The one good thing about living in a city that boasts a crime rate a good forty percent above the national average is that there's always something to report on, even for a small—time blogger like myself.

Granted, I could have done without having my late—night coffee run intercepted by an armed robbery, but at least it would give me something to write about. If I didn't get myself shot, of course.

My heart pounded in my throat as I pressed my cheek against the floor. From my low vantage point, I couldn't see much other than the robbers' boots and cargo pants, but I could hear their demands clear as day.

"Hurry up and empty that register!" one of them snarled at the poor kid behind the counter. "Or you'll get a head full of lead."

"And throw in a cappuccino," the guy casually pointing his gun toward me and the other customers cowering on the floor added.

Who the heck asked for a cup of coffee in the middle of a robbery? Surprise—and possibly stupidity—made me twist my neck and look up. My efforts were for nothing; he was wearing a mask, blending into the anonymous masses of wrongdoers littering the seedy underbelly of St. Anthony.

"What are you looking at, bitch?" Mr. Cappuccino growled, and with an unpleasant drop in my stomach, I realized that the big gun was now pointed directly at my face.

I gaped up at him like a fish on land, my brain taking a complete timeout instead of doing something useful like, I dunno, not staring at the man with the gun.

He pulled his upper lip back in a snarl, displaying crooked yellow teeth, and I had a second's worth of thinking stereotype much? before my brain got up to speed.

"I'm sorry!" I gasped. The barrel seemed so dark, but I didn't have time to look back down to the floor before the window by the door exploded.

Both robbers spun around, whipping their guns with them to point at the figure now standing in the middle of the broken glass.

"Fuck!"

I craned my neck to see what had made Mr. Cappuccino's partner shout, and couldn't help the involuntary intake of breath when I got a closer look at the newcomer.

Charcoal and crimson high—tech fabric covered his strong, chiseled body all the way up to his neck, and the top half of his face was covered in a similarly—colored leather mask. He was tall and lean, and his eyes glowed an unnatural blue, highlighting his perfect mouth and strong jaw. I knew that man. Hell, everyone in St. Anthony knew him.

"Really, a coffee shop?" He folded his arms across his chest, surveying his surroundings. His gaze skimmed over my awkwardly sprawled form to the three other customers huddled somewhere behind me. "I mean, a bank or a jeweler's, sure, but a coffee shop?"

The robbers' reply was to fire their weapons.

My brain finally turned on, and I did the only reasonable thing there is to do when someone's firing automatic guns around you—I dove for cover underneath the nearest table and saw the other customers and the poor employee do the same out of the corner of my eye. From my hiding place, I had a near—perfect view of the newcomer as he darted past the flying bullets with superhuman agility and leapt over the counter.

Lightning was what he went by in the news and on social media, more because of his supernatural speed than actually being able to shoot lightning—though I wasn't completely certain that some of the superhumans walking among us weren't able to do that, too.

I'd seen pictures and video clips of him—and a few of the other masked supers we called heroes—but I'd never been this close to one before. Despite the flying bullets and shattering furniture, I whipped out my phone and pressed "record" while I tried to creep out far enough from my protective shelter to get a decent angle, without losing a hand to stray bullets.

It quickly became evident that Lightning was just playing with the two unlucky robbers. He dodged bullets as if they were nothing more than annoying flies, popping up behind one and then the other opponent to give him a quick smack or a light shove to make them stumble or lose their aim. After a few minutes of impressive acrobatics, he finally got down to business. He jumped on top of the counter and easily twisted his body mid—air to avoid an attack before hitting first one guy square in the jaw with a kick, and then the other in the neck. Both dropped to the floor like two sacks of potatoes, their guns clattering beside them.

Lightning smiled and placed his hands on his narrow hips, looking oddly like a housewife who'd just finished sweeping the floor. "You can come out of your hidey—holes now, good people," he said. "They'll be out for…"

The moment his eyes locked on me—and the phone I was still using to record him with—he paused, a mixture of amusement and surprise flickering in his glowing blue eyes.

"Did you just video that? Through all the gunfire?"

I blinked up at him. Did he just… speak to me? Me?

I could tell I was staring mutely for an inappropriate amount of time when he smirked beneath his mask, and I felt a furious blush heat up my face.

"Yeah—huh," I managed to stutter.

He easily jumped off the counter and walked toward me in a smooth, confident stride, and I have no idea how I didn't drop my phone.

I stared up at him, distantly aware of my mouth hanging open at being so close to a superhuman. A superhuman who was currently smiling down at my awkwardly kneeling figure half—hidden underneath a café table.

And then it dawned on me. I had his full attention, if only for a short moment. Uploading a video of Lightning in action would boost my meager blog traffic for sure, but if I could snag an interview? That would give me so many views I might actually be able to both pay my bills and pay off some of my credit card debt!

"Could I ask you a few questions?" I blurted out, opting for the direct approach rather than to risk losing my nerve.

His smile turned impossible brighter, exposing his even, white teeth and a dimple over the left corner of his mouth. In other words, he was exactly as swoon—worthy in real life as in his pictures. "Sure thing, darling."