“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 socialmedia 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.”
Mia, abeg, I can practically hear Bayo admonish me.
“Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s told me that,” Vanguard says smoothly. “At least you’re upfront about it.” He leans in closer now, his face just inches from mine. It takes all my strength to not back down or flinch, to not breathe in his woodsy, manly scent. “Tell me, Mia Baxter, why should I agree to be interviewed by you if you already view me in unfavorable terms? Sounds like this would be a hit piece.”
“On the contrary,” I tell him, lowering my voice until it’s husky, what Cal says is part of mysexpionagepersona. “I’m going to give you a chance to prove me wrong. Prove what good Global Dynamix has done for America—sorry, the world—by creating you.”
“They didn’t create me,” he says, that tick in his jaw returning for a moment. “They enhanced what I already was.”
“A Green Beret and Delta Force Operator. I know your specs. But the world does think your overlords created you. If that’s not the case, this is the time to set the record straight about your autonomy. This would give you a voice. For once.”
“I’ve made my voice clear plenty of times,” he says, straightening. I can feel the tension between us dissipating like a leash gone slack, though perhaps it was never really there.
“Not in detail,” I point out. “Nothing deep.” I pause. “But I suppose your superiors don’t want you to talk about the truth. About yourself. Would ruin your image.”
“Nothing could ruin my image,” he says, flashing that smile again. “What you see is exactly what you get.”
Somehow, I doubt that.
“Great. Then let’s show that.” I pause, about to unleash the bait. “Unless you’re afraid.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “There’s nothing I’m afraid of. Except, perhaps, being seen as antisocial at a party.” He places his very large hand on my shoulder and gives it a strong squeeze, the warmth of his palm radiating through my skin, making my knees feel weak. “If you’ll excuse me, Ms. Baxter. It was nice talking with you, but I’m afraid I’m a guest of honor here, and I need to make the rounds.”
I eye his hand for a moment before meeting his gaze. “I suspected as much.”
He takes his hand away and hesitates. “Suspected what?”
“That you don’t have autonomy. That your every move, thought, action, and word is controlled by Global Dynamix. That the soldier you once were no longer exists, and you’re now just property, an expensive chess piece that belongs to one of the world’s largest and most dangerous corporations.”
I’m taking a risk. I know I am. Bayo is probably yelling at me for putting all my cards on the table, but I have to play my hand this way. I don’t think I have a choice. He needs to be provoked into this, even if he knows that’s exactly what’s happening.
Vanguard stares at me for a moment, his nostrils narrowing as he takes a sharp inhale. He swallows and nods. “I’m sure I’ll see you around, Ms. Baxter. Please enjoy the party.”
Then, he turns around and strides off.
Leaving me red-faced and alone and reeking of failure.
