Born of Fire Read Free

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 that 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.
    With a quick turn, he headed into an alley on his right. It was time he put a stop to this crap and got some serious sleep time.
    Taking cover in a small, shadowy alcove, he tried to ignore the foul stench of the decaying garbage that lined the alleyway behind him. He’d grown up in filthy alleys like this one, with the stench of the street lulling him to sleep at night. He clenched his teeth in rage, the smell and memories doing nothing to improve his foul mood.
    He may have been conceived in the gutter. He refused to die in one.
    The steps drew closer. He tightened his grip in anticipation.
    “Should we go in after him, or wait till he comes back out?”
    He rolled his eyes at that puss of a comment. The speaker had been male with a slight Trioson lilt to his voice. Heat simmered in Syn’s blood as he prepared himself for the coming fight.
    “You go in and see if it dead-ends. He might’ve already escaped us.”
    “Me?” the voice cracked.
    “Just do it!”
    A grimy, middle-aged human male stumbled into the alley like someone had shoved him. Unlike his own eyes, which saw better at night than in the day, Syn