Miami.
On the sun deck of a luxury yacht drifting lazily across bright blue water, Emma Frost lay stretched across a white leather sofa. The ocean breeze brushed against her fair skin, and the sunlight reflected softly off her blonde hair. With oversized sunglasses shielding her eyes, she looked completely at ease, as if the world held nothing more urgent than tanning and champagne.
The Hellfire Club dinner was scheduled for eight o'clock the night after tomorrow in Las Vegas.
Yet neither Sebastian Shaw, nor Emma, nor Azazel, nor Riptide had any intention of heading there early. With Azazel's teleportation ability at their disposal, physical distance meant nothing. They could arrive at any moment they wished.
Emma adjusted slightly on the sofa, her long, toned legs crossing effortlessly. She was just beginning to drift into that pleasant, half-lazy state that comes with salt air and warmth when footsteps approached.
Riptide.
He was dressed, as usual, in a sharply tailored white suit that matched the aesthetic discipline of the Hellfire Club. He stopped beside her and spoke without preamble.
"The observers outside Las Vegas sent word. Remy LeBeau was seen in a casino. Richard Wesley was with him."
Emma removed her sunglasses slowly.
"Richard Wesley?" she repeated. "Wasn't he still in San Francisco at noon?"
"He appears to have moved," Riptide replied. "Teleportation makes geography irrelevant."
Emma sat upright now, interest sharpening her expression.
"Does Shaw know?"
"He does. He asked me to inform you. He wants you and Azazel to go to Las Vegas immediately and deliver this personally."
Riptide withdrew a black-and-gold invitation from his jacket and extended it toward her.
Emma did not reach for it.
"Why me?" she asked coolly. "Azazel can handle delivering paper."
Riptide's gaze remained steady. "Because Richard is a psychic. It's safer if you're there."
Emma's expression changed subtly.
Psychic?
She had reviewed the intelligence files collected after Richard became an S-level wanted individual. None of the earlier reports had confirmed telepathic ability. His public displays involved lightning, kinetic force, teleportation—never psychic intrusion.
"Where did that information come from?" she asked. "The Department? The Avengers? The X-Men?"
Riptide shrugged faintly. "Shaw told me. That's all I know."
Emma studied him for a moment longer. He wasn't lying. He simply didn't know more.
After a short pause, she said, "Leave it. I'll go with Azazel later."
Riptide placed the invitation on the small table and stepped back.
Emma put her sunglasses back on and reclined once more, as if the conversation had been nothing more than a minor scheduling adjustment.
Riptide lingered a second longer than necessary.
His eyes drifted, openly, across her figure.
He did not bother hiding it.
Emma did not acknowledge it.
She was accustomed to that gaze. Shaw looked at her that way. Azazel did as well. Riptide was no exception.
Interest in beauty was predictable. It was simple biology.
The difference between men lay not in desire, but in restraint.
And Emma was not a powerless ornament.
Her telepathy alone made coercion suicidal. Add to that her diamond form—virtually indestructible under most conventional assaults—and she was more than capable of defending herself.
If she did not wish to be touched, no one would touch her.
Riptide finally turned away and left the deck. A few minutes later, he departed the yacht entirely, likely headed toward some willing companion in Miami.
Emma remained in the sun, expression unreadable behind dark lenses.
Las Vegas would be interesting.
…
Las Vegas.
Richard had no idea that Emma and Azazel would soon be bringing him an invitation in person.
At that moment, he was standing inside a private bespoke tailor shop, arms slightly extended as an elderly tailor measured his shoulders.
The shop accepted only private commissions. The head tailor had once served European royalty. The décor was understated but expensive in a way that required no explanation.
There was only one customer in the shop.
Richard.
He had not disguised himself.
Before entering, he had used telepathy to subtly alter the perception of everyone inside. In their eyes, he was simply another wealthy client. Affecting a dozen minds was effortless. Affecting thousands simultaneously was more demanding—but unnecessary here.
As the tape measure tightened across his chest, he reflected on something he had realized earlier that afternoon while reviewing footage of his fight with Hulk.
His clothing.
It was too casual.
Strength and appearance mattered, yes. But presentation amplified impact. Sephiroth's presence had never relied solely on power. The black coat, the silver armor, the aura—it all contributed to the legend.
If circumstances allowed, Richard would happily walk into Atomic Nightclub wearing a full replica of Sephiroth's long coat.
But he couldn't.
He had attempted magical reconstruction before, trying to manifest the iconic outfit through energy manipulation. Either his template fusion wasn't deep enough yet, or his magical control insufficient. The result had been incomplete.
So he chose the next best option.
A suit.
A well-fitted suit was modern armor. On the right man, it projected authority without effort. And if one fought in it with sufficient skill, it created something uniquely compelling.
A suited predator.
Measurements took nearly thirty minutes.
Then came decisions.
Fabric weight. Lapel style. Button material. Stitching detail.
He selected boldly.
Gun lapel. Double-breasted cut. Prince Charles buttonholes.
Black double-breasted striped jacket. Crisp white shirt. Black twill tie. Black Oxford shoes.
Two full suits.
Ordinarily, completion would require at least a week. He required them in two days.
The expedited fee was substantial.
One hundred twenty thousand dollars.
Every dollar he had won earlier vanished in a single transaction.
He didn't care.
Money was trivial.
If he wished, he could become a billionaire before breakfast.
After leaving his hotel details with the tailor, he exited the shop, placed his sunglasses and baseball cap back on, and began walking slowly toward the nearest casino, blending once more into the glittering current of Las Vegas nightlife.
.....
Want to read ahead by more than 60 chapters. Then join my p@treon Right Now.
Link: p*atreon.com/BookReaderBoy (Remove the *)
Also Free members get 2 advanced chapters for Free as well.