Wicked Ones {bxb}

{Chapter 48 : Wolfman}

Vincent swung his fists and for each quick strike, breath left in a hiss through the gaps of his teeth. Left, then right, then left again. His lungs craved for cessation, but he fought on. Left, right, left right. No matter how fast he struck, Jahni used his forearm as a shield, obstructing each and every one.

It had been ages since they had been addressed by Turner. Still, they were forced to wait—asked to hone in on their abilities. Train for the war they were about to wage. It made Vincent angry; thirsty for vendetta. Even if there was a slight chance Kailan had still been alive, it was surely wasted by now.

The thought grew explosive inside of him, and Vinny focused the anger into his stance. His hits were growing faster, driving Jahni backward a step, and then another. As he was growing more and more overwhelmed by the heat of Vinny's rage, Jahni had left his mids open and vulnerable. Vincent took advantage, swinging low and beating against them with quick, repetitive strikes.

Jahni stumbled back, catching himself on the wall with a look of surprise. "Good, Vincent." Then that rare, fleeting smile flashed upon his face. "You've learned to use your anger to your advantage."

Vincent didn't seem all that joyous. It was a feat, landing a punch on Jahni before, but now he couldn't bring himself to smile. He hadn't in weeks. It just felt too forced.

He took a seat on a lifting bench nearby, willing his breath to slow while he looked around the padded room. They had been given a small room to train in, courtesy of Turner. But aside it came other accommodations. An entire floor had been gutted—renovated into a gym, complete with lifting equipment and a lounge where the others spent most of their time. He'd even gone to extra lengths to add a rejuvenation room—a large cubic sauna, showers, and a spa to nurse sore muscles.

The tower itself was privately owned, and Turner used it as he pleased. The top-most floors housed his small law firm, where lawyers were assigned primarily to Wicked cases. Chances were, if a Wicked was jailed for using their abilities, Turner's legal aid was their only shot of freedom.

"Working hard?"

Speak of the devil.

Large double sealed slowly behind him as Turner strolled inside. At the sight of him, Vinny stood to his feet, sweat pilling on the brunt of his forehead. "Where the hell have you been?" he snarled.

"I understand your frustrations," Turner said soothingly, "I'm beyond frustrated too, alright? That's why I was at the station. They haven't even started looking into the case. We should have lied—should have never told him they were Wickeds." Turner frowned and shoved his hands into his slack pockets. "Just not a top priority."

"Why does it matter anymore?" Vincent scowled. "Fuck taken 'em down, yeah? They'll be old and dust by the time law enforcement gets off their asses."

"We're doing what we can," Turner promised, "The building Arlo described is under lock-and-key. Even if we could pull this off by ourselves, how would we get inside? We don't have the technology or the manpower."

"We'll figure it out," Vincent grunted, twisting his body to the side as he brushed by. He tossed open the doors, met with the lounge area and a distracting view of the city. Turner had offered them a nice living arrangement in return for their services, and everyone seemed to be enjoying the luxuries except Vincent. As indulgent as the view of the skyscraper was, he didn't feel much like sightseeing. He'd rather be lighting every miserable bastard who worked for Ethereal Tech on fire.

"Jesus, look at you." Gigi dropped the magazine she was reading, working long nails through her chestnut mane. "Were you two training, or were you taking a shower together? You're drenched." She was seated on a beige couch, the evening sun setting in the large windows behind her, blanketing her silhouette in the warm lighting. She looked angelic in a way—swathed in a halo of gold.