the hallway that led to the storefront, he pressed himself against the wall, sliding down.
He took a deep breath as he reached the end of the hall. He kissed the tip of his bat and whispered his amazing catchphrase: “It’s time to take out the trash.”
He jumped out from the hallway, bat raised above his head. He looked badass and terrifying.
And there, slumped against the confectionary display case, bloodied and bruised, was a costumed man, his cape in tatters.
The man looked up at him. “Are you Nash Bellin?” he asked in his deep and sexy voice. He was also really muscular, and even though he was hurt, he was very attractive.
Nash lowered the bat. “I am. Who the frick are you? What are you doing in my bakery?”
The man grimaced behind his mask. “I’m not here for the baker. I’m here for the detective. I need your help, Nash Bellin. You’re the only one I can trust, even though I’ve been hurt before.” He looked off into nothing, filled with quiet strength and angst. “You’re the savior this world needs.”
Nash sighed. “I always knew I’d get pulled back in. It was only a matter of time.” And with that, he strode forward toward the man, not knowing then that they would soon be in love and having mind-blowing sex in a variety of positions. “You might as well start from the beginning. What’s threatening the world this time and how can I help?”
CREDITS
A bunch of awesome people helped to make this book the best it could be.
To my editor, Ali Fisher, you rock, as always. And to the assistant editor, Kristin Temple, you’re pretty rad too. Thank you for believing in Nicky.
Christa Désir and her mentee Deborah Oliveir of Tessera Editorial provided invaluable insight to make sure I got things right. Thank you.
To the publisher, Devi Pillai, thank you for championing my work. And also for the cookie.
Lucille Rettino, the associate publisher, you are a rock star. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
David Curtis created the cover. He captured Nick and Seth perfectly, and for that, I’m eternally grateful.
Lesley Worrell did the cover design and knocked it out of the park. Thanks, Lesley!
Heather Saunders did the interior design and made it beautiful. Thanks, Heather.
My marketing team—led by Anthony Parisi—includes: Isa Caban, Becky Yeager, Julia Bergen, and Renata Sweeney, all of whom worked tirelessly on my behalf to make this book a success. You’re all very, very good for my ego, and also, your work is top-notch. Thank you. And to the VP of marketing, Eileen Lawrence: you are wonderful.
Saraciea Fennell and Lauren Levite are my publicists who put up with me on a daily basis. Thank you for never complaining about the thousands of emails I send you, and for all the hard work you do on my behalf. Without you, I’d be lost.
Thank you to Melanie Sanders, the production editor, and to Jim Kapp, the production manager.
On the audio side of things, thanks to Tom Mis for producing the audio, and thanks to Michael Lesley for bringing the world of The Extraordinaries to life. I’m so glad to have a familiar voice joining me on this journey. In addition, thank you to the team at Macmillan Audio and to the Macmillan sales force.
Last, but not least, thank you, reader, for coming this far. I hope this story gave you a bit of the same happiness it gave me while writing it.
Oh, and one more thing …
STUNG
Aaron Bell watched the footage for the eighth time. Even though it never changed, he had to see it again.
It was shaky, and slightly blurry, shot from overhead. He’d muted it, because he didn’t want to hear the shouts coming from inside the helicopter.
The camera focused on his son.
He knew how it ended, but his heart still leapt to his throat as the platform collapsed underneath Nick’s feet, metal crumpling around him.
Nick started to fall twenty-six stories toward the ground below.
Aaron remembered standing helpless on the bridge, screaming his son’s name, sure he was about to witness Nick’s death right before his very eyes.
He should have.
Nick should have died.
Except—
About twenty feet above the ground, he just stopped.
Everything did.
The struts.
The large beams.
Nick.
They hung suspended for one second, two seconds, three—
And then he lowered slowly to the ground.
Cap said it was either Shadow Star or Pyro Storm. They had to have done something to save him. “Does it even matter?” Cap had asked him. “Nick’s fine, Aaron. He’s fine. And he’s a hero.”