9. Seojun

CHAPTER 9

SEOJUN

" I want the record to show that I warned you about this," I tell Jack because he asked for it.

Truth is, I would have canceled today. I don't need Mr. Creep Good Guy over here knowing my business or what kind of stuff I get up to. Normally, I wouldn't be concerned, but seeing as we're still stuck together and a signature has never lasted this long in my entire life, I don't know what he will or won't remember when all of this is over. If it's over. It's got to be over, right? At some point? I can't spend the rest of my life stuck with a good guy who has to put headphones on every time I want to…sing.

So yeah, I really should cancel today, but on the other hand, I've been trying to get a sidekick for years, and if I'm going to find my family, I need one. Stat.

Every good supervillain has a sidekick. And as the best and biggest supervillain in the city, it's preposterous that I've yet to find one. First come the sidekicks, then the henchmen. Then, the criminal empire I should have always had. But it all starts with a good sidekick. A good sidekick is not only trustworthy but also extra support, bearing the load when it gets too much for their boss.

"You still didn't tell me what happened last time," Jack says as we get out of the cab, which he insists on paying for—what a wimp—and enter the theater. "Hang on."

He stops right under the marquee and raises an eyebrow at me.

"What?"

"You booked the Apollo for your sidekick auditions?" He glances up to reread the name as if he doesn't believe his own eyes.

I grab his arm and walk ahead. I don't have time for his prudeness.

Only…

I forgot how good it feels to touch him. How the warmth pulses under my veins, making me feel more alive than ever. And how that aliveness tends to travel south and concentrate on the one area I can't.

My cock gives a little stir, and I've had just about enough. I let go of him so I can put an end to this madness.

"You've seen where I live. Where did you think I would hold auditions? The dive bar down the road?" I answer his question, opening one of the main doors and entering.

"So…" he says when we're ushered to the events person. I sign my name in lieu of payment and she ushers us into the theater with its bright-red chairs, curvy stage with beautiful golden trims framing it, and the sense of purpose and talent seeping through every square inch. This really should be what every theater looks like. And most of all, the only good place where a supervillain like myself should conduct his business.

"Are you going to tell me what happened last time?"

"Are you still on that?" I glare at him.

He should be taking in this place, breathing in all the art, skill, and hard work that's passed through this room. Not focusing on…well, me.

"Nothing much. The theater just…caught on fire," I say and plant my ass on a seat so we can get on with the show, though from the people who've emailed for specifics, I'm not holding out much hope.

"You set fire to a theater?"

"Excuse me! I didn't set fire to anything. One of the auditioners did, thank you very much. It wasn't my fault."

It really had been such a bad crop. I was kinda grateful when the fire broke out. Gave me an excuse to skip rather than waste any more time with talentless people who could never be super, let alone supervillain sidekicks.

Jack sits beside me. I glare at him so we don't forget ourselves and how much I despise being stuck with him and clap my hands. The lights turn down on the audience side, leaving just the stage lit in a multitude of spotlights.

Jack inhales, and I can see his chest and belly rising from the corner of my eyes. Then he exhales, and his shoulders brush mine.

I ball my hands into fists.

He inhales again.

"Could you not?" I snap.

I don't need a repeat of last night, feeling his breath caress my face softly and warmly while I was…while I was trying to fucking sleep. Or his body heat seeping from him and alighting all my senses like…like a fucking radiator.

"Stop what?"

"That!" I point to his mouth. "It's annoying enough you wouldn't stop snoring last night. Do I have to put up with your breathing too?"

Jack chokes and starts laughing.

"Snoring? Me?"

"Yes, you!" As if I didn't hear the motorboat shaking the entire bed. I'm not a fool.

"Okay, Mr. Snores-a-Lot. I was the one snoring. Sure." He pats my hand, causing ripple after ripple of heat and desire through me.

"Me? Mr. Snores-a-Lot? You must be mistaken. I don't do such vile things like snoring."

"You can call that singing too if you want. Doesn't change what it is." This time, he squeezes my hand.

What? Is he trying to kill me or something? He knows how touching each other makes us both feel. Unless…unless, he likes it.

Well, if his face is any indication, part grinning, part contorted as if he's having the best orgasm of his life, then he does.

I wonder what my face looks like when he touches me.

"Ew. Don't make that face," I tell him because I'm also a master deflector.

"What face?"

I do a bad imitation of his O-face. "That face."

I wonder, is that really his O-face? What does his O-face actually look like?

"Well, stop touching me then."

" You're the one touching me!"

"Oh. Right." He removes his hand, and it leaves me slightly breathless. My legs feel like jelly and my hands like cooked spaghetti, but my dick?

Well, my dick has never been harder.

"Thank you," I whisper, only it comes out as a moan, which makes my dick pulse at the thought.

As if the idea of moaning next to him is appealing.

Ew. Gross. Gag.

But also, yeah, Jack is hot as fuck. We've established that. We've also established how close to my type he is. Like, down to a T . Which is to say…yeah, I'd like to moan next to him. I'd like that very much. I'd like it more if he moaned too.

God, I need to stop thinking about us gasping together. I need a distraction.

"Hi. My name is Knotty Girl, and I'm here to audition for the Sinister Seomyeong." A woman waves at us from the stage, which allows me to take a deep breath and ease some of the tension in my nether regions.

"Naughty girl? I'm not looking for a stripper." I wave her off the stage, but she doesn't move.

"No. Knotty as in knots."

I grimace. "What? Like nautical knots?" She nods. "Thank you, but the Boy Scouts mastered those ages ago."

"Oh no! I don't do knots. Let…let me demonstrate."

She drags a trunk to the stage, opens it, and twists herself inside.

"It's not even that much smaller than her," I whisper to Jack.

"Let her try. She might impress you."

I glance at him, and he gives me one of those frustrating smiles that makes me roll my eyes.

"You never told me what Seomyeong means."

"Yeah, you were stuck on the Sinister part."

"Can you blame me? You're like the least sinister person I've met."

"Pftt." I dismiss him with a wave as Knotty Girl's toes peek from within the trunk.

"You can pfft all you want. Doesn't make you any more sinister. In fact, it makes you less."

I gasp.

"You're coming for blood today, aren't you, Mr. Lewis."

"Lewis? Am I not Mr. Happy anymore?" He smirks.

I huff again. Why does he have to smirk, smile, or grin every two seconds? It's highly…distracting. I wish I could, like, punch it off his face. Maybe I will. I am a supervillain, after all.

"You're a such, what the English call, a prick."

"Just a tiny prick though. I don't like blood. Or guys, remember?"

I stare at him for a moment. The moment becomes two. And I burst into laughter.

"You're terrible!" I attempt to hide my face from him, but I'm not doing a very good job.

"I made you laugh though."

"Barely. I was just laughing at how tragic you are. Not laughing with your sophisticated joke."

"Uh-huh!" He points a finger right at my face. "You admit it was sophisticated."

"I admit nothing of the sort—" I start when the trunk topples over and I see the girl stuck inside waving and smiling at us.

"Next!" I shout.

The next auditionee is a guy dressed like a clown, including big curly red hair.

"Oh God," I groan.

"And who would you be?" Jack asks him.

"I'm Nosey-Boy!" the clown answers.

"And what's your power?" Jack continues.

Instead of answering, Nosey-Boy pinches his bare nose, and it squeaks.

He waits. We wait. He squeaks his nose again.

"Is that all?" I ask.

The clown smiles and puts his hands out to his sides as if waiting for applause.

"Next!"

A young man walks onto the stage, groin first, and winks at me when he takes center stage.

"Don't tell me. You're Cocky Boy, and you can make your dinkie-dink talk!"

Jack cackles next to me, but Cocky Boy shakes his head.

"No. I'm Pyr—" he starts and snaps his fingers. Sparks come from them, and I shoot out of the chair like a spring.

"No! No! Not again! Next!"

I'm not going to burn down the Apollo, not after nearly burning the Lyric Theater to the ground last time. I can't have two for two on my résumé.

"That was mean," Jack tells me when the guy walks off stage, head first this time.

"Look, I may have set fire to the last theater?—"

"I thought it wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't, but…well, maybe it was punishment for thinking I can sign the Lyric Theater?—"

"That was you?"

"No. Not me. A potential sidekick. But…yeah." I look down at my lap and sigh.

"Wow."

"I know."

"You know they're still renovating."

"I know."

"It's okay. I'm sure…I'm sure it was an accident." He taps my knee as if he's trying to reassure me or something, but I stare at the hand, marveling over the fire it's causing inside me, and all I can think is how close it is to my lava stick.

"What's a lava stick?" he asks.

Shit. Did I say that aloud? Oh crap.

"Erm. I…I don't?—"

"Hi! My name is Michelle, and I'm Ms. Fade Out."

Oh thank God. I turn away from him to the girl on the stage and grimace.

"Fade Out? What's your power?"

She puts her hands together in front of her belly and smiles like a pageant girl.

"I can turn invisible when I close my eyes."

Jack glances at me, and I glance at Jack.

Good to know I'm not the only one who thinks that sounds weird.

"Let me demonstrate."

She makes a big theatrical nod and closes her eyes.

Shit. What do you know? She really can turn invisible. She's got potential. A lot, actually. I could use someone who goes unnoticed while I mastermind.

"Can you turn others invisi—" I start, when there's a loud noise, and the trunk from before, now empty thankfully, jiggles and someone screams. There's a thud.

I cross my arms and wait for Ms. Fade Out to fade in, but she doesn't.

"She's interesting," Jack says when the curtain on the right side rolls around itself, and moments later, a very visible Michelle flies into the seats with an ear-piercing scream.

"Next!"

Jack slaps his hand over my mouth and rises to his feet.

"She might need medical attention."

I want to retort back. I want to tell him what she really needs, but I'm still focusing on his fingers on my lips. Even long after they're gone. Even while he's calling 911 to get Ms. Broken Leg an ambulance.

"You're too good for your own good," I say when she's gone and Jack is back in his seat.

He shrugs and takes a sip of the cola the events manager offered him amid all the kerfuffle.

"There's no such thing. Everyone deserves a little kindness, and I'm happy to be that person for people."

I scoff and snatch the cola from his hand. I still can't believe they didn't bring me any. Or popcorn. Or a hot dog. Am I a paying customer here, or what?

Oh, right. I'm not.

"You wouldn't say that if your power didn't make you happy twenty-four-seven."

He laughs it off.

"But I am my power, so…we'll never know, I guess."

"Whatever," I say, taking a sip off the same straw I now realize Jack has.

We're practically kissing.

As if my cock needs an excuse. Well, apparently, it does. And it gets rock hard. Again.

"Hello. I'm Kevin," A man stands in the middle of the stage and peers at us through a pair of old man glasses.

Because he's old.

Like really old.

Like, I wouldn't be surprised if he's over a hundred.

"This is hopeless." I sigh and hand the cola back to Jack.

I make to get up, but Jack puts his hand on mine, and I lose all purpose and determination. So I sit back and attempt to ignore the scorching fire pulsing through me.

"But you can call me Paper Trail."

"That's great, Paper Trail. And what is your power? Why do you think you'd be a great fit as the Sinister Seomyeong's sidekick?" he asks before he leans next to me and whispers. "You still haven't told me what Seomyeong means."

"It's signature. It means signature, okay?"

"Is that it?" He grimaces. "Then why don't you call yourself the Sinister Signature?"

"Excuse me? Are you trying to white-wash my brand?"

"No! Just trying to make it more accessible. How are people supposed to know what kind of sinister supervillain you are if they can't understand half your name?"

I put my whole hand in his face and tut.

"I cannot believe you just said that."

Paper Trail coughs. "I don't know who Sinister Saumon is…"

Jack raises both eyebrows as if to say: See? He doesn't know who you are or what your name is .

I pull my hand back and give him my meanest glare to date. No, serious. I'd be terrified if I was on the other end of it. It feels very…sinister.

"That's cute. Now focus. You're being rude," he answers, and I have a few choice words for him, but I bury them down, for now.

"My power is that I can create an unbearable amount of paperwork," Paper Trail says.

I turn to him.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Paper Trail looks at me and narrows his eyes as if he's trying to make me out, even though he's wearing glasses.

"Well, I can make paperwork. That's pretty much what it sounds like."

"How is that helpful?" I ask him before I ask Jack the same question.

Jack, naturally, ignores me, so I snatch the cola back from him.

"Tell us about yourself, Paper Trail. Have you sidekicked for a villain before?"

The cola goes down the wrong hole, and I try to cough myself back to form.

"Are you okay?" Jack slaps my back, and when I find my breath, I look up at him.

"You called me a villain," I swoon.

He rolls his eyes, smirks, and turns his attention back to the old man.

"Continue," he says.

"Well, I've only ever worked for one person my whole life. Since I was a teenager."

I choke again.

"How long ago was that exactly?"

Paper Trail opens and closes his mouth.

"Fifteen years, actually. I know I look much older, but…it's a side effect of my power."

Oh. Crap. Now I feel bad for being mean.

"Who did you work for?" I ask, then I remember I'm a supervillain, and being mean is my job, so I brush the guilt off.

"The Phantom. I helped put so much red tape around his illegal activities that the feds will never be able to pin him for them. Not even for tax evasion, which they've been trying to do for a while."

"The Phantom?" Jack asks him.

"Yes. He's notorious across the East Coast. One of the best supervillains. He communicates with people's deceased relatives and friends and scams them out of their money, possessions, and pets."

I can barely hold back from shrieking. The Phantom is, like, an idol.

"That sounds horrible," Jack answers.

I shrug.

"He'd be even more perfect if he targeted the filthy-rich dicks that run this town, but he's pretty much perfect."

Jack gives me the once-over.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What?" I insist.

"Do you only steal from rich dicks?"

"Well…" I start and bite my tongue.

Shit. I did not need him to know that.

"Mostly. Why?"

"No reason." He shakes his head, and I study him for a minute, but he doesn't say anything else.

Does he…like, not believe me?

"If you must know, the poor people I sign get random lump sums in their bank accounts whenever I clear a rich dick."

His expressionless face breaks and a grin peeks through.

"See? Barely even a villain."

I gasp.

The fucker.

How could he not think I'm a supervillain, even after everything I said.

"Well, yeah, that's pretty much it. He's gone rogue and let me go, so I'm in need of a new gig," Paper Trail says, clasping his hands in front of his groin, and for the first time, he appears youthful.

"Let me ask you one thing," I start. "If I were to sign a deed for this theater under my name, what could you do about it?"

Paper Trail smiles. He's like a cute white grandpa, thinning hair and wild eyebrows to go with it, but I can see his spirit. I can see his thirst for mischief.

"I can make so much paperwork to back it up that no one will ever be able to question it even in a hundred years," he answers.

Perfect answer. Just the man I've been looking for all my criminal life.

"You're hired."