Welcome back to Warden City, Besties. Poor Luna is still a prisoner of the Crimson Circle, and Miranda is still on the warpath trying to find her. Last time we saw her take down Matteo La Falce, free several other prisoners and permanently close the club with no name. However, with no further leads on where Rost might be holding Luna, Miranda and Donovan are now heading to the Walker Bail Bonds office in hopes Vic might have left behind a clue or any information before being hospitalized.
If you need to go back and read part one, you can to that here…
If not, the let’s begin…

Chapter Six

Walker Bail Bonds was located in a drab little strip mall, next to a beauty supply shop, and a purportedly “discount” tobacco store. It was a small store front.

“Pull around back,” Miranda said. “You can’t hide this bright yellow cock-extender and we don’t need everyone watching Donovan Ashton going into a bail bond office.”

He sniffed shortly, but did as she said.

As they drove behind the building, Miranda began looking through the center console. It was perfectly clean.

“Jesus…”

“What are you doing?” Donovan asked.

“This is supposed to have loose change, wrinkled receipts, maybe some napkins, at least.”

“Loose change? Why do you need-”

“I need a paperclip, or something.”

“For what?”

“So I can pick the lock and we can get inside.”

“We drove all the way over here and you don’t have a way inside?”

“We do, I just assumed…”

“That I was slob?”

“That you were normal…” Miranda got out of the car and began looking around on the ground. Someone had to have dropped something she could use.

Donovan got out and walked up to the shabby green door set in the rear of the building. “This one?” he jiggled to confirm it was locked.

“Should be.”

Donovan kicked the door open wide. The lock stayed in place, ripping out of the cheap, aged aluminum.

Miranda jumped, startled by the noise, and looked at Donovan in shock. He gave her a nod, then stalked inside. He was carrying an unusual black rod. Miranda made a quick glance around to make sure no one had seen that, then she followed.

Donovan was already moving through the small office making a quick, and efficient, sweep. It was only three rooms really, the shabby and sparsely decorated reception area up front, Vic’s actual office in the middle, and the storage room at the back, which is where she was standing. And of course a little restroom off that.

Watching Donovan make his sweep was unexpectedly impressing. Sometimes I forget he’s not just a spoiled corporate golden boy, she thought. He’s also expected to be able to lead a platoon of mercenaries if needed…is the plural of mercenaries ‘platoon’? Oh well…

Moving through the storage area, Miranda noticed one wall was lined with stacks of dusty file boxes, and opposite that was a sparse little cot. She suddenly felt very lonely.

I wish you were here now Vic, please wake up soon…

She moved into his office at the same time Donovan was coming back from the front. The office was cluttered, but she didn’t want to call it a mess. Notes and pictures tacked to the corkboard behind the desk. Two large file boxes on the desk, with open files scattered between them, all intermingled with scribbled notes and post-its.

“All clear,” he said.

“All clear?” Miranda balked. “Clear of what? Who exactly did you think would be here?”

Donovan shrugged, “They know who you are, and presumably who he is…not a stretch to think they might have sent some men just in case you stopped by.”

“Oh.” Miranda didn’t like once again having to admit, he had a point.

“It’s what I would have done anyway.”

Of course it is…

“What even is that anyway?” she asked, nodding towards rod-like device he was carrying.

“Oh this?” he gave it a deft flip. “Stun wand, Ashtoncorp top-of-the-line non-lethal counter measures. Techs say it’ll stop a charging elephant in its tracks.”

“That doesn’t sound very non-lethal…to humans.”

“Well…the voltage is adjustable.”

“Sure.” Miranda turned her attention back to Vic’s desk.

Suppose it’d be too much to hope there’d be a post-it stuck somewhere with an address scrawled on it, she thought, scanning the desktop ~ “Rost’s potential third hideout.” And even if there was such a note, how would I find it in this? She sighed, then chuckled realizing Vic would certainly have seen some poetry to this chaos.

He wasn’t a disorganized guy, just a man with his own ways of doing things. He would know where each file was and why he’d put it there. How the shorthand scrawl over the post-it notes linked them all together.

“What a slob,” Donovan groaned. “Bet there’s lots of paperclips here.”

“Little late for that. And you’re buying him a new door.”

Donovan snorted a chuckle, “Sure. And since when can you pick locks anyway?”

“My mom had a boyfriend once that worked as a locksmith,” Miranda didn’t look up, leafing through some of the papers. “He taught me how to pick a lock, how to open a locked car, so he wouldn’t have to come by every time mom was…well…every time she lost her keys.”

“I see,” Donovan said. He moved up to look over the scattered files, tapping that wand against his leg. “Anything?”

“I dunno…it’s all a little scattered, but there is a pattern to it, can’t you see? He was figuring it out.”

“Figuring what out?”

“Well, that’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Miranda was hesitant even to touch the papers, lifting the edges, scanning their contents and trying to decipher his messy notes. “Yet. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle.”

“Yeah, with no box lid and missing pieces,” Donovan’s eyes wandered to the corkboard on the back wall. “Post-its, pictures, thumbtacks, this is just a web of yarn shy of being that conspiracy theory meme-”

“If you’re not going to be helpful, or at least respectful, you can just go wait in that insanely over-priced dick extension parked out back!” Miranda exhaled sharply, annoyed at how shrill her voice had gotten.

Donovan blinked at her, eyes wide.

Surely, I’m not the only one who’s ever yelled at you, she thought, then, Maybe the only woman?

He put up his hands in surrender, “I’m sorry, you’re right…I just…I was trying to lighten the mood.”

“Vic was beaten into a coma rescuing me,” Miranda said. “Luna was captured trying to rescue me. You even got your ass kicked trying to…trying- ” she broke off with a choked sound that was half rage and half despair. Miranda took a deep breath to steady herself, then finished, “the shit ain’t light, Donovan. In fact it’s getting real fucking heavy.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry, I just hate seeing you…like this,” his hands dropped. “I want to help, please let me help.”

Miranda sighed, digging both palms into her eyes and rubbing. She hoped it looked like an exasperated motion, but she was really just trying to keep the tears back.

“Just see if anything looks useful on that board,” she huffed, turning back to the desk. “I’m trying to figure out the edges of this puzzle…”

Donovan nodded, turning back to the corkboard and beginning to scan the post-its and pictures tacked up there. “And I didn’t get my ass kicked, I basically let him-”

“Really?” Miranda snapped.

“No, no, never mind…”

Miranda exhaled sharply, again trying to focus on the papers covering Vic’s desk. There’s certainly a pattern to it, she thought, leafing carefully through a few of the files.

They were files on his cases, his bounties, his bonds.

Maybe these are all acquaintances of some kind or another? I know how interconnected a city’s underbelly can be…if he was tracking Rost through potential accomplices, how would I have any idea where the trail begins or ends? Or how to follow it…??

“I think these are all just the bikers,” Donovan said. “Some with addresses on post-its.”

“The Marauders,” she agreed, finding the same thing on the desk. “Makes sense, we do know they’ve been working for the Crimson Circle”

“Right, I remember Walker saying he was going to start investigating Rost’s connection to their president.”

“Patton,” Miranda nodded. “I didn’t talk to Vic again until he was rescuing me on that boat, and in the heat of the action he didn’t get to tell me what all he had found out. But if that’s the path that led him to me, maybe it will lead me to Luna.”

“Do you recognize any of these guys?”

Miranda glanced back at the board, she did recognize several of the men in the pictures, “Yeah, I’ve taken several of – most of them down as Bombshell.”

“Thought so! Maybe that’s why Walker tacked them up here?” Donovan said. “They’re already out of the running?” He moved up next to her, looking over the desk. “So what about these guys?”

She looked over the files on the desk again. “They don’t seem familiar, no. So you think they’re still at large…”

“Only thing I could think of that creates a pattern,” Donovan said. “Looks like he’s been collecting information on the whole gang.”

“If he might have to hunt one of them down, it makes sese he’d want to know all about the circles they move in,” Miranda explained. “Okay, so what do you think the chances are, now that I’ve shut down Rost’s main bases of operation, he’s using the Marauders to hide out?”

“Okay, but all these guys have houses or apartments, they don’t live at that bar they own…what’s it called?”

“The Hog Grinder,” Miranda said. “And they wouldn’t be there anyway. Cops shut that place down after finding all those guns in that old garage me and Vic uncovered.”

“Right, okay, so start checking all these addresses? That’s a lot even if you could fly to every one…”

“No, no, come on…there has to be somewhere else,” Miranda combed both hands into her blonde hair. “Can you really imagine Rost and Axis like hiding out in some biker’s living room?”

“Sure, watching Judge Judy while he plots the destruction of the entire city, why not?”

Miranda rolled her eyes but then something caught them. “Wait,” she said picking out one of the papers, “Who is this?”

Donovan leaned over her shoulder, reading the file, “Sgt. Mike Castenburg, US Military.”

“Yes, I know but-” Her voice was tight, “but…I don’t think he’s a Marauder?” She handed the paper to Donovan and began rifling through the pages covering the desk. “And it doesn’t look like he’s got a bond with Vic…”

“So what’s he doing in amongst all these petty criminals, unless he’s connected some other way.”

“I don’t see anything else on him even, and only two addresses on that piece of paper, it’s almost conspicuously blank.”

“I’d say more than almost,” Donovan said. “Alright, let’s go.”

“No.”

“What?”

“I’m going alone.”

“Oh, I don’t like that.”

“Look that address is in a neighborhood, residential. I have to be able to move quick and at least somewhat stealthy, and I can’t-”

“Do that in my bright yellow penis-exten- I mean my car…right, fuck.”

“Well, actually, I’ll be taking that.”

“You will?”

“I said I have to be quick.”

“Miranda, I don’t know…”

“We both know you need to go check in with your uncle anyway,” Miranda said, rolling her tired green eyes. “And probably a dozen or so department heads who need you to be the golden-boy COO Donovan Ashton. I appreciate everything you’ve done, you’ve helped. But I’m the superheroine, I’ve got to take it from here.”

Donovan frowned, hesitating a moment long enough for it to get awkward. This is so unlike him, Miranda thought watching Donovan wrestling with…with what? Guilt? Concern? I don’t love who he is normally…but I might like this even less.

“Fine,” Donovan said finally, “but here, you take this.” He held out the stun-wand.

Now Miranda hesitated, furrowing her brow. “What? No.”

“I know you’re running low on power, and this is non-lethal, remember…take it.”

Miranda accepted the weapon grudgingly. It felt odd in her hand, there was a handle with a trigger button. A dial around the pommel which she could manipulate with her thumb.

“The dial adjusts the voltage,” he explained. “Be careful not to touch the rod yourself, but just hold the trigger down, then smack ‘em, poke ‘em, stab ‘em, whatever…they won’t be a problem anymore.”

Miranda nodded, with my power stores so low I can’t deny this is a good idea. I’m not liking this trend of him being right.

“Thanks,” she murmured, “I think…”

“You just go find our girl,” Donovan’s face was etched with uncertainty. “When I get to the office I’ll call up to the hospital and check on your guy.”

“Vic? Really?”

Donovan shrugged, “Yeah, I’m not sure I trust him the way you do, or even like him that much…but you need to focus. So I’ll make sure he’s being taken care of so that doesn’t have to be on your mind.”

Miranda was nearly speechless. “Thank you, Donovan.”

Chapter Seven

The file had two addresses on it, fortunately they were both on the same side of town. When Miranda reached the first, it turned out to be a bar.  One of those neighborhood dives that didn’t bother having a name, just signage for the beers they sold; Heisler and Lo’Brau, and the like.

Must be one of Castenburg’s frequent hangouts? She surmised, cruising past in what she hoped was an inconspicuous manner…for a beautiful blonde in the driver seat of a bright yellow million-dollar sports car.

What are the chances he’s in there already, she wondered. Having a liquid lunch? Just wishing a pretty gal might happen in to chat him up? That could take more time than I want… Especially if he’s already drunk, or a slow drinker. Which might be even worse…

The second address was for a house, which turned out to be only a few blocks over. Even closer than she’d expected. Tree-lined streets. Lawns that were green without being fussy. Kids’ bicycles abandoned in driveways, a sprinkler ticking in the distance.

Donovan’s yellow convertible purred to a stop at the curb, the afternoon sun glinting off its hood. Miranda let her fingers rest on the steering wheel for a moment, just watching the neighborhood.

She’d always felt slightly awkward in areas like this, even more so than in the elegant galas of the Ashton manors. Those had felt like dreams, or occasionally nightmares. This middle-class-in-decline-neighborhood felt all too real. Was real, like places she’d been before. And had always been at least a little out of place in one way or another. The girl from the other side of the tracks.

Maybe if I’d grown up in a neighborhood like this instead of that rotting trailer park, she thought errantly, I’d have had lemonade stands instead of lock-picking sets. Maybe I wouldn’t have had to strip so we could afford rent and groceries. Although, then she felt a definite pang, and maybe I wouldn’t have met Warren…

Miranda shook her head, clearing those thoughts and turning her attention to what she presumed was Castenburg’s house. It sat halfway down the block, drab but tidy. The siding was in need of paint, but there were no weeds in the driveway cracks.

The kind of order you learn in the service, she guessed. Functional, minimalist, no frills for the sake of impressing the neighbors.

Killing the engine, she picked up the stun-wand and stuffed it up the baggy sleeve of her grey sweatshirt. Then she slid out of the car, tugging the sleeve down over her hand. The slim weapon nestled against her forearm, hidden but ready.

For what exactly? Who knows what Castenburg is capable of or how closely he’s tied to Rost…if at all. Geez, I could be knocking on the door of a full-blown Crimson Circle accomplice, or just one of the Marauders’ senile, alcoholic grandparents…

Her sneakers whispered over the walkway as she approached the weary little dwelling. The air smelled faintly of cut grass. Somewhere, a lawnmower droned. A warm gust of wind caught her hair, blowing it wildly. She tried to wrangle it using her freehand, wishing she’d brought a hair-tie. As she neared the front door the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. There was something off. Call it women’s intuition. She told herself it was nothing. Overactive anxiety.

Or even more likely just lingering stress from this morning’s fight, and probably from last night’s action too -gosh… just all of yesterday really… That train of thought brought on a wave of exhaustion, washing through her slender body. Her pace slowed as she stepped onto the porch. Miranda took a deep breath, raking a hand through her pale tresses once more, thinking; focus up, get it together. Luna needs you!

Her knuckles rapped against the door. She heard movement inside.

Footsteps approaching. Good, at least he’s home.

The latch clicked.

The door opened.

And standing there, in a neat brown button-down and clean pressed khakis, was Rost.

Miranda’s heart jumped into her throat! She gasped, her fingers closing around the handle of the stun-wand.

Rost’s storm-grey eyes flared, then narrowed, “Ashton.”

Miranda took a step back, almost a fighting stance but her mind just flooded with all the reasons she stood no chance against him. An image of Vic laying in that hospital bed flashed behind her eyes.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” he snarled before she could act, “I wouldn’t.” His eyes darted pointedly around the street.

Miranda followed his glance, reading the threat. Neighborhood. Broad daylight. Bystanders.

“Where’s Luna?” she hissed.

“Come inside, we’ll talk.”

“Not a chance. Where?”

Rost regarded her a long moment, his grip too steady on the doorknob. Miranda felt so much smaller than him. Even in the strange clothes -or rather strangely too normal- he towered over her. The last time they’d fought she’d sent him flying out into the muddy Montgomery, but she’d had her powers then. Now all she had up her sleeve was the supposedly non-lethal stun-wand.

Rost’s jaw flexed once, like he was chewing over whether to end this standoff right here on the porch. Then he stepped back, opening the door wide enough for her to pass.

“Inside,” he said, low and final.

Miranda’s pulse thudded in her ears, she considered attacking, a good hit from the stun-wand at max voltage might take him out. If I’m quick enough to hit him. And then how would I make him tell me where Luna is? Damn it…I think I have to let this play out.

She stepped over the threshold, keeping her arm tucked close, the wand ready beneath her sleeve. The interior smelled faintly of stale beer and something fried, a too familiar scent at odds with the predator holding the door behind her. Which he slammed, before stalking past her.

“Kitchen,” he instructed.

The living room was small and square, walls painted a tired beige, furniture arranged, a sagging couch, a recliner, a scuffed coffee table holding a single coaster. No clutter, no photographs.

Rost moved ahead of her, his presence filling the space, as she followed into a cramped kitchen. Afternoon light spilled through the blinds, striping the linoleum floor. The appliances all looked out of date, but clean.

An older man sat at the small table in the center of the room. He was balding, though his hair still had a light brown color. His face looked weathered, as much by discipline as by age. His frame was lean but solid, posture still sharp in that way soldiers never quite lose. A neat little sandwich sat in front of him on a white paper plate, with a bottle of cheap beer sweating beside it. There was no mistaking the tension in his shoulders, or the stiff way his hands were placed on the table, not like a man enjoying lunch.

You must be Castenburg, she thought.

“Mike,” Rost began, “I’d like you to meet Miranda Ashton.” His grating voice was a mockery of pleasance.

Castenburg’s eyes cut to her immediately, then to Rost, then back to her. “Ma’am.”

Unease twisted deeper in Miranda’s gut. Whatever game Rost was playing, Castenburg didn’t seem to know the rules any more than she did.

Miranda grit her teeth, “I’m inside. Now tell me where you’re holding Luna.”

“Miss Ashton,” Rost ignored her, “this is Sgt. Mike Castenburg, U.S. military…”

“Formerly,” Castenburg corrected.

Rost didn’t acknowledge him, “I believe he knows your boyfriend, Vic Walk-”

“Don’t you say his name you monster!” Miranda snapped.

Rost’s eyes narrowed, letting it hang for a beat, then, “How is he? Your man?”

There was something almost accusatory in his voice, especially the way he said “your man.” But Miranda didn’t give it much thought.

“You know how he is,” she hissed. “What you did to him,” tears instantly welled in her green eyes, “but he’ll pull through, he’s made of tougher stuff than you could imagine.”

Rost gave her a caustic grin. “Mike and I were just having some lunch,” he pulled out a chair for her in a show of exaggerated politeness. “Join us.”

“Oh fuck off,” Miranda hissed. “I won’t let you hurt any more of my friends! Now tell me where Luna is-”

“Safe.” Rost’s voice snapped like a steel trap. “She is safe, for now. Because I need her to control you.”

Every word hit Miranda like a fist. Blunt. Clear. Inarguable.

“Now sit.”

Miranda sank into the seat, feeling his cruel gasp as clearly as if he’d had a hand around her throat. Rost sat opposite Castenburg. There was a sandwich on a paper plate before his seat as well, he picked it up then pushed the plate towards Miranda.

“Have a sandwich, join us.” A command. Even the pretense of joviality was gone from his voice and eyes. That stormy glare locked on her as he took a bite and chewed.

Miranda glanced at Castenburg, who returned her look with a nervous gulp. He nodded towards the sparse fixings in the center of the table. An open package of cheap deli turkey. Some generic brand of white bread. American cheese. Ketchup, mustard, mayo, and dill pickles.

Shit! How am I supposed to make a sandwich with one arm? She flexed her grip on the stun-wand, still concealed up her sleeve. She was half surprised Rost hadn’t clocked it already. He was watching her closely. He took another bite. Maybe he had.

Miranda perused the fixings again, then decided the truth of her ire was easy enough and murmured, “I’m not going to eat a fucking sandwich with you, Rost.”

He sighed, but took back the paper plate dropping his half-eaten sandwich back onto it. “You know, it’s quite unbecoming of a lady to swear as much as you do.”

“Oh,” Miranda said, considering this. “Well, I don’t really give two motherfucking goddam cock-sucking hunky-dory shits whether you find me ‘becoming’ or not! What the fuck is this?”

Rost scowled, “It was a conversation between two old friends, until you showed up.”

“Two old friends,” Miranda scoffed. She turned to Castenburg. “You know he’s here to kill you, right?”

Castenburg’s eyebrows raised at her bluntness. “I -uh…yeah. I assumed.”

She glanced at Rost, “Stop me if I’m wrong but,” back to Castenburg, “you told my man Vic something that helped him find their little boat, and that helped me shut it down. Now he’s here to make sure you can’t tell anyone else what you know.” Back to Rost, “Right?”

Rost regarded her with interest, then nodded. “Just so.”

“And I’m here hoping he can help me find where you’re keeping Luna,” Miranda said. “So how about you tell me, and I’ll go rescue her, then you don’t have to kill your old friend here.”

“Ever the hero. Do I look like the type to suffer a traitor to live?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type to show up here looking all ‘dad formal’ for a murder you could just have sent one of your flunkies to commit. So I’m thinking there’s something special about this guy.”

Castenburg spoke up, “And I’m no traitor.”

Rost’s storm-grey eyes cut towards him. “You gave up secrets that could have jeopardized the mission.”

“Not my mission,” Castenburg shot back. “I don’t know what happened to you over there, but you ain’t the Jack I knew and I don’t owe you any loyalty.”

Rost eyes flashed with something, alarm? Or maybe even fear.

Miranda all but smiled, turning to Rost. “Who is ‘Jack’?”

Rost lunged out of his seat with a roar! Flipping the table towards Castenburg. The older man got his arms up but took the full brunt, groaning with the impact and toppling out of his chair.

Miranda, though caught completely off guard, ripped the stun-wand out of her sleeve and lunged at Rost. He was so focused on advancing towards Castenburg, she was able to get the business end jammed flush against his ribs before he even realized she was attacking. She thumbed the trigger button.

Electricity crackled, and Rost jerked then stiffened. Miranda wasn’t sure what the voltage was set at but she could feel the force of the charge thrumming against her palm. When she released the button, Rost actually staggered. Miranda spun into a low leg sweep, cutting his legs out from under him and sending him crashing onto the floor. She immediately went to Castenburg, grabbing him by the arm and trying to drag him out from under the table.

“Are you okay?” she blurted quickly. “Can you stand walk run? We need to run!”

He made some noises that sounded like, “Yeah yeah yeah,” and began to extricate himself from under the table, with Miranda trying to help.

“You sneaky little bitch,” Rost growled. He was already getting back to his feet.

Miranda let go of Castenburg, turning back to face Rost. His stormy glare fixed on her. She lunged at him again with the stun-wand. He made a jerky-but-effective dodge, and caught her by the wrist. Before Miranda could react, he twisted savagely. She cried out as pain shot up her arm and couldn’t keep hold of the wand. It clattered onto the floor.

Rost rose to his full height, looming over her. Miranda tried to pull free, but he twisted a little further, using the leverage and pain to drive her onto her knees.

“Let go of me!” she gasped, teeth clenched.

“It’s not supposed to be our time yet,” Rost growled down at her. “And I much prefer that when it is, you be in uniform. I want to defeat the superheroine, not the spoiled trophy wife…trophy widow.”

Miranda forced herself to meet his glare. “Fuck. You!”

Castenburg dove between them, grabbing the wand where it lay on the floor, and jamming it against Rost’s ankle.

Nothing happened.

“What the- how does this – ?”

Rost stomped on the man’s forearm and Castenburg groaned in pain.

“Traitor, friend or not,” Rost snarled, “I won’t let you-”

With a determined growl Miranda lunged to her feet, ignoring the pain in her twisted arm and whipped a long-legged kick that caught Rost in the face. He grunted (more in surprise than pain she suspected) but let go of her wrist and stumbled backwards.

Miranda grabbed the stun-wand from Castenburg, dialed up the voltage and stabbed it into the middle of Rost’s chest. He jerked painfully rigid again, then pitched back, slumping against the counter, sinking down to the floor. Miranda spun again, dragging Castenburg to his feet and positioning herself between him and Rost, who sat glaring at them, eyes clear but breathing heavy and ragged.

“Now we both have hostages,” Miranda spat. “Harm one hair on Luna’s head and I swear to you I will use the entire Ashton fortune make sure whatever he knows is broadcast around the goddam world.”

Rost only seethed at her.

“You know how to reach Donovan to arrange the exchange,” she added, backing Castenburg out of the kitchen. She then turned shoving the older man through the living room towards the front door, “Outside, yellow convertible, run!”

He moved quick for an old man, throwing open the front door and hurrying down the stoop. Miranda hopped down and sprinted to Donovan’s sports car. She leaped into the front seat. Castenburg wasn’t that spry, having to open his door, but threw himself into the passenger seat with urgency.

Rost was already on the porch, snarling after them as Miranda gunned the engine and the vehicle shot away down the road. She watched him dwindle in her review mirror.

“Th-thank you, miss,” Castenburg was breathing heavy, even once they were well away.

“Call me Randi. And don’t thank me yet. I haven’t decided if I trust or even like you, yet. Anyone who could be friends with that monster-”

“I was never friends with that man,” Castenburg insisted. “The man I knew was named Jack Clayton.”

Chapter Eight

“This might be getting out of hand, kid, I sent you there to clean up the mess in Warden City, not fight a new cold war.”

“I know what you sent me here for, Uncle Monty, and I’m handling it.”

“Handling it? By letting that little pet project of yours get gangbanged by a bunch of Russians?”

“Pet project? She’s the whole reason I’m here.”

“You promised me our own Ashton-branded superheroine to replace the Scarlet Dove,” Monty snapped. “Instead you’re letting this bimbo drag our name through the mud…”

“Thanks to Pierce, people associate us with an actual supervillain who threatened the entire city, our name is already in the mud,” Donovan snorted. “Now the story being reported is that Miranda was hypnotized, possibly, or at least taken advantage of in some way, by a human trafficking ring run by other supervillains…no amount of PR could manufacture sympathy like that.”

“Sympathy,” Monty scoffed.

“Yes, and it’s even better than I initially planned,” Donovan went on quickly. “When I brought Miranda on as the new face of community outreach, I was just going to leak her history as a stripper, let the public sink their teeth into her whole fairytale rags-to-riches-to-loss love story…”

“Instead,” Monty picked up the gist, “she, and by extension we, have been horribly, cruelly victimized right in front of Warden City’s eyes.” He added a few fake sobs for the drama of it.

“And when I start leaking the names of the red ring guest registry,” Donovan went on, “we’ll be the Warden City elites who were victims, rather than customers.”

“I do like that,” Monty chuckled. “Make sure you get the Knox name on that list, I hate that Carter prick-”

“And then,” Donovan continued with a sigh, “when Bombshell finally brings down Rost…”

“If…if she can bring down Rost.”

“Bombshell has already exposed the Crimson Circle on multiple fronts,” Donovan had to bite back some irritation. “It hasn’t gone as smoothly as I’d hoped, sure, but most of those Russian mercs and the Marauders, hell even La Falce, are all locked up now. Rost is running out of places to hide and allies to hide behind…”

“I still wouldn’t underestimate him.”

“When she finally brings him down, that will cement Bombshell as the real deal. The city, hell, the country, the internet, will fall in love with her…even more than they already have.”

“And you think she’ll be amenable to associating with Ashtoncorp after that?”

“No, not at all, I’m not sure Miranda will ever be ‘amenable’ to plugging back in with the family. You and Aunt Sophie saw to that when you tried to force her out after Warren’s death.”

“Well then what the hell are we-”

“And we don’t want Bombshell associated with Ashtoncorp anyway, not directly…having a vigilante tied in to our private military operations could open us up to all kinds of legal quandaries, and irreversibly terrible optics.”

“Well then what the hell’s the point of all this?”

“There was a superheroine shaped crack in the foundation of this city,” Donovan said. “Someone was going to fill it in regardless, now…”

“It’s filled by an Ashton,” Monty concluded for him.

“Whether she or we like it, she’s a member of this family.”

“Not to mention a considerable shareholder thanks to her stealing Warren’s inheritance-”

“He wanted her to have that,” Donovan said quietly. “That’s why he went outside the family lawyers to make sure—”

“I don’t want to rehash all that now,” Monty cut in smoothly from the other end of the line. “If this plan of yours comes together the way I think it will, son… it’ll be far better to have Miranda fully in the fold rather than lingering on the edges, wouldn’t you agree?”

Donovan exhaled slowly. “I suppose. But she’s entitled to feel how she feels.”

“Entitled?” Monty chuckled, the sound low and dismissive. “She got the money, the shares, kept the name, everything she fought for. At some point a person has to let old wounds close, especially when the family, say a brother, is willing to help them heal.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple for her.”

There was a brief pause on Monty’s end. When he spoke again, his tone was warm, almost coaxing. “Look, Donnie… you’ve always had a way with her. She’s starting to trust you again, it seems. If you leaned into that a little more, made the relationship warmer, deeper…she’ll soften. Women like Miranda respond to a man who knows how to lead. You could bring her back into the family properly. Make her feel like she belongs again…

“With you.”

Donovan’s fingers tightened around the phone. “Uncle Monty… I’m not sure pushing it is the right move. She’s been through enough.”

“I’m not talking about pushing,” Monty replied, voice smooth as aged whiskey. “I’m talking about guiding. You’re a handsome, successful man. She’s a beautiful woman who’s been alone too long. If you make her feel desired, protected… wanted… those hard feelings will fade. She’d start seeing the family, and you, differently. You’d have her trust completely. And when a woman like that trusts the man in her life, she becomes much easier to guide. Much more… cooperative. Receptive.”

Donovan was silent for a long moment. “You’re talking about Warren’s widow, my sister.”

“In-law,” Monty’s voice dropped slightly. “You’ve always seen the big picture, Donnie. This could be good for everyone. For her. For the family. For you. Think about it… Miranda, truly on your side, if not wrapped around your finger. Warm. Loyal. No more fighting. Just the two of you, aligned.”

A sudden rush of heat flooded Donovan’s hips, a tight, heavy throb low in his gut as the image sharpened in his mind; Miranda looking up at him with softened eyes, her body leaning into his, her sharp edges melting under his touch, her loyalty, her trusting, wanting, pleasing. The thought sent a slow pulse through him, warm and insistent.

He swallowed, voice a little rougher when he finally answered.

“…Yeah,” he said quietly. “I see what you mean.”

Monty’s satisfied chuckle came through the line. “That’s my boy. You’ve always known what’s best for this family. And what’s best for the family will be best for her too. You’ll do what needs to be done.”

Donovan closed his eyes. Despite the lingering heat coiled low in his body, unease twisted tight in his chest.

“I always do,” he murmured, “don’t I?”

“And that’s why you’ll run this family someday,” Monty said. “You’re just like me.”

Chapter Nine

“They didn’t tell us what we were training for…or more like, being tested for. It was only the three of us, me, Pat and Jacky…”

“Jacky,” Miranda echoed, “that was Rost?”

“S’right, he was still Jack Clayton back then. Sergeant Clayton.”

“And ‘Pat’, was that…”

“Sgt. Howard Patton. We were all sergeants,” he went on, “but they still didn’t tell us nothing, why they picked us, what they was testing for. And we ain’t even ask, just a group a good ol’ enlisted boys. Just followed orders.

“O’ course, they ended up picking Jacky. He was the obvious choice from the start. Big. Strong. Hansome as the day is long. I mean, I did alright, y’know, with the ladies… I was tall, but kinda skinny, a beanpole like, y’know. And Patton, even then he had a little outlaw in him. Maybe more than a little, I remember one night-”

Miranda cleared her throat.

Castenburg grinned thinly, “Right, sorry…Jack. He was apple pie. All American. The obvious choice.”

“The obvious choice for what?” Miranda pressed, trying to steer the conversation back to the point.

“It was a black opp, or, no, it was deeper, darker than black. One man, no contact. Completely off book. And I ain’t too sure the commission that recruited us answered to anyone higher up either.

“I found all this out later, mind you. Me and Pat went in the stocks once they picked Jacky. Solitary confinement. Course they called it ‘strategic quarantine’ or some such, but I ain’t dumb. We wasn’t coming out.

“See them reds had some kinda drug, a steroid or something. Supposedly it was developed for the Olympics, but it worked too good. They sent Jacky over there to find it, take it and come back, I imagine, so they could study him and replicate it.”

“By ‘take it’, you mean steal it?”

He arched an eyebrow, “I mean they thought the best way to get it out of Russia was in his veins.”

“So the plan was to send a lone soldier into Russia, have him turn himself into a super soldier, then come back to become a lab rat?” Miranda sighed, “How could that have gone wrong…”

“That’s the way I understand it,” Castenburg shrugged. “Wasn’t my plan and like I said, we ain’t ask too many questions.”

“So what happened?”

“Well, the cold war ended, didn’t it? Right in the middle of his mission. The commission who recruited us was dissolved. Patton and I was cut loose, dishonorable discharge of course, but with a boat load o’ cash as our consolation prize. Hush money, ya see. Enough to start a motorcycle club, or y’know…”

“A lifetime supply of beer money?”

“Heh, not near this lifetime,” he thrust a thumb towards himself. “I burned through that-”

“But what happened to Jack, to Rost? How did he become…what he is now…?”

“Well, Jack Clayton ain’t exist no more, did he? They scrubbed that identity so no one could find it, or find him, once he went under. Deep cover. When that commission dissolved, there was no way to get him any word or warning, or to call it off…”

“So the only identity he had was the cover they had given him.”

“Rostilav Sokolov.”

“Okay, so then how do you know all this?”

“Well, he told me, didn’t he? See it worked, Jacky became the super soldier they wanted him to…and he came back like he was supposed to…”

“But not to the hero’s welcome he expected…”

“Not any kinda welcome. Army denied he ever existed to his face. Tried to deport him. Couldn’t find the people who made up that commission, wouldn’t even try. Although I suspect we was given code names for them, even when we was working under ‘em. So Jack Clayton was gone for good.

“He tracked me down, after that. He wasn’t too concerned with ‘classified’ no more, laid the whole thing out. I think he was looking for help, not as in help-help, mind you, I think he already had his big plan in mind, least the beginnings of it.”

“You mean he wanted you to be part of the Crimson Circle?”

“I don’t know, I was already a drunk by then, and he was…well…he wasn’t the Jacky, I knew. I mean on a fundamental level, not just bitterness or anger at the way things had gone down, there was something unhinged. Maybe it was a result o’ takin’ that drug, maybe…” Castenburg heaved a weary sigh, “Maybe it had always been there, maybe it was what made him perfect for the job. Y’know, sometimes when you look up to someone, you willfully ignore what they really are.”

“And what is this big plan?”

Castenburg shrugged, “Well, he ain’t tell me everything or…or I don’t remember. Like I said I was already a drunk by then. I imagine he clocked pretty quick I wasn’t gonna be the help he was looking for.”

“So he went and found someone who already had a little outlaw in them?”

“Patton? Yeah, I suppose. I don’t rightly know how or when they hooked up. I didn’t talk to Pat much when they let us out. Now he was bitter, and angry, and intent to make it everyone else’s problem. Hush money or no.”

“Makes sense,” she said. “Not sure I wouldn’t feel the same. So any idea where Rost might be hiding now?”

“Don’t know that either,” he shrugged. “Bout a year back or so, Pat showed up on my doorstep. Brought me a nice bottle o’ bourbon and we reminisced a bit…then he told me I oughta leave Warden City, lay low, cuz an old friend o’ ours was comin’ back to town. Guess I shoulda listened. But I ain’t heard nothing else from either of ‘em till today.”

“And this is what you told Vic?” Miranda asked. “All you told Vic?”

“Couple night’s ago he stopped in my usual place.” A shake of the head, a sad chuckle. “Caught me on a particularly bent kinda night, so yeah, spilt my guts. Don’t even remember why, or what all I woulda told him to be honest.”

Miranda exhaled through her nose, and crossed both arms under her ample bust, “Okay, so I can get Rost not wanting his whole backstory to come out. But, assuming he perceives himself as the wronged party, and as much as I hate him, it is kinda hard to argue that fact, why would he want to kill you to keep this all a secret?”

Castenburg shrugged.

“Cause it’s all bullshit,” Donovan groaned.

Castenburg and Miranda both looked at him, standing there in a (for once) less-than-immaculately tailored suit. They were back in Miranda’s penthouse headquarters at the Sexton building. The chic all-white lab, which Luna had designed, gleamed around them. There were floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the city as night was falling. After escaping Rost in Castenburg’s neighborhood, Miranda had called Donovan to have him meet them back here. He’d beaten them by several minutes, and once they were inside and fairly certain Rost hadn’t followed them, Castenburg began his tale. Donovan now stood with crossed arms and a doubtful expression on his handsome face.

“You calling me a liar?” Castenburg balked.

“It’s not that I think you’re a lying,” Donovan began in a tone normally reserved for reprimanding boardroom subordinates, “so much as I don’t trust you, or a word that comes out of your mouth. Seriously, Miranda-” he turned towards her, “I can’t believe you brought him here-”

“Well, I did,” she responded flatly. “So do you have a real point?”

“Fine.” Donovan held up his hands, he’d already tried to talk her out of bringing Castenburg here when she called him from the Spider. “So, Rostilav Sokolov, leader of the Crimson Circle, the big bad Russian at the heart of an east European human trafficking ring…and this guy expects us to believe he’s actually some rogue American operative?”

“I did always think it was weird Rost doesn’t have an accent,” Miranda said.

“Exactly, but even more so,” Donovan agreed. “Shouldn’t he have adopted an accent to infiltrate fucking Russia?”

“But we don’t know where he’s been since then,” Miranda said. “Axis is definitely Russian but La Falce’s Italian, and they have all been working closely with the Marauders who are based here in the states.”

“So, you believe this guy?” Donovan gave Castenburg a distrustful glare, which the older man merely accepted.

“What possible incentive would I have to lie about this?” Castenburg said.

“You should have seen the way Rost reacted when he called him ‘Jacky’,” Miranda added.

“Oh, I am not denying he’s a completely unhinged madman,” Donovan replied, thinking back to his own recent encounter with Rost.

“That don’t make him dumb, son,” Castenburg said. “Unhinged sure, but Jacky was one of the most tactically minded men I ever did meet.”

“Which just makes me want to trust you even less,” Donovan said. “This could all be part of his play… And don’t call me ‘son,’ I’m a grown man.”

Castenburg threw up his hands, and both men looked to Miranda.

She sat back, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know what I believe. But it almost makes more sense, doesn’t it? I mean, now that I’m thinking about it…it’s all so over-the-top and performative. The Crimson Circle. Everything marked with big red rings. All those guns me and Vic found that were painted red.”

Donovan’s jaw flexed, but he followed her line reasoning, “So he wants people to think Russian’s are behind all this. Why?”

“I think she’s onto something,” Castenburg heaved a sigh. “You kids today just don’t understand what it was like. The cold war. It could be scary, sure. Nuclear annihilation knocking on the door an’ all, but in a way, it was thrillin’ too. Kind of like we were all in it together. Real deal American patriotism. Fightin’ to protect that American dream.”

Donovan huffed, “You sound like my uncle.”

“He sounds like a lot of old white men,” Miranda added.

“Heh, maybe,” Castenburg chuckled. “Emphasis on the ‘old’ more ‘n’the ‘white’ I hope. Y’know, I dated Pearl Johnson for about ten years and she was-”

“Really?” Miranda shot him a glare.

“Just sayin’,” Castenburg cleared his throat. “My point was, even the scary times tend to get looked back on with rose colored glasses.”

“Rose colored beer goggles you mean,” Donovan said.

“So it’s revenge with a side of nostalgia?” Miranda considered this. “Could it be that simple? Rost, or Jack, or whoever he is, is just going back to what he knows? Russians were the bad guys, now he’s the bad guy, so it’s all gotta be Russian still?”

 Castenburg could only shrug.

“It’s the revenge mission of an unhinged madman,” Donovan said as if he’d said it a hundred times. “It only has to make sense to him.”

Then, before anyone could respond, Donovan’s cell phone began to ring.

Chapter Ten

The entire room, the three people in it, and outside the whole world, seemed to hold their breath as Donovan slipped the ringing phone from his pocket and answered it.

“This is Donovan.” Speakerphone.

“Urgent call for you, sir,” his secretary sounded nervous, “I’m patching it through.”

A digital ping.

“This is Donovan.”

“Donnie?”

“Luna!” Miranda cried, leaping to Donovan’s side. “Luna are you-”

“Randi? Randi, I- …I’m fine, Randi.”

Donovan screwed up his face and started to speak, but Miranda’s hand clamped over his mouth.

“Lune, where are you? Who’s there with you?”

“He says tomorrow night. Midnight. In the place where… where you… He says in the place where you sucked his dick.”

“Don’t worry, Lune, I’ll be there, everything is going to be okay.”

“Is it?” Rost.

Click.

Miranda removed her hand from Donovan’s face. The whole world seemed to exhale as he did.

“Donnie? Since when does she call me ‘Donnie’? I don’t think I’ve ever heard her call you Randi either, does she call you-”

“No,” Miranda cut him off, rolling her eyes. “And I don’t call her ‘Lune.’ She was obviously trying to signal us. Something’s not right.”

“None of this is right,” Donovan sighed.

Miranda’s shoulders slumped, “That’s the one thing you and I are in total agreement about…”

She crossed the white room to the small bar she’d had installed in the corner. She took out a rocks glass and picked up a red labeled bottle of scotch.

“Uhhh, if you’re pourin’, I wouldn’t mind a taste,” Castenburg said.

Miranda put out two more glasses, and splashed a couple fingers of scotch into each. Then she filled her glass to the brim, and started to drain it.

The older man jumped up from his seat and hurried over, picking up both of the other glasses. He turned to hand one to Donovan, who was approaching more casually, watching Miranda guzzle an entire glass of scotch.

Castenburg took an eager swallow, “Oh, yeah, this must be the good stuff.”

“It’s cheap crap,” Donovan replied having not even tasted his.

“Cheap and good ain’t mutually exclusive,” Castenburg said, and finished the rest of his glass like a shot.

Miranda set down her emptied glass, gasping a breath, and began pouring again. Castenburg slid his up beside it. When she’d finished filling hers, she dumped more of the amber spirit into his.

“So then we’re all just getting drunk now?” Donovan asked.

When Miranda looked up at him, her pretty green eyes were brimming with tears. “I…I don’t know… I don’t know what to do next.”

Donovan frowned, tense blue eyes dropping to the glass in his hand.

“Course ya do,” Castenburg cut in, draining his second cup, “We’ll go to the meeting, turn me over to Rost, and get your friend back.”

“I like this plan,” Donovan said immediately.

“That’s not what’s going to happen,” Miranda sighed.

“Sure it is,” Castenburg set the cup down and indicated he was ready for more. “S’only right. You and your friend got important things to do…” He gestured around the superhero headquarters they were standing in. “I’m just an old man with fewer days ahead than behind, and I’ll be too drunk for most of ‘em to do anyone any good.”

“Drink to that,” Donovan raised his glass.

“No.” Miranda grabbed his wrist before he could actually drink. “I would do anything to get Luna back safe and sound, except, sacrifice yours, or any innocent life to do it.”

Donovan’s jaw snapped shut and he gave her a sheepish look.

“What kind of superheroine would I be -what kind of people would do that?”

“I wasn’t- I was just- I didn’t mean-” Donovan stammered, blue eyes dropping.

“I took down their slaving cargo ship.” She poured Castenburg a few more fingers of scotch. “I ripped the foundation out from under their tacky rape dungeon brothel and nightclub.” Now her eyes cut to Donovan. “I’m going to find a way to save them both, no casualties, no sacrifices. Because I’m Bombshell.”

Donovan blinked at her, then nodded, “Drink to that.”

Miranda lowered her eyes and gulped about half her glass. Her bold declaration was more determination than actual confidence at the moment.

Donovan drained his glass, then grimaced. “Needs ice. I don’t know how you drink this warm.”

“Cold destroys the flavor,” Miranda murmured as Warren’s voice spoke the words in her memory.

Donovan’s jaw tightened and he rolled the empty glass in his hand.

“Oh that’s some refined pallet you got there,” Castenburg scoffed, sticking up a pinky as he downed his once more.

“Do you know where he wants to meet?” Donovan asked, without looking at Miranda. “What did that mean, the place where you-”

“It’s a warehouse,” she said quickly. “The warehouse where him, La Falce and Axis laid that trap for me when I went to intercept the Marauders’ Red Run.”

Donovan sighed and nodded, “Oh, right. Okay. Tomorrow night then, that means we’ve got time to come up with a plan.”

“And it’s gotta be a better plan than the one they got time to come up with,” Castenburg added, once more sliding his empty glass towards Miranda.

Donovan shot him an annoyed look, despite the truth of the words.

Miranda just handed the older man what was left of the bottle. “What we got time for, is to get some sleep…hopefully this’ll help,” she said and finished the rest of her own scotch.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Donovan said.

“I think it’s a terrible idea,” she shot back, “but you were right, I’m fucking spent. Hopefully with a little rest, clearer eyes and a clearer head, I’ll be able to figure how I’m going to save Luna, and him,” she nodded towards Castenburg, “and stop Rost from destroying this whole damn city.”

Author’s Note:

One of the things I was struggling with while writing this book was finding my flow, and really getting back into Miranda’s head. One of the things that led to me dropping that initial manuscript I’d written and starting over was just how flat everything felt, especially Miranda. At least to me.

The scene where Miranda arrives in that quiet neighborhood, only to be confronted by Rost…that’s where I found Miranda again. I could feel that sense of unease as she got out of the car, I could feel the tension once they were in the kitchen, I started to find that flow once again. I’m honestly not sure how well the scene holds up over all, but it’s definitely one of my personal favorites. I just think it captures this perfect, quietly imposing menace from Rost and Miranda’s reactions to it. Or maybe it’s just that this is when I felt it clicking again.

If you’re already getting impatient with the monthly release of Bombshell: Rost’s War, then the full 49 chapter ebook is available right now on Smashwords. It also features the exclusive 6 chapter Villain Ending…if you’re one of those particularly cruel and wicked readers:

But if not, that’s perfectly fine, I’m just glad you’re here enjoying the ride with Miranda and the team! Keep your eyes peeled for the next installment, coming soon!

Before we go, I wanted to finally share one cheeky little revelation. Now that La Falce’s club with no name has been shuttered, I can admit I basically just stole that location whole sale…

From…It’s a Very Merry Muppet Christmas Movie. And if you were watching close, there might even have been a few cameos in part one…

I’ve read/heard so many versions of “good artists copy, great artists steal” said by so many different people, but I say: “screw it, have some fucking fun.” Listen to your muse, not just on those magical moments of pure inspiration, but any time she says “wouldn’t it be great if-“… “wouldn’t it be funny if-” …”wouldn’t it be silly if-” Yes, it would, and that’s exactly why it belongs in this story!

Always remember Besties, you have to be the first one to have fun with your creations.

Take Care, Talk Soon,

Your bff, L J