FORGERY . . . THE BOYS ! [1]

two.

"This is a dumb fucking idea, Ben," The Legend said, coke still clinging to the sweat on his big nose.

Ben stared at him until he looked up and met his eye. Then he smiled grimly and shook his head and said, "Don't fucking care, unfortunately."

"She's going to fucking kill you."

Ben tugged his glove on with a little shrug, pursing his lips. "I always loved fighting with her."

"You're a dumb cunt, you know that?"

Ben could always feel the switch between himself and the Hero. It was a physical thing; when he went from tolerant to intolerant, passive to aggressive.

His fist slammed into the kitchen table he stood next to, the wood of it bending into itself into a V in the center. His expression didn't so much as flicker.

"I left her in that torture chamber," he said, his fingers curling into a fist over the broken table. "So I'm going to go back and get her. I don't care how fucking stupid of an idea it is. I don't care how I have to do it. Or if she kills me. It's her revenge too."

The Legend lifted his hands in defense, leaning back in his seat on the couch. "Alrighty. Go all the way back to goddamn Russia, get your little girlfriend, go on a little coupley murder spree."

"You want me to take your other fucking leg?"

"Not necessary," The Legend said, tilting his head to the side to look over at Ben. Ben could see him eyeing him up through his sunglasses. "I'd suggest going to the Countess first, though. Without Quartz. That catfight might not be pretty."

Ben considered it. That one was his fight, wasn't it? The group backstabbed him, and dragged her into it as collateral, as awful as it was. But this was the girlfriend that they stuck him to like a parasite because they didn't like that the playboy liked someone outside of his inner circle.

Maybe he would regret not letting Brooke fight this battle with him. She would have the others with him, he promised it to her and himself. If she was mad at him for this decision, she was going to take it out on him along with the rest of her anger. Ben might as well start a tab.

His grievances were too strong right now. And his feelings were clouded, a little coked out to keep the thought of guns in his mouth and knives against his bones out.

"I'll need that address then."

A man named Mother's Milk had to practically muzzle Brooke to keep her hands to herself when they arrived at the Legend's house. She never liked that man. He always gave her the creeps. She couldn't tell if there was a reason for it or if it was just because he was a man. Nothing good ever came from people who called themselves Legends or Gods. That was why they were heroes, after all.

He still had his hands on her wrists when they walked into the older man's living room. Brooke steadied a glare on him, flexing her fingers, desperate to free herself. It wasn't impossible to quartz with them locked, it just usually ended up with stones and gems. Not a problem for jewelry companies. A problem for hostage situations.

"If you don't release me," she said through her gritted teeth, "I'm gonna fry your ballsack off."

The man laughed out loud, a sudden burst. Then, he clamped his mouth shut into the most serious face she thought she'd ever seen. Furious, even.

"Almost had you, M.M.," Billy Butcher said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Almost had you on our side again."

"Fuck you," M.M. spat, "and if you touch me again, she's gonna fry your ballsack off."