Chapter 24 Kissiii (Patreon)

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The extraction was fast. Emma’s secondary security detail had the alley cleared and a clean vehicle waiting before the police even reached the block.

They left Sitwell and his strike team unconscious in the rain. Emma had ripped every piece of Hydra intelligence out of their heads, but she hadn’t planted any fake memories. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s post-mission synaptic scanners were too advanced; they would have detected the deep-level telepathic tampering instantly.

Instead, she just performed a hard wipe of the last ten minutes. When they woke up, they would simply think a stray drone blast had knocked them out and fried their dampeners.

An hour later, the private elevator doors chimed softly, opening into Emma’s secure Manhattan penthouse.

After making sure Marie was settled, Marcus quietly stepped out of the guest room and pulled the heavy oak door shut behind him.

He turned—and stopped.

Emma waited in the hallway with one shoulder against the wall, arms folded tight across her chest. Her ruined white suit was gone, replaced by a silk robe that probably cost more than most people's cars. It didn't make her look any more relaxed.

Her eyes stayed closed.

"Are you Hydra?"

The question came out soft enough to miss if you weren't listening.

Marcus had been expecting it.

"No."

Emma opened her eyes.

She studied him without saying a word. Seconds dragged by as her gaze searched his face, looking for the smallest twitch, the slightest hesitation.

She found neither.

A quiet breath left her nose.

"Follow me."

She pushed off the wall and walked down the hallway without looking back.

Marcus followed.

She stopped at a pair of double doors and pushed them open.

The bedroom beyond looked like something out of a luxury magazine. Deep navy walls, polished wood, velvet furniture, a canopy bed large enough to sleep a family, and framed portraits of Emma that somehow stopped short of looking narcissistic.

It was unmistakably hers.

Emma crossed the room to a crystal decanter resting on a side table.

She rested both hands on the edge of the table and stood there for a moment.

When she finally turned around, the polished mask she'd worn all night had slipped just enough to notice.

She bit her lower lip — a rare, almost imperceptible crack in her perfect mask. "You saved my life tonight," she said quietly. "In the VIP suite. If you hadn't pulled me down when you did, that drone would have ripped me in half. And then you handled Sitwell's team while I was down." She held his gaze, her expression softening just a fraction. "Thank you, Marcus."

"Just keeping you alive so you can sign my paychecks," Marcus said, his tone light, deliberately cutting the tension.

A faint, wry smile touched the corner of Emma's mouth. "Right. The bet. You said Hammer was a legitimate threat, and said it without a shred of embarrassment. Then he went and blew half of Flushing Meadows to pieces. You won." She tilted her head. "The master keycard, and free run of the place whenever you want it...."

The smile drained away, and something darker settled into its place as her mind slid back to the alley.

"I had no idea S.H.I.E.L.D. already had technology that could shut a telepath down cold," she muttered, eyes narrowing at the floor. "Neural-blocking hardware at that level — they shouldn't have been able to crack that on their own."

Marcus leaned against the doorframe. "They didn't. Did they?"

"No." Emma's laugh was short, bitter, humorless. She looked up, eyes flashing. "From what I pulled out of that Hydra rat's head — S.H.I.E.L.D. had help." Her nails dug into the polished wood of the table. "That self-righteous baldy up in Westchester. Charles Xavier." She said the name like a curse.

"He helped them build the dampening tech. Handed it right over so the higher-ups could shield their own minds from manipulation. Sold out his own kind, just to prove to the humans that mutants can play nice."

Marcus exhaled slowly, shaking his head. Xavier. It tracked. Charles always played the appeasement game, trading away mutant advantages to keep the humans comfortable.

"Well," Marcus said quietly. "Good thing you're not playing nice."

For a moment neither of them said anything else. The rain had picked up again outside, ticking softly against the tall windows behind her.

Marcus pushed off the doorframe. "Get some sleep, Emma. You pulled a small country's worth of intel out of that man's head tonight — that's not something you just shake off."

"Charming as always." But there was no bite in it. She reached for the decanter, poured two fingers of something amber-colored, and didn't offer him any.

He'd made it halfway to the door when her voice stopped him.

"Marcus."

He turned.

Emma hadn't moved from the side table. She was looking at him over the rim of her glass, one eyebrow lifting slow enough to make sure he caught it.

"Don't think I've forgotten the other half of the bet." She took a slow sip. "The kiss. In front of my entire board."

Marcus went very still. "That was a joke."

"It was a wager." Emma set the glass down with a soft, deliberate click. "And you don't strike me as a man who welches on a bet, whatever else you might be."

"Emma—"

"Ten a.m. Quarterly meeting." She said it the way she might confirm a lunch reservation. "Twelve board members, my CFO, and at least two people who've been trying to have me removed since Q1." She rolled the glass between her fingers, watching him over it. "I intend to enjoy their faces."

"You're serious."

"I am extremely serious." She let the pause sit a beat too long. "You said Hammer was a threat with a straight face and no shame at all. I intend to collect with the same energy."

Marcus dragged a hand down his face, but he couldn't quite keep the laugh out of his breath.

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." Emma turned back to the decanter, already dismissing him, already done. "Sleep well, Marcus."

He let himself out without another word, though he was fairly sure she heard him shaking his head all the way down the hall.