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    Forced Betrayal
    Forced Betrayal
    Forced Betrayal
    Ebook99 pages1 hour

    Forced Betrayal

    By Robert Jeschonek

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    About this ebook

    Who murdered the girlfriend of the World's Mightiest Heroine? Super-powered Hericane will stop at nothing to find out who killed the woman she loved. But when she teams with Bonnie Taggart, internal affairs investigator for the Superhuman Protectorate, the search leads in unexpected directions. Fighting their way through the darkest corners of Isosceles City, Hericane and Bonnie tear the truth from criminal chimpanzees, crooked promoters, and hateful cops, only to fall prey to a terrible trap. The hunters become the hunted as Hericane and Bonnie go on the run, barely staying a step ahead of the super hit squads out to slay them. Solving the case is the only way to survive--but the secrets they unearth will jeopardize much more than their lives. Because exposing the truth might just lead to the greatest superhuman catastrophe of all time. A catastrophe that no one will walk away from. Don't miss this exciting tale by award-winning storyteller and DC Comics writer Robert Jeschonek, a master of unique and unexpected superhero adventures that really pack a punch.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRobert Jeschonek
    Release dateDec 3, 2018
    ISBN9781465794666
    Forced Betrayal

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      Book preview

      Forced Betrayal - Robert Jeschonek

      Forced Betrayal

      FORCED BETRAYAL

      A SUPERHERO TALE

      ROBERT JESCHONEK

      Blastoff Books

      CONTENTS

      Also by Robert Jeschonek

      Forced Betrayal

      About the Author

      Special Preview: Forced Retirement

      FORCED BETRAYAL

      Copyright © 2023 by Robert Jeschonek

      www.robertjeschonek.com

      Cover Art Copyright © 2023 by Ben Baldwin

      www.benbaldwin.co.uk

      This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

      All rights reserved by the author.

      A Pie Press book

      IE Books logo

      Published by Blastoff Books

      An Imprint of Pie Press

      411 Chancellor Street

      Johnstown, Pennsylvania 15904

      www.piepresspublishing.com

      Subscribe to the Blastoff Books Newsletter: http://newsletter.blastoffbooks.net/

      Vellum flower icon Created with Vellum

      ALSO BY ROBERT JESCHONEK

      A Matter of Size

      Forced Retirement

      Forced Partnership

      Heroes of Global Warming

      Not-So-Fortunate Son

      Seven Comic Book Scripts Volume One

      Seven Comic Book Scripts Volume Two

      Seven Comic Book Scripts Volume Three

      Six Superhero Stories Volume One

      The Wife Who Never Was

      FORCED BETRAYAL

      The murdered super-hero's apartment smells like cotton candy and popcorn.

      And blood. Lots and lots of blood.

      I pad around the place in the blue plastic booties that the crime scene investigators make me wear. I'm trying not to step on any evidence, but it's almost impossible. The poor girl's remains are splattered everywhere.

      Suddenly, I hear a voice from a few feet behind me. "You didn't waste any time gettin' here, didja, Bonnie? Mardi Gras bites it, and presto, here you are."

      I don't bother turning. Why give the douche the satisfaction? Somebody dies, I don't piss around.

      "Somebody super dies, you mean. The douche is Lieutenant Tank Driscoll, Isosceles City P.D. Don't let the scrawny 5'3 frame fool you; this guy will roll over you like a tank if you let him. Something happens to one of your own, and you come a-runnin', right, fox?

      I don't argue with him, because I can't. It's all true. I work internal affairs for the Superhuman Protectorate, investigating crimes involving super-powered suspects or victims.

      And yes, I'm super-powered, too.

      But the fact that there's a superhuman corpse splattered all over this apartment isn't the only reason I rushed over here. See, I happen to know the shit's about to hit the fan in a big way on these premises. A giant way.

      You might want to move your people out of here. I look at the balcony window, where I see my image reflected against the darkness outside: 5'8", slender, short brown hair in a bob with wispy bangs--not bad for a thirtysomething woman. (Okay, fortysomething.) Next, I look up at the ceiling, wondering when the shaking will start. Moving 'em out might be a good idea. Just for a while.

      Why? So you can poop all over my crime scene? Tank snort-laughs like the greasy little prick he is. "No thanks, fox."

      Again with the fox. It's the nickname they have for folks like me--superhumans charged with oversight of the superhuman community. As in the fox guarding the henhouse.

      As in we can't be trusted to watch over our own. Which is bullshit.

      At least in my case.

      The douche doesn't know who else lives here. How could he? I'll bet the only way he figured out this is Mardi Gras' place was because her torn-up costume's hanging from the ceiling fan, red jester's cap and all.

      Somebody's coming. I turn and glare at him. Trust me, you don't want to be here when they get here.

      Tank sneers and strokes his thin black mustache, which makes him look like a villain out of an old silent movie. Why's that? Did you call and give 'em a heads-up?

      No, dingleberry. Too late now. I feel the floor vibrating under my feet. "It's because Mardi Gras has a girlfriend."

      Tank scowls. He's about to say something to the effect of so effing what, but then he does the mental math and wises up. Because he feels the floor vibrating, too.

      Putz that he is, he still doesn't pack it in. He's still standing there with his metaphorical dick in his hand when the girlfriend roars up and crashes through the wall. I'm guessing she sneaked a peek with her x-ray vision en route, or she might've come through the front door instead.

      So Tank finally gets a look at Mardi Gras' girlfriend, who I tried to warn him about. You should see the look on his face.

      Because standing in the rubble of the wall is none other than Hericane, the most powerful woman on the face of the friggin' planet.

      Maybe the most powerful human being, period.

      I hate myself at times like this. Because this poor woman just lost someone she loved, this is one of the worst days in her life...and all I can do is watch her reaction for signs of guilt. A high percentage of murders are committed by domestic partners, it's a fact. Whether it's Joe Blow from Kokomo, Jane Doe from Buffalo...

      ...or Hericane, the mightiest woman on Earth.

      So what's the verdict? Hard to say. Only thing I'm sure of so far is that the rest of us in this room are lucky we're still alive.

      Girl's going through some changes, to say the least.

      Oh my God. Her eyes are flared wide as she stands there in her white costume with the red piping and looks around at the terrible scene. When did this...how did this... Her voice trails off.

      Hericane. I'm Bonnie Taggart of the Superhuman Protectorate. How many times have I been in a similar moment? Dozens, at least...not counting the one time I was on the other side of the equation. The one time I was the one losing the loved one. I'm so sorry for your loss.

      She doesn't bother trying some doubletalk B.S. to protect her secret identity. She doesn't deny that this is where she lives. She just squints at me, and I'm tempted to flinch. One jot from her lightning vision, and I'm toast.

      But I don't flinch. Hardcore's my middle name.

      No. She shakes her head. I just talked to her on the phone. This can't be her.

      How long ago did you talk to her? says Tank, that douche, with all the tact of a bull elephant stomping through a cream pie factory.

      Twenty minutes. Hericane's gaze fixes on the tattered costume hanging from the ceiling fan. I got held up at a Power Structure meeting in Paratown.

      The douche starts to say something else--something stupid, I'm sure--and I give him a look that'll freeze his balls off. Not that that's my super-power, mind you.

      He gets the message.

      This isn't her. Hericane shakes her head confidently. It's an elaborate ruse by one of my enemies. Bitch Slap or Old Maid, maybe. They're both in the wind, aren't they?

      When she looks at me this time, I feel worse than ever. She reminds me of a scared kid, not the mightiest woman in the world. She just wants me to take away the

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