Generation Next: A Superhero Adventure (The Pantheon Saga Book 3)

by C. C. Ekeke

  “Our most reliable.” Blackjack’s smile showed teeth. “Slow-walking her investigation. Running interference with outside authorities out to catch Geist. While we hand San Miguel PD victories that make them look like rock stars.” He fist-pumped.

  “A quid pro quo.”

  Blackjack nodded. “Edmonds watches our backs, and we keep her yard clear. Plus, Geist keeps her extra-happy with an occasional chimney sweeping.” He winked at Quinn.

  Quinn gaped. Did he imply what I think he did? She wanted to pry, but her stomach objected.

  “We’re here,” Blackjack announced, pulling into the narrow alleyway behind Quinn’s complex.

  She unstrapped her seatbelt. “Thanks. Tonight was fun.” Quinn meant it. After these last few crazy months, how could she return to a normal life?

  By Blackjack’s reaction, he clearly questioned her sanity. “Even after being held at gunpoint?”

  Quinn blinked, reconsidered his query and her weird reaction. “A few brushes with death changes your outlook,” Quinn replied, unlocking the door.

  Blackjack just laughed. “You’re nuts,” he said before driving off.

  Quinn rounded the alley and entered the front of her complex. A month had passed since she’d moved into this palatial midrise in Arroyo Grande, San Miguel’s second largest suburb. The large raise from her new contract and contributor appearances on National News Network had helped pay for the condo.

  Before that, Quinn had stayed with her aunt and uncle for weeks. Her old apartment no longer felt safe after almost dying there. And thanks to Therese, I’m still breathing. She quickly smothered the memory.

  After an elevator ride to the second floor, Quinn arrived at to her new condo. It was almost too big—two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and several boxes. Quinn would find time to settle in eventually. Life had been insane these last ten weeks. Sliding out of her dress, she sank into a hot shower before bed.

  From there she plopped onto her massive bed in Patriot pajamas, checked her many missed texts.

  Mom: Have you forgot about your parents, Quinn? Call us back.

  Uncle Alonzo: Hey Q. Let me know when you’re picking up the last of your boxes.

  The one that wounded most came from Annie Machado.

  Annie: I’m starting to forget your face, friend! Come by for a meal soon.

  Annie: Miss you, Quinnie.

  Quinn winced, acute pain lancing her heart. “Miss you more, hun.” She texted those very words to her BFF. After Annie’s near-death, they’d grown closer. Then Quinn had moved. Now conflicting schedules and missed calls kept thwarting their meetups. Quinn would make time for Annie soon.

  Annie can’t know about tonight, she decided, scrolling through more texts. Annie, one of few who knew Geist existed, would freak about Quinn moonlighting with the Midnight Son. But what Annie didn’t know wouldn’t stress her, especially with her upcoming wedding.

  Quinn found her cousin Jordana’s texts from two hours ago.

  Jordana: Brie and I aren’t friends anymore. She somehow heard the boy was tutoring me and went apeshit at the mall. Telling me who I can’t hang with.

  Jordana: I dumped orange soda all over that miserable bitch. LOL.

  She threw her head back, laughing. Jordana, Uncle Alonzo’s oldest child, had more drama in her life than a telenovela. Quinn hated for Jordana to lost her best friend. But it was clear that Briseis with her ridiculous face needed to be cancelled. Or doused in orange soda. Quinn texted back, chuckling.

  ME: Recap at church tomorrow?

  Jodie replied in seconds.

  Jordana: Perfect. Lots to share. Te quiero.

  Content and tired, Quinn turned off her nightstand lamp. As sleep pulled her under…the horrors began.

  Hot stinky breath buffeted Quinn’s face, a giant paw clamping her throat. “You owe me a scream,” Vargas snarled, his threat pregnant with murder.

  Quinn squirmed and begged for mercy through choked breaths. But she couldn’t break free from his grip. Devastating her further were the mutilated corpses nearby—her family and friends.

  Creed Samuels and Jensen Clark lay motionless, angry red gashes across their throats.

  Helena Madden convulsed, entrails spilling like spaghetti from her belly.

  Jodie, Roland, and Rory, her younger cousins. Gutted from neck to navel.

  Annie Machado, dismembered and disfigured.

  Therese, facedown, upper back studded with her own arrows.

  Quinn wailed, but no sound left her mouth. Everyone’s dead, because of me…

  A budding light appeared… Dynamo’s arm canon aimed at her face. The light grew white-hot before scorching Quinn to ash…

  …jarring her awake, screaming like a banshee. Another nightmare since moving to this condo.

  After reminding herself several times that her family and friends were alive, Quinn finally stopped sobbing. That didn’t make Quinn feel any less afraid. Or powerless.

  Another half-hour passed before Quinn, curled up and shaking, drifted off into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 5

  Today, Hugo was getting a freaking superhero costume! And his excitement was unmanageable.

  What would the colors be? How would he carry that around school? So many questions distracted Hugo from the 3500 Mega Cab truck he was shoulder-pressing.

  Bright and early on Sunday, Hugo was shirtless and in baggy workout shorts at his favorite empty junkyard. Dashing back and forth hoisting the 3.5-ton truck overhead—tossing up and catching it like pizza dough once he reached either side of the junkyard. Race two hundred meters forward, toss and catch. Two hundred meters back, toss and catch. Fifty times. No breaks.

  By the end, Hugo wasn’t even tired. “Getting stronger every day,” he marveled. The Samoan still trained at an isolated junkyard at San Miguel’s barren outskirts. The seclusion was refreshing, several miles from the nearest town.

  Also, training solo allowed Hugo to attempt his next feat. He took a knee, tapping deep within himself for a tense moment.

  Hugo then blasted off the ground, soaring up, up and away toward pale-blue skies. He smiled, extending one fist up while curling the other against his chest like Titan.

  Below revealed the shrinking landfill, higher than Hugo’s last attempt. “I’m flying!”

  As soon as he spoke, his momentum slowed and ceased.

  “Goddammit!” Hugo fought to stay airborne by willpower alone, flailing at thin air.

  He dropped like a rock.

  A deafening boom blossomed on impact, shuddering Hugo’s bones and the earth around him for miles. The fall didn’t hurt, not physically. He rose, dusting himself off.

  “Flight attempt one hundred and four,” he grumbled. “Failure.” At least Hugo had hovered—a few seconds. But he couldn’t find whatever Zen mindset accessed flight.

  The sound of a far-off engine at the edge of his hearing broke through the self-pity. Hugo looked east. A car. Squinting made out the outline of a beat-up Volkswagen van maybe four miles out.

  Hugo panicked. Someone heard his fall and was coming to investigate. “I need more remote practice spots,” he growled and zoomed away from the junkyard.

  He reached home in minutes. Mom was with AJ at Olympian World for a friend’s birthday. Unsurprising. His younger brother was popular at school. They’d return late, leaving Hugo home alone.

  His schedule included studying with Jordana, then evening training with Ms. Ortiz where he’d see his freaking superhero suit. Hugo couldn’t stop smiling. After a quick shower and breakfast, Hugo slipped into a sleeveless hoodie and shorts before scouring his cell for news. Lady Liberty had advised him to stay informed on the city he planned to protect. Hugo took that further, obsessing over superhero-related news. The headlines weren’t encouraging.

  Splashed on Herogasm’s main app screen was Titan’s towering statue defaced by NOT A HERO in red spray paint. The visual unsettled Hugo. A testament to how the public had turned on Titan.

&nb
sp; “Titan died the hero and became the villain,” Hugo muttered, scrolling down his phone. Speaking of unpopular, he saw another Vanguard bashing Op-Ed on SLOCO Daily.

  “If The Vanguard can’t protect their own, should they protect us?” Hugo recited the title and cringed. The superhero team had been brutalized by the press after the Morningstar incident. News outlets continued calling for Sentinel to step down as leader. Rumors of trouble in his and Seraph’s relationship persisted. Wyldcat’s partying had gained increased scrutiny. And Ramon Dempsey, aka Dynamo, had quit.

  “I’m never making my ID public,” Hugo promised, scrolling to another article. “Or joining a team.”

  He found a story about Missy Magnificent repackaging herself as protector of San Miguel’s Junction neighborhood. Hugo doubled over laughing. This was Missy’s fourth comeback since leaving the Extreme Teens and becoming a tabloid punchline. He almost kept reading, until the story of another teen suicide bomber caught his eye. This one had happened last night east of San Luis Obispo County. Police still had no leads. “Jesus,” Hugo exclaimed. “What the heck?”

  Familiar footsteps heading up Hugo’s driveway outside pulled him from the growing anger.

  He glanced at his cellphone and smiled. 2:30 PM. He pushed off the couch. “My study date’s here.” After the doorbell rang, Hugo opened the door with a long, indulgent look.

  Jordana Buchanan at his front door still baffled Hugo. “Buenos tardes, Bogota,” she greeted with a glowing smile.

  Hugo enjoyed her pronouncing his actual name, the Spanish inflection bearing a Bronx drawl. He’d never really noticed Jordana’s beauty until seeing her away from Brie. Those curious brown eyes and round cheekbones. How her dark skin just shone. Jordana’s loose black curls were piled in a messy bun atop her head, glistening under mid-afternoon sunlight. The grey sweatpants and off-the-shoulder blue Mets t-shirt over a tank top didn’t hide her thick curves…or large, round boobs. God, Hugo loved looking at Jodie.

  He smelled Moonshock, the L.U.N.A perfume he’d complimented her on yesterday. Sneaky girl… “Hey, Jodie.” Hugo waved her inside. “Ready to show me your skills?”

  “Sure.” Jordana sashayed inside. Her longing stare raked over Hugo. “But let’s study first.”

  Hugo laughed off her flirting. It’s just flirting, right? He didn’t dwell, getting her some water before the pair sat on the living room couch to study. Two months ago, Jordana had sucked at geometry. But she was a determined, quick learner. Eight tutoring sessions later, her progress floored Hugo.

  For an hour, he fired off several math problems from their textbook. Jodie nailed every one, doing a cute shoulder shimmy after each right answer. Hugo enjoyed that goofy quirk...and sitting hip to hip with her.

  But he buried any signs of interest, playing it cool. “You’re so ready for the next test,” Hugo decided favorably. “Guess you don’t need me anymore.”

  “Says who?” she challenged.

  Hugo chuckled…until Jordana started caressing the nape of his neck. The hunger in her eyes jolted through him. Between that and the pheromones mixing in her perfume, he knew exactly what Jodie wanted.

  Good Lord. Hugo slumped back on his couch, drinking in the sight of her.

  Jodie blinked, a dark flush staining her coffee-brown skin. “What?” Her question was unusually husky.

  “I think you answered all the equations,” Hugo whispered. The rhythm of Jodie’s racing pulse sent a stirring through his loins. No. Way. Or was Jordana just having a weak moment?

  Her sex-glazed eyes lingered on his lips. She was leaning closer, as if drawn by a magnet. Ignoring common sense, Hugo met her halfway. Now they were kissing, unhurried yet forceful. Jodie’s tongue filled his mouth, while her hand traced circles on the back of his head.

  But anxiety pulled Hugo back. Not over hurting Jodie. Hugo could control his strength, thanks to Lady Liberty’s training.

  It was the burden of Jordana and Brie’s friendship ending because of him.

  A frown knit Jordana’s eyebrows. “What’s wrong?” she whispered, too close for comfort.

  “So…” Hugo inhaled to compose himself. “Will this cause more girl drama?” Not just with Brie…

  Jodie leaned back in surprise.

  “Gossip travels,” Hugo added, smiling wanly.

  Jodie shook her head. “Nope!”

  Exactly what Hugo wanted to hear. “Sweet.” He tugged Jordana in close. She straddled him, grinding on his lap as their lips locked again. Hugo loved how she kissed, like she couldn’t get enough. And her lips were like butter, melting Hugo’s brain into a puddle. He got two handfuls of her thick hips while her arms wrapped around his shoulders. Hugo nibbled her lower lip, then pressed into the kiss more fiercely. Jodie made contented whimpers.

  “Wanna play upstairs?” Hugo whispered once they’d finally broken for air.

  Jordana gazed deep into his eyes, ample chest heaving. “Only if we keep things PG,” she said firmly.

  Hugo shrugged, not remotely concerned. “Whatever you like.”

  Delight warmed her features. “My abuelita says there’s lots you can do that’s not considered sex.”

  Hugo gaped, thankful for Jordana’s abuelita. “You’re a problem, huh?”

  She smiled deviously. “Boy, you got no idea.”

  Who do I thank for today? Desire pushed Hugo off the couch, Jodie still straddling him. She weighed nothing. He marched upstairs, holding her waist as she squealed and hung on frantically.

  Activities resumed in Hugo’s bedroom, his mouth ending up on Jordana’s, and her neck, and other enjoyable places. Jodie’s breaths quickened, her temperature rising. But they never passed second-and-a-half base. Hugo had no clue how much time had passed until they took a break, lying together in bed. Outside displayed a bullion sunset.

  “You have a middle name?” Jodie asked suddenly, head on his bare chest. “Or just two first names?”

  Hugo gently walked his fingers down her spine. “Iosefa. It’s super Samoan,” he said. “And yours?”

  Jodie pushed up on both elbows, brushing curtains of long, loose curls from her face. “Belcalis.”

  “Like Cardi B?” Hugo loved how she pronounced Spanish names. “Jordy B.”

  Jordana slapped his chest. “You’re so stupid,” she teased.

  Hugo studied her up and down, dazed anew with lust. “Your body looks stupid! In a good way.”

  Jordana’s laughter was high and melodic. “How stupid?”

  Hugo considered this. “On a scale of one to Rihanna?” he began, making her laugh more. “Off the charts!”

  “Trying to charm my pants off,” Jordana straddled him again. “And get more of this.” She leaned down. Her lingering kiss curled Hugo’s toes. “Or these.” Jodie pressed his hands on her pendulous chest under her tank top.

  The blood flow drained from Hugo’s brain. “Is it working?”

  Jordana’s eyes blazed. She playfully smacked his face.

  “Seriously.” Hugo’s heart raced as he grew serious. “You’re beautiful.”

  Jordana looked away, blushing. The shyness was endearing. Hugo drew Jordana down, guiding her mouth back to his. And they were devouring each other again.

  The rumble of an approaching Forerunner caused Hugo to pull away.

  “What?” Jodie panted, her eyes slightly glazed over.

  “My mom’s half a block away with my brother and…” Someone else was in the car. “No way.”

  Jordana made a face. “What the…?!” she remarked. “You can hear that far? Are you a bloodhound?”

  Hugo gently hoisted her off him. “I’ll clean up downstairs while you get decent.” He snatched his shirt from the floor, pulling it back on.

  “Wait.” Jodie dragged him into another kiss, clearly addicted. Definitely trouble.

  Hugo finally broke away, red-faced and swaying. He had to walk normal speed around Jodie. By the time he reached downstairs, Mom was already opening the front door.

  “
Evening, Bogota.” She wore a nice sundress, her frizzy black hair in a ponytail. Mom kissed his cheek, visibly tired after a day at Olympian World Theme Park.

  AJ followed her, broad-shouldered and noticeably shorter than Hugo. The brothers exchanged high-fives. AJ seemed unusually ecstatic. And the reason was behind him.

  A thickset man in his early thirties entered the house carrying two suitcases. His rough-hewn face resembled Mom’s, a devilish glint in his beady eyes. Black oily hair spilled down his shoulders. The Samoan tribal tattoo running down to his left elbow was unmissable.

  “Uncle Sione!” he exclaimed happily. “Malo!” The arrival of Mom’s younger brother left Hugo slack-jawed. While Sione was his favorite uncle, a heads-up would’ve been nice.

  Uncle Sione dropped his suitcases and bearhugged Hugo. “Malo, Bogota!” He drew back, marveling at his nephew. “You weren’t kidding, Savelina. He’s a giant!”

  The last time they’d seen each other, Sione had stood much taller. Now Hugo towered over his uncle. “Second puberty.” He glared at Mom. “Didn’t know Sione was visiting.”

  Mom bristled. “Sione called me from SMI this afternoon,” she remarked tartly, slamming the door. Suddenly the foyer felt very crowded. Sione scanned his relatives warily.

  Only AJ remained enthused. “Uncle’s crashing here a while.”

  “I hadn’t seen y’all since the funeral.” Sione scratched the back of his head. “And I’m between jobs.”

  Between jobs meant Uncle Sione was working another get-rich-quick scheme. Hugo loved him, but the former surfer’s life was a dumpster fire.

  Mom studied the living room and Jodie’s stuff on the coffee table. “Whose backpack is this?”

  Hugo winced, not expecting to explain the Jordana situation. “A friend. We’re studying geometry.”

  Sione arched an eyebrow. “Lady friend?”

  “Hello!”

  Everyone turned.

  Jodie bounced downstairs wearing her Mets shirt, long curly hair cascading. She smiled. “I’m Jordana.”

  Sione, gawking from her to Hugo, mouthed “NICE!”

  Hugo rolled his eyes. “My school friend.” He introduced her to the family. Weird, but cool.