What makes something a surprise? Only the unexpected truly qualifies.
From the way Helena—despite being, as she'd put it, a "new car"—had so casually followed him to a hotel, Jack had already figured out that her family and identity had twisted something inside her. Some combination of self-destruction and revenge against her father. But he genuinely hadn't expected her to pull this out of her bag.
A ball gag. Black leather straps, a red silicone sphere.
She wasn't as proportionally slender as Laurel, and her features weren't as delicately cold as Catwoman's. But there was something about her—a rebellious, reckless, almost manic energy—that drew him in ways those women didn't. The urge to push things as far as they could go hit him hard.
Jack pulled Helena closer and let himself go.
She'd insisted on the gag herself, fastening the straps behind her head before climbing onto the bed. Whatever sounds she made after that came out muffled and desperate, her fingers clawing at the sheets as Jack drove into her without restraint. Her back arched, her thighs trembled, and still she pushed back against him, demanding more. Wave after wave crashed through her, each one leaving her shaking and gasping around the gag, until finally she collapsed beneath him, utterly spent.
Afterward, Jack lay beside her as if he owned the place, one arm draped around her still-heaving shoulders. He picked up the gag she'd removed, turning the thing over in his hand. "How'd you think to buy something like this?"
"Just to keep me from talking in my sleep." Helena looked up at him, catching her breath. "If I told you I was investigating my father's criminal activities, would you believe me?"
"Yes." Jack nodded without hesitation.
"You really believe me?" Suspicion crept into her voice. "You're not just agreeing to humor me?"
Jack chuckled. "You're overthinking it. You're not my girlfriend—I have no obligation to humor you. Strange things happen in this world all the time. You're hardly the only person with father issues. It's nothing remarkable."
Helena paused, then asked with a note of hope: "Would you be willing to help me?"
"No." The refusal came instantly. "I have no interest in your family feuds."
Silence stretched between them.
"I really did overthink it. I'm sorry." Helena's voice turned flat. Her brow furrowed, conflict and regret flickering across her face. She shouldn't have revealed her secret.
What if he leaked the information? What if her father caught him, and he gave her up?
She studied Jack's unconcerned expression, her eyes shifting to something pleading, expectant. "If I agreed to be your lover—let you do whatever you wanted—and paid you a large sum of money, would you help me then? I wouldn't ask you to take any real risks. I'd just need your cooperation to make my father pay the price he deserves."
Jack considered the offer with apparent seriousness for a moment, then shook his head. "Still not interested."
"Is that so?" Helena sighed, disappointment settling over her features. "I didn't want to do this. But I can't allow any accidents to derail my plan, so..." Her expression hardened. "I'm sorry."
"Help! Someone broke into my room!"
The scream tore out of her—panicked, ragged. She stumbled toward the door with deliberately clumsy steps, clutching the sheet to her chest.
Bang.
The door burst open. Two bodyguards rushed in, weapons drawn, then froze at the sight: their disheveled young mistress and the strange man standing calmly in the middle of her bedroom.
Who was he? How had he gotten in?
What had he done to her?
Seeing them hesitate, Helena's voice turned sharp with fury. "What are you standing there for?! He just raped me! Raped me under your protection! Kill him! Kill him!"
What?
The young mistress had been raped? How had they heard nothing?
If the boss found out his daughter had been assaulted in her own home while they were on duty—the consequences were too terrible to imagine. Rage and terror mingled on their faces as both men opened fire.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Bullets tore through the air toward Jack.
Hiding behind the bodyguards, Helena felt a pang of sadness twist through her chest. She'd found herself drawn to this mysterious, audacious man who'd handled her so boldly. I didn't want this, she thought.
But the words died in her throat as she watched Jack weave between the bullets, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
How was that possible?
At this range, with two trained shooters firing simultaneously—how was he dodging them?
Click. Click.
The magazines ran dry.
Both bodyguards stared at their weapons in disbelief. Had they been firing blanks?
Bang! Bang!
Jack closed the distance in a single stride, driving his fists into their lower abdomens. The impact hit like a speeding truck. Their eyes rolled back, guttural groans escaping their lips, and both men crumpled to the floor.
"You really do surprise me."
Jack stopped in front of Helena, smiling. Her eyes went wide with alarm, and she swung a punch straight at his face.
Looking at that same face that had been so eager to please him minutes ago, Jack laughed softly, sidestepped the blow, and drove his knee forward. Helena doubled over like a shrimp, features twisted in agony.
"Too slow."
He grabbed her shoulder and executed a clean over-the-shoulder throw.
Thud.
Her body slammed into the floor. The world spun. Helena gritted her teeth against the pain and rolled onto her side. Footsteps pounded up the stairwell—the gunshots had drawn the rest of the villa's security. Guards appeared at the top of the stairs, weapons rising.
Jack calmly raised one finger.
A sizzling hum filled the air. Dazzling azure light flickered at his fingertip.
A standard taser maxed out at a hundred thousand volts. But with Infinite Superposition, times ten—
The spark expanded. A million volts of current coalesced into something like a massive electric serpent and roared down the stairwell. Crackling discharge echoed through the villa. The smell of burning filled the air.