I leaned over Mister J's shoulder. "I think we should use all our dough to go on vacation, puddin'."

He grunted. He sat on the living room floor, his attention on spray painting the assault rifle gold. His entire apartment smelled like paint fumes.

I grazed my lips up his neck. "Somewhere hot would be nice, you think?"

Mister J leaned away and swatted a hand as though a bee buzzed too close.

I stuck out my tongue at the back of his head and made for the kitchen. "I always thought Botswana looked fun. I like the hyenas. They have such adorable laughs. We could bring back a pup. More fun than a rottweiler, right?"

I popped a few Skittles in my mouth, watching him work. When he still didn't respond, I sighed.

"I'm going kickboxing."

I put on non-sparkly gym clothes and covered my hair with a baseball cap — deciding that regular people dressed boring — and left. If he wanted time to romance his rifle, fine. But he would be mine when I got back, even if it meant tying him to the bed.

Outside, I called Pam.

She answered with, "Don't add that yet. I need to check it."

"Huh?"

"Sorry, Harl, I'm just — wait! I haven't measured — oh, nevermind."

I waited while something in the background made a CLANK! and then Pam's breath returned to the phone.

"Are you cooking?" I said.

"Something like that — stop it!" She giggled.

"Who are you with?"

"Um, someone from school."

I gasped. "Red, do you have a boyfriend?"

"It's not — we're just working together."

"Can you plug that in?" said a man in the background.

"I'll call later if this is a bad time," I said.

Pam paused for too long before saying, "No, it's fine."

I frowned.

"Hey, I wanted to ask you…" she said. "I saw you on the news. The national news."

I stopped walking. "Photos?"

"A lot of people have sent in pics in the last few weeks."

"You recognized me?"

"I'd know your face anywhere, babe. But—" She hesitated. "What happened?"

I glanced at my acid-bleached hand, making a fist. "Nothing. It's part of our cover."

"Did he do that to you?"

"Of course not. He would never hurt me."

"So it hurt, then."

I huffed. "It was an accident. We're both fine."

"Harl, he's dragging you into a scary lifestyle. It's a matter of time before the authorities find out who you are and come after you — or worse."

"Mister J isn't dragging me into anything," I said heatedly. "And no, they won't find out who we are. Harleen Quinzel is dead."

Pam's silence stretched for a long time. The man shouted for her to come back.

"I wish she wasn't, Harl. Sometimes I miss her."

"Enjoy your private cooking class," I said, and hung up.

I punched harder than ever in my kickboxing circuit, until my muscles failed and sweat beaded down my temples. The body opponent bag rocked wildly, threatening to topple but always righting itself in time for my next swing.

Pam's words hung uneasily over me. True, we'd committed bigger crimes than I'd expected since I agreed to break into ACE. But I could have gotten out of this at any time. I could leave him.

The problem was that I'd fallen madly in love with Mister J. He was the first man I'd ever loved and I couldn't imagine feeling that way about anyone else. No matter what he asked me to do, I would do it — theft, arson, or murder.

Pam might have been right, but sometimes love wins over logic.

When I returned to Mister J's apartment, he was standing in the kitchen with one arm in his leather jacket. He whirled around, eyes wide.

"Where were you?" His voice boomed through the small apartment.

"Kickboxing!"

He was over to me in two steps. He grabbed my upper arm and shook me hard enough to make me gasp.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?"

"Ouch! Puddin', you're hurting—"

"I called you a million times!"

"I — oh."

He let go. I pulled my phone from my purse and saw I had nine missed calls and a text that said, Where are you?

"Baby, don't do that to me. I didn't know where you were or who you were with."

"I told you — I was only an hour—"

He wrapped his arms around me.

My heart swelled as I leaned into his chest. I inhaled his scent — currently a mixture of leather, sweat, and paint.

"I'm sorry, puddin'."

He dropped his jacket onto a chair. "You're here, now."

I tried to pull him into a kiss, but he turned away.

"I want to change focus, Harley. People don't carry enough cash on them, and most credit cards get cancelled before I can use them. We need to go bigger."

"Sure," I said, still trying to compose myself after his outburst. "Whatcha got in mind?"

"The big guys. The ones that control too much of this country. We need to burn them down. No one else will—"

Someone banged on the door.

Mister J whirled.

We stared at the door until they banged again.

Mister J's green eyes snapped to me. "Did someone follow you?"

I opened and closed my mouth. I hadn't seen anyone — but I also hadn't paid much attention.

"Mr. Roberts?" said a man. "We have a few questions."

I raised an eyebrow.

"The apartment's under a fake name," whispered Mister J. "I don't know how—"

"The lamborghini?" I whispered. "What if it's traceable?"

His eyes widened.

"Mr. Roberts, if you don't open the door we're going to force entry."

Mister J grabbed my arm. "We need to go."

"Where?"

"The window."

"We're twenty storeys up!"

He snarled, shoving me away. "Stay, then."

He grabbed his rifle, the gold paint still wet, and threw it towards the window. He disappeared into his bedroom, crashed around, and came out with a bedsheet.

"But how are you going to get twenty—?"

The window shattered, glass pouring across the floor. I screamed. A dark figure burst into the living room.

Terror seized me. He was all in black, with broad wings and a mask covering half his face. It was our attacker from the theatre.

Mister J lunged for the rifle. The Bat grabbed him by the collar. Mister J swung, and wet paint smeared across the Bat's suit.

They fell into the shards of glass, grunting. The rifle clattered to the floor. Mister J punched without restraint, striking the man across his exposed jaw.

I snatched my pistol from the counter, lip curling.

"Over here, Batsy."

Bats threw Mister J off him. Mister J skidded through the broken glass, trailing blood.

I squeezed the trigger and held it. A stream of bullets ricocheted off Bats' chest. He roared and stepped back, but the bullets didn't penetrate his suit.

"This way, puddin'!"

Mister J labored to his feet, still eyeing the rifle. I clenched my jaw and stepped forwards, not releasing the trigger. I grabbed Mister J by the arm and hauled him back with all the strength I had.

"Leave it. We need to go," I said through my teeth. "Get your revolver and shoot the guys—"

His arm came up, and my cheek burst with pain. I released the trigger and stumbled back, pressing a palm to my face. Had he just hit me?

Mister J dashed for the rifle. I aimed for Bats, but he threw something, and a blade sliced my hand. I dropped my pistol.

Bats threw another at Mister J, who leapt back into the bedroom.

The apartment door burst open and two cops came in, weapons raised, shouting.

Bats stopped.

For a sliver of time, I stood between the cops and Bats. The cops aimed their guns at both of us. Their eyes fell to the gold assault rifle by the window, and then to Bats, who had gold paint across his clothes.

Understanding hit me. They weren't working together. They didn't know who the Bat was.

I hunched my shoulders and backed against the wall, whimpering like a poor damsel. "Please help! He's tryin' to kill me."

I pointed at the Bat with a shaky finger.

The cops turned on him. "Sir, raise your hands—"

A gunshot rang and one of the cops fell. The other turned to his fallen partner, mouth agape.

Mister J stood in the bedroom door with his silver revolver.

At once, Bats dove for Mister J and Mister J dove for the window. The standing cop hollered into his radio.

Mister J pulled himself over the ledge and leapt out into the night. I screamed.

To my astonishment, he grabbed something hanging. It must have been Bats' rope. He slid down and disappeared. Bats looked over his shoulder at me and the cops.

"Arrest the girl," he said in a deep, harsh voice. "The Joker's mine."

He leapt out the window after Mister J, opening his arms so those enormous black wings spread wide.

The standing cop turned to me, then back to the window.

In the confusion, I snatched my pistol and ran for the door. I hurtled down the steps so fast that I crashed into the wall on each flight. A moment later, footsteps pounded above. If he caught up, I would have to turn and shoot.

I burst out the door and ran into the night. I sprinted faster than I'd ever done in my life, taking side streets and leaping into traffic.

The cop must have turned back for his fallen partner, because soon, I lost him.

When my legs couldn't carry me further and I retched from exertion, I stopped. I leaned against a wall in an alley, gasping for breath, coughing.

My hand stung where Bats had sliced it open — and my cheekbone throbbed where Mister J had hit me. Poor puddin' had been so scared.

Still gripping my pistol, I wiped a trembling arm across my face. Where was he? Had Bats caught him, or did he fall from twenty storeys up?

Even if he'd escaped Bats and survived the fall, he'd left without his phone. I had no way to contact him.

Tears welled in my eyes. Somehow, I had to find him. Until then, I hoped and wished with every cell in my body that, wherever my puddin' was, he was safe.

x️x

This is a fanfiction and the characters are not my own. If you like my writing, please check out my Mermaids of Eriana Kwai series - bit۔ly/mermaidbook :)