Blaze Read online

  Adrenaline drop. Exactly as Blaze had said. The fear response hormones drained out of him, and the throbbing pain in his knee and bruised palms rushed in to take its place. He’d been mugged, and much worse might have happened if Blaze hadn’t shown up. He was damn lucky all he had was a ruined bag, scraped palms, and a banged-up knee.

  Danny closed his eyes, drawing deep breaths in through his nose and slowly letting them out through his mouth in an effort to calm down. After several long seconds of concentrated breathing, he was still shaky in the pit of his stomach, but settled enough to drive. Opening his eyes again, he finally popped the car into drive, pulled out of the parking lot, and headed for home.

  ***

  Blaze stood guard from the rooftop of a low building while the cute little sub made his way back to his car. It was unlikely he’d be attacked a second time. The streets below Blaze had eyes and ears, and thanks to the fight, his presence in the area was known to anyone who might think of starting trouble. Still. Blaze wanted to be sure he was safe. He didn’t usually get personal with the people he rescued but something about the young man called to him.

  He was adorable, with smooth dark skin, short, wavy black hair, and big brown eyes that gave him an innocent air. But his mouth, with its perfect Cupid’s bow and lush bottom lip, was made for decadent kisses. Blaze’s palms tingled and sparked as he imagined running his hands over the sheer tank the other man wore to feel the warmth of his skin beneath. And those little black shorts of his had displayed thick thighs and a perky ass that he would love to gently squeeze.

  The sub was obviously unattached. He’d been on his way to a D/s club, but no Dom would let an angel like that walk the streets of downtown St. Louis alone at night. If the boy were his, he’d spank that sweetly rounded bottom for putting himself in danger. Then he’d kiss and caress it to take the sting away and make it all better.

  But the boy wasn’t his. He hadn’t had anyone that belonged to him for a long time. And that was for the best.

  Down the street, headlights flicked on. A few minutes passed before glowing red tail lights exited the parking lot, the car turning toward the highway. Blaze guessed he’d probably needed a moment to gather himself after his mugging. With the little sub safely headed home, Blaze turned his attention back to his task of patrolling the streets of St. Louis. He made a running leap onto the roof of the next building, tucking into a barrel roll to lessen the impact of his landing.

  Ten years ago, Anderson Pruitt had selected St. Louis as the location for a massive base of operations for his company. The campus included research and development, production, shipping, and more. But before he’d moved Pruitt Inc. in, he’d demanded an initiative to clean up the city. It might have made sense to focus on offering jobs, as high employment helped lower the crime rate. A solid pay check, a safe place to live, and full bellies often took away the impetuous for crime.

  But Pruitt had chosen instead to bring in a private militarized police force. Humans directed the force but it made heavy use of artificial intelligence robotic police. People caught by the police bots often disappeared without a trace. Sometimes they re-emerged months later, with no mention of a court date, refusing or unable to talk about what transpired during their absence. Sometimes they were never seen again.

  The Pruitt Initiative hadn’t eliminated crime. It had stifled the city however, turning once vibrant areas into near police states, where the citizens were caught between their fear of the bots and their fear of the criminals who had smartened up and organized in order to survive in the new regime.

  But tonight, the criminal element in this sector of the city was quiet. Over the next couple of hours, Blaze didn’t run into any other crimes, petty or otherwise. Deciding to call it a night, he began making his way back toward his car. He was nearly there when he came across two young men standing in front of an ATM operated by Pruitt Bank. They had tools in hand, which made it unlikely they were making an honest withdrawal. Blaze sent forth a bolt of electricity powerful enough to scare the guys into jumping away from the machine.

  “Shit, it’s Blaze!”

  The two tensed as if they were about to make a break for it. Blaze landed behind them before they could move. “Don’t even think about running,” he said as he held up one glowing fist.

  “Come on, man. It’s Pruitt’s money. Not like he’s going to miss it,” one of them said with a bitter curl to his lip.

  “Stealing is stealing. Doesn’t matter if you don’t like the person you’re robbing.”

  “Guess it don’t matter if you’re hungry, either,” the other chimed in dejectedly.

  Blaze took a closer look at the pair. Unlike the hardened muggers from earlier, these guys were young, their faces clinging to boyhood despite the wispy hairs trying to emerge on their chins. The resentment in their shadowed eyes struck a chord of empathy in Blaze’s chest. He let the electricity crackling over his fists fade. “There’s a job fair this weekend. Go to it.”

  “Job fair?” The first kid scoffed. “Like anybody is going to hire us.”

  Looking at the two youths, haggard and hunched, Blaze had to agree. Besides, if they were trying to rob an ATM because they were hungry, waiting to get a job, and then even longer for their first paycheck wasn’t going to solve that immediate problem. “Go to the red brick building on the corner of Kirk and Seventh. Ask for Mrs. Cannady. She’ll feed you tonight and set you up with whatever else you need to get ready for the job fair.”

  Kid Number Two looked at Blaze with narrow-eyed suspicion. “Tonight? You mean you’re letting us go and not turning us in to the P-Bots?”

  Blaze crossed his arms over his chest. “That depends on you. Are you going to try to rob another machine or are you going to do like I said?”

  “We’ll do it. We’ll do it right now.”

  “Right answer,” Blaze said. “I know your faces and the area you run in. And I will check up on you. Believe me when I say you won’t like it if I catch you trying to steal again. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” The two nodded with near-comical enthusiasm, their heads flopping back and forth like bobble head dolls.

  Blaze acknowledged them with a small nod of his own. Then he sank down into a crouch, one foot slightly behind the other, gathering power to launch himself high into the air. He gave the kids below him a show, rising in a dramatic pose, the blue sphere of electricity around him burning bright against the back drop of the night sky. It served as something to tell their buddies about, and an unsubtle reminder of his power.

  He traveled across several rooftops before dropping back down to the street where his car waited. Although he could jump twenty feet in the air and run faster than most humans, he wasn’t a speedster. He couldn’t fly either, so a car helped him navigate the city on his patrols.

  Although the big, electric-blue Dodge Challenger sat unattended in an alley, Blaze didn’t worry about anyone trying to steal it. His high-tech alarm shut down all systems when he wasn’t inside, and locked the wheel base, rendering it immovable. And anybody who touched the door handles would get the shock of their life.

  As he approached the car, it recognized the sensors on his suit and automatically unlocked. Blaze slid inside, disabled the rest of lock-down mode, and pressed the ignition button, bringing the engine roaring to life. A quick shift into drive and Blaze sped out of the alley, racing through the near empty streets until he left the riverfront area behind.

  Taking one of the various routes he rotated through to keep anyone from tracking him, he headed home. After a few miles, he hit a button on the customized dashboard. Ahead on his right, the tree line opened up to reveal a narrow side road. He hooked a sharp turn and drove into the gap, the trees moving back into place behind him.

  Blaze streaked down the dark, one lane road. As he passed over a section of pavement, the dash blinked, indicating a sensor on the undercarriage of the car had been activated. A section of the road detached, tilting down to a sub-terranean level.
Blaze gunned it, his belly lifting as he swooped down the ramp that took him below ground. He continued down the tunnel for another mile, hurtling toward a wide, solid steel door. The car triggered another ground sensor, and the door slid open seconds before the Challenger slammed into it, immediately closing behind him with a solid thunk.

  He slowed as the one lane road gradually widened and ended in a large, high-ceilinged underground room. Blaze turned off the ignition, and the rumbling engine faded to silence. He stepped out, the slam of the car door echoing in the cavernous concrete space.

  The hour was late and exhaustion pulled at his bones, but he still went to his computer to log in the details from the night’s patrol. He spent a few minutes cross-referencing the new data with his files to check for any escalating patterns or ties to major crime bosses he needed to be aware of. The computer didn’t show any results, so he shut it down and moved to take off his gear.

  Blaze tugged the cowl back, then removed his heavy, thick-soled boots. He carried the boots across the room to a glass fronted wardrobe, the cold of the concrete floor seeping through his socks to chill the soles of his feet. The boots went inside the wardrobe, followed by his two-piece suit. The glass door slid shut with a hiss, and a second later, the specialized steam cleaner kicked on, the glass fogging over as it removed the sweat, grit, and blood from the armored suit.

  Naked except for a pair of tight-fitting boxer briefs, he strode over to the elevator, punching in a code on the lit keypad to summon it down to this level. Once he stepped inside, the elevator rose, swiftly taking him to the top level of the brick and glass building where he had the entire floor for his private apartment. He didn’t bother turning on any lights, he moved through the dark rooms with ease on his way to the shower.

  A few minutes later, he was clean, dry and ready for a few hours’ sleep. Clad in a pair of black, low-slung pajama bottoms, Jordan strode over to the floor to ceiling windows, his bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. From there, he could look out over a great deal of St. Louis. In the distance, the Gateway Arch rose, towering over the city, a beloved and beautiful monument. But the cold steel was immobile, lifeless, and unfeeling. The Arch couldn’t do anything to keep the citizens safe. It was up to him to help those in need.

  His thoughts returned to the guy he’d saved from a mugging earlier. Daniel Griffin. He’d seen his name and address when he’d picked up his driver’s license from the street. There was one more thing he could do to help the young man out, and hopefully keep him from returning to the rough area of The Stocks. He’d take care of it, then put the little sub out of his mind for good. An angel like that didn’t need a man like him in their life. His role was to protect from the shadows, so that people like Daniel could live in the light without fear.

  Chapter Two

  K

  nock! Knock! Knock!

  Pounding on the front door reverberated throughout the house, yanking Danny out of a deep sleep. He threw the covers back and stumbled from the bed. As groggy as he was, he still recognized that aggressive knock. It had to be DeliveriesPlus with a package that required his signature. Since he regularly ordered art supplies and merchandise he’d designed, deliveries at all hours was a common thing.

  After pulling on a pair of shorts, he went downstairs to look through the small, stained glass window set into the front door. Sure enough, a man wearing the familiar orange polo shirt waited on the porch. Danny opened the door, wincing as the bright, early morning sunshine stung his eyes.

  “Good morning. I have a package for Daniel Griffin.”

  “That’s me.”

  The delivery driver extended the electronic signature pad and tiny, chewed up pen to Danny. Still blinking the sleep from his eyes, Danny accepted them both and scrawled his name across the screen. He handed them back, receiving a flat envelope in exchange. Danny politely thanked the driver and closed the door.

  Looking down at the flat package he held, he sleepily tried to remember what he’d ordered that would come in an envelope that small. Nothing that he could think of. And the return address was a P.O. Box, which didn’t help jog his memory. Danny shrugged. There was no point in speculating when he could just open the envelope. He ripped open the pull-tab, turned the envelope upside down, and shook it. An all-black invitation fell into his hand. It was beautiful in its starkness, the card stock thick and crisp, the lettering embossed on the matte paper in a glossy, no frills black font.

  Club Decadence invites you to join us with a complimentary one-year membership.

  Danny stared down at the invitation in his hands in wonder. “Holy shit,” he whispered. Blaze. Blaze must have put in a call and asked them to give him a membership. He’d heard that the superhero often went the extra mile and helped former criminals, putting them on the path to turning their lives around. But this gesture went way beyond full-service superheroing.

  Danny whooped and danced around the living room with joy. “I’ve got a free membership to Club Decadence!” His roommate Scott was out of town at a convention, so there was no one there to see him shimmying around doing his happy dance. But the dancing didn’t last for long. His aching knee reminded him of the fall he’d taken last night, protesting at his jubilant bouncing.

  “I’ve got to do something to thank Blaze for this,” he whispered as he stopped wiggling around and stared down at the card again. Drawing superheroes was his specialty and how he made his living, so the choice was obvious. “I’ll draw him some thank you art.”

  He had no way to contact Blaze. As far as he knew, no one did. But social media had vast reach. If he posted something online and enough people shared it, it was bound to make its way to Blaze at some point. Blaze might not have an official social media account like some superheroes but Danny was willing to bet he had either an anonymous online presence or one as his alter ego, whomever that might be.

  He started to rush off to the spare room that he’d turned into his work space, but his stomach growled with hunger, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten yet. And his knee still ached, so he needed to attend to that too. “Okay. Breakfast, first-aid, shower. Then art.”

  Danny hurried into the kitchen and popped a couple of breakfast tacos in the microwave to heat. While he waited, he took two ibuprofen, then wrapped up ice cubes in a dish towel for an ice pack. He sat down to eat once the tacos were ready. A shiver ran through him from the chill of the ice when he applied the makeshift ice pack to his knee, but he held it steady against the sore area while he ate, and for a few minutes after he finished. That was as long as he could stand to wait.

  Impatient to get started on his project, he dumped both soggy towel and empty plate in the sink before rushing off to shower. As he soaped up, he envisioned the scene he was going to draw. He wanted to make sure that Blaze would know exactly who was thanking him so he decided to draw a snapshot of last night’s rescue. By the time he was out of the shower and dressed in old shorts, a tank, and flip-flops, he had it pretty well plotted out.

  In his work room, Danny sat down at the desk and turned on his tablet. He only planned to do a quick sketch so he could post it as soon as possible. But once he set pen to screen to draw Blaze, the piece took on a life of its own. Danny carefully detailed the bright blue sparks of electricity that had arced up and down Blaze’s arms. Each line was sharp and jagged, the glow brilliant and casting shadows. He meticulously sculpted the powerful muscles of Blaze’s arms and thighs. And he spent an embarrassing amount of time getting the curve of Blaze’s ass in those tight leather pants just right.

  Since he’d drawn Blaze so well, he couldn’t depict himself as a raggedy-looking add on. He drew himself in last night’s outfit, then tapped the pen against his chin as he considered what he should do with his face. Eventually he shrugged and gave himself an exaggerated worshipping expression as he watched Blaze fight. That’s probably how he’d looked anyway.

  The criminals he drew as faceless, shadowy blobs of evil, both as a safety measure against retal
iation, and because those jerks didn’t deserve to see themselves in his art. In the interest of saving time, he cheated on the background with vague, simple shapes for buildings. Still, it took him hours to finish. But it was worth it. The piece was gorgeous and worthy of serving to express his thanks to Blaze. Danny watermarked the illustration with his signature, then uploaded it to his Twitter account with a heartfelt caption.

  Last night I was out and about downtown and ran into a little danger. I was mugged but thankfully, Blaze came along and saved me. Thank you, Blaze, for everything you did for me.

  After reading it twice to make sure he didn’t have any errors — he’d hate to go viral with a typo — Danny hit send. He had over fifteen thousand followers on Twitter, with similar numbers on Instagram where he uploaded the picture next. Hopefully the piece would get enough activity that it would eventually make its way to Blaze. He didn’t expect to personally hear back from the elusive superhero, he simply wanted the chance to show his gratitude. His mission for the day accomplished, Danny put the tablet to sleep, grabbed his phone, and went to make a late lunch.

  He’d just taken the lunch meat out of the fridge when his phone started dinging with alerts. Since he was starving, he ignored it long enough to make a couple of sandwiches. Once he’d eaten the first and started on the second, he leaned back against the counter, ham and Swiss on white in one hand while he scrolled his Twitter mentions with the other. Lots of favorites and retweets on the Blaze piece. Several comments gushing over the art. Others asking if he was okay. Danny smiled, responding to a few of the comments from accounts he recognized. His smile soured when he came across a tweet from one particular account — an Ignite stan.