For Joren, former Leader of the Syndicate, life took an abrupt turn when rebels took over humanity's galactic government and military. Now he's in hiding, he and his brother -- the scientist Ashley Mracek -- constantly aware of danger lurking around every corner. When Joren joins Ash and Captain Carter Therres on the lawless planet of Geren in search of allies, he comes into the sights of an assassin.
Morgan Reid left the military twenty-six years ago. Now he's a gun for hire, his marksmanship and sniper rifle abilities heavily sought after on the planet of Geren. When his latest contract comes through, he knows the shit's about to hit the fan. Then he finds out who he's hired to kill, and he breaks not one but both of the rules he's always kept: never mix business with pleasure, and never make eye contact with the target.
Praise for Kill Fee
"When two former lovers reunite, more than just sparks fly. This story is fast, furious and smexy. This is one of the best kinds of erotic fun."
-- BookAddict, The Romance Reviews
Coriolis: Kill Fee
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2013 Mychael Black
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Morgan Reid didn't look up from the rifle he was outfitting with a new scope. "One hundred."
"You're asking me to assassinate the Leader -- well, former Leader -- of the Syndicate. How much about this man do you know?"
Morgan snorted. "Obviously not. Joren was a Marine, a sharpshooter and top marksman. Hell, better than me in his heyday. He's not an easy point-and-shoot target. You want him dead, it's going to cost you. One hundred grand, half up front."
"Shit." A plastic card slapped onto the scratched tabletop. "Fine. Fifty now. He's been traced --"
"I'll find him," Morgan interrupted. He glared up at the man before him. "Run back and tell your master like a good little rebel."
The man scowled, then turned and stalked off. Morgan picked up the card and thumbed the imprinted symbol for the Syndicate. It didn't surprise him -- much -- to find out the government had collapsed so fast. Many resented Joren's policies of diplomacy with other species. Morgan didn't give a shit either way. Here on Geren, survival of the fittest reigned supreme. People either found their niche and lived, or they didn't.
Morgan couldn't get away from the man. Twenty-six years ago, he'd been fresh out of the Marines. Joren had just gained his first officer's assignment. It hadn't mattered.
Two young men. Ten years. And a fucking lifetime of haunting dreams he'd yet to shake.
"Waitress!" Morgan flagged down a server and waited for the beautiful Tessi to come over. He gave her a disarming smile he didn't quite feel. "Another Abyss." She nodded and walked away, leaving Morgan to survey the ramshackle bar.
Geren had once been the Syndicate's pride and joy: a whole planet housing a vast network of prisons. Then it all went to hell in a hand basket in 2170. A few corrupt guards here and there, pirates coming in unchallenged, and the biggest inmate uprising the galaxy had ever seen. That was all it took to turn Geren into the largest black market shithole in the Milky Way. Every species, every manner of criminal -- they all flocked here now, knowing damn well no one dared touch them.
Morgan came here to escape the politicians he despised. And maybe a memory or two.
The waitress returned with his drink, and he handed her his private card. He had only two rules: never mix business with pleasure, and never make eye contact with a target. So far, both had served him well. The Tessi scanned his card, deducting the credits for his drink, and then gave it back to him.
"Busy later?" she asked.
"Probably." He sipped his drink and she left, most likely on to her next prospect. In many Geren bars, prostitution went hand in hand with, well, just about everything.
"How the fuck can you drink that shit?"
Morgan lowered his glass and, for a moment, thought he'd seen a ghost. "Therres?"
Captain Carter Therres, quite possibly the Syndicate's most dedicated Marine. What the hell?
"Mind if I sit?"
Morgan shook his head, still a bit dumbstruck. He hadn't seen Carter since he'd left Earth. And Joren. "What in God's name are you doing here?"
Carter sat down and waved away the waitress when she paused by the table. Once she'd moved on, he rested his arms on the top and leaned forward, voice lowered. "I need your help."
One eyebrow lifting, Morgan polished off his drink before speaking. "With...?"
"The Syndicate's been overthrown."
Carter didn't seem too surprised. "I have... a charge. He's being hunted."
Morgan listened, almost afraid to ask the one thing he needed to know. "Who is he?"
Morgan closed his eyes, wondering if he'd wake up sometime soon. Why? Why, out of all damned people, did he get involved in this? "We need to talk, but not here," he said, opening his eyes once more. "Meet me in Apartment 17, D level, in half an hour."
Carter nodded and stood. "Look, I know you two --"
"Don't go there," Morgan snapped. "Ancient history. I'll see you in thirty minutes."