Born of Fire

Her blood began to race with the thrill of a seriously high-profile target who’d just been reattached to the list.

“C.I. Syn wanted dead by the Gourish president for the kidnaping, rape, and suspected murder of his daughter Kiara Zamir. Wanted alive,” for three times the Gourish bounty which was staggering, “by the Ritadarion government for filching, murder, treason, and prison escape.” The amount being offered for him by the Ritadarions would pay off Tessa’s debts, the hospital bill, the liens on her ship, and she’d have a little left over to live on for awhile.

Provided her sister behaved.

Not to mention, she wouldn’t have to decapitate him for the Ritadarions. She shuddered as she read over the death contract. President Zamir wanted Syn delivered in pieces and while she didn’t mind killing a criminal, she never wanted to dissect one to collect her bounty.

Gah, what had Syn done to Kiara Zamir to warrant that kind of hatred?

“You are an evil bastard . . .”

Neither dead nor alive would be easy—which was why the bounty on him was so high.

Shahara bit her lip in indecision. Syn’s name was more than well known and more than well feared. He’d made his reputation for being the best computer hacker and file filch in the known universe. And before he’d left his mid teens he’d been imprisoned by the Ritadarions.

Twice.

Rumors of his cruelty circulated within the small group of tracers she associated with. To her knowledge, no other free-tracer had ever tried to bring him in, which in and of itself spoke volumes about his dangerous reputation.

Bound-tracers who were sent in after him almost never returned.

The tiny handful of ones lucky enough to return were never fully intact.

It didn’t matter. She pushed her doubt and uncertainty away. She’d never failed a mission before. Tessa’s life depended on her success and she wouldn’t fail this time.

Signing her name on the screen and swiping her index finger imprint, she accepted the contract.





CHAPTER 1


Hell had many interpretations. Syn knew that better than anyone. In his life, he’d managed to live through most of the common variations and discover a multitude of new ones.

Why was it every time he thought he had life tamed, the treacherous beast turned around and bit him on the ass?

Cocking his head, he detected the sound of footsteps on the wet pavement behind him as he walked toward the bay where he’d docked his fighter. Anger scorched him. He slid his hand closer to his concealed weapons. He’d been stalked enough times in his life to recognize the sound of someone trailing him while trying to remain inconspicuous.

Tonight, he just wasn’t in the mood to deal with it.

Streetlights glinted against the drying puddles that splashed beneath his boots. Steam hissed an escape from boilers and chimneys, adding an eeriness to the otherwise quiet night.

Unless he missed his guess, which he never did, six men were behind him. Only Syn and the six of them walked down the street at this late hour—another factor that told him whoever it was wanted one thing—

Him.

“Come get some,” he muttered, unable to find an ounce of patience for anyone stupid enough to try and kill him. What little patience he possessed had ended hours ago.

You just made a bad mistake, boys. I definitely wouldn’t want to be you.

Cause tonight, he wanted blood without being particular as to whom he took it from. They were definitely in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Never attack a target who was already pissed off at someone else and at the universe in general—someone who was aching for a fight and a whipping boy. It never went well for the antagonists.

During the past two days, he’d been buffeted by a steady stream of absolute bullshit aggravations. The highlight of which was the new bounty being offered for his head which had brought out every needy free-tracer and assassin within striking distance.

It’s so good to be me . . .

Earlier that day, he’d been attacked by a group of assassins and had his precious fighter damaged in the process. But the absolute best . . .

His best friend, Nykyrian Quiakides, had not only slept with the woman Syn was accused of raping and murdering, but had gone into hiding with her, thus guaranteeing that Syn’s head would be the price for their screwed-up and doomed relationship.

At present, life was just too disgusting for words and he really was tired of dealing with it.

Not once in the last two days had he been able to even nap, and sleep dep always made him edgier than normal—and shortened the fuse on an already notoriously hot temper.

Syn pulled the safety off his blaster and slid his hand over the rough, bone grip.

Tonight, his stalkers would learn a valuable lesson about angry Rits who didn’t get enough sleep.