Home from the Marines, Noah Cortez has a secret he doesn’t want his oldest friend, Kristina Moore, to know. It kills him to push her away, especially when he’s noticing just how sexy and confident she’s become in his absence. But, angry and full of fight, he’s not the same man anymore either. Which is why Warrior Fight Club sounds so good.
Kristina loves teaching, but she wants more out of life. She wants Noah—the boy she’s crushed on and waited for. Except Noah is all man now—in ways both oh so good and troubling, too. Still, she wants who he’s become—every war-hardened inch. And when they finally stop fighting their attraction, it’s everything Kristina never dared hope for.
But Noah is secretly spiraling, and when he lashes out, it threatens what he and Kristina have found. The brotherhood of the fight club helps him confront his demons, but only Noah can convince the woman he loves that he’s finally ready to fight for everything.
“All done,” Noah said. He gently applied tape to hold the bandage in place, but with the way the back of her hand was swelling, there wasn’t any safe place to press. Sonofabitch. He couldn’t believe this had happened to her. And on his watch.
“You’re taking really good care of me, Noah. Thank you.”
“I will always take care of you,” he bit out. And then he realized what he said, and just how vehemently he’d said it. And damn if it hadn’t sounded a whole lot more than friendly. He chanced a glance at Kristina, and it was clear that she’d registered something in his tone, too. He threw away the trash and sat against the edge of the desk. “Why don’t you sit with the ice for a few minutes?”
Kristina rose and stood right in front of him, her pretty eyes even with his given how he was leaning. “I don’t need to sit,” she said in a low voice, her gaze boring into his.
“Well, I need you to sit. So sit.”
Her eyebrow went up. Just the one.
Under other circumstances it might’ve made him laugh. Could she ever just fucking listen to him? But he was wound so tight over witnessing her getting hurt, over the idea that it could’ve been so much worse, over seeing her spilled blood, that it was all he could do not to redecorate Mr. Johnson’s office along the lines of his shower. He was nearly vibrating with pent-up frustration.
And now Kristina was boxing him in, observing him too closely, not giving him an out.
“Here’s the part where I’m gonna say ‘thank you,’ and you’re going to say ‘you’re welcome.’ Ready? Thank you for protecting me and taking care of me, Noah.” Her expression was expectant, and not a little amused.
Something about her playfulness wound him a notch tighter. Because he wasn’t playing. His gaze dropped from her eyes to her full pink lips, and desire sucker-punched him so hard he nearly gasped. “Does your mouth hurt?” he rasped.
“Why would my-“
Noah was on her in a flash. Hand cupping the side of her face, arm hauling her tight up against him, mouth claiming hers on a deep, needful, soul-healing kiss. Kristina’s muscles braced in surprise, but then she melted against him, going soft and pliant against all his hardness. And he was hard. So hard, so on edge, so in need of release, that he could’ve spun her around, lifted her onto the desk, and buried himself deep right here and right now.
He needed to be more gentle with her, but the need roaring through him wouldn’t allow him to slow down or back off. And her eager responsiveness didn’t help, either.
Her good hand fisted in his hair, her mouth sucked maddeningly at his tongue, and her body writhed against his erection. And goddamn the noises she was making, because the desperate moans and little mewls of need were hot as fuck, every one stroking his cock and making him harder.
Instinct told Noah that Kristina wouldn’t hinder him playing out his little fantasy on the desk.
Except she was hurt. And they were in a fucking sub shop. Annnd, he couldn’t forget about what was behind door number three-they were supposed to be Just. Friends.
“Shit,” he rasped. “I did it again.”
She grasped at his face. “Yes, thank you for that, too. Keep doing it.” Kristina went in for another kiss. This time, her tongue penetrated him, like she wanted to fight him for control. And hell if that didn’t set off all kinds of heat inside him.
He flipped them around and pinned her to the desk, nearly leaning her backwards over it. The position brought his hard-on flush with that sweet, hot spot between her legs. She cried out and tried to grind against him, but his weight and her skirt kept her pinned tight.
Hurt. Sub shop. Friends.
“Shit, wait.” He stepped back, putting space between them. Because he didn’t think he’d have the strength to resist a third time. Especially when she stared at him with such abject fucking need, her cheeks flush with desire, her hair mussed from his hands, her luscious breasts heaving under that clingy V-neck top. “You’re hurt.”
“And?” Kristina asked.
Noah glared. “Kristina, I’m kinda on the edge here, if you can’t tell.”
She slipped up onto the desk and spread her legs, just the little bit the skirt allowed.
New York Times and USA TODAY bestseller Laura Kaye is the author of over thirty books in romantic suspense and contemporary and erotic romance and has sold more than one million books in the U.S. alone. Among her many awards, she won the RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Romantic Suspense of 2014 for Hard As You Can. A former college history professor, Laura grew up amid family lore involving angels, ghosts, and evil-eye curses, cementing her life-long fascination with storytelling and the supernatural. Laura lives in Maryland with her husband and two daughters, appreciates her view of the Chesapeake Bay every day.
Laura also writes historical fiction under the name Laura Kamoie, also a Wall Street Journal, New York Times, and USA Today bestseller.
Laura is a member of the Romance Writers of America, the Maryland Romance Writers, the Washington Romance Writers, and she is past president of the RWA-Contemporary Romance Writers.
Before the cruise begins, Jay innocently asks Trish and her friend for a dance and is not only turned down, but insulted when Trish’s friend tells Jay he isn’t good enough for them. Trish is captivated by Jay’s smile, but once her friend has her say, Trish is sure Jay is lost to her. Trying to apologize to him later, Trish witnesses two men tossing Jay overboard and finds herself thrown in after him as well. Imagine Jay’s chagrin later when he finds himself washed up on an island with Trish and the constant reminder of their unpleasant encounter before the cruise. But Jay isn’t what he first appears to be, and as the two of them get acquainted, Trish realizes he is a keeper. What will happen when they are rescued and Trish goes back to her mundane life, determined to forget Jay?
“Wow, look at the arms on that one. And that hair…It’s just to die for, I tell ya.” Sheila pointed out the man standing at the bar with muscular arms and shoulder length hair. “Or maybe that one.” She pointed to a man seated at one of the tables across the dance floor from them, wearing a three-piece suit.
“I can smell the money on that one.”
Trish followed Sheila’s pointing finger as she directed her attention to the men around the bar. All of them either handsome hunks, or having the look of wealth. Sheila downed another shot and chased it with gulp from her fruity drink. From the glassy look in her eyes and her slightly slurred speech, it was obvious Sheila was getting highly intoxicated.
“Don’t you think maybe you should slow down on the drinks a little?”
“Naw, I’m okay. I’m not driving,” she said, shaking her head slowly, “and I’m going to find a man for you tonight yet.”
“Sheila I don’t need a man. I just got out of a relationship.”
“Relationship? Is that what you called it? I call it slow death. You were with him since college. Trish, Todd treated you like crap.”
“Not in the beginning, he didn’t. Before I put on a little weight…and before the car accident.”
Sheila rolled her eyes. “You look fine, Trish. Maybe dressed a little conservative, in my opinion. I mean, you have to put yourself out there, show a little leg and cleavage if you want to reel in a man. Just look at me.”
Trish exhaled loudly in disgust. “I told you, I’m not looking for one. The only reason I’m going on this cruise is because you asked. And you say, look at you? Damn it Sheila, if that dress you’re wearing got any shorter…Well, it wouldn’t leave anything to the imagination. If it was cut any lower, your boobs would be hanging out on display—and how long did it take you to put on that makeup?”
Sheila ignored her. “Oh, damn, look at that one. Geez, I wouldn’t mind wrapping my arms around that one. Maybe even my legs, provided he has a lot of money.” she giggled, hid a tiny belch and then added, “Look at the guys I’ve been with compared to Todd.”
“Yeah, look at them. You’ve been married three times. Just ended one and you’re only––”
“Careful,” Sheila warned her off the subject of age. “You’re older than I am.”
“I’m just saying that having been married and divorced three times by your early thirties is not exactly a good track record. Your life is not exactly a shining example.”
“The first one couldn’t afford the lifestyle I wanted. The second one tried to put me on a budget. Screw him. The third one…the third one couldn’t satisfy my other needs.”
“Imagine that. He was over twice your age. I sometimes wonder why you and I are even friends. We’re so different.”
“Ah, come on, Trish. You know you love me. We’ve been friends since childhood.” She might have continued, but just then a man stepped up to their table.
“Good evening, ladies. Would either of you care to dance?”
Trish looked up at him. Although he was dressed nice, it was not a fancy suit. She cringed at some of the flamboyant styles the hunks Sheila pointed out wore. No, he was just dressed nice.
He had a pronounced widows-peak, thinning hair cropped short, and a slight bulge in the belly area. The man didn’t have bulging biceps, but his arms weren’t skinny either. His eyes were just a little glassy, like Sheila’s, indicating he’d had a few drinks, too. What really grabbed her attention though was the brilliant smile on his face.
Just a normal guy with a wonderful smile.
Then Sheila spoke and his smile faded into a frown. “Go away, fatso. You’re blocking our view of the real men. You know, the ones that aren’t fat. The ones that have hair…and muscles.”
He glared at Sheila “I was just asking. There’s no need for insults.” Turning he looked at her. “And what about you, would you like to dance?”
“Loser.” Sheila sang out and made an L on her forehead. “She doesn’t want to dance with you, fat boy. You’re not good enough for her either.” Sheila’s foot kicked Trish under the table to insure compliance.
“Fine,” the man growled. “A simple no would have sufficed.”
“Your kind don’t take a simple no. Now go away.”
“My kin––” Without another word and with a strong glare, the man turned and walked away.
“Geez, Sheila. Sometimes I’m completely embarrassed to be with you. You’re down right mean at times. After all he only asked us to dance.”
“The hell with him. He’ll get over it. I’m over it. Besides, after tonight we’ll never see him again.”
Sliding her chair back, Trish excused herself to go to the restroom and to no surprise, when she returned, Sheila was out on the dance floor, her arms wrapped tight around a Beef Cake. Sheila didn’t come back to the table for the next dance, or the one after that.
She couldn’t help looking for the man with the nice smile. Yep, there he was. Alone. She made eye contact with him and gave him her best come hither look. With a smile, she watched him get to his feet and start in her direction.
This time I’ll do my own talking.
He came to a stop at her table. “Where’s your rude girlfriend? I don’t think she likes me much.” That winning smile stretched across his face once more.
“She’s right behind you,” Sheila said. Neither of them had noticed her arrival with the Hunk in hand. “And you’re almost right, I don’t like you at all. I thought we got rid of you. Maybe you need a little physical persuasion.”
Turning to her muscle bound companion, she said, “Theo, this person, I refuse to call it a man, will not go away. Perhaps you could convince him.”
Once again, the smile on his face vanished. This time his frown was directed at her. Trish wanted to slide beneath the table to escape the daggers his glare focused on her.
For once in your life, Sheila, shut your mouth.
“I was mistaken,” he said to her. “I thought that you wanted to––Never mind.”
Turning to Sheila he grumbled, “I was just leaving. I thought your girlfriend wanted to see me. Guess I was wrong.”
Theo clamped his hand over the man’s arm. With a look of fury that was cold enough to make hell freeze over and a voice, so low it was nearly a whisper, he growled at Theo. “Theo… if you value that hand… and don’t want it broken… you better take it off my arm.”
Oh god. That’s all we need is a fight.
She could see in the man’s eyes that the words were not an idle threat, they were a promise. Now that she was able to look closer, she saw that, though not bulging with muscle like Theo, the man’s arms were very strong. His demeanor screamed, Don’t mess with me. She hoped Theo would see it, too. To her relief, Theo picked up the same vibes. He released his grip on the man’s arm.
With a glance at her—frigid enough to make her shiver, he walked away.
“Such an annoying person. See, I told you that his type doesn’t take no for an answer,” Sheila said.
Sheila sat down beside her and Theo took a seat across from them. She introduced them. “Theo, this is Trish, Trish, this is Theo. Theo has a friend and the two of them have invited us to an after hours party in their room.” Leaning over, Sheila whispered in her ear. “I’ve seen his friend. He’s a beefcake, just like Theo. So anyway, how about it?”
She looked at Sheila and then at Theo before whispering, “Sheila, Theo can’t be more than his early twenties. He and his friend are probably looking for one thing. Especially from an older woman. I really don’t think we should go.”
“He thinks I’m only twenty-five,” Sheila whispered back and giggled.
Shaking her head, she said aloud, “I think I’ll pass. I’m kind of tired. We need to get around early tomorrow for the cruise.”
“Well, I’m going. See you later, Trish,” Sheila huffed, clearly not happy with her decision not to go with them. “Come on, Theo, let’s see if we can find another girl to party with us.” With that, the two of them got up and left.
Picking up her drink, she wandered out on the patio area and standing at the railing, looked up at the stars.
Why I put up with Sheila I will never know.
Glancing to her side, she saw the man with the smile again. She started toward him to apologize but never got the chance. He spotted her at the same time, turned his back and walked as far away as possible.
So much for apologizing for Sheila’s bad manners. I’m sorry, she thought at him. Finishing her drink, she left the nightclub and strolled back to her room.
Normally zany and often naughty talking, G. E. has a serious and compassionate side if you can find it. He cares deeply for his friends and hasn’t met an animal yet he didn’t like. He is terrified of heights so hasn’t braved the tramway ride in his home town. He lives in the southwest while longing to live by the sea. He often says, “We have the sandy beaches but where is the water?”
He heeds the call of the many characters that pop into his mind and demand to have their stories put in print. Their tales are both serious and humorous. A multi-published author his stories cover many genres including contemporary romance, paranormal romance and science fiction. His stories are both erotic and non-erotic in nature. G.E. is the leader of a local writers group and in addition hosts a meeting of his own locally on fiction writing bi-monthly.
G.E. Stills loves to hear from his readers and can be contacted at any of these sites.
Cali leads a mundane life as a waitress struggling to get by from one day to the next. The one bright spot in her life is a budding relationship with a new man she has met. Then, she is kidnapped, and held in isolation at a remote location for months by a man named Jay. The ultimate goal of this terrible man is not ransom however, it is far more reprehensible.
A pounding headache woke her. Cali opened her eyes to peer up at a white ceiling and knew in an instant, it wasn’t the ceiling at her house. She twisted her head and gazed around a small room which she judged to be around twenty feet square. The walls, just like the ceiling, were drab white and featureless. Antiseptic, was the word that came to mind. She was sprawled on a twin bed. There was a cushioned chair and nightstand arranged next to it. In one corner, there was a toilet, shower and sink fully open to the rest of the room. The tile floor, polished to a mirror finish, was white, too, and had no designs of any kind.
Cali sat up on her elbows. Across the room and below her feet, was a single door with a large wall mirror beside it. What happened? Where am I?
“Nice to see you’re awake, Cali,” a male voice boomed out of hidden speakers.
She started, searching for the source of the voice. Cali tossed the bed sheet aside and scrambled to her feet. Cool air on her bare skin made her aware she wore only underwear. She pulled the bed sheet up to cover herself.
“Who the hell are you and what do you want? Where the hell are my clothes?”
“You may call me Jay.”
“I don’t like talking to a faceless voice. Are you a coward, Jay? Are you too afraid to face a nearly naked woman?”
“I will reveal myself when the time is right.”
“Where am I, and what the hell do you want? How did I get here? If you intend to hold me here for ransom, you’re wasting your time. I’m just a poor working girl. Nobody would pay anything for me.”
“So many questions.” The man chuckled. “First you are at my lab and I brought you here after tranquilizing you. What I want, you will understand with time.”
“Lab? What the hell? What kind of lab?” Cali edged closer to the door. At last, she dropped the sheet, lunged forward, and grasped the handle. She wasn’t surprised to find it locked. In frustration, she backed away.
“Yes, the only entrance to the room is locked.”
“So you can see me? What are you, some type of sick bastard who gets turned on by watching a half-naked, frightened woman? Well the joke is over, Jay. Let me the fuck out of here.” As she spoke, her voice rose until her final words were a shriek.
“You need to calm down, Cali. You’re going to be here for a long time. Enough talk. It’s time to get started.”
Minutes later, the door swung open and a man wearing a white lab coat stepped into the room.
“You!” Cali exclaimed at seeing Mr. Tall and Skinny. Jay had short, dark hair and she estimated him to be late thirties or early forties in age. He wasn’t exactly skinny, as in anorexic, but more like thin. His hands were at his sides and held a wand type object. She judged his size and her desperation.
Normally zany and often naughty talking, G. E. has a serious and compassionate side if you can find it. He cares deeply for his friends and hasn’t met an animal yet he didn’t like. He is terrified of heights so hasn’t braved the tramway ride in his home town. He lives in the southwest while longing to live by the sea. He often says, “We have the sandy beaches but where is the water?”
He heeds the call of the many characters that pop into his mind and demand to have their stories put in print. Their tales are both serious and humorous. A multi-published author his stories cover many genres including contemporary romance, paranormal romance and science fiction. His stories are both erotic and non-erotic in nature. G.E. is the leader of a local writers group and in addition hosts a meeting of his own locally on fiction writing bi-monthly.
G.E. Stills loves to hear from his readers and can be contacted at any of these sites.
Detective Olivia Winston and IRS Special Agent Maureen Jeffries have “tied the knot” and happily settled into married life. But crime in their home county of Goslyn hasn’t settled down—in fact, it’s at an all-time high. Drugs and corruption have found a foothole in the once small, quiet community, and Olivia and Maureen discover it’s a family affair that reaches from the street corner dealer right up to the County Board of Supervisors.
The love-hate drama between Supervisor Cleo Jacobs and her street-wise nephew, Chris Jacobs, has filled their pockets with plenty of cash but caused a dangerous rift between the two as both try to make their mark in the drug game. Driven by greed and ego, the Jacobs do their best to satisfy the growing demand for pills that “make you happy” and “numb the pain.” But their love of money comes with a callous disregard for others, including those close to Detective Winston and Special Agent Jeffries, who find themselves right in the middle of Goslyn’s biggest crime story.
Love, violence, and betrayal combine to make the perfect, poisonous pill.
(review request submitted by the author for an honest critique)
Housed within the pages of County Vices are strong and resourceful female characters.
Maureen and Olivia, a married couple, are on the case of who’s harassing old man Rufus Bennett. As they put their detective skills to work, they discovery Rufus’ drama is only one small piece in a very large puzzle. Drugs, corruption, and greed are running amuck in Goslyn County. Honestly, it’s an epidemic all over the world. Like in real life, it takes a team to combat the distribution of narcotics. It takes many people to stop corruption plaguing the political world and/or cooperations, too.
A.M. McKnight created a dream team to bring justice to most of the guilty parties. However, what about Stuart and Big Smit? Maybe their story will continue on in a future book. It must because there were loose ends that needed cleaned up.
A mostly black community with its roots in farming, Goslyn, Virginia lay just south of the State’s Capital. The once small, close-knit county had grown rapidly in the past two decades and boasted a population of just over fifty thousand. But the county’s crime stats had grown as well, and the latest offenses included several break-ins and rumors of a meth lab. Time had brought many changes, and many of the longtime folks of Goslyn no longer recognized their community and longed for days gone by.
Goslyn PD Detective Olivia “Ollie” Winston loves her family and friends and shows it through her sense of humor. Just like her neighbors, she too worries about the recent events, and it’s her job to find out who’s behind the crime spree.
While investigating three burglaries, Olivia meets IRS Special Agent Maureen Jeffries who is pursuing a tax fraud suspect. Their cases are connected, and both soon discover they have much in common, personally and professionally.
Sweet is the moment when you know you’re in love again. And who better to be in love with than someone who wants you as much as you want them. That’s the feeling shared between Olivia and Maureen, two women who have experienced love’s hardest lessons—pain and disappointment. But so much has changed in just two years—two years in which both women realize that letting go of the past can open one’s heart. For Olivia and Maureen, what they have together, could be their best love ever.
I’m a longtime Virginian and practice law as a first profession. I decided to try my hand at writing after getting hooked on lesbian crime and romance novels. As a lover of fast crime action and black lesbian romance, I combined the two and wrote my first book, Goslyn County–self published. My future works include a short story romance and a second self-published novel–both based on the characters of Goslyn.
Meet former space engineer, Joe Ballen. These days, he’s scraping a living flying cabs in flooded-out Baltimore, trying to avoid the clutches of his boss and the well-meaning advice of an old friend. When one of his passengers suffers a grisly death, Joe is dragged into a dangerous web of ruthless academic rivalry centered on a prototype spaceship.
As the bodies pile up, Joe becomes suspect number one, and his enemies will stop at nothing to hide the truth. With the help of an enigmatic scientist, a senile survivalist, and the glamorous Ms Buntin, can Joe untangle the conspiracy and prove his innocence before it’s too late?
Mathematics Of Eternity: the first in an explosive SF thriller series by a fantastic new Canadian author.
The future’s about to get a lot more action-packed!
“Negotiations between the assembled Earth nations and Atoll negotiators broke down today, with no relaxation of the restrictions on Earth-based extra-orbital operations. General Chadwick, from the combined Atoll security forces, stated there would be a vigorous response to any attempt by Earth to increase operations outside Low Earth Orbit, other than the Mars mining operation. He also said that this boycott included the starship—”
I stabbed the off-button hard enough to make the plastic click sound like a gun had gone off inside the car. The news shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did. The fact that I used to work in space was part of it—the fact that I couldn’t any longer was another. But mostly it was because the Atolls were right—we didn’t deserve another chance.
I pulled up outside The Kase waiting for the traffic lights to change. The rain on the windshield distorted the garish neon and holo-projections from the bar into painful tracks that burned ghostly afterimages on my retina. I rubbed my face to ease the ache in my eyes, a two-day growth of beard rasping against my palms. Time to polish yourself up a bit, Ballen, otherwise someone’s going to think you stole this cab. It had been that kind of night. The only thing keeping me going was the thought that my tour was over for another twelve hours.
The cab bucked and I grabbed the shuddering controls, wrestling the car into a level attitude. The door hissed open as someone slid in the back. The turbines whined as the stability systems fought to compensate for the shift in weight distribution and for a second I thought we were going to plummet to the ground.
I cursed loudly, my fingers only slowly releasing the death grip I had on the controls as the motions steadied, not caring if my new passenger heard. The old adage was true—there really is always one.
“You better watch yourself, chief.” My cab had been almost a meter away from the Jump-Off platform—a potential disaster when you’re sixty meters up at L4. “That’s not a choice likely to take you to retirement.”
All I could see in the mirror was a dark shadow filling the entire back seat. “I’m off duty. You’ll have to call someone else.”
“Two-Seven-Three Fairland Road, Ell-One. Rossmoor.” The voice had a liquid rasp that didn’t sound like it came from drink alone. More like the death rattle from a set of lungs drowning in a sea of flesh.
Maybe he hadn’t heard. I sure didn’t want a forty-kilometer detour on my own clock. “The light’s out, chief—I’m off-duty. Give me a break and get out.”
I nudged against the Jump-Off and re-opened the door. He didn’t move, and I turned round to get my first proper look at him. Purple and red bar lights reflected on his waxy skin, and he must have weighed well over a hundred-eighty kilos. A sweat-drenched green jacket molded itself to both his torso and the seat, making his face look sickly. I couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone so overweight, outside historicals. Everything about him was bloated. From the head that flowed directly into his shoulders without the benefit of an intervening neck, to the corpulent fingers gripping the worn parahyde seat as if he were scared he’d fall off the world. It was no wonder the car had struggled—he was a one-man weight-restriction violation.
Sometimes when the circuits fail, all you can do is accept it and reroute. There wasn’t a chance I’d be able to get him out single-handed. It would be easier to take him where he wanted to go and hope he was sober enough to get out under his own steam.
I shrugged and hit the meter. The lights had long since gone green, so I eased the throttle forward to minimize any motion sickness. The last thing I needed was the alcoholic excess in his gut emptying in the back of the cab. Then, as if I needed anything else to make my night miserable, an asshole in a Saber cut me up from below. His streamlined tail almost clipping the front of the cab as I wrestled to keep things together in the turbulent wash from the arrest-me red sports car.
I shook my head. “Life’s too short,” I muttered.
“Your statement carries a paradoxical veracity that forms a Universal comedy.”
I hadn’t meant to be overheard and didn’t generally start conversations with drunks. His quirky mannerisms singled him out from the usual fare, though. It’s true you see pretty much every aspect of life while driving a cab, and after two years I’d seen them all. But I’d never had anyone using phrases like paradoxical veracity—not even sober.
“It was a rather discourteous maneuver. You should tag him.”
My jaw tightened. Decades ago, the Saber driver would have been handled by the national sport known as “drive-by shooting.” Now, with the promotion of civic thinking, we had the more humane, if less immediate, option of tagging anti-social behavior. The all-seeing Argus brain reviewed each tag and, if judged guilty, the appropriate points were added to your citizenship record. Amass enough, and you faced fines, community service, or “attitudinal re-adjustment” in severe cases. An electronic voxpop bringing peace and tranquility to the teeming streets and suburbs of the United States and Provinces.
I should have tagged the guy, but I’d never really bought into the idea. My previous life had left me used to the rough and tumble of a more anarchic environment, where you relied on personal relationships and dealt with problems by rolling up your sleeves and getting stuck in when needed. Marking someone with a coded low-energy laser felt a little unsatisfying, not to mention cowardly.
“I guess I’m not quick enough,” I said. “No harm done.”
My passenger’s deep-set eyes seemed to darken in the RearView. “You have a good heart, sir. Most people find it easy to use that particular reflex.”
“You’ve definitely had too much to drink.” His manner and old-fashioned speech piqued my curiosity enough for me to break my own rule and attempt a conversation. “A good night, chief?”
“Good night?” He hesitated. “In the bar?”
“Sure. You were in The Kase, right?”
“Was that its name? I didn’t really take much notice.” He looked out of the window as the city lights from the buildings slipped past us. “I don’t get out much.”
His size made that seem likely. “You must have had a good few drinks if you don’t know where you were. Was it a celebration?”
“Oh, I wasn’t drinking. I’ve been in so many bars tonight I don’t remember them all.”
I was getting annoyed now. Not with my passenger, but with myself. I’d broken my no-engagement rule, and now it turned out he was simply another drunk who couldn’t remember how much he’d had, or where he’d been. Besides, I should have been home. “What were you doing then? Those places only have one purpose.”
“I bought a lot of people drinks. They seemed to enjoy it.”
“That’s pretty generous. You must be one of those eccentric millionaires I see in the trashy Solidos.”
“Millionaire?” He seemed genuinely surprised and coughed wetly. “No, I’m not especially wealthy. Money doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It does to some of us, chief.”
I followed Broadway south, passing over the bloated wetlands that stretched across the old Inner Harbor and Federal Hill. The once grand buildings footed several meters in the water lapping around their crumbling lower levels. Many were flood-thrus, but I could see faint glimmers of light creeping out of the grimy windows. Wet-foot didn’t care where they lived. All they wanted was a roof over their heads. Danger and disease didn’t deter them in the slightest.
“They should put those people in proper buildings.” The liquid voice rolled out of the darkness of the back seat. He must have followed my gaze and guessed what I was thinking.
The Big Shake and rising sea levels had driven people inland, away from the encroaching ocean. Waterfront property no longer commanded a premium—it was a danger to be avoided. As a result, even the most precarious of condemned buildings held groups of otherwise homeless residents. Not all of them lived there illegally—as long as you stretched the definition of legal. City health ordinances were often “overlooked,” and upper-level apartments in buildings that should have been torn down, or concrete-filled as sea defenses, were frequently rented out. Sometimes at ridiculous prices, but when you’ve lost everything, even crap is better than nothing.
We swept over the distended extremes of the Patapsco, pushing west until we hit Silver Lake, then I settled the car into Airway Six which followed the path of the old Highway One, heading southwest. I kept the car within the 100/100 ‘City’ zoning limits as we followed the track of the highway, the ribbon of crumbling pavement lined with equally crumbling buildings that looked like splintered teeth pushing out of a jawbone of some huge leviathan.
“Housing isn’t the problem,” I said. “There are subdivisions past the old Beltway virtually empty, thousands of homes—but those people can’t afford even subsidized rent.”
“That can’t be.”
My passenger sounded shocked, and I wondered where he’d been hiding. The FabHome scandal had left swathes of houses built with taxpayers’ money lying empty and slowly falling apart, while city officials enjoyed generous business trips. It was an old story even back when Ramses was building pyramids, but fresh enough to fill the news for the last three months. Human altruism at its finest.
We finally escaped the limiters past Larch, and I lifted the nose, bringing the cab up to 500 meters while boosting to 200 klicks. The landscape was flat, and outside the managed traffic zone I was free to use my own discretion, as long as I didn’t break the general free flight regs for an AeroMobile. Of course, the cab could have managed all this on its own, but since the ICab debacle, a human driver was mandatory.
“They should let those poor unfortunates have those houses for free. Are people really that selfish and greedy?”
“Free? That’s a four-letter word with a lot of people.” The Pilot beeped several times, warning me of our imminent arrival. I throttled back and did a slow drift, spiraling around the U-shaped apartment building as I brought the car down outside the main entranceway at L1—ground level. “Talking of which, we’re here, and you owe an even fifty-five.”
He didn’t answer, so I turned to encourage his exit. I could hear his breathing, the wheezy inhalation of air followed by an almost spluttering exhalation. For a moment, I thought he’d fallen asleep and cursed, wondering how the hell I’d get him out. Then I noticed tears rolling down his fat cheeks.
“There’s a girl.”
“There usually is…” Something in his tone made me think he wasn’t using the word girl euphemistically. “Maybe you should keep that to yourself though.”
He leaned forward, and I tasted his fetid breath as it filtered through the screen. “Take care of her.”
“Sure… don’t worry, chief, I’ll take care of it.” All I wanted was to get him out of the cab so I could go home. “Now go sleep it off. Everything will look better in the morning.”
“Sleep? Yes. ‘What dreams may come?'” His voice sounded tiny and afraid—like something was eating him up inside. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“No one does. Call your girl tomorrow and apologize. It’ll be fine.” It was time to draw this melodrama to a close. “Look, chief, I’ve got a wife and kids waiting. If I don’t get home soon, I’ll be alone too.” It was a lie, but claiming a family usually helped with drunks.
He dragged his credit chip out from a pocket and tapped it against the payment scanner. A couple of seconds later it let out a doleful beep, and the screen flashed with a red declined warning. The doors locked automatically, and the plastic security window between me and the passenger compartment shuttered tight.
“I have no money left?” His tear-streaked face swam close to the transparent barrier. “I must have spent it in the bars. I’m so terribly sorry.”
It was more likely the bank had stopped his credit chip if he’d been as generous as he claimed, but my patience was exhausted. I got out and manually unfolded the back door, opening it wide. “Come on, chief. Forget the money and get out.”
“I’m sorry for causing trouble, I really am.” He shuffled part way through the door. The car dipped alarmingly on its landing gear, and I was glad I was dropping him off at ground level. “I have some cash in my apartment. I’ll get it and return immediately.”
“I may look stupid, but I’m not. I am tired though.” I sighed. “Get out of here before I change my mind. I won’t even watch what direction you go.”
He struggled out, barely making it even with the door opened fully and again I wondered how he’d managed to get in at the lights. Maybe he was an acrobat under those layers of flab, but it seemed unlikely.
“Please, don’t be angry.” His eyes shone like two titanium bearings freshly bathed in oil. “I will bring you some money, I promise. This won’t take very long.”
My boss is pretty tight when it comes to non-payers, but I really didn’t care. All I wanted was a hot shower and a cold beer—not necessarily in that order—but if agreeing would get him out of my hair then I’d play along. “Okay, you get some cash. I’ll wait five minutes and if you choose not to come back, don’t worry. I won’t be disappointed.”
He nodded profusely, tears running down his face as he waddled towards the arched entrance. I was surprised when the entry system recognized him and allowed him into the protected interior. I leaned against the car, wondering whether to cut my losses or give the guy the benefit.
The condo had that bare functionality mixed with quality workmanship typical of late-twentieth architecture, all sharp lines and black quartz walls mixed with a pinstripe steel exoskeleton. It was probably part of the growth of designed communities that enjoyed a brief popularity before their eco-conscious designers gave up and went back to making money. It wasn’t the kind of place I’d associate with drunken non-payers, but that didn’t mean anything. His claim to have real cash was intriguing. I hadn’t seen any in years and wondered if I’d still recognize it.
A light flickered several floors up, outlining a pagoda style section forming the top floor corner of the U, and I saw an unmistakable shadow totter past thinly screened windows. A penthouse then—maybe he was genuine.
There was a faint smell of cooked meat in the air. It could have come from the apartments, but at that time of night, it was more likely a NeverSee in the sewer. It wasn’t pleasant—maybe cat or something even worse. I pulled out my Scroll and, with a slight sense of embarrassment, called up the inappropriately-named WorldLink News—one of the sleaziest news-tabs. I’d be the first to admit it was mostly mindless dross, but it held a perverse fascination. I opened up the classifieds—nothing else reveals the true depths humanity can sink to any better—and scanned various enigmatic headlines.
My mind was toying with the delights of “Willy. Got the powder, you still got the meat? H.,” when a sickening wet impact shattered my guilty entertainment. A heartbeat later a burning snap of something stabbed deep into the back of my shoulder, and I staggered forward. Time seemed suspended in the dust-heavy wind as the Scroll slipped from my fingers and clattered on the rough concrete paving.
I turned—not having to look far for the source of the sodden explosion. A lump of still-quivering gelatinous protoplasm was splashed over the pavement a few meters away. Snakes of uncoiled intestine slithered towards me as the moist, salty odor from the steam drifted into my nostrils on the cold night air.
Twin rows of burst ribs reached upwards through the green jacket, like claws from a pair of cupped hands begging for more. Remnants of a head were scattered across the sidewalk, its once precious cache discarded in a casual puddle of gray and crimson mucous.
Ballen’s back in another action-packed sci-fi noir thriller, guaranteed to keep you turning the pages.
PERIMETER – In space, treachery runs deep
Joe Ballen’s working on a new ore-processing platform in the harsh environment around Mercury. When a savage Atoll attack decimates his crew, Joe is injured and must return to Earth to recover. While it’s a setback for the project, at least it means he can rebuild his relationship with his wife after nearly a year away.
But then the security forces come calling. Vital starship engineering files are missing, and without them Earth has no hope of escaping Atoll domination. Someone has to locate the files, and Ballen is bulldozed into the not-so-choice assignment.
But he’s not the only one in the hunt. As Joe struggles to find the data, he becomes tangled up in a high-stakes game of cat and mouse. It’s a journey that will take him to the perilous depths of space, where no one is quite what they seem. Can old enemies ever make good allies? And can Joe trust even the people closest to him?
David M. Kelly writes intelligent, action-packed SF. He is the author of the novel, Mathematics of Eternity and the short story collection Dead Reckoning And Other Stories. He has been published in Canadian SF magazine Neo-opsis.
David’s interest in science and technology began early. At the age of six his parents allowed him to stay up late into the night to watch the television broadcast of Neil Armstrong stepping on to the surface of the moon. From that day he was hooked on everything related to science and space.
An avid reader, he worked his way through the contents of the mobile library that visited his street, progressing through YA titles (or ‘juveniles’ as they were known back then) on to the classics of Robert Heinlein, Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, and Harry Harrison.
David worked for many years in project management and software development. Along the way his interests have included IPSC combat (target) pistol shooting, crew chief on a drag racing team, and several years as bass player/vocalist in a heavy rock band. He also managed to fit in some real work in manual jobs from digging ditches and work on production lines to loading trucks in a haulage company.
Originally from the wild and woolly region of Yorkshire, England, David emigrated to Canada in 2005 and settled in Northern Ontario with his patient and supportive wife, Hilary. Foot surgery in 2014 temporarily curtailed many of his favourite activities – hiking, camping, piloting his own personal starfighter (otherwise known as a Corvette ZR-1). But on the plus side, it meant a transition from the world of IT into life as a full-time writer—an opportunity he grasped enthusiastically.
David is passionate about science, especially astronomy and physics, and is a rabid science news follower. Never short of an opinion, David writes about science and technology on his blog davidmkelly.net. He has supported various charity projects such as the Smithsonian’s Reboot The Suit and the Lowell Observatory Pluto Telescope Restoration. He also contributes to citizen science projects such as SETI@home.
