Hero Force United Boxed Set 1

by Baron Sord

  While she walked, she considered giving the hatchet to the police for evidence or whatever, but there was no point. They’d think her story was crazy. As long as Lester never hurt Holly, Holly could tell the police or a judge and jury more than Lester’s fingerprints on an ax ever could.

  Kristy grimaced to herself when she reached the cross street and stopped. Turned back to glance at the distant dark alley where Lester was.

  Should she go kill Lester before he ran off?

  It seemed like the safest solution.

  But that would actually be murder.

  First degree, pre-meditated murder.

  From somewhere down the cross-street came the farting sounds of a Harley.

  Brock.

  He was following her.

  Kristy groaned to herself.

  The Harley slowly approached at a casual 25mph, or whatever the speed limit was.

  Kristy walked into the middle of the cross street and crossed her arms, holding the hatchet up and standing her ground.

  The street was fairly narrow and had cars parked on both sides.

  The Harley downshifted, the engine farted, and the fat bike stopped 20 feet away, the headlight shining in her face. Big booted legs came to rest on the pavement on either side of the bike.

  Other than that, Kristy couldn’t see any details in the glare.

  “I know it’s you, Brock,” Kristy called over the idling engine.

  “Who?” the rider called.

  Was that Brock? Kristy wasn’t sure. She stepped toward the rider, slapping the head of the hatchet against her palm.

  “Ma’am!” He called out. “Please stop where you are! I have a gun! You have an ax! Please just stop walking toward me! I am aiming at your chest! I don’t want to have to shoot you!”

  That didn’t sound like Brock out all. Waaaaay too polite.

  “Sorry!” Kristy cringed and set the ax down on the street. “I was just…! Never mind! Sorry!”

  “Ma’am, I need to go by. Is it okay if I put my gun away and go by?” The man sounded frightened and frazzled.

  “Yeah, sorry!” Kristy trotted off the street, squeezing between parked cars to get to the sidewalk. “Go ahead! Sorry! I won’t bother you!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes I’m sure,” Kristy groaned, feeling like a total and complete ass.

  “Okay. If you’re sure.”

  “Yes! The ax is in the street. I’m here. Go ahead already!”

  A moment later, the engine revved and the Harley rushed past. The rider gave her a hard stare. He wore a bulky leather jacket.

  Definitely not Brock.

  Brock was mentally incapable of wearing anything that covered his muscles.

  This was some older guy whose evening she was ruining.

  “Sorry,” Kristy said for her own benefit when the Harley was gone.

  She sighed to herself.

  Of course it wasn’t Brock.

  She was in Irvine. Brock lived in San Diego. He wouldn’t be up here.

  Kristy had Brock on the brain, which was ironic because he had no brains.

  Smirking, she grabbed the hatchet from the street, found a dumpster, dumped it, and went back to her Ninja where her Stars & Stripes helmet was locked to the seat.

  Kristy unlocked the helmet, set it on the tank, and kicked her leg high and over, straddling the Ninja. Tied her long hair in a loose knot and put her helmet on. Tucked the loose ends up under the helmet. Helmets were a hassle with long hair, but there was no way Kristy was cutting hers.

  She started the Ninja.

  God, she loved the sound of the engine.

  Like a snarling tigress.

  The Ninja was parked between two parallel-parked cars and facing the street. Earlier, Kristy’d backed it into the space in case she needed to make a quick getaway.

  She readied herself to pull into the empty street.

  Just then, a motorcycle raced up and braked hard, coming to a stop right in front of her, brakes squeaking.

  Not a Harley.

  It was a much quieter Triumph.

  The big man riding it wore a bland leather jacket, jeans, and a black full-face helmet.

  He flipped the visor up.

  Brock.

  Kristy rolled her eyes. Flipped up her visor. Grumbled, “What do you want?”

  “I saw what you did,” he said with a happy snarl.

  “Oh yeah? What’d I do?”

  “In that alley. With the ax. That guy.”

  Had he seen that? Had Brock been the shadowy silhouette?

  “Are you following me?” she asked.

  “Don’t be dumb,” he snorted.

  “Look who’s talking,” she snickered. “Will you move? I have places to be.” Her Disaster Vision was already leaking into her head. People were in trouble. She had to go.

  “Yeah? Like where? Some car crash? A fight? A fire? Someone getting shot?”

  “What’re you talking about?” Kristy laughed dismissively, hiding her fright. Him being here and saying those things was waaaay bad. How long had he been following her? She’d only been doing this superheroine thing for what, 10 days? How much did he know? All of it or just most of it?

  Brock nodded, “Yeah, I seen what you done.”

  “Oh yeah? What’d I do?”

  “You know. Everybody else will too… if you don’t get back together with me.”

  Kristy frowned a laugh, “Oh, come on, Brock! There’s no way we’re getting back together! You’re a loser!”

  “I won’t be loser after I sell your story to the internet.”

  “The internet?” Kristy smirked sarcastically. “Is the internet buying stories these days?”

  “Yeah,” Brock said. “I hear they pay big.”

  “Oh, they do,” Kristy nodded derisively. “That’s good. Make sure you get top dollar. Now move before I make you move.”

  Brock’s eyes inside his helmet betrayed his fear faster than his thoughts did. He said, “I coulda called the cops on you. For what you did. The other night. At your apartment. But I didn’t. Cause I love you.”

  Kristy curled her lip in disgust. “I could’ve called the police on you for hitting me at the convention center. Whose side do you think the police would take? Hmm? My side? Or the side of the big mean manhole? And by manhole, I mean asshole. Get out of my way, Brock. I need to go.”

  “NO!” Brock barked.

  “Please, Brock. Don’t make me kick your ass again.”

  Brock started to shake with anger.

  Kristy turned off the Ninja and kicked down the side stand. Pirouetted her leg over the seat. Took her helmet off and set it on the seat. Walked into the middle of the street.

  “Fine! Let’s fight right here!” Kristy said, holding out her arms. “You go first. Then I’ll see how many car windows I can throw you through before we’re done.” Kristy tried not to smile too big. Being a badass was definitely bonus.

  “I’m gonna tell!” Brock said from astride his Triumph.

  “Tell?” Kristy snorted. “Who? Your teacher or your mommy?”

  “No! The internet!” Brock revved his Triumph and sped off.

  Kristy waved a dismissive hand at him.

  Stupid Brock.

  Only two people held the keys to her secret identity.

  Jeff Strickland, who Kristy trusted.

  And effing Brock.

  She would never admit her fears to anyone, least of all Brock, but she was worried he might do something stupid, because that was all he was capable of.

  Eh.

  She’d deal with it if he did.

  In the meantime, she had the next thrilling episode of Disaster Vision to worry about.

  Time for her to get where she was going.

  She hopped on her Ninja and raced away.

  —: Chapter 29 :—

  “No, seriously,” Justine giggled as I drove, “where are we going?”

  “Oh, uhhh…” I had no idea.

  Would I s
ound like a jerk if I admitted I hadn’t had time to make a single plan for our date? I had been too busy today saving lives all day in El Centro with Arnold. Sadly, since the moment I had met Justine, our date tonight had been the last thing on my mind. That was probably the last thing she wanted to hear.

  “Let’s see…” I said. “Are you hungry?”

  “A little.” I’m ravenous but I can’t say that. I should’ve had a snack two hours ago. I never eat this late.

  “Good because I’m starving.” Despite all the food I’d eaten at Las Cerdas Hermanas in El Centro, I was ready for more. “What do you like to eat?”

  “Anything. You pick.”

  My phone chimed in my pocket. For some reason, I thought it might be Arnold. I pulled it out at a stoplight.

  “Something wrong?” Justine asked. Is it one of your other girlfriends? Or just your wife?

  “No, I…” I needed to remember I was reading her thoughts. I checked the message. It was from the Realm of Andor people. The LARPer fighting group. They were having a thing in Balboa Park tonight. Usually they stopped when it got dark, but it was summer, so they were going later than usual and inviting people to join them to keep things going.

  “Everything okay?” Justine said, then thought, I knew it. He does have a wife. I knew Chance was too good to be true.

  “No, I mean, yeah, I mean… Hey, this may sound weird, but do you know what LARPing is?” Of course she didn’t know. It was too nerdy for someone like her, Darla shirt or no Darla shirt. Not even Lady Liberty had known what LARPing was when I had asked her, and she was an actual cosplayer.

  “Remind me again?” Justine smiled and thought, What a relief. Not the wife. Unless LARPing is code for swinging?

  “LARPing is Live Action Role Playing.”

  “Is that like…” when you and your wife or your girlfriends wear weird costumes while having sex? Isn’t that what role playing is?

  “No! I mean, uh, LARPing is like playing video games, but without the video. You dress up with your friends and have adventures in the park or forest or wherever.” That sounded really dumb and incredibly juvenile. Ten times worse than calling it a cartoon kid thing.

  “Oh,” Justine said uncertainly. “I guess I’ve heard of that.” How geeky is this guy? Not that I care, but geeks never look like Chance. Unless it’s an act? I don’t know what it is about him, but I get the distinct feeling he’s hiding something. Like his wife. And six other girlfriends.

  I was definitely hiding several somethings.

  Murder, assault, super powers, that’s all.

  Best not to get into it.

  I said, “So, uh, yeah, my LARPing group is doing a thing right now in Balboa Park.”

  “What kind of thing?”

  “Like I said, what we do is…” I was reluctant to say it out loud, but I did anyway. “We put on foam armor and bash each other with foam swords and foam axes. I know, it’s childish. I don’t really do it anymore.” Only because I didn’t have time, not because I didn’t want to.

  Justine smiled. He is so cute. He’s actually embarrassed. Chance is nothing at all like Nick. I am so glad I agreed to this date. Chance may be full of surprises, but it’s the good kind. She said, “Your friends are doing a LARPing thing tonight? At the park?”

  “Yeah. I mean, we totally don’t have to go if it sounds too dorky.”

  “Wait, so we could if we wanted to? And what, fight with plastic swords and stuff?”

  “Foam swords.” I chuckled nervously. She was never going to say yes.

  “Do we need our own swords or whatever?”

  “They should have extras.”

  Her eyes lit up, “Then let’s go!”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah! It sounds like bunches of fun.”

  “You’re serious?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  “Yes. Let’s go!”

  “What about food?”

  “Food can wait,” she smiled. “This sounds way more fun.”

  “Okay then,” I grinned and drove toward Balboa Park.

  When we were a few blocks away, I gasped, “Oh shit.”

  “What? Is something wrong?”

  “I totally forgot…”

  Everyone in Andor knew my name was Doug. What would Justine think when she found out my name wasn’t Chance? Betrayed, probably. I never should’ve told her I was a LARPer.

  I said, “Uhhh… you know what? I made a mistake. The Andor thing isn’t tonight. It’s next Saturday.”

  “What?” Her disappointment was obvious. “I totally wanted to go!”

  “Maybe next time?” I grimaced. Or never.

  “Well, I am hungry,” she smiled.

  I liked that Justine was keeping a positive attitude.

  “Wait, what’s that?!” Justine pointed out the window as we drove past Balboa Park.

  “What?”

  “I see people fighting! With swords! Stop the car!”

  To quote Ralphie from A Christmas Story, “Oh, fffffuuuuuuuuuudge.”

  “There’s a space!” Justine said.

  “Where?!” I played dumb. There were parking spaces everywhere.

  “Right there, silly!” Laughing, Justine pointed.

  “Oh, there,” I grunted. My stomach knotted as I pulled up to the curb and turned off the car. “Are you sure you want to do this? It is extremely dorky.”

  “Sure I’m sure,” she grinned.

  “But you’re wearing high heels. You can’t fight in heels.”

  “These?” She reached down and untied the straps. “I can take these off.” She dropped them in the footwell and got out of the car barefoot. “Come on, Chance! Let’s go!”

  She jumped right into things, didn’t she?

  I grimaced to myself as I climbed out and locked the Prius. Justine was going to kill me when she found out my name wasn’t Chance.

  I followed her onto the grass like I was going to the gallows.

  —: o o o :—

  Okay, that night, I didn’t know if it was the fact I’d been helping so many people or what, but the gods decided to smile on me. Turned out it had been so long since I’d gone to a Realm of Andor gathering, there was nobody here who knew me by name. Heck, with my super-powered looks, increased height, muscled body, and deeper voice, none of them even recognized me. One or two gave me strange looks, thinking they might recognize me — I read their thoughts — but it was easy to convince them they didn’t.

  So I became Chance.

  First, Justine and I equipped ourselves with the loaner armor and swords. Although she was intrigued by the bows and foam tipped arrows, she insisted on being in the thick of melee with me and went with a sword but no shield.

  Then we spent an action-packed two hours happily bashing each other and everybody else. When it was all over, Justine was sweaty, her jeans green with grass stains, and her Daria T-shirt was torn at the neck.

  “That was so awesome, Chance!” Justine laughed. “We totally have to do this again!”

  “Yeah,” I grinned guiltily. “Can’t wait!”

  I didn’t expect to lose my looks in the next few hours, but what would happen if I ever did?

  Would Justine still like me then?

  Would she go LARPing with Average Doug Moore? Or did she only like good-looking Chance? I wasn’t in a hurry to find out. Too bad I hadn’t met Justine before I had gotten my super looks.

  You know who I had met before my looks improved?

  Lady Liberty.

  We had shared that moment last Friday at the Con. The one when I had showed her my art samples before I’d gotten my good looks. And it wasn’t just the moment we had shared. Set aside the super powers, and LL still loved comics as much as I did. No, more. She had her own fricking comic book! Despite her apparent disdain for LARPing, she had made her own costume for the Con. LL was cosplay to the core. So what if she wasn’t into LARPing?

  Now that I thought about it, maybe this date with Justine was a mi
stake. LL was the woman I was most interested in.

  Except…

  Except, Lady Liberty had walked away without looking back.

  I sighed to myself.

  Reminded myself that Justine was here.

  On a date.

  With me.

  Justine.

  Not LL.

  And Justine was incredible. She was stunning and clearly loved LARPing as much as I did.

  So what if she thought I was Chance?

  What was not to like about Justine?

  Or even love?

  Maybe I just needed to be honest with her and she’d understand. Yeah, honesty.

  That always worked.

  Did I start by telling Justine about murdering Ice Statue, or the fact I was actually average looking without my super powers?

  —: Chapter 30 :—

  “So… Chance…” Justine said affectionately. “What was it you said you did? Software something?”

  “One sec,” I said around a mouthful of french fries drenched in malt vinegar.

  Justine had suggested we go to the Shakespeare Pub & Grille on India Street. How could I say no to the best fish and chips in town with the best looking woman I had ever taken out to dinner and probably ever would?

  When I finished swallowing, I said, “What again?”

  “Software?” she prompted. Nothing about this man is soft. Look at those muscles bulging out of his T-shirt! Is he as hard as I am wet? All that fighting back at the park really turned me on. I’m up for wrestling later if he is…

  It had been like this since we had sat down at our table. It was all I could do to stay focused on what she was saying while ignoring what she was thinking:

  Sex.

  Sex.

  Sex.

  Who knew women could be so horny?

  My ex French Gigi had never been this horny. I’d had to beg her for sex.

  More importantly, Justine was right.

  Fighting back at Balboa Park had been a turn on. More than once Justine had basically forced me to wrestle her giggling to the grass. I had been more than happy to oblige, but it hadn’t gone past that — thus far.

  “Uhhh…” I stammered. “What were we talking about?”

  “Hardware,” she gasped. “I mean,” she giggled, “software. You said software.” Oh my God, Could I be any more shameless? I may as well be begging him to throw me down and take me right here on this table! She blushed and looked down guiltily at her plate, busying herself with chopping off a hunk of beer-battered cod with her fork.