain the rules?”
“No standing, no cumming, you can touch me but I can’t touch you, tray tables in their upright and locked positions,” he repeated smoothly. “That about sum it up?”
“About,” she giggled, mentally rolling her eyes. “How many songs do you want?”
“Let’s start with one,” he held out a thin roll of bills. “See what you got.”
She trotted forward and took the money. “You mean like an audition? I always get the call back.”
“I bet you do.”
“There a particular song you want?”
Donovan shook his head. “Nah, you’re the pro, I trust your judgement.”
She moved to the back of the room where they kept an iPod plugged into the sound system. She began scrolling through the thousands of options.
“Oh, I know just the one,” she purred.
A synth screech set his teeth on edge, but then a slow rhythmic throb flowed through the room. Miranda moved into the rhythm as she stepped back in front of the chair.
Donovan groaned. “I dunno, I fucken hate Marilyn Manson…”
He trailed off as Miranda peeled open the front of her robe, revealing the crimson lingerie and her curvaceous hips rolling back and forth in perfect sync to the beat. Her flirty smile dissolved into a sultry stare, one elegant eyebrow arched sharply. She glided up to him, letting the robe slip off her shoulders. She leaned onto the arms of the chair, thrusting her tits in his face, her petite nipples were just visible through the crimson lace, then she rocked back and turned away. Her hips continued to move, a whispy tattoo crawled and curled across her low back, underlined by the scarlet silk of her panties, her perfect ass swaying back and forth hypnotically. She sank onto his lap, grinding, as her spine unfurled up his chest, until her blonde head curled over his shoulder.
“Should I change it?” she asked, her lips close enough to his ear that the warmth of her breath sent goosebumps down his arm.
“Fuck no,” he said quickly. “I fuckin’ love Marilyn Manson.”
Miranda smiled, letting her body writhe on top of his, every movement cued by a beat or guitar squall. She could feel him getting hard and rolled her ass against that bulge, teasing and grinding.
Then she slid forward off his lap. Moving slowly, deliberately, she hooked her thumbs into her panties then slid them all the way down her long, smooth legs, bending forward, giving him the full view of her heart-shaped ass and the tight pink slit tucked between her thighs. She heard him clear his throat, and a knowing pride tickled up her spine.
Miranda stepped her legs apart, swaying her hips and ass as she slid one manicured finger through her soft petals. Then she spread her pussy lips wide, letting him see every carnal part of her.
Donovan shifted in his seat.
Miranda turned around, locking his dark eyes with her vixen gaze and slipped those fingers in her mouth, licking them, sucking them slowly, and then reached back down to play with herself, biting her lip as she moaned softly. She could see him trying so hard to play it cool.
She grinned seductively and kneeled down. Gliding her hands up his thighs, he flinched when she brushed near where his hips creased. Then she pulled back and pushed his knees apart. She leaned forward, putting her face in his crotch and letting him feel the fullness of her breasts between his thighs. She draped her hair over his lap, moving closer and closer, until he could practically feel her breath through his expensive slacks, and she could sense the tension hitch through his entire body.
“Will a, uh, big tip get me a blowie?” he asked.
Hidden behind a curtain of blonde tresses, Miranda rolled her eyes. Of course he would ask that. She looked up, a vixen smile on her face and shook her head as if it were part of the dance.
Then she crawled up on his lap, straddling his hips. She leaned forward, putting her breasts in his face, felt him clench the arms of the chair. She leaned back, reached around and unclipped her bra, unveiling her perky round breasts tipped with delicious strawberry nipples. The steady throb of the music rolled through her body as she gyrated on his lap, her naked tits bobbed tantalizingly, her soft naked pussy grinding against the bulge straining his pants.
His hands crept onto her hips as they bucked and swiveled to the heated throb of the bass. She let him touch, for a moment. When they started to creep up her hourglass curves, she grabbed his wrists and moved his hands back to the armrests. She gave him a stern look.
“Right, sorry,” he said. “Force of habit.”
She grinned and leaned forward to kiss him, but didn’t, brought her lips so close to his he could taste her. She moved to his ear, his neck, her breasts pressing into his chest, her soft breath, almost moans, driving him wild.
Miranda slid her delicate fingers into his meticulously styled brown hair. Donovan bit his lip as tingles rushed over his scalp. She pulled him forward, burying his face between her plump breasts. She squeezed them against his cheeks, shimmied around him. Felt him groan into her sternum. She pulled back, rubbing the firm orbs over his face, teasing her soft pink nipples over his quivering lips. She could see him actively resisting the urge to lick or suck or bite or…anything at that point.
His hardon was straining, pulsing between her legs. She could almost hear his heart beating. Finally, she pushed him back in the seat and settled on his lap as the song began to wind down.
“So, Donovan,” she moaned, licking her lips and pretending to catch her breath. “Would you like another song or should I go find another star for my dope show?”
He smirked, swallowed, and shook his head as if to clear it. “How big of a tip does it take to get more than a show?”
Her shoulders slumped, she sighed and nodded towards the camera in the corner of the ceiling. “Against the rules I’m afraid.”
“Aren’t rules made to be broken?” Donovan reached into his pocket and took out a folded stack of bills, he began leafing through them. Miranda could see they were all hundreds. “Tell me when to stop…”
She groaned and slid back off his lap. “I don’t do that,” she grabbed her robe, slinging it on quickly. “There are girls here that will, but I’m not one of them, so I guess we’re done here.”
“Alright, wait!” he stood quickly, and reached for her as she turned towards the door.
“Don’t!” Miranda snatched her arm away.
“Wait, please,” he said again. “Look I’m sorry, I don’t really want to pay you for sex.”
Miranda arched an eyebrow and tilted her head doubtfully.
“C’mon, look at me,” he shrugged and flashed her a truly debonair smile. “And I’m rich? I don’t pay for sex. Like…ever.”
“So, what then,” she pursed her lips. “You just get off on seeing what a desperate trashy stripper will do for your cash?”
“Please,” he scoffed. “I could tell right away you weren’t either of those things. The truth is,” he retrieved his jacket and tie. “I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t take advantage my brother.”
“Your brother?”
“Yeah, the other handsome rich guy in a suit,” Donovan chuckled as if it were obvious. “Stuffed about five hundred bucks in your panties already…?”
She blushed slightly. “The one with the blue eyes…”
“Yeah,” Donovan grinned. “It’s not that he’s naïve or stupid or anything, it’s just…well, he doesn’t do this kind of thing often – ever, and well, you know…”
“Some of us can be shady as fuck,” she admitted.
“No offense,” he shrugged. “But if I’m gonna make him come back here for a dance with you, I had to make for sure for sure you weren’t shady as fuck.”
“Why me?”
“Because I’ve never seen him look at a girl, or anyone, the way he was looking at you when you were on stage,” Donovan went on. “Called you a ‘bombshell’? He’s younger than me but kind of an old soul, y’know?”
Miranda smiled. “That’s kinda cute.”
“If you say so,” Donovan was counting out his stack of hundreds but then shrugged and handed her the bundle. “He thinks I was back here with one of the other girls, so let’s keep it that way.”
Miranda was wide eyed leafing through the role of bills. “I can do that…”
“As many songs as he wants,” Donovan added. “Whatever that doesn’t cover, let me know and I’ll take care of it.”
“I think this could cover me for a week,” she blurted, then blushed. “I mean-“
“I know what you meant,” he chuckled. “Just blow his mind for me, pretty pretty one?”
“You got it,” Miranda looked up at him. “What’s his name?”
“Warren.”
Chapter 8
Miranda was sitting as close to the limo door as possible. Her legs were tucked as close together as she could since her ruined zebra skirt afforded zero modesty. Her face ached. Every breath felt like she was being stabbed in the side. She was filthy, covered in the kind of grime you only find under a trap house in the ghetto. And she was literally dressed like a prostitute. It was not the most out of place she’d ever felt in an Ashton limo…but very close.
“Are you okay ?” Donovan asked her.
Neither of them could quite figure out why the question took so long to ask, as if every word were a labor in itself. And then it hung in the air between them, heavy and bloated with the weight of all the things neither of them were going to say just then.
“YesI’mfine.” she replied as quickly and softly possible.
“Okay. Good.”
Donovan was sitting opposite her, his back to the driver. He was still wearing that immaculate dark blue suit, although he had removed the tie and undone the top three button now.
He gestured towards the small bar. “Would you like a-”
“No.”
“-drink…okay. Do you mind if I…?”
She rolled her eyes at him as if the answer should be obvious. “It’s your car.”
He shook his head, more than a little bewildered, and began to fix a drink. He dumped some ice in a glass and then popped the cork out of a bottle with a blue label. An aroma that was rich and smokey and earthy and entirely familiar whispered across the cabin as he poured.
“Scotch and soda,” she murmured, eyeing the glass. “Still?”
“On the rocks,” Donovan replied, giving the glass a ringing shake. “I’m an adult now.”
Miranda licked her lips thinly and held out her hand, not quite able to bring herself to look at him. Donovan said nothing but didn’t hesitate to put the glass on her palm.
She clutched it, drained it, dumped the ice in her hand and held it against the aching side of her face.
“That’s good,” she said, ignoring the flood of memories that came with the familiar taste. “Sweet and smokey, burns just enough.”
“Glen McKenna 35,” Donovan said, making another glass for himself. “It was-“
“I know.”
He pressed his lips together, nodded. “Right, sorry.” He held out the bottle. “Another?” Miranda leaned forward, holding up the empty glass. He filled it almost halfway, then set the bottle down and reached for more ice. “Rocks?”
Her glass was already empty again. Miranda leaned back, licking her lips and stared out the window. She snugged one arm around her scantily covered breasts, while the other was still holding ice to her cheek.
Donovan took a long, deep drink of his scotch. “You know… I’m going to have to ask…right?”
She didn’t look at him. “You know… I’m going to have to…not answer, right?”
He smiled, taking another drink and let a few more moments pass in silence.
“I probably shouldn’t have ambushed you at the shelter today, I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she sighed. “Not like there’s a polite way to invade someone’s privacy.”
“Well, if you would have returned any of my messages…”
“Well, if you would have realized I wasn’t because I didn’t want to see you…”
“I know, but..”
“Like ever…”
Donovan took a drink.
“…Again.”
“More?” he offered, reaching for the bottle.
Now Miranda turned to look at him, one dirt smudged eyebrow arched. “There’s not enough alcohol in this limo to make me forgive you.”
“I know that.”
“Long as we’re on the same page,” she said, picking up her glass and holding it out.
This time Donovan nearly filled it, so she took a big gulp and savored it a moment. The burn and the taste brought a rush of memories filled with cool nights and lazy jazz and Warren’s scotch flavored lips.
“I know you hate me and the rest of the family,” Donovan said, freshening his own glass. “I know we deserve it, but you have to understand it wasn’t supposed to be personal.”
Miranda took another drink, said nothing.
“I know it seems cold, and I guess it is,” he went on. “We were all hurting, and some of us just fell back on what we knew. If you guys had worked out a prenup with the family legal team-“
“You motherfucker,” Miranda sighed. “Warren didn’t want a prenup because he loved me. And he knew that I loved him-“
“It’s not about love, prenups are just like a wedding registry in our world, just another part of it,” Donovan said. “You didn’t work out a prenup because you two eloped.”
“Yes, because the family already hated me!”
“That’s a bit overstated…”
“Is it?” Miranda snorted. “You know why we eloped, hell you came with us, Donovan.”
“I know, look that’s not-“ he broke off, draining his glass and pouring more. “I mean, I understand why you felt attacked, I’m trying to say it wasn’t intended to be that way. Since there was no preexisting agreement, it was just meant to protect family assets.”
“You really want to do this now?” Miranda heaved a sigh, gesturing towards her filthy and barely covered body.
“Since you don’t want to tell me about now,” he gestured to her filthy and barely covered body. “And since I’ve got you in front of me, yeah, might as well say what I came to Riverside to say.”
Miranda glared at him, lowering the ice from her face. “Fine. Say it.”
“I’m trying,” he said quickly. “My point is, it wasn’t supposed to be an attack. We were going to take care of you, the rest of the family just needed…parameters, for that. It’s not like we were trying to run you out of the family.”
“Are you fucking joking me?” Miranda asked, her voice flat. “They had barely rolled out the sod on my husband’s grave when the family legal team served me papers.” She drained her glass. “I hadn’t even heard his will yet and they were already contesting it.” Her green eyes blazed as tears flooded them. “And they didn’t just want the money or the house or the cars or any of those things I didn’t give two shits about…they tried to take his name away from me, Donovan, did you know that?”
He swallowed nothing and shook his head.
Miranda nodded grimly, a hot rush of tears spilling down her cheeks. “They wanted me to change my name back, the only thing I ever wanted, and not for the status, or the clout, or the wealth, not for sake of being an Ashton.” She felt on the verge of hysterics, barely holding it together and did not care one bit. “But because it was his and all I ever wanted was to be his. Warren’s. And he was barely cold in the ground, Donovan, when your family tried to take that away from me.”
Donovan sat, sinking into his seat and looking about two feet tall. Miranda stared at him with all the hurt and hate and sadness and betrayal she felt for him.
And he knew there was no reply, nothing he could say.
“Stop the car,” Miranda whispered. “Let me out.”
“We’re almost-“
“Then I can walk,” she said icily. “Stop. The fucking. Car.”
Donovan knocked on the partition and the limo began to slow.
“Miranda…”
“You were his brother, Donovan,” she hissed. “But you were my friend, I trusted you, I needed you but just like the rest of your family, you hid behind those fucking lawyers so you didn’t have to face me.”
“I…you don’t understand,” he stammered.
The limo had stopped, and Miranda didn’t wait before opening the door. “Thank you for the ride. Now stay the fuck away from me.”
She climbed out onto the sidewalk, grinding her teeth to keep from whimpering as pain shot through her side. They had pulled over on a quiet street in a relatively safe neighborhood. It was late so most of the houses were dark. A few had porchlights on, a few windows were glowing with the blue-white flicker of a television in a dark room. Miranda recognized the area, they were less than a mile from her house.
As long as no one calls the cops on the bedraggled hooker limping down their nice suburban street, she thought exhaustedly. I’ll be home in no time.
“Miranda, wait,” Donovan was getting out after her.
She ignored him and started walking.
“Hey! I heard everything you said,” he called sternly. “At least hear me out, then I’ll stay the fuck away from you if that’s what you want.”
She stopped. She did not turn to look at him.
“You’re right, I let Warren down,” he began. “I was the big brother and the only thing he ever would have wanted was for me to watch out for you.” He walked towards her slowly. “And I know I let you down. You’re right I couldn’t face you. I knew – I know – how much you loved each other, and I was terrified to look you in the eye after losing him. Terrified to even see you, not knowing what to say, how to help, how I could possibly offer any comfort…so I hid.”
Miranda half turned, not quite looking back over her shoulder.
“I hid behind the coldness of my family,” he went on. “I didn’t know they wanted you to change your name, I didn’t know what they tried to take, or what, if anything, they offered. And when news spread of what you had gotten, I said to myself ‘it was all just about the money’ so I didn’t have to feel guilty about not being there for you.”
Finally, Miranda turned to face him, there was neither hatred nor softness in her expression, just a cold indifference that may have stung him even more.
“I know I can’t take back what I did…what I didn’t do.” Donovan ran a hand through his meticulously styled hair. “But I do care about you, and I am sorry. I do miss my brother, Miranda, and I know there’s a piece of his heart left on this planet, and that he left it with you… I’d do anything to be able to be close to that. So, if you want me to stay the fuck away, I will. But if you ever want to have a drink, and remember him together, I’d do anything to earn that privilege.”
He lifted the bottle of Glen McKenna 35 year, Warren’s favorite scotch and he held it out to her now.
Miranda stared at him for a moment, then she walked over and took the bottle. She turned and walked away without another word. The limo followed behind her, at a distance, but she didn’t give it another thought. She didn’t think at all, just focused on each step, then the next. It took her longer than she thought it would to reach her house. She was sore and exhausted and by the time she had reached her front door, the limo was nowhere to be seen.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said to no one and raised the bottle in salute, before taking a deep chug.
Inside the house was quiet and dark. She kept a bedroom adjacent to the office/lab for Luna to stay in whenever she worked late, or just wanted to crash. Miranda was especially quiet in case the other woman was still there, not wanting to face her in that state.
I’ll just burn these sheets in the morning, she thought crawling into bed without a shower, or even taking off her skimpy ruined outfit. Miranda took another deep drink, finishing the seven-hundred dollar bottle, then clutching it like a teddy bear.
Her last thought before sleep took her was; that was a really stupid plan…
Chapter 9
“This is the stupidest plan yet!” Luna snapped.
“Well, it’s the only option at this point,” Miranda replied evenly.
“That is just not even close to the truth.” The brunette crossed her arms and glared at her.
“Luna, I can’t wait another night knowing they really are out there kidnapping and selling girls.”
The blonde was sitting in the office/lab, wrapped in a fluffy white towel. She had slept most of the day, and then spent an unusually long portion of it in the shower, but now her blonde hair was back to its lustrous tresses and every inch of her smooth skin had been scrubbed clean.
She had given Luna a CliffsNotes version of her misadventure at Baker’s. The only remnants of the previous night’s ordeal was a dusky bruise marring her cheek, and the ache in her side, which she was doing her best to hide and downplay.
“And what do you think is going to happen to you if they catch you? Huh? Are you even thinking about-“
“Of course,” Miranda looked down almost guiltily, but when she looked back up there was a fire in her eyes. “But this is why I’m doing all of this, to help those who can’t help themselves.”
“They roughed you up when you were at full power,” Luna said. “If you go into that pimp’s pad without a full charge…”
“I’ll be fine,” she said confidently. “I’m not going in to try and trick them this time, I’m going in both guns blazing.”
“I’d feel better about it if you had a gun…”
Miranda smirked. “Half a charge will be plenty, it’s not going to take that long.”
“It’s not about the time,” Luna threw up her hands. “Do you listen to anything I say? The Nandex calibrates to the amount of energy being pushed, if you go in with half a charge you go in at half strength.”
“It’ll have to be enough,” she said, determined. “If anyone else goes missing tomorrow and I could’ve stopped it tonight …then it’s on me.”
“It’s really not,” Luna grumbled in a huff.
Miranda let her pout for a few moments before asking. “Did you find anything on this ‘the hammer’?”
Luna rolled her eyes and turned back to the computer. “Nothing. Or everything.” She shrugged. “Lots and lots and lots and lots of hammer stuff but nothing pertaining to human trafficking specifically.”
“Then it’s even more import I get Crash to talk, and soon.”
“Why can’t we just call the cops?”
“Aren’t we a little far into this superhero thing for ‘just call the cops’, L?” Miranda cocked her head as if the answer were obvious. “Besides even if we had some kind of evidence, they’d just be arresting a pimp and a petty crook, and we’d be back to square one. If I can make Crash tell me who or what ‘the Hammer’ is…”
“Then we can graduate to bigger, better criminals?” Luna was staring at the ceiling and shaking her head. “How did I let you talk me into this.”
“Uhhh, excuse me?” Miranda squeaked. “You came to me…”
“Because I wanted to keep working on the Nandex!”
“And you are,” Miranda crossed her arms. “I’m not dragging you into any danger.”
“No,” Luna sneered. “But now I know you’re all sweet and honest, and brave and awesome and not just Warren’s prissy kept housewifey…” She grit her teeth. “So now I have to care what happens to you and it’s become a real pain in my ass.”
Even though Luna seemed to be entirely serious, Miranda couldn’t help but smile. She stood, winced, and crossed the room to give her a big hug.
“It means more than you know,” Miranda said, squeezing tight. “I care about you too and there’s no way I could do any of this without you, but I didn’t come this far to settle for catching purse snatchers and scaring off car thieves.”
“I know,” Luna mumbled, half returning the hug. “You psycho fucking barbie doll…fine! I’ll prep the belt and power gauntlets.”
“Power gauntlets?” Miranda asked, releasing the hug.
Luna sighed dramatically. “Your gloves? Duh.”
“I’m never calling them that,” she replied, heading into the walk-in closet where she kept her superheroine gear.
The shimmery blue leotard was hung next to a picture of Warren. She took it down and pulled it on over the plain white thong she had on under her towel. The Nandex really did fit her perfectly, clinging to her hourglass figure, hugging the curves of her ass, even supporting her boobs almost like a sports bra. Every time she put it on, she felt a little closer to Warren again.
There was also a little dresser in the closet, with a collection of masks on top. Most were blue, some were white, a few different styles, but she preferred the blue domino. Pressing it onto her face and glancing in the mirror, Miranda grinned. She felt like someone different, as if the mask was what transformed her into…
“How about The Azure Orchid,” Miranda said as she stepped back into the lab/office.
“Gross!” Luna dry heaved. “I hope you’re not serious.”
“What?” Miranda balked cheerfully. “We could add some floral print to the leotard.” She returned to her seat and started putting on her blue and purple boots.
“Did you turn sixty while I wasn’t looking?”
“Oh my gosh! Aren’t I going to be the cutest little old lady?”
“You make the cutest everything, okay?” Luna rolled her eyes and groaned. “It’s actually kinda fucking annoying. You were even a cute whore…that’s probably why they saw through your stupid stupid plan last night, y’know.”
Miranda chuckled and the brunette tossed her the power belt. She buckled it on and immediately the charge rippled over her skin as the Nandex calibrated.
“You’re at half power,” Luna groaned, tapping a few keys. “Don’t waste it and don’t take too long.”
Miranda was already gone.
Chapter 10
The sun was just starting to set, casting Riverside in amber hues against a backdrop of purple fire. Miranda barely even took a moment to notice, even though she had the best possible view, soaring high over the city. She was focused on her destination, focused on the evening’s mission. As she reached the 24th block of South Madison, she swooped down onto a building overlooking the alley with Suites’s shabby little bar.
Well, I get what Luna was saying now, she thought as her heels scraped across the roof. The suit was flying much slower than usual.
Miranda looked over the edge, it was dark enough it might as well have been midnight in the alley already. She had come early hoping to catch them off guard, while there was no one around. None of the working girls were even out on the street yet.
Stepping off the roof, she noticed the drop was a little faster, the landing a little harder than usual, and her trepidation grew.
No doubt, no hesitation, too late to turn back now, she told herself.
The door was wooden, and locked, but she was able to use her Tactile Magnesis and pull the knob assembly apart. The door swung open and she stepped inside. There was no red light this time, the bar was dark. Passing the smashed wall, a smile tugged at her lips.
She moved slowly, as quietly as she could in high heels toward the door at the back of the room. Opening that, she was a little surprised to find a stairwell leading down into darkness. Her stomach twisted into a nervous knot, but she proceeded down the stairs.
I’m going to have to see if Luna can add lights to my gear… or I guess I could just buy a flashlight…that’s not a bad idea, add a little utility pouch to my belt…I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before, hell that’s basically Batman’s whole super power… She rambled to herself to keep her nerves off the encroaching darkness.
At the bottom of the stairs was a block of cheap basement apartments. Her eyes adjusted slowly in the darkened hallway. There were three doors on the right, two on the left.
What are you up to down here, Shorty? Miranda immediately suspected the pimp owned, or at least rented, them all since his bar seemed to be the only access point.
As if in answer she heard a rumble of laughter from the behind the first door. She couldn’t tell how many voices there were, but more than one. A nervous titter raced up her spine, but this was what she’d come for. Just as she was reaching for the handle, another noise drew her attention.
This one was soft, almost a whimper, not quite a sob.
It was answered by a harsh whisper. “Shut up.” And then, “you want him to come back?”
It came from further down the corridor. Miranda moved to investigate, stepping lightly to keep her heels from clicking the concrete floor. As she reached the final door the sound became clearer: crying. It was hushed and muted, the kind of crying you do when you’re afraid someone will hear.
This door was heavy duty, not like the others she’d passed. It was meant to keep something out, or maybe something in. Miranda tested the door. Locked. She pulled the knob assembly apart just as before. The room inside was a dank unfinished cement box.
Right away she noticed two vaguely human shapes crouched against opposing walls. There was a single light hanging down from the middle of the ceiling. Miranda shut the door and pulled the chain. Harsh white light blinded her for a moment. As her eyes readjusted, she recognized the two girls who had been with Suites the first night she was there.
They both looked up at her with wide tearful eyes. Their hands were bound in front of them with handcuffs, and thick chains connected to heavy metal I-bolts drilled into the concrete floor.
Miranda pressed a finger to her lips before either could make any noise. “Don’t worry, I’ve come to get you out of here!” she whispered.
She rushed to the closest, who looked at her sadly with a red ballgag lodged in her mouth. The heroine winced at the sight and reached around to unbuckle the gag. The girl gasped and let out a reflexive whimper, quickly clasping both hands over her mouth.
“Superchick, superchick!” whispered the other one. “Keep her quiet! They gon’ hear y’all!”
“You mean Shorty?” Miranda asked.
The metal bindings came apart easily thanks to her magnetic powers. She motioned for the girl to stay put a moment longer.
“Shorty and mister Crash both in that front room!” said the panicky girl. “They gon’ hear you and come in here mad.”
“I’m not scared of them,” Miranda told the girl, making short work of her bindings. “Is there any other way out?”
The girl looked at her blankly, shaking and rubbing her wrists.
“Like another way out of the building,” Miranda explained. “Or do we have to go through the bar?”
“There’s a window,” whispered the first girl. “In the room across the way, I seen it when-“
Miranda shushed her quickly. “Okay, good. If I get you in there, can you help each other through it?”
The girls glanced at each other and nodded.
Miranda went to the door, checking down the hallway. It was just as quiet and dark as it had been. She checked the adjacent door, it wasn’t even locked. Sure enough, inside was a narrow basement window, leading up to the street. She went back and hurried the girls across. Miranda helped them pry the window open, and then they helped each other scramble up and out.
“Superchick, come on!” said one of the girls urgently.
“You guys get out of here,” Miranda said. “I’m going to go make sure these two monsters never do this to anyone else!”
As if on cue, the sound of a door opening and shutting came from the far end of the hallway. Miranda motioned for the girls to run and they did.
“Y’all bitches done cryin’?” she recognized Suites’s voice. “Y’all ready to have some fun ‘fore mister Hammer gets here?”
“Oh yes,” Miranda declared, stepping out into the hallway. “Only I’m not sure it’ll be much fun for you!”
“Ah shit!” he exclaimed throwing up his hands. He was wearing the same leopard print vest, but no shirt this time, leaving his gaunt frame on display. “Superbitch wha’chu doin’ here?” he shouted.
She put her hands on her hips and took a few steps forward. “I told you I’d be checking IDs, unfortunately I had to eject a couple of your guests.”
“Fuck, you know what we get paid for them cute young ones?” he complained.
He continued backing away as she came closer. He seemed poised to dart back into that first door. Miranda crossed her arms and glared at the pimp.
“A lot more n’ that ol’ ho Paisley,” he shouted smugly. “But not quite what we’re gonna get paid for you!”
“In your dreams, scumbag!” Miranda said.
She had just passed the middle door when it burst open. Miranda barely had a chance to turn towards the flurry of movement as a short, broad shadow pounced on her! She squealed in alarm as the stocky figure shoved her against the wall.
Crash snagged her right wrist and was already reaching for the other. “I gotya this time, bitch!”
Miranda flailed desperately to keep him from grabbing her. She twisted just enough to clock him once with her reinforced gloves. Crash staggered and released her but didn’t go down.
“Got you this time!” Miranda snarled, thrusting her hands against his broad chest to fire a repulsor burst.
Before she could, Shorty Suites caught her in a full nelson. His gangly arms snaked under hers then slithered behind her neck!
“Hey! Let go-”
“Quick, Baker-man!” the pimp shouted. “Get out here’n help!”
“Get off!” Miranda demanded, straining against the hold. She was a little surprised by how strong the lanky pimp seemed to be.
Baker emerged from the same doorway where Crash had ambushed her. He was dumping the contents of a small brown bottle onto a white rag. Sickly sweet fumes wafted towards Miranda. He looked at her, and she thought she saw a hint of remorse in his eyes. She thrashed a little more desperately, but Suites held her still.
“Hurry shithead put ‘er out!” he growled.
The dealer reached for her face with the rag.
“No!” She reared back suddenly, kicking Baker’s arm and knocking Suites off balance.
Miranda barely managed to slip free. In one fluid movement she spun between the two men, extended one hand towards each and unleashed dual repulsor bursts that blasted them in opposite directions down the hall.
Two big hands seized Miranda by the shoulders and slammed her into the wall again. She cried out as her lithe body smashed against the plaster. A familiar pain ripped through her injured ribs, taking her breath away. She was too stunned to resist as Crash grabbed a handful of blonde locks and pounded her head viciously into the wall. She slumped into his beefy arms, dazed and helpless as they coiled around her slender body.
“Hold that bitch, I gotchu!” shouted Shorty, scrambling for the rag.
Miranda was gasping for breath, squirming powerlessly as Crash pinned her arms to her sides. The next instant a damp rag clamped over her nose and mouth. The metallic fumes flooded her senses, filling her lungs and making her aching head spin.Shorty Suites leered down at her, holding the back of her neck and pressing the rag even tighter.
Miranda’s stomach twisted as quick panicky breaths drew in more and more of the chemical. She couldn’t calm herself. Already her strength was draining, and she struggled to concentrate through the fog filling her brain.
Must be… chloroform… she realized as the hallway darkened around her. This can’t be happening! How did they…
She couldn’t get her arms free. She could barely move at all. Miranda twisted and squirmed desperately, but weakly. Futilely. Crash had her trapped and she had no defense against the sickening acrid smell and coppery taste filling her mouth. Those powerful arms were constricting like a python, tighter and tighter the more she wilted into their grasp.
Miranda’s arms went limp as the chemical overwhelmed her, her legs went slack. Darkness swirled in around the heroine, dissolving even the panic of being left helpless in the clutches of these dangerous men. With no way to resist, Miranda succumbed to the chloroform and let her eyes flutter shut as unconsciousness took her.