Flash Fire Page 7

  He leaned toward the screen and took a deep breath. A moment later, Jazz and Gibby stood on either side of him. “Good, Pyro Storm. Let’s go save some lives.”

  4

  Nick was walking home, just blocks away from his street, with his attention on his phone, ignoring the people walking by him in the other direction. Footage from a news chopper flying high above the Westfield River showed a scene of chaos, the party barge half-sunken in the bay. Seth had been able to rescue everyone still trapped on the barge, carrying them all to safety before Harbor Patrol had shown up, late to respond to the call.

  Nick’s thoughts were thrumming like a live wire, exposed and crackling. He needed to do more, figure out a way to better help Seth. The news reports were cautious when it came to Pyro Storm, as if they didn’t believe he was a hero, even though he’d saved countless people. Owen’s shadow still stretched long over the city. There had to be a way to get people on their side. “Branding,” Nick muttered to himself. “If Seth continues to be Pyro Storm, he needs to have brand recognition.” He opened the notepad app on his phone and began to jot down ideas. A Twitter account from Pyro Storm’s point of view? That’d be killer. Merch, definitely. Maybe even Instagram, which Jazz could run since her Insta was all black-and-white photos, and everyone knew black-and-white photos were tasteful as hell.

  He wasn’t paying attention to where he was going, lost in thought about how he could get the tide to turn in Pyro Storm’s favor, all while grappling with what had happened at the Gray house. Trey’s and Aysha’s words rang in his ears.

  Nick almost dropped his phone as he crashed into what felt like a solid wall. He stumbled back, ready—like a true citizen of Nova City—to snap at whoever had gotten in his way. The words died in his throat as he saw a man made purely of muscle standing in front of him in a dark suit, flecks of snow falling on his military crewcut.

  “Nicholas Bell?” the man rumbled.

  Nick eyed him warily. “Are you a fan wanting my autograph, or someone who wants to kidnap me? Either way, I’m going to need to reach into my bag to grab my pen for writing or stabbing.”

  The man didn’t respond. He took a step toward the busy street, where a black limousine was parked against the curb. He opened one of the rear doors. “Get in.”

  “Wow,” Nick said. “As much as I enjoy strange men asking me to get into their limos, I think I’m gonna pass. I’m sure whatever plot you have going on in that oversized head of yours would have been properly terrifying.” He was about to turn and walk away when the man grabbed his arm, grip tight. Nick glared up at him. “Dude. Not cool. I didn’t invite you to touch me. Seriously, back off before I literally stab your liver. I work out, okay?”

  A low laugh came from the dark interior of the limo. Nick thought he recognized it, but he couldn’t be sure.

  “Get in,” the man said, shoving him toward the open door.

  “If you’re kidnapping me, you’re doing a shit job,” Nick said, raising his voice. “There are a couple dozen witnesses. You, sir! Yes, you. Memorize our faces because—”

  “Mr. Bell,” a smooth voice came from inside the limo. “Enough with the theatrics. I’m not in the business of kidnapping. I only want a word. I’ll even drop you off at home, if you’d like.”

  And oh, Nick knew that voice.

  All the fight drained out of him. He didn’t struggle as the man shoved him inside the limo. Nick stumbled, falling to his knees. He squinted against the low light as the door slammed shut behind him. It was warm in here. Too warm.

  The rear of the limo had a row of leather seats against the driver’s side, making an L-shape across the back. And sitting right in front of him was one of the few people Nick wished he’d never had to see again, for as long as he lived.

  He was broad-shouldered, his suit black and expensive, his tie blue. One of his legs was crossed over the other, the tip of his dress shoe bouncing slowly up and down. His hair was thick and wavy with streaks of gray. He smiled, and in it, Nick could see echoes of his son, cold and devastatingly handsome. The chill he felt had nothing to do with the cold winter day just outside the limo.

  “Hello, Nicholas,” Simon Burke said. “Have a seat. This won’t take long.”

  Nick was about to tell him to go to hell when the limo pulled away from the curb, causing him to almost fall over again. He went to the back of the limo, trying to get as far away from Burke as possible. He settled on the seat, holding his backpack in his lap. “I have Mace,” he announced. “And I know how to use it.”

  “Good to know,” Burke said, his smile only growing. “I think you’ll find it entirely unnecessary.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I was driving by and I thought, oh my, that looks just like my son’s former boyfriend. And I couldn’t let the opportunity pass me by. We haven’t had a chance to talk, you and I, and that simply won’t do. We’re tied together in ways you can’t even begin to understand.”

  Nick scoffed. “Yeah, okay. Go, to hell, you weirdo.”

  Burke chuckled. “Feisty, aren’t you? I bet your father has his hands full with you. How is he, by the way? I haven’t had an opportunity to catch up with my old friend in a while. I heard about his new position as the head of the Extraordinaries Division. Good for him.”

  That stopped Nick cold. “‘Old friend’? What are you talking about? You’re not anyone’s friend, much less my dad’s.”

  Burke laughed, and Nick struggled not to flinch. He sounded just like his son. “Didn’t you know? Why, I’m surprised he never told you, though I suppose recent … events would make him less likely to speak of it.” He clucked his tongue. “Your parents and I used to be friends, back in the day. In fact, you could say we were more than friends.”

  And since Nick was Nick, he said, “You were in a three-way relationship with my parents? Oh my god, why would you tell me that?”

  Burke squinted at him. “No, though it’s curious that’s where your mind went. I’m afraid my tastes don’t extend to the same sex.” His smile softened, and for a moment, he almost looked … human. It only increased the alarm bells ringing in Nick’s head. “I dated your mother for a time, while we were all at college. It wasn’t long, but it was good. A lovely woman, Jenny Warren. But like some things, it wasn’t meant to last. She met your father, and that was that. At the campus library, if I recall. She quite literally fell into his arms. Who was I to stand in their way, especially since I, too, came to care for Aaron? Their connection was undeniable, and they offered each other things I could not.”

  Nick’s jaw ached as he ground his teeth together. Hearing his mother’s name coming from Simon Burke set him on edge. “What did you do?”

  Burke looked taken aback as the limo rolled over a couple of potholes. “Pardon?”

  “I never heard them talk about you,” Nick said coolly. “Not once. Not when she was alive, or after she died. You weren’t at the service we had for her. And the only time I heard about you from Dad was after your psycho son tried to kill me and my friends, so you must have done something.”

  “Ah,” Burke said. “Curious. I’m afraid I don’t have a satisfactory answer for you, other than to say paths diverge. Perhaps that’s something you should talk to your father about. I’m sure it would be enlightening.”

  Secrets. It always came back to secrets. They’d agreed to be honest with each other, but today had shown just how little Nick knew. Struggling to keep his expression blank, he looked out the window, recognizing the streets around them. They appeared to be heading toward his house, though Nick hadn’t given them an address. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not. “Uh-huh. Question: Do you know anybody on the Nobel Prize committee?”

  Burke cocked his head. “I might. Why?”

  Of course he did. What a pompous ass. “Good. Can you do me a favor and call them? I need you to let them know I’ve discovered that bullshit is genetic. I’m sure they’ll want to give me an award.”

  The skin around Bur
ke’s eyes tightened, but other than that, he gave no reaction. “I can see why my son liked you. Quite the mouth you’ve got. I’d be careful if I were you. You could find yourself in trouble if you say the wrong thing to the wrong person.”

  “Riiiight,” Nick said. He saw familiar houses outside the window. His street. “This is far enough. You can let me out here. I’ll be sure to let Dad know you gave me a forcible ride and made vague threats, like you think we give two shits about anything you say.”

  Burke pressed a button on a panel near his seat. The divider lowered slightly, revealing the back of the driver’s head. “Anthony,” Burke said, never looking away from Nick. “Our guest is ready to leave.”

  The driver grunted, signaling as he pulled the limo to the curb a few houses down from Nick’s. Nick waited until the vehicle came to a stop before reaching for the handle, the overhead light turning on as soon as he pushed the door open. He was partway out of the limo when Burke spoke again. “Owen asks about you.”

  Nick stopped.

  He breathed in. He breathed out.

  Then, through gritted teeth, he said, “What?”

  “Owen,” Burke said softly. “I’m told he asks about you. He doesn’t speak much these days, especially not to me, but his medical team takes copious notes, and he’s under constant surveillance. It’s safer that way—for everyone. The room he’s in is quite bright. Lights from all directions. No shadows, you see. They can’t take the chance.”

  “I’m sure the drugs you forced on him have worn off by now,” Nick snapped as he glared back over his shoulder.

  Burke chuckled. “Forced? Is that what he told you?” He shook his head. “Always the victim, isn’t he, never able to accept responsibility for his own actions. And you, swallowing it hook, line, and sinker. The sheer hubris of it all is staggering.” He leaned forward, hands dangling between his legs. “Tell me, Mr. Bell. You knew him better than I ever could. Do you really think I could force him do to anything he didn’t want to do?”

  “Yes,” Nick said. “Because I know I would do anything for my dad, even if it hurt me.”

  And though he tried to cover it up, that answer caught Burke off guard. His expression stuttered, there and gone in a flash, but Nick saw it clear as day. “Yes, well, I’m afraid Owen and I don’t enjoy the relationship you and your father seem to have.” And then he smiled again, and Nick had to keep from shuddering. “Though I do wonder if said relationship would remain intact if you knew everything there was to know about your father.” He dropped his voice. “And your mother.”

  Bait. It was bait, and oh, did Nick want to take it. He was almost convinced that Burke was completely full of shit, but what if he wasn’t? What if he was telling at least some version of the truth? If he’d known Nick’s mother, that would mean he’d have stories about her Nick had never heard before. It’d be new information, and goddammit, he’d hoard every single word like gold.

  But that was what Burke wanted. And even if he was telling the truth, it’d come with a price, and Nick wasn’t about to play his games. This reeked of a setup. They hadn’t heard a thing from Simon Burke after McManus Bridge, and now, out of the blue, here he was, dangling tidbits he knew Nick would want?

  Nope. He wasn’t going to dance, no matter what Burke said. And seriously, screw him for even bringing up Nick’s mom. He had no right to say her name, much less—

  The plastic covering on the overhead light cracked. A small piece of the cover fell to the carpeted floor of the limousine.

  “Well now,” Burke said quietly as he bent over and picked up the small chip. He held it in the palm of his gloved hand, bouncing it once, twice. “What have we here? I wonder how that happened?”

  Nick was done with him. “As nice as this has been—and it’s been just lovely—I’m going to go home and pretend you don’t exist. Have a nice life. Oh, and one more thing? A piece of advice: maybe don’t pick up minors off the street. Not a good look, man.”

  “He’s not the only one who’s protective of you, is he?”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, Nick,” Burke said. “Let’s not do that. You and I both know who I’m talking about.” He smiled that Owen smile again. Nick didn’t like it one bit. “Since we’re apparently in the position where we can offer each other advice, some for you.” He held up the piece of plastic between two pinched fingers. “There are things at play here much greater than you know. If you want to know the truth, my door is always open.” He pocketed the glass inside his coat. “Especially for one such as you.”

  Nick glared at him. “Dude, you are so not my type. And I’m taken, thank you.”

  “Yes,” Burke said. “Because that’s exactly what I was talking about.” He sobered slightly. “You remind me of your mother. I see her in you. She…” He shook his head. “Phone.”

  “What?”

  Burke held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

  “No. Get your own. You can afford it.”

  “I’m not going to do anything untoward,” Burke said patiently. “Please, Mr. Bell.”

  It was the please that got him. He didn’t know why. He should’ve told Burke to piss off, but instead, he found himself reaching into his pocket, pulling out his phone, and handing it over. Burke didn’t speak as he took it, fingers flying over the screen. Nick couldn’t see what he was doing, but before he could ask, Burke handed his phone back. “There. You now have my contact information. When you’re ready for the truth, you call me.”

  Nick snatched his phone back, already climbing out of the car. “Not gonna happen, dude. You can go back to your tower and be creepy there. Don’t bother me again.” Since the last word was Nick’s greatest weapon, he slammed the door as hard as he could.

  Except he didn’t get the last word.

  Because the tinted rear window rolled down, and Simon Burke leaned forward. “Concentra, wasn’t it? Yes, Concentra.” He grinned. “Helps one concentrate, or so the slogan goes. One of the biggest breakthroughs of Burke Pharmaceuticals. I do hope you’re reaping the benefits. Anthony, we’re done.”

  Nick stood on the sidewalk, watching the limo as it pulled back into traffic and moved down the street until it turned a corner, out of sight.

  * * *

  Nick had his key in the door lock when he got a text from Dad saying he was on his way home, which surprised him. Dad’s new job as the head of the Extraordinaries Division led to some odd hours, and Nick thought he’d have to stay at the harbor even if Pyro Storm had finished, to make sure everything was on the up-and-up.

  Nick typed back a confirmation, saying he’d see him soon. And since he couldn’t not, he asked Dad to describe in great detail the heroics Pyro Storm had shown in rescuing those from the sinking barge. Dad sent back an emoji wearing sunglasses. So aggravating.

  Frustrated, Nick unlocked the front door and stepped inside, closing it behind him before heading toward the kitchen. He slapped together a cheese-and-ketchup sandwich, intending to spread out his homework and get back to it. He made it three minutes before he set down his pencil and picked up his phone. Gnawing on his lip, he searched Concentra.

  Pages upon pages. Benefits. Side effects. Trials. Tests. FDA approval to be sold and distributed. Medical journals filled with incomprehensible jargon. Concentra, made by a company called Arc Medical Group.

  Arc Medical Group, a subsidiary of Burke Pharmaceuticals.

  “It’s just a company,” Nick muttered. “They probably make a billion things. Nothing to worry about.”

  He ran another search about Extraordinaries in Nova City to see if there’d been any hits he’d missed about any potential threats or new superheroes, something he’d done with increasing frequency over the past few months. Like most other people, he’d expected other Extraordinaries to appear after Pyro Storm and Shadow Star battled it out. Either there weren’t any, or they were choosing to remain hidden.

  No sightings, no speculations, nothing. Even on the me
ssage boards dedicated to Extraordinaries across the world, there was no mention in the Nova City boards about anyone other than Pyro Storm and Shadow Star, with the occasional reference to Guardian, the superhero who had patrolled the streets of Nova City back in the early aughts before disappearing. No one knew who they’d been, not even their gender—only that they’d been telekinetic. The few pictures that had been taken of Guardian were blurry, only catching flashes of their cerulean-blue costume. They had either quit, moved on, or died. Nick didn’t know which was worse.

  “If I was a hero, I’d never stop,” he whispered to himself, throwing his phone down on the kitchen table. He scrubbed his hands over his face. He was irritated, but he didn’t know at who. Seth, maybe, for saying he didn’t know if he wanted to be Pyro Storm anymore, but was that fair? Once, before all the crap had come out about who Seth and Owen were, Seth had told Nick how lonely it must be being an Extraordinary, how you couldn’t tell anyone about who you were or what you could do because they could become targets, or they might not understand and become scared. He’d practically given Nick a full confession, and Nick had responded by demanding they collaborate on a fic together.

  Maybe he should clear his head by working on A Pleasure to Burn. He’d left Nash and Pyro Storm on a relatively sexy cliffhanger, and his readers would be demanding follow-through.

  He was startled out of his fantasies of Pyro Storm whispering I’ve never tried to use the costume for something so dirty when the front door opened. “Kid, you here?” Dad called out.

  “Kitchen,” Nick said, looking down at his homework spread out before him. What a crappy Valentine’s Day.

  Nick listened as Dad went to the hall closet. He heard the familiar beeps of the gun safe Dad kept for his service weapon.

  Dad appeared in the entryway, smiling tiredly as he glanced down at the textbooks and papers on the table. “You eat yet?”

  Any appetite he might have had was long gone. His headache, a low simmer, pulsed behind his right eye. “We’ve got leftovers. I can nuke it in the microwave for you if you want.”