1
MAXIMOFF HALE
“You can’t tellmeonething about him?” I ask for probably the millionth time. I haven’t actually been counting. But from Akara’s annoyed bite into his blueberry bagel, I’m guessing my question died a bitter death five minutes ago.
Today is doomsday.
The day where my unconventional, strange life becomescolossallymore complicated. I can handle shit storms while propping up the Earth with one goddamn hand—but I like to be semi-prepared for situations. I have a real switchblade in my fucking pocket, but I want a metaphorical one too.
Akara swallows his bagel. “You wantonething?”
“Just one,” I affirm.
“He’s your new bodyguard.”
I slowly blink into a glare. “Thank you for offering theonething that I already fucking know.” It’s theonething that’s been driving me up the wall like a possessed Spider-Man. I’ve had the same bodyguard for my entire life, and he decided to retire recently.
Just yesterday, I said goodbye to Declan. It’s bittersweet. He wants to spend more time with his wife and two kids, not be the24/7 bodyguard to an internationallyfamoushuman being. I get that. Selfishly, I wish he could stay longer.
And when I meanlonger, I meanforever.
Personal bodyguards are like spouses. All of my immediate and extended family have one. They follow us everywhere, eat with us, guard our rooms if we bring home strangers—or in my case, “uncomplicated” hookups. Mind-blowing fucks. One-night stands. All of that is being passed to a new someone.
I’ve never had to introduce a new bodyguard to the ins-and-outs of my life. It’s not just going to be a Day In The Life of Maximoff Hale. It’s a permanent position that’ll last decades unless he turns out to be an incompetent prick.
This pivotal moment has put me on edge because Akara—the lead bodyguard in Security Force Omega—refuses to share more information about him.
“Like I said an hour ago,” Akara tells me, “it’s better if you meet in person.” Before I can reply, his cellphone pings.
I hope it’s my new bodyguard.I check my canvas wristwatch.
He’s twenty minutes late, and Akara already assured me that he received the invite.
Location:Superheroes & Scones
Time:6 a.m. (before the store opens at 8 a.m.)
The homey butmassivestore is empty. I only turned on a few lights since no employees are here yet, the place quiet. Dimly lit. While I wait, I stand behind the bar counter and pour myself an orange juice.
I’m not stealing.
My family owns the two-story hybrid comic book store and coffee shop. With red and blue vinyl booths, stools, and then rows and rows of shelved comics and merch, Superheroes & Scones resembles a retro diner and modern comic store.Eighty-five of them exist throughout the globe, but this one in Philadelphia is the very original.
Since its creation, it’s had a few major renovations. The second floor used to be offices for a comics publishing company, which has since moved next door.
Capping the jug of juice, I look to my right. Bright blue stairs twist towards a second-floor loft area. Littered with colorful beanbags, sofas, coffee tables, and mounted televisions that play superhero films nonstop.
If I could rank my favorite places in the world, Superheroes & Scones would be number two. Right behind a pool.
Any pool.
I take a large swig of my OJ, and Akara’s phone starts buzzing in quick succession.
I wipe my mouth on my carved bicep and notice the text message boxes lighting up his screen. “Someone’s popular.”That better be my tardy bodyguard.
Akara wipes his fingers on a flimsy napkin. “It’s only one person.”
I crane my neck to try and see if I can spot a name.
