Welcome back to Warden City, Besties.

If you need a quick refresher: After being captured by Axis, Bombshell was taken to the Crimson Circle’s human-cargo boat. Donovan and Luna tried to infiltrate Matteo La Falce’s club with no name, thinking the heroine was being held prisoner there. This led to Luna being taken captive, and Donovan receiving a [planned] beating at the hands of La Falce. Meanwhile, Vic Walker had located the boat Bombshell was being held on and rescued her. Or rather, he started to, as Bombshell and Vic would have to fight Axis and Rost to escape, and while Bombshell was able to defeat the ravishing Russian…Vic took a brutal beating from Rost that nearly cost him his life. However, Bombshell still forced Rost into retreat, allowing her to expose the trafficking operation, free the victims awaiting transit, and get Vic to a hospital… After this, Donovan found her at the side of Vic’s hospital bed and informed her about Luna’s peril. And so now, we rejoin Bombshell on the war path, hellbent on rescuing her friend and bringing the Crimson Circle to an end in the process…

If you already know you can’t wait to buy the full 49 chapter ebook, featuring the exclusive 6 chapter Villain Ending…it’s waiting for you here:

I have never felt more nervous, or more proud, or more anxious, or more eager, or more hesitant, or more thoroughly conflicted, or more completely relieved, or so tit’s out unbelievably excited to be releasing a project. I think I’m beyond the point where I even know what to say about it…so, I’m just going to say that I hope you enjoy it, and… Let’s begin…

Chapter One

The club with no name had been a movie theater at one time. Now the large brick building was painted entirely black. The ornate marquis still held a certain antique austerity, although now it was highlighted by red neon lighting, giving the place an almost neo-gothic aesthetic. Even turned off, the glass glinted in the mid-morning sun. Though the most foreboding aspect, was the giant crimson circle emblazoned at the center of the architecture.

Two men were standing in the shade of that marquis, watching the morning traffic. They usually worked nights as bouncers, but today found themselves squinting in the unfamiliarity of the sunlight.

“Can’t believe they got us working all day now,” BH said, adjusting his round glasses. He was a short, balding man, wearing all black.

Tweeker crossed his arms and let out a grunt in agreement. He was tall and muscular, if a bit lanky, with spiked orange hair.

“Boss seem worked up about something to you?” BH went on. “I could tell his ruskie security boys are all on edge, but they ain’t sayin’ why.”

Another grunt of agreement.

“Doesn’t seem to be as many of ‘em as usual either. S’pose somethin’ went down last night but I dunno what. You know me, I just keep my eyes on the IDs and my nose out o’ the other business goin’ on ‘round here…”

Tweeker gave a stern nod.

“Hear about that shit out on the river though?”

A noncommittal grunt.

“Cops raided some boat, or somethin’. Nobody’s saying what they found, but…” he lowered his voice conspiratorially, “but we get recruited to stay on an’ bounce an empty club all morning the same day…seems too coincidental to me.”

Tweeker nodded again, his beady eyes scanning the street in front of them.

Neither man ever saw her coming.

Bombshell swooped down out of the sky and crashed into Tweeker like a torpedo-strike! He let out a shocked squeak, launching backwards, slamming through the metal doors of the club with enough force to knock one off its hinges.

“Holee shee-it!” BH cried out.

The superheroine landed right in front of him, shining blonde hair swirling around her head as she spun towards him. Her face was partially concealed by a blue mask, behind which green eyes blazed in fury.

The rest of her sleek figure was wrapped in a skintight blue leotard, with purple streaks highlighting her curvy sides, and a circular cutout showing off more cleavage than he might have expected. Her clenched fists were clad in matching gloves that came up to her elbows. One of which hammered across his jaw with more force than her slim female frame should have been able to generate, and BH’s head snapped to the side as his lights went out in a flash.

Bombshell (aka Miranda Ashton) watched the pudgy man crumple, already snoring before his face hit the concrete.

Looks like they’re expecting me, she thought, a trill running up her spine. The last time they expected me, I ended up captured by that psycho bitch, Axis… I’m not even at full power this time.

She touched the powerbelt fastened around her slender waist. It was white and silver, and had a ring of LEDs that were currently glowing orange (meaning her power levels were only at thirty, maybe thirty-five percent).

Guess I shouldn’t be surprised, it’s literally only been a few hours since I raided and exposed their secret boat out on the river…

Turning towards the now gaping doorway, she could feel it too. Under the Nandex supersuit, her body was tired. In addition to her identity that blue mask was concealing dark rings under her green eyes.

Ready or not, she steeled herself; they’ve got Luna in there and if I have to, I’ll tear the goddam foundation out from under this place with my bare hands to get her back!

Luna Gatsby, her confidant, technical support wiz, and best friend, had been captured by the Crimson Circle in an ill-advised recue attempt while Miranda herself had been their prisoner. The club with no name was, presumably, the last refuge of the criminal organization…at least as far as Miranda knew.

She proceeded inside, high heels clicking the concrete. She was wearing a pair of blue, calf-length boots that left her long, slim legs mostly bare. They were an older pair as the purple thigh-highs which she’d been favoring lately, had been lost in the previous night’s skirmish.

I think I remember these two from the first night I came here, she thought glancing at Tweeker’s unconscious body as she moved into the darkened hallway beyond the broken entry way. They’re just bouncers, not the trained mercenaries I’m used to the Crimson Circle employing… Maybe that means Rost and his goons are short-handed after losing the men at their boat…that could be good! She was quick to check her excitement though. Still, even if it’s only Rost, Axis and La Falce left inside, any one of them could be more than enough trouble, much less…

Two more guards were lurking not far into the building. They moved out of the shadows, standing shoulder to shoulder, blocking the narrow hallway. These were the more professional mercenaries, both holding red-painted machine guns.

Miranda pulled up short and planted both hands on her slender hips, looking from one to the other. “You know, all you black-shirt, stoic tough-guys are starting to look the same to me.”

They scowled and raised their weapons in unison.

“Don’t you know I’m bullet-proof?” Bombshell sighed.

“You come quietly,” one of them barked in a thick Russian accent, “or we test this claim.”

“Alright then,” Miranda raised her hands, palms out.

One of the men moved forward cautiously, the other kept his weapon trained on the heroine. When the first reached out for her, she sprang into motion, grabbing the barrel of his gun and placing her free hand on his chest. She fired off a repulsor burst that flung the man backwards off his feet.

The other opened fire, but Miranda was already charging forward. Bullets ripped into the walls just behind her, as she gripped the gun in her hand like a baseball bat and swung it right into the face of that other guard. He stumbled backwards, blood gushing from his nose, the hot tip of his own weapon drooping. Before he could recover, she whirled into a high spin-kick that took the man off his feet and left him slumped on the floor.

The first was groaning and struggling back to his feet. Miranda didn’t give him the chance. She rushed over and punted him in the face, leaving him prone and unconscious. Watching to make sure he didn’t move again, she ripped the clip out of the gun she was holding, then tossed both pieces away down the hall.

She turned and headed deeper into the club with no name. The hallway was short and led out into the club itself, which was now completely dark. There was just enough light coming from the busted entryway at the end of the hall for her to make out the dance floor in the center, and the bar on the far side of it. On her side was a section of cocktail tables and booths. She couldn’t quite make those out, but remembered they were there. Beyond them would be the VIP section, and the stairs leading up to La Falce’s private office.

Is that where they’ll be keeping Luna? She wondered, or somewhere below, maybe the red ring…

As she scanned the club, she caught some movement further in. There was a small stage at the end of the dance floor, it looked like someone was trying to hide in amongst the DJ equipment. It was so hard to make out anything specifically, merely dark shapes shifting in the darkness.

More guards? She wondered, moving forward cautiously and trying to will her eyes to adjust. Great, the LEDs on my belt make me a perfect target in the dark…the Nandex should repel their bullets but I don’t wanna test how many or for how long at only a third of my max power…

“Fuck it, I didn’t come here for subtly,” she murmured out loud. “I see you!” The heroine strode out onto the dance floor, her heels thumping boldly on the finely polished flooring. “Why don’t you show yourself and deal with me head on!”

“Ah yes, cara mia, we have had our ‘head on’ dealings before, have we not?”

“La Falce,” Miranda growled, recognizing the thick Italian accent. “You know why I’m here.”

“Oh, si, si,” he smarmed. “You must be here to avenge the beating I gave that piece of shit brother of yours…”

“Brother-in-law,” she corrected, “and no, not exactly, although you’re gonna pay for that too-”

“I must admit it was so satisfying to see him finally taken down a peg,” La Falce continued, still concealed in the darkness and DJ equipment. “The way my men pounded on him, the crack of my own knuckles against his smug face, oh si, si…”

Miranda winced. She’d seen Donovan after the beating, had actually never seen him look so bad, but there was a more pressing matter.

“I’m here for Luna! Turn her over now!”

“Just like your brother,” La Falce chuckled, “you come into my house making demands…you Ashtons truly believe you own this entire world, no?”

“No!” Miranda declared. “Well, yes, they do…but I don’t care about that. I’m here for my friend, and all the women you’re holding here. The Crimson Circle ends now!”

“I do believe you believe that, cara mia, but allow me to, as you say, shed some light on the situation.”

Suddenly all the stage and dance floor lighting flared on. Miranda winced at first, shielding her eyes, but then she thought better of letting him distract her. La Falce was too clever, so she tried her best to look through the flashing lights and figure out what he was really up to.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, La Falce,” she shouted, “but it’s not going to work!”

Even with the lightshow dazzling her, Miranda could just make out the Italian, still amidst the DJ equipment. He picked something up and she braced for an attack or the next phase of this trick.

“Oh, come now, cara mia,” his voice came through the speakers now, rich, deep and loud. “It was so dark, surely you appreciate these beautiful lights.”

Miranda nodded without realizing it. Her attention was focused on trying to discern what La Falce was up to on the other side of those lights… lights that shimmered and spun. Colorful lasers that lanced into her eyes. Strobes that pulsed blinding white…and at a disorienting rhythm, as if each flash seemed to interrupt her thoughts.

“Why don’t you shut these tacky disco lights off and face me like a man!” Miranda shouted.

“Tacky?” he balked. “No, no…look closer…much closer…they are quite beautiful…”

“No…they’re…they’re not…” Miranda said, backing away. Somehow those lights seemed to be getting closer…or probably just brighter…? Either way they were making her vision go bleary. She blinked trying to clear her eyes, then again and again, but each time her eyes opened a little wider after, a little rounder.

“Oh, si, si, now cara mia, look very closely, let the beautiful lights flow into you…” His voice resonated through her now and Miranda quivered inside. “You cannot even look away from the lights they are so beautiful…”

“Beautiful…” she echoed, then shook her head defiantly, “No! No they’re tacky,” although she couldn’t pull her gaze away from them. “…cheap and tacky…”

“And yet, you cannot look away…cannot stop them from captivating you…”

The glimmering brilliance filled her vision until it was the only thing Miranda could see. Until she was captivated by them.

“How- how are you doing this?” she gasped, even though she knew the answer. It’s just like his hypnostick…Oh no! He must have found some way to rig it into the lighting…I can’t let him hypnotize me, not again! Not now, Luna needs me!

“No, cara mia, do not clutter your pretty head with such questions,”

On his command the lights spun around her and Miranda felt instantly dizzy. It grew harder to focus, harder to think. Dread seeped through her brain, although it was already hard to know why. She felt she needed to run but all she could get her body to do was take another step backwards.

“No, stay,” commanded the voice in her ears, in her head. “The fun is just beginning…”

“I like fun,” Miranda mumbled, then, “no…I don’t, I won’t…won’t let you…”

“But you cannot stop it. Already the lights are pulling you in… pulling you deeper…”

Miranda felt the pull, drawing her forward and she couldn’t resist, now taking a step towards the lights. Their brilliance dazzled her, enveloped her.

He’s hypnotizing me, her mind felt heavy, sluggish. I thought I’d have more warning, time to resist…time to…time to- A flashing strobe struck like a repeated blow, resetting the thought with each flash. Time to- time to- time to…

“Let your weak little mind go blank… Focus only on the lights… Think only about how beautiful they are…”

“How beautiful,” Miranda echoed obediently.

The spinning colors became radiant flowers, lush and vibrant. Beams of light sliced between them as if cutting the threads that connected her mind to her body.

“Let the beautiful light wash over you and through you… and let them pull you down down down…into a deep and wonderful trance…”

And now the lights swirled into a spinning, spiraling whirlpool.

Instinctively Miranda tried to pull herself back from the brink. It was too hard to think, to know, but she felt a desperate urge, a need to resist.

Her pretty green eyes were wide and round staring unblinking into the entrancing light. Her body wouldn’t move, neither to run nor to attack…but her mind managed to claw back from the edge of that whirlpool, the edge of that trance…just enough…

“N-nuuhh… no…” Miranda gasped.

“Si, si!” La Falce insisted. “Let go of your weak little mind and surrender your will to me!”

The command wrenched through her, yanking at her tenuous will to resist. The lights seemed to flare, piercing her mind even deeper, the whirlpool pulled even stronger.

Luna needs me. A single thought so laden with desperation that it cut through the noise and light.

“I won’t s-sur- surrender to you…” Miranda hissed.

“Of course you will,” La Falce snorted. “Your pitiful resistance is already breaking, now remove your silly little belt and kneel where you are!”

The command thrummed through Miranda bending her will almost painfully. She reached for the buckle of her powerbelt, but her hands stopped short of disconnecting it. Miranda forced herself to think, hard as it was with the light flaring and spinning through her head. One step at a time, one finger, one hand, one arm. She drew on what will power she had left, on that one powerful thought: Luna needs me.

Now she lifted one hand towards the stage, towards the spinning swirling lights….they really are so beautiful…

“Wait, what are you doing? Put your hand down!”

But Miranda was no longer heeding his command and she fired off a repulsor burst. The wave of magnetic force blasted away the lights on one side of the stage, breaking the dazzling hypnotic display.

La Falce swore as his entire DJ setup toppled! Cords were yanked by the blast, lights fell, the control panel and table crashed to the floor.

Miranda staggered as if some tether had been holding her in place, and was suddenly cut. She blinked for the first time in…however long she’d been falling into trance… Her mind still felt foggy, but it was hers again.

The lighting in the bar was crazy now. A few of the fallen lasers were shining straight up at the ceiling. Most of the lights had broken or blown out but some of the colors were twitching as they tried to keep spinning, a few strobes still flickered.

Miranda blinked again, she could see the Italian. His dark figure struggling back to his feet amongst the wreck of equipment.

“Your mind games are over, La Falce,” she gasped, combing back her blonde hair with both hands as her head began to clear. “Now tell me where Luna is, last chance!”

Then as if on cue, all the lights winked out. It wasn’t just the DJ rig though. The entire building lapsed into a perfect, eerie silence as all the thrum and buzz of electronics ceased entirely. For a split second the only light was from the orange glow of the LEDs on her powerbelt, then emergency lighting winked on at the corners and exits of the club with no name.

It took the Italian a moment to realize what was happening. Miranda could see him, crouched and glancing around in confusion.

“Che cavolo?” he grunted.

She smiled in the dim white light. “I had Donovan use some of that billion-dollar Ashton influence to have the power cut to this place. I didn’t want to get caught in your ‘red ring’ or some other hypnotic trap…apparently the timing was a bit off, but y’know, better late than never.”

“How very clever,” La Falce sneered. With a growl, he shoved and kicked the wreckage aside, moving towards the front of the stage and hoping down onto the dance floor to face her. “Ever since I have learned these methods of hypnosis, I will admit it has made my job almost too easy.” His crimson vest and tie stood out even in the dim lighting, as did the snarl on his finely bearded face. “I can’t deny that I still relish the opportunity when I can do a bit of real work.” He reached back, drawing out one of the curved, black blades he kept strapped across his back.

Bombshell would not be intimidated. She placed both hands on her hips and thrust out her buxom chest, cleavage heaving under the boob-window.

“It’s over La Falce,” she declared, her voice taking on a slight boom. “I’m going to tear this club up by the foundation and send you off to jail, your only choice at this point is how many bruises you take with you.”

“Signore Rost wants you in one piece,” La Falce hissed, unsheathing his second blade, “do not make me cut you up too badly, eh?”

“Don’t worry, your blades won’t touch me.”

With that he let out a roar and charged across the dance floor, blades poised, his angry gaze focused.

Miranda kicked into flight, meeting the assassin head on! He dodged to one side, slicing at her curved flank. She had seen those cruel blades cut through solid concrete like butter…but she didn’t have to fear them. They were metal and so could not pierce her magnetic shielding.

She wheeled into a high, roundhouse kick, one gorgeous leg extended. La Falce ducked that easily, but did not expect Miranda to continue the momentum, spinning gracefully to catch him with a punch, reinforced by the Nandex gloves amplifying her kinetic energy.

He was knocked back with a grunt, but kept his head, swiping at her with one of the blades. Now the heroine ducked, then lunged forward, catching him under the chin with a reinforced uppercut powerful enough to lift him off his feet, and send him sprawling backwards.

La Falce hit the floor with a groan, one of the blades clattering out of his hand. He rolled to his feet quickly and came up still holding the other blade. He had been knocked clear off the dance floor, now backing up through the lounge area.

Bombshell marched towards him, weaving through the booths and cocktail tables sitting empty around them.

“You fight well for a billion-dollar bimbo,” he hissed.

“I grew up in a Capital City trailer park,” she said without slowing her advance. “You didn’t get out of there without learning how to throw a punch, and take one. Then, when I started dancing, it seemed prudent to have some actual self-defense training. Then I married a man who’s family owned and operated a private military corporation.”

“You do not expect me to believe that the Ashton men would allow their trophy wives to have combat training.”

“Of course not, but the men were expected to have it. And my Warren was different, so when I wanted to tag along and train with him, he didn’t seem to mind.”

…in fact, I think it kind of turned him on.

As Miranda was explaining her combat training, La Falce took the momentary distraction to grab and heave one of the cocktail tables at her.

She got her arms up to take the brunt of it, the wooden table immune to her magnetic defenses. The force staggered her and allowed her adversary to come in quick, catching her in the stomach with a brutal kick. The air burst from her lungs with a shrill yelp. Her magnetic shielding also provided no protection against the flesh and bone leg…or the fist which La Falce slammed across her jaw next.

Miranda gasped out in pain, her head snapping to the side as the force of the blow dropped her to the floor.

“Stupida stronza!” La Falce snarled, snagging a handful of blonde hair and yanking her up on her knees.

Miranda wheezed, her lungs burning, jaw aching, as he brought that black blade under her chin. He ran it back and forth along her throat, as if testing the magnetic field. Miranda gulped a breath, confident it wouldn’t touch her soft flesh but still feeling the killer edge.

“You put too much confidence in your technological powers,” he growled in her ear and wrenched her hair, drawing a strained grunt. “Especially when they can be so easily turned off…” Still gripping the blade, he reached down towards the buckle of her powerbelt.

“No!” Miranda jammed her elbow back into his gut. On her knees with little leverage, it wasn’t a powerful blow but enough to distract him from removing her belt.

“Stronza!” he snarled again and shoved her face down on the floor, then tried to punt her in the ribs.

Miranda accepted the blow, catching his leg in both arms. La Falce growled in surprise, trying to jerk free. Miranda lunged forward, sweeping the other leg out from under him as well.

The assassin hit the ground with a groan, and she scrambled on top. Miranda planted one knee on his chest, pinning him down with all her weight. Unfortunately, all  her weight wasn’t all that substantial, and La Falce bucked her off easily.

He sprang to his feet with a hoarse, mirthless laugh. “Perhaps I am beginning to see why Rost wants you alive…”

Bombshell rolled through to her knees, then spun back towards him, firing a repulsor burst!

La Falce dove out of the way – but still got clipped by the force of the magnetic pulse. He cartwheeled out of control, crashing through several of the cocktail tables with a painful outcry.

Bombshell stood, already charging another blast, and stalked towards the Italian. He was laying amidst some toppled tables, trying to regain his bearings. As she approached, his now dazed eyes moved from her blue high-heeled boots, up her long bare legs, along the subtle curves of her Nandex clad figure, to her face, grim-set and beautiful behind that blue mask. It might have been the first time he saw the superheroine, rather than a billionaire bimbo…

“Futtuta puttana…” he grunted.

“Isn’t it funny how a woman can understand being called ‘bitch’ in any language?”

He lunged for the blade which had been dropped in the tumble.

Bombshell thrust out both arms, blasting him with double barreled repulsor bursts that sent him crashing through the ruined tables, and left him sprawled, unconscious and buried beneath a heap of broken wood and bent chrome in the middle of his own dance floor.

Chapter Two

Miranda turned away from the defeated assassin, tossing her blonde hair and combing out the tangles with her fingers.

Axis and Rost must not be here, she thought, or surely they would have joined the fight. She was climbing the steps to the VIP lounge. It’s probably not a good sign that La Falce was the only member of the Crimson Circle waiting for me though.

She walked quickly back through the VIP section, passing the stairwell which led up to La Falce’s office and private lounge. Instead, she headed further back, recalling how Luna had told her about the location of a secret elevator. It went down to that level of hypnotic sex dungeons they called the Red Ring. There was a hidden hallway at the back of the VIP section, which led to a reception desk and next to that was the elevator.

It was even darker here, the only light provided by the orange glow of the LEDs on her powerbelt. Orange, already darkening towards red, indicating her dwindling power reserves.

She found the elevator doors next to a service counter, which reminded her that this place was a business. Warden City’s elite came here, paying for access to the Red Ring, to do whatever depraved things they wanted with hypnotized sex slaves. Her stomach churned at the thought.

And even after I shut this place down, if I buried the entire Crimson Circle beneath it…those other monsters are still out there. Bombshell’s got a lot of work to do in Warden City. But she put that out of her mind, focusing on the more pressing matter, Luna needed her.

Miranda went to the elevator and forced the doors open using her tactile magnesis, which allowed her to control and manipulate any metal she touched. The shaft beyond extended down, down, down into seeming utter darkness.

Ice crept up Miranda’s spine, and she touched her powerbelt. Do I even have the power to take on Axis and Rost if they’re down there? In the dark? She stepped into the shaft, levitating and then slowly descending into the darkness. If Luna’s down there…it doesn’t matter. I have to find a way.

The first level down, she paused, hovering to force open that set of doors. The meager light from her belt illuminated a hallway that seemed to curve off in both directions. A sickly sweet scent hung in the air, just a whiff instantly seemed to make Miranda lightheaded, and sent a warm tingle down her sides.

This must be it, the red ring, Miranda thought. Luna said she thought there was some kind of aphrodisiac vented through the air on this level.

The shaft went further down. And with her eyes adjusting to the darkness, there actually seemed to be some light coming from below. Clenching her teeth, Miranda continued floating down another level, this time reaching the bottom of the shaft.

There was a thin line of light seeping through the cracks of the doors at this level. She forced them open and light spilled through, pushing the darkness back and stabbing into her eyes.

Miranda tensed for an attack, and willed her vision to adjust as quickly as possible. No attack came. She stepped out of the shaft, and found this level was fully lit. It must have had its own generator.

It was a simple, straight hallway extending out from where the elevator was located. The floor and the walls were concrete, harsh and gray. It was lined on either side with metal doors, before dead-ending at a final one. Each door had a slotted look-through at about eye level, and was distinguished only by a stenciled number beneath that: 1, 2, 3, and on… Except for the door at the end, which had a red circle painted on it.

As Miranda started down the hall, she shuddered to think of the people who must have been held within these chambers. She approached the first, that heavy metal door slightly ajar. She pushed it open to reveal a flat cement box. There was one light in the center of the ceiling, and dingy bedrolls on the floor, rumpled and pushed up against the walls.

…Not chambers, she realized, stomach clenching. Cells.

Now her blood began to boil at the thought of Luna being kept in one of those awful rooms. Even just for the relatively few hours since she would have been taken prisoner.

Mirand turned to the next door, it was shut. She marched forward bracing both hands against the metal slab and forced it open. There was a shriek from within, and even the angry superheroine jumped at the sound of it.

There was a young woman, naked and crouched in the corner of the cell, now pushing herself further back into the crevice. Her eyes were wide with terror.

“Oh, hey, sorry,” Miranda said, stepping further into the room. “I didn’t think…are- are you okay?”

The woman regarded her nervously, “who…are you?”

“I am…” Miranda frowned, squatting down and reached out towards the woman, “I’m- I’m here to help.”

“Help?”

“Yes, I’m getting you out of here. Are there others down here still?”

The woman only shrugged, hugging her narrow shoulders.

“It’s okay,” Miranda straightened. “I’ll check, you wait here?” She started back towards the hallway.

The young woman let out a fearful and indecisive whimper as Miranda began to leave. Miranda stopped, turning back.

“Don’t worry,” she said, then grabbed the heavy metal door and, using her tactile magnesis, ripped it off the hinges. She dropped it onto the floor with a resounding CLANG. “These doors will never lock again. I swear.”

The young woman still didn’t speak, but her expression was beginning to change from terror, to awe.

“I’ll be right back, and then we’ll get out of here,” Miranda gave her a determined nod, then headed back into the hallway.

There were eight cells along the corridor. Miranda went to each of them now, tearing the doors off the walls so they could not be used again. She’d already checked cells 1 and 2, finding the prisoner still in 1. Two more frightened women were in 4. 5 held a thin young man with his hands tied. One of the other women offered to untie him while Bombshell moved on. 6 was empty, but 7 held another person. She was alert enough to join rest of the group on her own, they were now hurrying back towards the elevator.

There was nobody in cell number 8, but Miranda found a wad of silver sequins on the floor. Something about it pinged her women’s intuition and she bent down to pick it up. As she lifted it, the sequined material unfurled into a skimpy sheath dress…and dropped something to the floor with a glass chink. It was a pair of glasses. Large, round framed glasses.

Luna’s glasses.

Miranda gripped them tightly, her stomach churning. Of course, she couldn’t be sure they belonged to Luna, surely other people wore this style of glasses, but also… she was absolutely certain they belonged to Luna.

Miranda straightened, storming out of that cell and turning towards the last doorway, the dead-end, the one marked with a crimson circle. She blasted it open with a repulsor burst!

This final chamber was circular, with a dais in the center painted red. There were cameras mounted on the wall, high up and ringing the room to look down on that raised red stage. Miranda walked to that crimson circle, stepping up onto what she now realized was the auction block. Her heart raced, her blood searing through her veins, she looked around at the cameras, imagining the scum watching from the other end. Watching the victims and prisoners paraded on this dais. Appraising them like live-stock. Bidding on them like…like…

“I had hoped to have you on that very spot one day.” A voice suddenly crackled over a speaker.

Miranda glared around, having half expected as much. She recognized the voice immediately. “Rost.”

“What a magnificent price you’d have fetched. As an Ashton or a superheroine.”

She noted a red light flickering on one of the cameras and now turned to face it directly. “Looks like I’m the one setting the prices now,” she said, “and I’ll make you a deal. Release Luna, immediately. And as long as you haven’t harmed a single hair on her head, I’ll allow you and Axis to turn yourselves in to the proper authorities without the righteous fucking beatings you deserve.”

Rost’s chuckle rolled through the room, not unlike thunder, “A fair bargain to be sure, and yet…one I must decline.”

“Good,” Miranda spat. “I swear Rost, I will hunt you and Axis to the ends of the Earth to get Luna back.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” he replied, “but fear not. I won’t make you go that far. My plans end right here in Warden City.”

“You bet they do,” she snapped back. “I sunk your ship, I’m shutting down your club…and soon, very fucking soon, I will make you pay for every person you’ve imprisoned, every life you’ve stolen!”

“Oh, hero girl, before I’m done I’ll have racked up a much larger bill.”

“Because you plan to destroy the whole city? Well, I won’t let you do that either, you’ve hit your credit limit, scumbag.”

“Ah, the new American dream,” Rost said, his tone almost jovial, yet caustic, “a life of crushing debt.”

“Ugh, I’m sick of this metaphor,” Miranda groaned. “People aren’t commodities, you can’t repay what you’ve taken but you will answer for it.” She lifted one hand towards the camera with that red blinking light. “I’m coming for you, Rost.”

She was answered with another thunder-roll of laughter before blasting the camera to bits with a repulsor burst.

Chapter Three

Rost was still chuckling as the screen cut out. He could feel blood rushing to his cock, warm and swelling. Beautiful, fiery, heroic, she was so much more than the billionaire-trophy-wife he’d originally taken her for. She was the heroine he hoped for, the all American dream girl he’d once imagined for himself. Once.

“Determined little bitch, ain’t she,” Patton grunted.

Rost’s smile faded almost instantly, and he shut the laptop, from which he’d been controlling the camera.

“That she is,” Rost looked at him, storm grey eyes narrowing slightly. “Heroines are always defiant…until they’re not.”

Until he broke them. He thought of Axis and wondered if Bombshell would be harder or easier to break. Wondered which he’d prefer.

“You’d know about that.” Now it was Patton who chuckled.

He almost made Rost sick to look at, kicked back, with his riding boots resting on top of the desk between them. Patton was a bear of a man, with a rotund belly and beefy, but solid, arms. His salt and pepper beard was short and thick, but his head was bald and covered in flame tattoos. He was wearing a black tee shirt under a blood red Marauders’ vest. There was a patch on the front which read: PRESIDENT.

They’d been close once. Still were, Rost supposed, all things considered. But the rotund, aging outlaw was a far cry from the man Rost had known. Of course, Patton would likely say the same about the bona fide supervillain standing before him in the cramped little office.

Rost’s worn-out black trench coat was folded, laying across the desk, leaving his broad shoulders and muscular chest perfectly defined in a black spandex shirt. Made gaudy by the bright crimson circle emblazoned over his carved pecs. He wore a black gun belt around his waist and below that, red camo fatigues with black combat boots. His head and features looked as angular and sturdy as if they’d been carved from granite, topped with neatly cropped silver hair.

As if growing uncomfortable under Rost’s glare, Patton broke the silence, “Guess that means the eyetie’ll be coolin’ his heels with the rest o’ the boys, time bein’.”

“He’s aware of the plan,” Rost said, rising from behind the desk. “He knew the risks.”

As big as Patton was, Rost still seemed to fill up the room. It wasn’t just his imposing frame, his posture, his bearing, his presence, were all palpable, and overbearing.

“Guess we all do,” was all Patton could say.

Rost nodded, stalking across the office to where there was a window looking out on the finishing floor. There he could see Axis standing guard over their chubby brunette prisoner. She was naked, tied to a chair, her head hung in exhaustion.

“I will admit,” Rost began, “Bombshell took down La Falce quicker than I’d anticipated. I suspect things will begin moving very quickly now.”

“Alright, so we got what three days to your delivery, right?”

Rost only gave a terse nod.

“We jus’ sittin’ tight till then?”

“Not quite,” Rost replied. “There is work to do, lose ends to tie up.”

Patton frowned. He didn’t think Rost saw it, but Rost didn’t miss anything. A tightening of the brow, a small twitch of the lips. Pity. Weakness. Humanity. It was good, Rost supposed.

“This about what that bounty hunter said to you?”

“Yes,” Rost answered tersely.

The bounty hunter. The heroine’s knight in shinning kelvar. He’d stood boldly, but had broken so easily…and yet, with four words;“Sgt. Jack Clayton, right?” he had done so much damage. Potential damage. Did she know? Had he told her? Didn’t seem that way, she hadn’t said those words, only he had. The bounty hunter. And there was only one place he could have heard them.

Patton cleared his throat, “Well, you know how the Marauders feel about rats. Sure you don’t want me to take care of it?  Or one of my boys.”

“No. I’ll handle that personally. I need you to go and get the journalist, so-called.”

Chapter Four

“Watch your step, come on up,” said the EMT, extending a hand to the young woman. She was wearing a badly over-sized black tee shirt now.

Bombshell had taken it off one of the still-unconscious mercenaries she’d and given it to the woman. She’d taken shirts for a couple of the other former prisoners as well. The rest were wrapped in towels and waiting in ambulances.

Those mercenaries and bouncers were currently being loaded into police cars. Warden City PD had arrived at the club with no name just as the heroine was getting the freed prisoners back to the upper level, and out into the daylight.

The young woman took the EMT’s hand hesitantly, stepping up into the ambulance with Bombshell bracing her other arm.

“Easy, there ya go,” the heroine said. “You’re safe now just like I promised.”

The woman gave her a hollow-eyed glance, with a nod that might have been appreciative.

As safe as any of us are in this screwed up world, I guess, Miranda thought, returning a nod that was meant to be encouraging.

A gruff voice barked from behind her now, “And I assume you’re wanting some kinda ‘thank you’ or medal of honor…”

Miranda turned to find one of the officers standing uncomfortably close to her. He was a short, wiry man with a thin brown mustache and a matching horseshoe of hair.

“Should I call the goddam press?” he grumbled.

“I just want to make sure that everyone’s safe,” the heroine replied, catching sight of Matteo La Falce, “and that you keep an extra close eye on that one.”

The Italian had both hands cuffed behind his back and was being stuffed into a squad car by two uniformed officers. He was glaring straight back at her.

“Matteo La Falce, he’s especially danger-” she began.

“Think I don’t know that!” barked the cop, following her gaze. “I been a captain round here goin’ on eight years, and an officer the eight before that. I didn’t need no ginger vigilante doin’ my job before, and I don’t need you tellin’ me how to do it now, got that?”

Miranda rolled her pretty green eyes, “I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job, Captain. I just want to make sure he can’t hurt anyone else.”

“Well that is my job now isn’t it, missy?” he grumped. “And the only reason I’m not running you in with ‘im…” he stuck a stubby finger in her face and let the threat hang for a moment, “is cause the chief hisself gave direct orders to cooperate with you on this.”

“How lucky for us both,” Miranda sighed, to which he scoffed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there are two more members of the Crimson Circle for us to cooperate on catching.” She stepped back from the man and lifted into the air. “I’ll see you there?”

She soared away into the sky before he could respond.

Chapter Five

It was a short flight. Miranda was only a few blocks away from the club with no name when she swooped down into an alley. Her energy stores had been all but depleted by multiple trips up and down that elevator shaft. The suit could only manage carrying the extra weight of one prisoner at a time.

There was a sleek yellow sports car waiting for her. As her blue heels skidded to a landing on the asphalt next to it, Donovan jumped out of the driver’s seat.

“There you are,” he said, relief showing in his tense blue eyes. “Are you okay?”

Miranda almost winced at the sight of him. In addition to the bruises marring one side of his handsome face, he was dressed uncharacteristically plain in black slacks, with a powder blue button up, untucked. No tie, no vest. His arm was no longer in a sling, but it was tucked close and awkward against his side. His dark hair was done but not as meticulously styled as usual.

“They were expecting me,” she sighed, flipping a switch on her belt to power down. The LEDs, glowing deep red now, blinked off. “Of course, he was expecting me,” she muttered.

“La Falce?”

She glanced up, “Rost.”

“It does make sense,” Donovan said. “You did take down and expose their cargo boat, just last night. They are probably scrambling to get out of the heat…No Luna though?”

Miranda frowned and shook her head, “She wasn’t there, it was only La Falce and a few goons…”

“And some other prisoners it sounds like…” He moved to the back of the car, popping open the trunk.

Miranda looked up at him, cocking her head. “Sounds like?”

“I was listening to the police scanner.”

Miranda nodded, then fished out the round framed glasses which she had tucked under her powerbelt. “She was there, Donovan,” Miranda said, showing them to him, “in the cells beneath that gawdforsaken building. Cells, Donovan!” Behind her mask tears began to well up. “I pulled five people out them, and just knowing Luna was down there…”

“We’ll find her.”

“It’s not just that Donovan,” she snapped. “The Crimson Circle wouldn’t be able to operate here if there wasn’t a market for it.”

She looked at him with accusation in her fierce green eyes. Not for him specifically, but for what he was a part of, or maybe what he represented: Warden City’s wealthy elite. The kind of people who could afford to buy and sell other people.

His head drooped slightly, taking her meaning.

“Just means I’ve got a lot more work to do after I stop Rost from destroying this city,” Miranda huffed, moving to the open trunk.

He’d brought her civilian clothes, navy leggings and a baggy gray sweatshirt. She kicked off her boots, and began pulling the leggings up her long legs.

“You’re right, we do,” Donovan said.

Miranda rolled her eyes, but didn’t make a show of it.

“So what’s next?” he asked.

Miranda straightened snugging the leggings over her tight butt. “We find Luna,” she said, unbuckling her powerbelt and tossing it in the trunk. She peeled off her mask, couldn’t have anyone see Bombshell riding shotgun in Donovan Ashton’s Spider. Then her gloves as well, dropping them into the trunk as she retrieved the sweatshirt.

“Obviously, but what is the next move.”

What is the next move, Miranda wondered, pulling the sweatshirt on.

As much as she’d been through, she was still relatively new to the superheroine gig. She could fight, and she’s gotten pretty good at using the suit’s powers, but the investigating part was not her strong suit. Hell, that was how she’d gotten close with Vic Walker in the first place. After a chance meeting with the bounty hunter, she’d convinced him to teach her how he navigated the criminal world to investigate and find his bounties.

“Vic’s office,” she blurted out, snatching a pair sneakers from the trunk before shutting it and heading towards the passenger door. “Come on, Donnie.”

He followed after her, “What? Where?”

Miranda slid into the passenger seat and immediately began tapping on the mid-dash display. “How do you get the GPS up?”

“You don’t know where it is?” Donovan asked already behind the wheel.

“I’ve been there, but-”

“What’s it called?”

“Walker Bail Bonds… I think.”

Donovan tapped a button on the steering wheel, answered by a digital chime. “Find Walker Bail Bonds.”

“Okay!” replied the lifeless female voice, “Walker Bail Bonds is located at 17756 Wesker Boulevard, on the corner of-”

“Navigate to that address.”

Another digital chime. Donovan revved the powerful engine as the map popped up on the screen set in the dashboard. Miranda settled back in her seat rubbing her eyes and the bridge of her nose.

“You look like you need some sleep,” Donovan said, pulling out of the alley.

“I won’t be able to sleep until Luna’s safe,” she muttered, watching out the window as Warden City began to pass by with steadily increasing speed.

“Maybe…she is?”

“What? Maybe she is…safe?” Miranda turned to glare at him. “In the clutches of that mad man and his psychotic right-hand bitch?”

“Well, we know he’s been trying to get his hands on the nuclear reactor that was hidden under the Summit. Maybe he thinks he can ransom her back to us, like he tried to do with you?”

“So she’s a ‘safe’…hostage?”

“Well, safe-ish,” Donovan said quickly. “If he’s planning to use her as leverage, she’ll have to be, y’know, intact, when he does. Gives us time to-”

“I am not leaving her in the hands of that mad man, Donovan! Luna is not leverage! I will not allow someone I care about to be turned into a commodity-”

“Easy, that’s not what I’m saying.” Donovan held up his hand defensively. His eyes flicked from the road to her and back.

“What are you saying then, Donovan?” She spat his name with a touch more venom than intended. But only a touch.

 “You took out La Falce and shut down his tacky nightclub-”

“Tacky?” she snapped. “Human trafficking, sex dungeons, so gauche, right?”

“You know what I mean,” He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, his brow furrowing. “You shut it all down, for good. But you used up your powers do it…right?”

Miranda crossed her arms and sighed, but he continued before she could speak.

“I guess I’m just trying to take the edge off -your edge off, because I don’t want you charging into trouble without your powers.”

Miranda glared at him for a long second, I hate to admit it but he may have a point. They captured me when I had my powers, I won’t do Luna any good if I just end up beaten and captured next to her…

“And maybe I’m trying to convince myself just as much,” Donovan went on, “that if they have a reason not to hurt her, they won’t.”

Miranda was still glaring at him when she detected an unmistakable, if slight, shadow of guilt cross his face. He had been with Luna when she’d been captured. Miranda had only ever seen him show any signs of guilt in regards to his brother, her late husband, Warren.

Miranda heaved a sigh and slumped back in her seat, “Maybe you’re right.”

“I…I am?”

“I’m not saying I’m just going to wait for Rost’s next move or anything but getting all hysterical and rushing into something won’t do anyone any good.”

“See, that’s all I’m saying,” Donovan said. “Okay, so what’s at Walker’s office?”

“I don’t know, maybe nothing,” Miranda sighed. “But he found that boat and rescued me, maybe he’ll have found something that could help me rescue Luna.”

“Us,” Donovan nodded and hammered the gas, ripping through the noon hour traffic.

Author’s Note:

I can’t believe it’s taken me so long, but we’re finally here, Besties; the conclusion, finale, raging climax to the Crimson Circle arc. Hopefully, that’s not too big of a spoiler. If you followed my previous blog, you know some of what I’ve gone through with this: Writing over 30k words, then scraping most of them and starting over. Struggling with my own expectations to make this fit as the thrilling climax to this story arc, living up to the five previous novellas… I’ve spent a lot of time in my own head on this one, where as I’m usually more able to just slip into Miranda’s head and go on the misadventure with her. It’s been a struggle.

BUT I think it has been worth it. At the risk of setting expectations too high, I am proud of how this issue has turned out. I’m proud of the work I’ve done, and even though I wish I had done it all a bit more quickly…I think what we’ve got here will have been worth the wait.

THANK YOU THANK YOU all for your patience, for you support, and above all, just for reading. We’re just getting started and there is so much more to come.

Buckle in.
Take Care.
Talk Soon.

Your bff, L J