Chapter 159 Immensely.

Chapter 159: 159 Immensely.

Well, finding The Mind was a priority, but it was taking Rhea a while to track down his relocated servers. And until she did, I still had overhead to cover and bills to pay.

I’d gotten a call from Lacey a few days ago, setting up a meeting to look at a new contract, and you did not keep a woman like Lacey Davenport waiting.

I reached Firefly HQ in good time, though every time I pulled up to the curb, I had an overwhelming urge to just keep driving.

Having a corporate headquarters that aggressively screamed ’capitalist evil’ would do that. The place towered over the financial district, constructed entirely of black glass and steel, rising into the sky like something designed by a postmodern Sauron.

A prominent, stylized firefly logo was on display absolutely everywhere—including a massive, illuminated water feature near the entrance—and the peak of the roof even swept up into two sharp angles that looked suspiciously like horns.

It was an imposing piece of architecture, for sure. I had to admire the sheer, brazen dedication to the bit. Short of making the building shaped like the CEO’s face, you couldn’t get more obviously, legally evil.

Maybe I should take some inspiration from it for the chalet? But then, I didn’t have such a highly brandable symbol. Just another thing to add to the syndicate to-do list.

Inside the building, the lobby was a sleek expanse of unmarred black marble polished to a mirror finish.

I was checked in by a pair of security goons in slick, plasticky tactical uniforms that didn’t have a single wrinkle.

Past them, I stepped into the private executive elevator, zipping smoothly up to Lacey’s floor.

Firefly certainly had the most money in the industry to throw around. But then, they held the most lucrative brand deals with the top-tier corporate heroes, and there was never quite enough organic crime to make their capes look sufficiently heroic.

The last few jobs I’d run for them had been... mixed bags at best. But since it had been a while since the last alien invasion or dimensional hell-gate opened up, there was a steady stream of freelance contract work for an independent villain like me.

That said, I didn’t exactly relish seeing Lacey. She had a terrifying talent for making me feel like she was always getting exactly what she wanted.

I usually tolerated her psychological warfare because, well, the physical fringe benefits of our working relationship were spectacular (I wanted to fuck her).

I popped my neck, giving my hands a quick flex as I approached her office doors.

Dealing with Lacey was tougher than a physical brawl with any hero, and I was never entirely sure just what kind of twisted corporate situation I’d be walking into.

Lacey’s personal bodyguards, Brick and Stone, were currently stationed at a pair of sleek desks outside her office. I was honestly surprised to see them in chairs; I always assumed guys built like load-bearing walls never actually needed to sit down.

They spotted me and immediately stopped whatever nothing they were doing, acknowledging me with identical, terrifyingly polite nods.

"Miles. Good timing," one of them said.

The other smoothly picked up the sentence. "They’re waiting for you inside."

"Thanks," I said, taking a step toward the door before my brain actually registered the pronoun. "Wait, sorry. They?"

"It’ll all be explained inside," Brick (I was just guessing based on the slightly redder tone of his skin) said seamlessly.

Stone finished the thought. "Nothing to worry about at all."

Okay, now I was highly wary. Lacey always met with me alone, barring the occasional terrified staff member who was generally treated more like office furniture than a human being.

Literally—one time I met with her, she was resting her heels on an intern’s back like a footstool before dismissing him. Lacey always tried to throw me off my game using various power plays. What the hell was she plotting now?

Well. Only one way to find out. I pushed the heavy oak doors open and stepped inside.

Lacey’s office was typical of her aesthetic: massive, dominating, and designed to make you feel microscopic.

A floor-to-ceiling window made up the far wall, looking out over the sprawling Metropolis skyline, and the sheer openness of the room was designed to press down on your shoulders as you made the long, unprotected journey to her imposing desk.

The shelves along the walls held historical treasures and modern art pieces that were probably worth more than my entire chalet.

But the undisputed centerpiece of the office was, inevitably, Lacey herself. A woman who could give any Ayn Randian psycho a serious run for their money.

I was actually a bit let down by her outfit today. She usually met me in her office wearing whatever couture best showed off her lethal figure. And today was both no exception, and yet it entirely was.

Don’t get me wrong—the trim, slate-gray business suit she wore outlined her curves in a truly appreciable way. But the last few times I’d seen her, she’d been dressed in a plunging leotard or something equally distracting.

That said, she didn’t need to show skin to be intimidating. There was always a palpable, heavy air of subtle power radiating off of her. It was a cocktail of absolute confidence and masked ruthlessness that I found disturbingly attractive.

Which made it incredibly awkward considering who was sitting next to her.

My eyes had initially slid right off him—which wasn’t surprising given how aggressively Lacey commanded the gravity of any room she was in—but once I stepped nearer, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Michael Carter was sitting in a small, rigid chair beside her desk. His dull gray suit blended perfectly into the carpeting, and his expression was as dead and unreadable as a block of wood.

His battered briefcase rested neatly on his lap, and his flat gray eyes blinked slowly up at me like a dead fish. He was wearing a violently bright sunburst tie today, which hung around his neck like a festive noose.

"Polaris," he droned, his voice utterly devoid of inflection.

"Michael," I said warily. "What’s one of The Five doing here?"

"Oh, good!" Lacey clapped her hands together, flashing a blinding, predatory smile. "You’ve already met. That should speed things along immensely."

"Yes," Michael said, not moving a single muscle in his face. "We met briefly at the Hall of Heroes. The board was favorably impressed with how he dealt with The Penetrator."

I still physically winced every time I heard that idiot’s name, but I pushed past it.

"Miles does tend to impress. Miles? Please, have a seat," Lacey said, making a sweeping, theatrical motion toward the plush leather chair across from her desk.

"Thanks," I said, moving slowly and keeping my guard up. What the hell was this? I eyed Michael, but the bureaucrat didn’t offer a single micro-expression. I wasn’t even entirely sure the man needed to breathe.

I sat down, resting my hands on the armrests. "So, you wanted to speak to me about..."

"About your debut, yes," Lacey purred, leaning forward and resting her chin on her steepled fingers.

"My debut?" I echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Uh, Lacey. I don’t know how to break this to you, but I’m kind of a known entity in the industry at this point."

"As a freelance, street-level villain, yes. Of course, Miles. Of course," Lacey said dismissively, waving a manicured hand. "But we’re not talking about that anymore, are we?"

"We’re not?" I said.

"Not at all!" she beamed, her eyes gleaming with sharp, corporate calculation. "We’re talking about the grand, highly publicized first heist of your new evil organization!"

I stared at her. Two seconds into the meeting, and she was already throwing me massive curveballs.

"We are?" I said blankly.