SUPER
Grant Smits
While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.
SUPER
First edition. February 2, 2021.
Copyright © 2021 Grant Smits.
Written by Grant Smits.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
When the classroom ceiling exploded, cascading debris on to his screaming classmates, James Bolt couldn’t help but sigh. Typical Monday. First, he’d gotten detention for arriving at school late. Now this?
Six men in full body armor, carrying black assault rifles, rappelled into the classroom. His Spanish teacher, Mr. Marcos, cowered in the corner. His classmates erupted into chaos, some diving under their desks, others sprinting for the door. One of the men landed in front of it and held up his gun, stopping them in their tracks.
James squinted at the last problem on his Spanish worksheet. The Super used his powers for good. Of course. Teachers loved to work in references to the Supers, as a nod to him. It just made him uncomfortable.
“We’re looking for James Bolt,” the man in front of the door boomed, sweeping his rifle over the classroom. “Hand him over and nobody will be hurt!”
James felt every eye turn to him, the only one still seated in a desk. El Super uso... su powers per bien? Close enough. He scribbled it down in his scrawling handwriting and wrote James Bolt at the top of the worksheet.
He stood and set down his pencil, which clacked loudly in the silence of the room. Every eye followed him as he walked to the teacher’s desk and placed the paper in the turn-in basket. He’d better do well on it; his grade had slipped to a B− in the class, and a C would mean he’d have to retake Spanish. He couldn’t think of a worse fate.
“Oh, James Bolt?” James said casually, holding up a finger as he turned toward the group of men. “Yeah, that’s me.”
The men came forward, all six rifles trained on James. The nearest one, his face hidden behind a black mask, said, “You’re coming with us.”
“Do I have to?” James said. “I’ve got some plans after school and I feel like this is going to be an all-day sort of thing.”
One soldier grabbed James, pulling his arms painfully behind him. Another placed a black hood over his head, sending him into darkness. He heard muffled commands and was ushered out of the classroom with a rough push. A few turns later and he felt the cool springtime breeze against his arms as they exited the school. The soldier kept a firm grip on him, squeezing the flesh of his shoulder like he was afraid he’d lose it.
The sound of car doors opening told James they’d reached the ever-so-clichéd van they would now throw him unceremoniously into. Sure enough, a hand shoved him, and he sprawled face-first onto the cool metal of the van’s floor. He grunted as his head snapped against the metal.
“I could have done it myself,” James muttered through gritted teeth. Another pair of hands grabbed his dangling feet and shoved them into the van, and then he was picked up and set in a sitting position, his back against the cool metal wall.
The vehicle began to vibrate around him as the engine roared to life. Who were these goons working for? Remy Trust? No... the banker turned drug boss had been in jail for two months now, and if he had broken out, it would be all over the news. Of course, he could have people on the outside who were still loyal to him, ready for any opportunity to hurt the one who put their glorious leader behind bars. It was possible. Not that it mattered. James would be free soon enough.
The van turned and James slid along the wall, his shoulder bumping painfully on the side. Fingers scraped the top of his head, and with a yank, the hood was pulled off. He shook his head, disoriented.
A man who James guessed was the leader of the goons crouched in front of him, holding the hood. He had tightly cropped blond hair on top of a head that was much too small for his huge body. He wore only a bulletproof vest, his bare arms bulging out of the sides. Just your typical thug, following orders from someone much smarter than him.
“You know,” James said, his voice bored, “this isn’t going to work.”
The man smiled, showing a gold tooth. “We’ve already got you, Bolt. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Oh, these?” James said, wiggling his tied-up hands behind him. “Yeah, these won’t help. I can’t count how many people have tried this.” He nodded around the van like an unimpressed critic. “But it never works, does it?”
“It never works,” the man said, putting his face close to James’s. His breath smelled, oddly, like bubblegum. “Until it does.”
“Wha... I mean, yeah, that’s sound logic, buddy. But you think you’re going to be the one,” James said, raising his eyebrows as he surveyed the overly muscled man, “to finally defeat the Bolt?”
The man said nothing. Gravel crunched outside as the van bumped up and down, then came to a sudden stop. James lurched to his side, landing painfully on his other shoulder. The huge man lifted him up.
“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” the man said before placing the hood back on James’s head, sending his world once more into darkness. James was pushed out of the van, his knees exploding with pain as they connected with the rough gravel, and then pulled back to his feet. He was marched forward and up a set of stairs. Then another set of stairs. And another. And another. By the time they were
