Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

Caroline had been sorely tempted to kill the imposter right there and then.

She hadn’t, of course.

A good assassin gathered information before striking. She needed to know where her brother was, and only then would she kill the imposter.

That was assuming Ian was still alive.

Her hands shook a little at that thought, and she set the glass down to hide the evidence of it. Caroline took deep, even breaths, closing her eyes.

Ian.

She didn’t know him, not anymore. For six years she had seen him once a month, from a distance, and that was the extent of their relationship. She didn’t know what he liked, or aspired to, or what kind of person he’d become, though just from what she’d observed, she would guess that he was neither a pleasant nor a happy one.

The thought of him being dead still cut like a knife.

Caroline calmly picked up her coffee again, hands steady, and watched the pretender with a sharp eye.

There were many reasons why someone might impersonate the young CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company. Money. Power. And all the things one could buy with that.

There weren’t many reasons to keep her brother alive after replacing him. Just one, really: information to perfect the mask. Assuming they hadn’t already perfected it.

Radiance’s objectives were clear.

She would find out who was replacing him and why.

Then she’d either find her brother and free him.

Or she’d find her brother gone, and then there would be a bloodbath.


***


At the conclusion of the monthly meeting Radiance watched him get into his car. He slammed the door with far more force than necessary. She dissolved into light and followed, materializing on rooftops near crossroads so she could follow his path, half-masking herself in light. Anyone who looked directly at her would be blinded – yet it also seemed to have a strange perception filter that made people think they caught the glare of the sun, even if the sun was occupying a different part of their sight entirely.

For obvious reason, this form of stealth was significantly less effective at night, so unlike many assassins, she operated during the day. It was also how she had earned her codename within the Order.

Radiance, the Day Killer.

It did not take her long to notice he was heading toward her old home. She gritted her teeth. She did not want to see that place, but now she’d have no choice. If whoever was behind this actually had the nerve to live there, she’d make their death painful.

Light shimmered as she materialized at the very edge of the property, hidden behind bushes she hoped were still there.

They were.

But they were no longer the elaborately styled statues they’d once been. Instead, they grew wild and uncontrolled.

She slowly turned to face the manor.

It was all overgrown, luscious plants escaping the confines of what had once been an orderly garden. The entire front of the mansion was covered with red curling vines, and there was something about them that made the entire estate look foreboding and eerie instead of grand and dignified.

Caroline did not approve.

More importantly, it worried her. Growth like this was the result of many years of neglect, and she was certain Ian would have maintained everything. Even as a child he insisted on everything looking neat and pretty. Sometimes, to Caroline’s horror at the time, he’d cleaned his own room. They had maids for that. Just how long ago had her brother been replaced?

Then she heard voices.

She flitted between the trees as a fine sparkling mist to the back of the house, and pressed herself against the wall, peering around the corner.

A guy in threadbare jeans was bent over the open hood of a rusty car, bits and pieces of what Caroline assumed to be the disassembled engine strewn around his feet. A blond woman wearing nothing but a bikini and sunglasses was leisurely draped over the driver’s seat, and her long legs swung over the closed car door.

She appeared to be sunbathing.

“…while trying to rob a bank vault.”

The man paused, turning his head, thereby showing Caroline his profile.

“And that ended with you living here instead of jail how?”

“Magical accident.”

“You two are suspiciously accident-prone. I’m starting to suspect you may not be telling me the whole truth.” His lips curved into a small smile, which transformed his face from gaunt into handsome.

“You must be psychic,” she said in awe, and he laughed, turning back to his work.

They fell silent at the sound of tires driving over gravel as the imposter’s car pulled up, having circled to the garage from the other side of the mansion. It came to a screeching halt in the middle of the driveway, the driver apparently raising his middle finger to the very concept of parking properly. The blond woman stretched and sat up as the car door opened and slammed, and then she hopped out as well, sauntering to meet the man wearing Ian’s face.

He roughly grabbed her jaw, drawing her in for a deep kiss.

Caroline saw his lips move, but his voice was too low for her to hear.

“Only one more,” responded the woman in a soothing voice. “Then you’ll be done with this body.” Caroline’s knuckles turned white. One more what? Day? Week? Month? Once they were done, they would definitely have no reason to keep her brother alive.

The man didn’t respond, so the blond woman smiled and tugged at his hand, leading him toward the house.

“Stephen, will you be all right on your own for a bit?”

“I’m an adult, Mistress,” responded the man still bent over the car engine, sounding distracted and completely absorbed in his work. “I think I’ll manage.”

The woman blew him a kiss, and then laughed as Not-Ian threw her over his shoulder and carried her into the house.

Caroline stood frozen, absorbing what little information she’d gleaned.

Only one more.

So she was working with a time limit, and she had no idea how long it was. Her plan for thorough recon went out the window. She needed to act fast.

Her gaze lingered on the lone man now utterly absorbed in repairing the car. He’d called the blond woman Mistress, which likely made him a henchman of some sort. Not Caroline’s first choice – minions were so rarely fully informed of the plans of their superiors – but it would have to do. If nothing else, it should make him easy to break and interrogate.

She materialized behind him, her arms swiftly closing around his throat in a Hadaka Jime hold.

The man went rigid, but then proved to be no stranger to battle. Instead of uselessly clawing at the arm choking him, as most people did, he instantly shifted his weight to unbalance her. Then he kicked behind himself, aiming for her shinbone.

Cute.

Her fingers found the nerve in his neck she was looking for and pinched.

His body went limp.


***


PsyKick woke up strapped to a gurney.

Not again.

He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. Waking up to this had been a common occurrence for the last three years, but he thought he’d finally moved past that. He struggled to recall his last memory.

Had he had an episode…?

No, no, he hadn’t attacked anyone in so long, he was getting better. He wouldn’t betray Mistress’ trust like this.

Except he’d been backsliding into calling her his Mistress.

Diane. He would never disappoint Diane like this.

“Finally.”

PsyKick grew still at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. It was little more than a whisper, but he could still discern that the speaker was female. He turned his head as far as the restraints would allow.

A woman stepped into view, a gold-rimmed hood drawn over her face and her mouth and nose hidden beneath a veil. She wore something akin to a white trenchcoat rimmed with gold, the only splash of color a red sun emblazoned on her belt. He briefly saw the flash of metal strapped to her thigh, but then the long flowing garment concealed it.

Not that she was trying to hide that she was armed. No, she was suggestively twirling a curved dagger, the blade glittering in the dim light.

“Let’s talk.”

And with a start, PsyKick realized that he’d been kidnapped.

He laughed in relief.

The woman paused, clearly not having expected that reaction.

PsyKick smiled at her.

There was a villain apparently intent on cutting him to pieces.

And he didn’t feel the urge to do what she said at all.

“Let’s not,” he said, relishing his defiance. It would likely cost him later, but at the moment, he was just giddy to have confirmation that, yes, he really was getting better.

A sharp pain spread through his cheek, and he blinked, looking to the side out of the corner of his eyes. She’d thrown the dagger so fast he hadn’t even seen her move, and now the blade was imbedded just an inch from his face, having lightly grazed his skin.

She casually pulled it out, her pale eyes meeting his gaze.

“Do you think you have a choice?”

The stinging pain burned like pleasure at her words, the two forever entwined for him, and he closed his eyes in misery. There was his temporarily missing insanity. Was he now forever doomed to being attracted to morally questionable women?

He opened his eyes, blinking slowly.

PsyKick would not give up on his new defiance so quickly after finally having found it just because the pleasure center of his brain was a tasteless imbecile.

His smile widened.

“Lady, I have been through three years of hell. Do your worst.”