THE BOYS: The Wrong Main Character

After dinner, the date continued well into the evening. Eventually they headed back to their room. They were both adults, it had been a successful date, and there was a reason hotel rooms came with beds.

What happened afterward was private, and neither of them planned on sharing the details with anyone.

Meanwhile, several miles away, the atmosphere inside the Boys’ hideout was considerably less pleasant.

Butcher, Mother’s Milk, and Frenchie sat around a table covered in ledgers, shipping records, and photocopied documents recovered from the Triad operation.

Frenchie flipped through one of the thicker ledgers while M.M. compared shipment dates against notes he had written earlier.

The deeper they dug, the stranger the records became.

Most of the Compound V shipments connected to A-Train didn’t appear to come directly from a Vought facility. Instead, the same name kept appearing throughout the paperwork.

Samaritan’s Embrace.

Frenchie tapped one of the entries. "Again."

Mother’s Milk leaned over. "The same organization?"

Butcher took the ledger and scanned the page.

"Samaritan’s Embrace. Sounds like one of those charities that gets celebrities to smile for cameras."

Mother’s Milk paused. "Hold on. I know that name. It’s a legitimate charity — food drives, shelters, disaster relief, community programs. Operations all over the country."

Frenchie frowned. "A charity moving Compound V."

"What bothers me," Butcher said, eyes still on the paperwork, "is that it makes perfect bloody sense. Trucks coming and going every day. Supplies moving across state lines. Volunteers everywhere. Nobody asks questions because they’re a charity."

Understanding spread across M.M.’s face. "They’re not the source."

Frenchie nodded. "They’re the distribution point."

The room fell silent. Vought didn’t need a secret warehouse if they could hide shipments inside an organization nobody would ever suspect.

A grin spread across Butcher’s face. "Now we’re getting somewhere."

Mother’s Milk reached for another stack of records. "If Samaritan’s Embrace is the middleman, we stop looking at where the shipments go."

Frenchie immediately understood. "We look at who is supplying Samaritan’s Embrace."

"Exactly," said Butcher. "Because whoever’s sitting at the center of this is about to have a very bad day."

The door opened and Hughie finally walked inside, looking exhausted — dark circles more noticeable than usual, expression suggesting he had spent the entire day dealing with problems he never asked for.

Looking after Kimiko had turned out to be far more stressful than Mark had made it sound.

Butcher looked up. "Oi, Hughie. Perfect timing."

Hughie dropped into a chair. "What now?"

"We’re looking into something called Samaritan’s Embrace. Ring any bells?"

"Yeah, actually." That immediately got everyone’s attention. "Pretty big organization. Public charity, disaster relief, shelters, food programs. Good reputation."

Frenchie exchanged a glance with Mother’s Milk. The description didn’t exactly match a Compound V trafficking operation.

"Can we get inside?" Butcher asked.

"Not easily. Charity galas, fundraising events, mostly invitation-only. Rich donors, politicians, celebrities. Private security, surveillance, guest screening. Vought is heavily involved — Homelander attends their major events whenever he gets the chance."

Butcher’s expression darkened. "Course they bloody are."

Frenchie closed one of the ledgers. "So who runs it?"

Hughie didn’t need to think about it. "Ezekiel."

The room went quiet.

"The stretchy religious wanker?" Butcher said.

"That’s the one."

Mother’s Milk leaned back. "The same guy preaching family values on television is running an organization connected to these shipments?"

"Officially he’s the founder and public face of it."

Frenchie recognized Butcher’s expression immediately. "You have an idea."

"I’ve got a suspicion."

Mother’s Milk sighed. Those were usually worse.

Butcher tapped the ledger. "A religious superhero running a charity connected to our Compound V shipments." He looked around the table.

"Either that’s one hell of a coincidence... or our stretchy little preacher’s hiding something."

Hughie thought for a moment.

"Actually, there is something coming up. Samaritan’s Embrace is hosting a fundraising gathering in about ten days. Pretty big event. Ezekiel’s scheduled to give a speech and meet donors afterward."

The room became attentive.

Mother’s Milk immediately recognized Butcher’s expression. "No."

"No what?"

"No whatever you’re thinking."

Butcher ignored him. "This gathering — how do people get in?"

"Invitation only. Wealthy donors, politicians, celebrities, church leaders."

Frenchie leaned back. "Not exactly our natural habitat."

Butcher tapped a finger against the table. "Maybe you two would stand out. I wouldn’t."

Mother’s Milk sighed. "There it is."

"There what is?"

"The stupid plan."

Frenchie nodded. "Definitely a stupid plan."

"I haven’t even told you the plan yet."

"You never have to," said M.M.

Hughie chose to ignore the argument. "The invitations aren’t easy to get. Most attendees either donate large amounts or get personally invited."

Butcher’s eyes narrowed. "How large?"

"Last time it was 4 million dollars". Frenchie nearly choked. Mother’s Milk swore. Butcher sat there for several seconds.

"Right." For the first time all evening he sounded slightly less confident. Then he smiled again. "Oh, we’ll get an invitation."

"How?"

Butcher pointed toward the paperwork on the table. "We’ve got ten days."

*****

A/N: Advanced Chapters are available on Patreon.

👉 /Mark841

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