Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 169266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
“Get ready,” Bayo says to me. “Start walking. Turn off my transmission.”
I swallow down the sandwich and walk toward Vanguard and the PM, who are still deep in conversation, hoping whatever needs to happen will happen quickly. I reach up and twist my earring to the right, which lets Bayo hear me but keeps me from hearing him. Normally, no one would be able to hear his communication in my ear; however, Vanguard is an anomaly with enhanced hearing. There’s a good chance he’d be able to pick up on it.
I’m just about to reach them, and I’m pretty sure from the faint stiffening of Vanguard’s posture that he knows I’m coming when suddenly, a yelp rings out. I freeze and watch as Fi’s heel snaps in half, causing her to tumble to the ground right beside the PM. Vanguard’s attention immediately goes to her, as does everyone else’s, including the PM, who lends Fi a hand.
I swoop in.
“Excuse me, Vanguard?” I say, swiftly sliding my body between him and the Prime Minister. I try not to touch people as a rule, but I nearly find myself reaching for his arm, restraining myself just in time.
His gaze goes from Fi, who is giggling and calling herself a bloody idiot for being so clumsy, to me, but the intense focus in his blue eyes doesn’t change.
“Yes?” he says, flashing me his camera-ready smile, though I notice the way he glances at my hand, almost as if he was expecting me to touch him.
I straighten my shoulders and give him a lopsided grin, the one a nervous journalist might give what could be her biggest interview of the year. “So sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time.”
Vanguard nods, but his smile falters slightly, a micro-expression I’m not sure many people would notice. They’d probably be too overwhelmed that they’re talking to America’s superhero, something I’ve pushed to the back of my mind, tucked away in a small compartment for me to freak out about later.
“Of course,” he says, glancing briefly at the Prime Minister, whose attention has now been taken up by someone I recognize as an ambassador to Romania. Fi has limped over to a statue, leaning against it while examining her broken heel. I make it a point of not looking at her for too long, just enough to know she’s okay and the distraction worked.
“How can I help?” he adds.
I give him a flustered look. “Right. I’m so sorry. I’m normally more organized than this, but you’re… I just never thought I would meet you, see you face-to-face.”
“I get that a lot,” he says, his smile patient, but I can tell he’s not really paying attention to me. I suppose the makeup and the sexy dress and the blowout I got earlier makes me look no better than any of the models and actresses constantly draping themselves over him.
Which means I need to up my game.
“Sorry, I should introduce myself,” I tell him. “I’m Mia Baxter, a journalist with Vantage. Do you know of it?”
“The prestigious international affairs magazine for today’s new world?” he says, repeating the media tagline. “Yes, I know of it.”
“Perfect. Well, I was hoping to make you our next feature. Your two-year anniversary of being America’s first superhero is coming up, and I want our readers to get to know the man behind the bravery.”
“World’s first,” he says.
“Pardon?”
“World’s first superhero,” he says. “Not America’s.”
I can’t help but frown. “I beg to differ. Global Dynamix proudly trots you out as belonging to the United States of America.”
There’s a flash of annoyance in his eyes, making him squint briefly, a tick in his jaw. “I’m aware that’s the soundbite, but the truth is, I belong to the world.”
“You can’t honestly believe that,” I blurt out, and then I realize my mistake, my true nature coming through. I just know Bayo is losing his shit as he hears this.
Vanguard folds his massive arms across his chest and raises a brow. “What is that supposed to mean?”
I clear my throat. “Nothing. I’m sorry. That was rude.”
“I like it when you’re rude,” he says. I feel my face flush in response. “Tell me what that meant.”
I glance around the courtyard. Naturally, a lot of people are watching us, though they’re really watching him. No one seems close enough to pick up on our conversation, which is good, because the last thing I need is to see some video of me on social media in which I appear to be insulting a genetically engineered super soldier who could kill me with a flick of his finger.
“You want honesty?” I say, leaning in closer. Again, strangely tempted to place my fingers on the cuffs of his sleeve, but I hold myself back. “I think you’re a weapon.”