Chapter One
Anna Bishop checked the clock.
Ten forty. The guests would start arriving any minute.
Paper plates and cups, both with the red and black logo of her son’s favorite superhero, Redhawk, filled one side of the dining room table. Black and red streamers hung from the ceiling, and party-favor bags, stuffed with pencils, candy, and erasers, were stacked on the hall table. She took a deep breath. Everything was perfect. She’d pulled it all together.
It was hard to believe her son, Louie, was already seven and nearly finished with first grade.
She missed the days of Thomas & Friends and Go, Diego, Go! Now, everything was about Redhawk, superhero.
And the only thing missing from this party was Redhawk himself.
Where the hell was he? He’d promised to arrive at least thirty minutes before the party started. Maybe he was on superhero business. Saving mankind. Vanquishing villains.
Yeah, right. The man she’d hired to play Redhawk was more likely nursing a hangover than fighting the bad guys. She should’ve known better than to pay him up front. Ronnie Queensly made his living dressing as superheroes, clowns, cowboys, and even the occasional princess if the money was right. He wasn’t known for his reliability or his sobriety, but he was the only person Anna could afford.
Now, he was late.
It was going to take every single penny in her meager checking account to make it through the rest of the month. If Redhawk didn’t show, Anna had neither the money nor the time to replace him.
Damn. My kid only has one seventh birthday, and the superhero is MIA.
No Redhawk meant a disappointed kid and a ruined party. Just one more failure her ex-husband would take pleasure in pointing out.
Can this day get any worse?
She slid her cell phone from the back pocket of her denim skirt and pulled up her best friend Taylor’s number. They’d planned the party together, and now with Louie’s father on his way, Anna couldn’t bear the idea of facing him alone.
Just as she was about to text Taylor, the hair on the back of her neck stood up. That could only mean one thing.
George.
When she turned around, her ex-husband was looming in the kitchen doorway.
“George,” she said in greeting. His muddy-brown eyes silently accused her. She had no idea what it might be this time, but it was always something with her ex-husband. Anna stepped to the right, placing her body squarely in front of the small patch of mold just under the cabinets. She knew she needed to call the landlord and have him look at it, but if it was something serious, she had no idea where she’d go. The house was the only place she could afford, and she didn’t want George to see the grayish-green patch and use it against her. He had a way of making her feel like she was just waiting for the other shoe to fall.
“Louie had nail polish on his fingers when I picked him up from school yesterday.”
Oh, shit. Louie had painted his nails black to be more like Redhawk, who favored glossy black, and she’d forgotten to take it off before he went to school. “He was playing. It was just a game.”
“If you think I’m going to let my boy stay in this shitty rental house with a woman who’s teaching him to be a sissy, well, you’ve got another think coming.” George took a step closer and put his hands on his hips. “Nail polish is for girls. Only. You should look into for yourself.”
She closed her hands, hiding her own chipped polish. It was hard to maintain a manicure when you cleaned houses for living, but she wasn’t going to take the bait. “He’s just a kid.”
“You’re making it easy for me when I decide to sue you for custody.”
Every time Anna did something George didn’t agree with, he threatened to take her son. So far, he hadn’t pursued legal action, but she feared that he would. Like the proverbial ax hanging over her head, the threat was always in the back of her mind. “I’ll fight with everything I have to keep him with me. I won’t let him grow up to be a bully like you.”
George laughed. It was threatening and sinister, and she recalled the fear she’d lived in when she’d been married to him. Even though he’d never hit her, the threat had always bubbled just below the surface. Her scalp tingled, and she resisted the all-too-familiar urge to run away from him. This was her house, and she wasn’t going to back down. “You ain’t got much fight. You live paycheck to paycheck. Hell, I’m surprised you didn’t have to beg me for the money to throw this party.”
“Not everything is about money, George.”
He moved closer until the smell of the cheap, acidic drugstore aftershave he favored burned the back of her throat. It still turned her stomach. He used his size to urge her backward until her ass hit the counter. She swallowed the fear. “Back up. This is your child’s birthday party. We can discuss the nail polish later.”
“We’ll discuss it any time I want to discuss it.”
She hated that George still had the ability to scare her, but, this time, she was going to stand her ground. “I said that we’d discuss this later.”
“Don’t fucking tell me when we’ll discuss it.” He grabbed both of her wrists and pulled her toward him until her breasts brushed against his T-shirt.
“Let me go,” she demanded. While the threat of violence had always been there, he’d never been quite this forceful. Her heart pounded as she fought to control her breathing.
“You should listen to her, George.” She looked over her ex-husband’s shoulder to see Redhawk standing in the doorway.
The muscles in his jaw twitched.
That’s not Ronnie Queensly. Not by a longshot.
His clear-green eyes shone through the feathery mask. Judging by the way the spandex hugged his body, he was slender but fit. She tried not to notice the way the tight costume showed off the firm muscles of his thighs, but it wasn’t easy to ignore.
Maybe a real superhero is going to save me this time.
If she weren’t so nervous and scared, she might be a little interested in meeting the man behind the mask. Peeling back the shimmery black and red spandex. Her gaze traveled along his muscular shoulders, down the length of his chest, over the flat of his stomach. Her eyes got stuck at the bulge in his tiny red underpants.
It wasn’t small.
Anna hoped superheroes didn’t use the old potato trick. It would be a major disappointment. She’d had a crush on Redhawk for years, way before Louie discovered him, and the man in front of her was the perfect incarnation of the superhero. It wouldn’t take more than one glass of wine for her to believe this man was the real article.
“Who the fuck are you to tell me shit?” George asked. He dropped Anna’s wrists, and she slumped back against the counter. He turned to face Redhawk. “Is that sissy costume making you brave?” A sneer lifted the corner of his mouth. “You probably like nail polish, too.”
The superhero’s fist connected with George’s nose in the blink of an eye. Anna winced at the crack of bone on bone. Like an action movie in slow motion, she watched as George stumbled backward, tried to get his balance, and then doubled over, clutching his nose.
I’ve just been saved by the world’s hottest superhero.