Lucky Strike

By Jane Davitt

Death’s a heartbeat away, but love is even closer.

Flying a traveler to Leap celebrations on the luxury planet Crestal is no problem for intrepid partners Jake and Rill, even if they have to navigate a deadly meteor shower to get there. But their fresh-faced, privileged passenger is carrying more than Leap gifts: Lian has a message to deliver, treachery and murder to avenge, and a killer close on his heels.

Lian thought he was ready for independence from his overbearing extended family, but his first solo trip off-planet has landed him in a nightmare of deadly intrigue. Though he’s devastated by betrayal, and no longer able to tell friend from foe, he’s fascinated by the gruff pilot and scorchingly handsome first mate who’ve become his reluctant rescuers.

With a dazzling fortune at stake and the fate of the United Protectorate of Planets in their hands, there’s no time for the three men to fall in love. But with their future measured in hours, crew and passenger may have just enough time to discover that three can become one, and that together they are strong enough to beat any odds.

Twenty percent of publisher's proceeds from the sale of this book will be donated to the It Gets Better Project.

The It Gets Better Project’s mission is to communicate to lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender youth around the world that it gets better, and to create and inspire the changes needed to make it better for them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Riptide Publishing
• Release date: Nov 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781626491946

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Riptide Publishing

PO Box 6652

Hillsborough, NJ 08844

www.riptidepublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Lucky Strike

Copyright © 2014 by Jane Davitt

Smashwords Edition

Cover Art by L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm

Editor: Delphine Dryden

Layout: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Riptide Publishing at the mailing address above, at Riptidepublishing.com, or at [e-mail].

ISBN: 978-1-62649-194-6

First edition

December, 2014

Also available in paperback:

ISBN: 978-1-62649-195-3

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Twenty percent of all proceeds from the sale of Lucky Strike will be donated to the It Gets Better Project.

The It Gets Better Project’s mission is to communicate to lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender youth around the world that it gets better, and to create and inspire the changes needed to make it better for them. Visit their website for more information and to find out how you can get involved: itgetsbetter.org/pages/about-it-gets-better-project.

Death’s a heartbeat away, but love is even closer.

Flying a traveler to Leap celebrations on the luxury planet Crestal is no problem for intrepid partners Jake and Rill, even if they have to navigate a deadly meteor shower to get there. But their fresh-faced, privileged passenger is carrying more than Leap gifts: Lian has a message to deliver, treachery and murder to avenge, and a killer close on his heels.

Lian thought he was ready for independence from his overbearing extended family, but his first solo trip off-planet has landed him in a nightmare of deadly intrigue. Though he’s devastated by betrayal, and no longer able to tell friend from foe, he’s fascinated by the gruff pilot and scorchingly handsome first mate who’ve become his reluctant rescuers.

With a dazzling fortune at stake and the fate of the United Protectorate of Planets in their hands, there’s no time for the three men to fall in love. But with their future measured in hours, crew and passenger may have just enough time to discover that three can become one, and that together they are strong enough to beat any odds.

Share the Love

About Lucky Strike

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Dear Reader

Also by Jane Davitt

About the Author

Enjoy this Book?

Crestal is a circumbinary planet orbiting the suns of Rane and Aura. Originally independent, it was subsequently claimed by both solar systems after the discovery of vast deposits of kharite, the driving force behind the second human diaspora. Following a prolonged period of war, the United Protectorate claimed the planet and restored autonomy after striking a deal some have called draconian, others pragmatic. Kharite continues to be mined and sold, but at a Protectorate-regulated price, and the cost of the crystals, or more correctly the price of leap fuel, regulate the worth of the universal credits (unicreds/credits) that have become the dominant currency.

[Tourist Guide to Crestal, Vol 1]

The alley behind the bar stank of piss and rotting food. The stench was enough to stop Jake after a step or two, as his last meal threatened to revisit his mouth. As Amabale’s main city, Landon had plenty of decent bars to choose from, so why did he always finish the night in a dive? His mother would say trash called to trash, but Jake didn’t believe that. And if it were true, well, he’d made something of himself and proved her wrong. Captain of a ship, his account flush with enough unicreds to buy drinks for everyone in that fleapit—if he’d been inclined to waste his money, which he wasn’t—Jake felt justifiably proud of his achievements.

Even if he’d won his ship in a card game and buying the round would leave his account hovering close to zero.

Head swimming from too much brandy, Jake shrugged and carried on down the alley, conquering his queasiness by breathing through his mouth. It was a shortcut back to the spaceport and after six weeks on board the Mama Rose, sniffing resyked air, stale and dead, the ripe organic stink made a change at least. In other cities, a dark alley would be a risky route to take, but Landon was peaceful on the whole and this close to the port, security patrols were frequent. Given the exorbitant fees for a docking space, that was no more than fair, though the residents complained the port’s guards were overly zealous when it came to protecting visitors.

Jake didn’t care. Drunk or sober, he could look after himself and in his experience dirt-grippers always had a bone to gnaw.

As he neared the end of the alley, two figures appeared, blocking the exit and arguing loudly. Not waiting to rob him then. Too noisy for that. Curious, he moved closer, sticking to the shadows, though it meant he stepped in some dubious puddles. Rill would order him to take off his boots before opening the airlock. Or make him strip. The thought of boarding naked, watched by a tight-lipped Rill in a pissy mood made Jake grin. Easy enough to get Rill smiling again.

The taller of the two, a woman, said, A week and you can hire the whole fucking ship to go to wherever in the sector you like, but no one’s lifting now. No one.

I appreciate the difficulties caused by the shower, and I don’t wish to contradict you, but if we lift now and navigate around it, we’ll be safe enough, I’d think, a man answered, tension sharpening his words.

The first voice was familiar. That husky rasp of a voice ruined by overindulgence in vestin dust had murmured encouraging obscenities in Jake’s ear once, though as a rule he shared his bed with men, not women. Sharla had been willing to make room for a man to rouse Jake when he’d flagged, exhausted by her demands, and the night had been memorable if only for the hangover the next day and the discovery of two tattoos, one on each ass cheek, scoring his performance.

They’d washed off, so he didn’t hold a grudge over the six out of ten she’d given him.

The man she was arguing with was a stranger, his accent putting him in the stratosphere of Crestal society. Crestal. Jake had been there once or twice and hated the place. There was no middle ground. You were rich or dirt-poor. He didn’t fit in either category.

Safe enough breathing space and choking on blood? Sharla demanded.

The shields—

Shields stop dust and small fragments of debris. Small. Sharla sounded testy. Time for a wise man to shut the fuck up. The Sentar shower is a million chunks of rock held together by a comet ten times larger than my ship.

Someone didn’t know when to bow out of a discussion with his hide intact. If it would help, I have access to the latest research on cometary peregrinations. I could upload it to your navcom, and I’m sure we’d find a way to make the trip safely.

Jake moved out of the shadows, not bothering to clear his throat. Sharla would’ve seen him, recognized him, and dismissed him as a threat the moment he’d hugged the wall. The possibility of enhanced senses had lured her into trying vestin dust, and if it’d cost her more than her voice by shaving a decade or so off her life span, the senses had saved her ass more than once, so it evened out.

In Jake’s opinion, most things did if you lived long enough.

Mocking a pampered little gembaby wasn’t his idea of fun, but if the gembaby in question was bent on suicide, he felt obliged to step in, if only to save Sharla from the consequences of ripping the man’s tongue out and choking him to death with it when she got bored with his polite stubbornness.

Peregrinations? I had them once, but the medic sold me a pill that made the itching stop.

Jake. Sharla’s greeting held no warmth. Heard you’d docked.

"No need to make it sound like the Mama Rose is lowering the tone. Jake gave her a bow that would’ve been courtly as hell if the brandy hadn’t made him stagger on the way back up. Looking elegant as always."

Not a lie. The wig she wore landside was a tall spiral of gold and silver, defying gravity, and enough resso silk swathed her lean frame to carpet the alley behind him. Sharla was dressed to party and at this time of the night, with Leap Week about to start, she was most likely on her way to somewhere discreetly expensive to pick out a bedmate.

"And you’re looking cheap. I’ll upgrade that to moderately presentable if you bring Rill by the Centarian. It’s been too long since I’ve seen the boy."

Jake disguised a wince as a cough. Sharla’s attempts to bed Rill had ended when Rill abandoned polite hints and told her flatly he wasn’t interested, but she’d retained a fondness for him verging on maternal.

Rill didn’t take kindly to being mothered.

I’ll be sure to pass on your invitation.

Sharla poked at her wig, probably checking a weapon buried in there. Jake hoped it wasn’t anything with a pulse. The rumor that she kept a Drekkan lizard in her hair, packing enough venom in one flick of its tongue to turn a man blue and stiff in seconds, had to be false, but with Sharla, who knew? It doesn’t include you, just so we’re clear.

Now that was unmannerly. Or a lucky escape. Either way, he didn’t plan to argue, beg, or glare.

Excuse me, sir, but I really need to arrange passage on this lady’s ship. I don’t wish to interrupt, but it’s vital I leave now. The kid swallowed audibly and murmured, Vital, as if he were talking to himself.

Nice manners, but Jake judged people by their actions, not their words. Still, it was a point in the Crestallian’s favor. Jake studied him, taking in height without bulk and a stiff spring of dark hair coated in sculpting spray. The kid was no looker, not with that beak of a nose dominating his face, but it was most likely the Family Nose and worn as a badge of pride. A commoner would’ve gotten it fixed up a bit so it faded into the background. Jake had never changed his appearance, but that was because he’d been born handsome. If anyone disagreed, he took it as proof they were stupid.

For the diversion, Jake was willing to hurt the Crestallian’s feelings. He snickered, gesturing at the kid’s red-and-green pleated pants as they billowed out in the brisk breeze that’d sprung up. Don’t know your name, kid, but sweet stars, you look a fool in those pants.

The man flinched as if being insulted came as a shock, then glanced down, confirming his lack of a functioning survival instinct. Jake was an unknown quantity, Sharla hostile, and the kid should’ve stepped back so he could keep both of them in view. In a fight, a slip like that could’ve robbed him of a future or at best made it a painful one. If Jake had been the kind of man who stamped on bugs for the squish—which he wasn’t—he could’ve shoved his blade deep into flesh, twisted the hilt, and robbed the kid with his anguished screams providing background music. Jake’s knife had a synth-steel metal blade, old-fashioned but reliable, and it felt right in his hand. A woman had offered him the latest plasteel vibroblade earlier for an eye-watering amount of creds, and he’d turned her down without hesitation. They tore a body up, sure, but the cheap knockoffs—and the one in the bar most certainly wasn’t a genuine Nexon—vibrated so fast the user often dropped it.

He’d heard of that happening to a man who lost the top of his foot when it landed, then his fingers when he grabbed it by the blade to shut it off. Probably true. People were idiots.

Really? They’re the latest fashion. Over thirty thousand pairs have been sold in this city alone in the last month. Everyone’s wearing them. The Crestallian wrinkled his eyebrows, shaped by a styling wand into a precise, thin curve, his bemusement as plain as his embarrassment. But you don’t seem like a man interested in clothes, so why comment on mine?

Valid point, even if it’d been phrased in a way a man could take exception to if he was so inclined, followed as it was by Sharla’s derisive snort of laughter. The boy needed to watch his words or hire a bodyguard. By now a sensible man would’ve been babbling apologies for wearing something Jake didn’t like, and promising to burn them at the first opportunity. Men like that lived longer.

Of course, that was men who’d seen him in a fight, and so far the boy had only seen him insulted by Sharla and too drunk to stand without wobbling. He wasn’t making the best first impression.

Jake sketched a dismissive gesture. Forget I spoke. They’re divine. Transcendent. And they don’t make you look like a man who shit himself repeatedly, I swear it.

The Crestallian gave him an uncertain glance, as if at a loss to understand why Jake wasn’t rushing out to buy a pair of his own now he knew they were fashionable, before focusing his attention on Sharla. Yeah, in a bar fight, he’d be the first body hitting the floor, no doubt about it. Jake rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall. He was tired. Let Sharla educate the boy. Might be entertaining, and if it got sticky, she’d need someone to give her an alibi. Wouldn’t hurt to get her smiling at him for once. Hell, he wasn’t sure why she’d stopped. He’d asked around and gotten vague references to a business matter, but that made no sense at all. The Mama Rose ferried small parties around the system and sometimes cargo. Jake offered adequate, not fancy, accommodations and food. The Centarian was bigger, more luxurious, and faster. They weren’t in competition.

Please say you’ll give me passage to Crestal. The man lowered his voice as if that gave his words more urgency. Or maybe he was dropping a hint that the conversation was none of Jake’s business.

Jake grinned. He recognized hints. Didn’t mean he had to say hello and how are you? to them.

You need to learn how to wait, Mr. Paradine. Sharla didn’t trouble to lower her voice. "Don’t tell me it’s a matter of life and death either. It’d be my life and death. I won’t do it. I don’t need your money. Credits don’t buy you ice water in hell, and if that’s where I’m heading, I’d prefer to postpone the trip for as long as possible. She jerked a thumb heavy with rings at Jake. Ask him for a ride. The system knows Jake Slant will give anyone a seat in his ship for a price. Even a child-murdering piece of shit desperate to get off-world and escape justice."

O’Neill? Jake demanded, pushing away from the wall, anger clearing his head as a few things clicked into place. That’s why you turned on me? He shipped out with a new name and face. How the fuck was I supposed to recognize him? And I spaced him as soon as word reached me.

It hadn’t been pleasant. O’Neill had denied everything, then threatened them, then pleaded. With an execution order playing out in sound and visual on the screen in the corner of the room—giving Jake, as captain, full authority to dispense justice and a bounty for a verified death—Jake hadn’t hesitated.

Well, only long enough to punch O’Neill hard, but not hard enough to knock him out. When the bastard took his first sip of vacuum, Jake had wanted O’Neill to be awake to savor the taste. Tied to the inside of an airlock under the impersonal gaze of a securi-cam, he’d died with Jake and Rill watching along with the police force on the planet. The bounty had taken its own sweet time arriving; Jake, a superstitious itch warning him not to spend it on overhauling the Mama Rose, had frittered it away in a week on the closest space station, spoiling Rill and tipping lavishly. No matter how much he drank, he still saw O’Neill’s eyes popping out, mouth opening in a final, pointless scream.

If you’d run security checks like the rest of us do, you would’ve known. But you trust your gut to tell you when someone’s dicey, don’t you, Jake? Not sure why when it’s full of shit.

Sucking in a breath, ready to defend himself, Jake expelled it a moment later when she drove her fist into his belly. He spat out a mouthful of bile without losing the acid taste. Nasty. Though on reflection, the brandy tasted better after an hour in his stomach than when he’d drunk it.

"What’s your gut telling you