A pang of jealousy went through Selina, odd and cold.
She jerked her chin toward Harley. “I want names. Three names, for three of the Joker’s petty cohorts. Lowest of the low—the kind that are definitely behind bars.”
That lethal gleam in Harley’s eyes sharpened. “Why?”
Selina went to Ivy’s other side to tend to her right arm. “Because we need to send a few messages of our own.”
“How will you get them out?”
“Leave it to me. Just bring explosives that can take out concrete and steel.”
Selina finished on Ivy’s right arm, and reached for her gloves on the other side of the woman.
“What’s that bruise?” Ivy reached toward the hint of black-lining-purple just peeking out from beneath Selina’s sleeve.
Selina smoothly slid on her gloves. “Nothing.”
The Leopard tattoos.
Talia had wanted to laser them off. It was the one thing Selina had defied her on. She’d given up everything she was, everything she loved. But the tattoos…Talia would have to skin her alive to remove them if she wanted them gone. Selina had told her as much.
Talia had merely shrugged and drawled that petty attachments to the past would interfere with her ability to do what was necessary to further the League’s cause.
Talia didn’t know the half of it.
Ivy gave Selina a look that said she didn’t believe her, but Harley sighed, shooting to her feet, pigtails bouncing. “You can crash with me, Vee. Get whatever shit is most important, and let’s go.”
Ivy swept a long look around the paradise of her own making—yeah, that was sorrow there. These plants…her friends. Her family.
But a glass house was definitely not the place for someone to live when they were throwing quite so many stones.
Luke knew he could be an asshole.
But he’d really, truly been one last night, when instead of thanking Holly, he’d said some things that he really hadn’t meant. But he’d been pissed off, still raging after three weeks of hell, chasing after Catwoman and her cohorts.
Three weeks and six robberies. Banks, jewelry stores…It was a shock there was any money or valuables left in Gotham City thanks to Catwoman and her merry band of criminals.
Then there were the little explosions—cargo boxes at the docks destroyed, animals freed from the zoo and circus….There was no rhyme or reason to their attacks. Some for cash, some just for hell-raising.
And worse than all that, Gordon had told him last night, right before Luke had gone into his boxing match: some criminals were even pledging allegiance to Catwoman. Thanks to those leaked photos in the papers. The footage of their unchecked rampage. A new Queen of the Underworld, the papers and petty criminals called her.
So he’d gone into his fight mad. Unfocused. He’d won, but he had taken one hell of a beating for it.
So when Holly had come in, when his body had been aching and his temper already on edge, and she’d casually mentioned her date. He’d reacted poorly.
And he would have gotten up to apologize, but his battered body had refused. Literally refused to get up from that couch. He’d slept on the damn thing. When he’d awoken and knocked on Holly’s door the next morning, she hadn’t answered.
He didn’t have her cell, or he might have texted her with a request to meet up—not an apology. He owed her those words face to face.
But the day passed, and he spent it sleeping on and off, watching whatever football games were on TV. He staggered to knock on her door around lunch: nothing. Dinner: nope.
If she was ignoring him, he didn’t blame her.
Luke was still lying on the couch as night fell, wondering how the hell he’d get into his suit, right as the football game cut to live footage. Of Blackgate Penitentiary smoldering under the night sky. Luke swore as he read the headline on the bottom of the screen, then bolted for his bedroom.
Three of Joker’s Henchmen Freed from Prison,
Catwoman Suspected
* * *
—
Selina strode into the small bar at the docks, Ivy and Harley trailing her. The Joker’s three henchmen, still in their orange jumpsuits, two steps behind them.
Everyone packed into the dark, wood-paneled space went dead still. Even the raging rock music from the speakers cut out.
She’d waited until now, weeks after that encounter at the bank, for a reason. Had picked this bar for a reason. Knew it was a hangout for people like Carmine Falcone, people who answered to many of the bosses in this city and came here to meet on neutral ground.