Heroic Betrayal (IX)
The Game Begins Anew
Read part one // Master-post // Continued from here
A soft white light illuminated the room, highlighting the plush carpets making them look like a soft bed of clouds when Morgan opened her eyes. A dull drum beat against her skull, as if her brain was breathing erratically, having a panic attack, and she moaned softly and closed her eyes again, cuddling into the warmth of her pillow.
Her pillow inflated softly and deflated lightly. Morgan frowned. She opened her eyes again and craned her neck back to look up at her pillow, which she realised was Flynn’s chest. A melancholic ache bloomed in her chest, like a bubble around her heart compressing, as she looked into his face. He slept so peacefully, his face devoid of stress or strain, his fire red hair loose around his forehead. His mouth lay open comically as he slept soundly and Morgan couldn’t help the soft smile that crept onto her face.
Looking at him like this, her mind wondered why he would ever do this to her; to himself, why he would ruin what they had, ruin their trust. He was the closest person to her in her life, the man who cheered her up when she was down, who had her back during missions, who trained with her relentlessly at all hours because she couldn’t sleep. Her confidant who helped her piece together cold trails and chase the most obscure leads to stop Supervillain… all villains.
Now when she looked at him, all she could feel was heartbreak and betrayal. Why would he help her capture villains for the Agency? Was it just to get rid of the competition for his family? The thought turns her stomach. But she promised him… she promised him last night that she would stop fighting. She wanted things to go back to normal. Or as normal as they could be now, a new normal.
Her stomach yawned like a mouth and grumbled as if waking a slumbering giant. At once she felt both nauseous and starving, like she hasn’t eaten for weeks but if she ate anything now, she wasn’t certain she would keep it down.
Tired eyes drew to the heavy white clump of bandages around her hand and wrist. It looked like a hand dipped in white concrete a couple times. She tried to squeeze her fingers down, but the bandages were too thick, all she could manage was a flex of half of her fingers. Supervillain wrapped them tight and thick, which was probably for the best. A fucking doctor… at least she could rest easy knowing there wouldn’t be devastating consequences for his– first strike, as he said.
Fucking sadist. When she got out of here, she was going to enjoy locking him up and watching him rot.
Footsteps pulled her from her thoughts, and she turned her head to the archway that led into the hall. God this house was fucking gorgeous, she couldn’t help but bitterly realise. Crime really does pay.
A sleeve of red leather appeared first, and Morgan’s heart hitched in her chest as she settled her expression into a scowl. She turned her body in Flint’s arms so she would be facing the bastard when he appeared. Villain strut in with a burrito in one hand and his phone in the other. He barely looked up as he walked in until he felt her eyes on him and stopped on the steps down into the room.
His eyes find her hand immediately and widen slightly. “Hol–y shit,” he mutters, walking over to Morgan with confident steps and staring down at the thick bandages wrapped around Morgan’s hand. “Damn. You really pissed him off,” he says as he studies her hand, taking a giant bite of his burrito, his dark eyes flicking up to Morgan’s face and the bandages wrapped around her head. “What did he do to you?” he asks with a mouthful of food.
Morgan’s face would have screwed up in disgust if her stomach didn’t decide to growl extremely loudly in reply. Villain grinned at the sound and Morgan’s lips settled into a scowl. “None of your business.”
Villain shrugged. “Alright grumpy. Well, you look like shit.” He tells her. His eyes skim to Flynn then underneath Morgan, his arms wrapped around her, limbs entwined as if only noticing that he was there too. “Oh. You two make up?”
Morgan didn’t reply. She didn’t know how to. She was tired. She didn’t want to explain the last few confusing hours to Villain of all fucking people. But… her stomach was whining longingly for some food, and she did promise that she would try to be civil, or be civil, or at the very least stop fighting last night, didn’t she?
“You hungry?”
“Not for poison,” she snaps.
“Oh please, I don’t need something as pathetic as poison to kill you. You’re half dead already. There’d be no fun in it for me.”
The certainty of Villain’s words struck her like a slap. Right. She was nothing here. They could all do whatever they wanted to her, in theory, and she just has to endure.
And it was like a bolt of lightning struck her, as she looked up at Villain.
No.
She doesn’t just have to endure. What was it her mother always said? You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, Morgan glances down at her bandaged hand and frowns. Vinegar wasn’t working. Resisting, being prickly wasn’t working. She wasn’t the type of person who keeps trying failed strategies over and over again, no. She learned to adapt in order to catch and understand Villains over the course of her career. And she was one of the best in her career, the only reason Supervillain and Villain eluded her for so long was because Flint always pushed her off their scent. Or at least tried to.
But she was here now, in their fucking home, and she wasn’t taking advantage at all. Villain stood in front of her now, offering food. Sure, he might make her skin crawl, but she could use this weakness, her injured hand, pretend she was beaten and cowering, submitting, changing, and get as much information out of the family before she eventually escapes or is rescued, or is… released but, she’d be damned if she just sat her anymore doing nothing except throwing tantrums.
“You know what?” she asks, raising her gaze to Villain’s black eyes. “I am fucking starving.”
Villain raises a brow and smirks. “Well okay then,” he says and turns, pocketing his phone. Morgan sat up, gently moving Flynn’s hand off her hip as she sits up and stands. She follows Villain out of the living room, glancing down the hall to Supervillain’s war room as she passes it to get to the kitchen.
“Where do you train?” she asks Villain as they pass into the kitchen.
“Why?” Villain asks with a smirk. “Have you gotten bored of Flynn already?”
Morgan blinks at him and walks towards the fridge, opening the door and peering in without dignifying the question with an answer. “Please, make yourself at home,” he scoffs.
“Well, I’m allowed to roam freely,” Morgan replies blandly. “And I’m not allowed to leave, so I think I will act like it’s my home, thanks,” she finishes with a chirpy pitch, oozing sarcasm. She peeks out behind the door to look at Villain who took a seat at the marble island. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“You didn’t answer mine.”
Morgan blinks at him. “I want to train. I assumed it was obvious from the question.” She winces, her brows furrowing as she holds Villain’s gaze, “sorry. Maybe I overestimated your intelligence.”
Villain barks a laugh. “Dad must have cut out your seriousness,” he says, a smile in his voice. Morgan shoots him a pointed look, and he nods out the kitchen window to the garden. “We have a shed out back where we train for the most part,” he answers. “Though, you’ll have a hard time convincing dad to let you.”
Morgan frowns at the shelves of the fridge, happy it hid her expression from Villain. Most of the food in the fridge made her want to throw up. She looked at the ham and thought of the texture and wanted to hurl, so she thought of cheese and a phantom taste clogged her throat. She sighed and settled on a tub of strawberry yogurt and took the milk from the fridge before elbowing it shut.
She set them on the counter in front of the kettle. She stared at her heavily bandaged hand and at the kettle and frowned. Her back straightened as she rolled her eyes to the ceiling, cursing whatever cosmic being enjoyed humiliating her.
Then she turned and put on her most charming smile. “Hi, Villain. I really like coffee.”
He raised a brow at her. “Okay.”
She held her bandaged hand up. “It um, well, I won’t be able to pick up the kettle like this, and I also can’t use it with the tap.”
Villain stared at her for a beat before realisation and a slow, delighted smile spread across his pale face. “Huh. That is a shame.”
“Yes.”
“Seems like you’re in a pickle.”
“I am.”
“Sounds like,” he drawled, getting from his chair and walking over to her, “you need a hero to come to your rescue.”
Morgan’s jaw tightened but sucked it up and said, “I really do.”
Villain looked down at her, and she couldn’t help but wonder how him and Flynn were brothers. Flynn had a weight to him, a presence, but Villain floated like a ghost, or a cat, unseen but felt, the same chill to him as his shadows. His black hair and eyes stood out starkly from his paleness, along with his red leather jacket, all rich colours, deep, full; a contrast at odds with himself, grabbing your attention while the rest of him opted to sink behind your perception.
He leaned down, his hands going to the counter on either side of Morgan caging her in. She couldn’t help but arch her back over the counter, lowering herself, her face a picture of surprise and shock as she looked up at him, her fingers splaying for her daggers before she quickly closed them in panic.
“Flynn’s asleep,” he said softly, his eyes searching her face, drinking in her unfiltered expression with an unreadable expression. “So I guess I’ll have to do. Are you alright with a villain helping you?”
Morgan wanted to tell him to go to hell, to fuck off, that she didn’t want his fucking help and that it was all his fucking father’s fault that she needed his help in the first place, but… no words would come to her. Why were no words coming to her?! She opened her mouth, but nothing came out but a choked start of a sound.
She felt an angry blush climb her cheeks as her heart raced in her chest. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said with a cocky grin. Morgan flinched at the sound of the tap but didn’t move her eyes from Villain’s face. It wasn’t until the tab of the kettle clicked on that she regained control of her limbs. “All done,” he said with a wink before stepping back and walking back to the island before sitting in the same chair as if nothing happened.
She turned and glared at the kettle, now full of water and realised the bastard used his shadows. She whirled on him, eyes blazing, and he was already looking at her, a smile on his lips.
“You didn’t have to do that!”
Villain tilted his head at her. “You asked me to help with the kettle,” he said, feigning innocence.
“That’s not – you know what I mean!”
Villain tsked, shaking his head. “It’s not my fault you don’t know how to ask for help, Morgan,” he said and then laughed. “A hero who can’t ask for help. How cliché.”
“Oh, fuck off,” she huffed and turned as he laughed again.
The rest of the coffee making she could do by herself thankfully, one hand still operational. After a beat of silence she asked, “where do you keep the spoons?”
“In the cutlery drawer.”
“And where is the cutlery drawer?” she asked, impatience leaking through.
“Do you need help, Hero?” he asked in that faux kind voice, and she flipped him off without looking at him.
“Whatever. I’ll find it myself.”
Shadows curled around her wrist, and she froze as shivers danced around her skin. She followed the wispy darkness with her eyes to a drawer beside the sink. It opened, revealing the spoons and she mumbled a begrudging: “thanks.”
“No problem, Morgan.”
She could stab him. With a spoon. Gouge his eyes out, so they couldn’t give her that mocking stare. The thought calmed her rage, and she was able to be pragmatic again. She grabbed a spoon for the coffee and the yogurt. Making the coffee was awkward, but she did it herself and then brought the coffee and yogurt tub to the island, sitting as far from Villain as she could.
He lifted his inky eyes to her. They dropped to the strawberry yogurt, and he let out a low, “Oooh, you’re gonna be in trouble,” like a child.
“What?”
“That’s dad’s yogurt,” he said. “The last person who tried to eat it on him got –” Villain said and drew a line along his throat before closing his eyes and sticking his tongue out.
“Not spreading rumours, Villain?”
Morgan’s spine went rigid at the voice. The last time she saw him she was strapped to a table downstairs, no windows in sight. Her chest constricted as if there was no air, his voice repeating: “The first two strikes will be in your palms, Morgan. To remind you that even if you try to fight back, with your knives or your words or otherwise, you will fail.”
“Me? Spread rumours? Absolutely not,” Villain said distantly. He felt so far away, too far. There wasn’t anything between her and Supervillain, and she regretted very much not sitting facing the door to the kitchen. This doesn’t have to happen again, Morgan. We can be civil with each other.
Supervillain laughed and Morgan suppressed the flinch. Stop it, you’re not down there anymore. You’re fine. Get a grip. Get a fucking grip.
Her grip tightened on the spoon. She refused to look at Supervillain, or even acknowledge he was in the room. She just popped the lid off the yogurt and peeled back the foil tab before she sunk the spoon into Supervillain’s favourite yogurt. She wanted to devour it, to pour it on the ground in front of his fucking feet, she wanted to do something just to spite him, just to show him that she wasn’t going to just lie down and die.
She glared at the bandages. Took a breath. No.
No.
She had to play smart. Pretend she was beaten, keep a handle of her rage.
She raised her eyes to Supervillain who smiled warmly at her.
He could hide being a psychopath behind his smile, his kindness.
She would play better than him.
This was the man she spent the last two years hunting, intercepting, studying. The black and white tiles between them stretched like a chessboard between them as Morgan stared at him.
Game on.
“Good morning,” she said with a smile of her own.
He inclined his head at her. “Good morning,” he replied. “Sleep well?” and he went to the kettle. She didn’t miss how his eyes went to the yogurt in her hand before going back to her face, the pleasantness never dropping, not for a second.
“I did,” she replied. Civil. Pleasant. “Villain was telling me about the shed actually, before you came in.”
Villain raised an amused brow at her but didn’t say anything.
The tap turned on. Water gushed. It turned off.
“He did?”
“Yeah. I was wondering if I could go out and see it?”
She could have imagined it, but it seemed the kettle was turned on with a little irritation. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea with your hand, Morgan.”
“No, I know. I just want to see it.” Y’know, its flaws, weaknesses, see what weapons I could smuggle to murder you in your sleep. “I’m feeling a little couped up.”
Come on, she willed. You said I could have a life here, prove it, asshole.
Supervillain sighed. “I suppose if you just want to see it, that won’t be a problem,” he said eventually. “Besides, it’s not like you could run. We’re in the middle of nowhere, and some exercise and fresh air will be good for you. So, under supervision, and without permission to train, yes. You can see the training room.”
Morgan smirked at the little win.
“Thank you.”
*****
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