Molten Coil: Silver Bound, #2

By Ella Drake

Lieutenant Brice Levski commands his Mounty deputies with aloof precision. It's the only way to keep citizens in his corner of the universe safe. When one of his best deputies falls victim to the latest nano-silver tech, all his cool reserve and control is flushed out the space hatch.

Deputy Olivia Celeston dedicates her life to taking down the corrupt, the rich and powerful. After all, they defy the rules the most--that includes her Lieutenant, even if she hasn't found the dirt on him yet.

Accidentally infected with the countdown bug during a bust, Livy gets her shot to work closely with Brice and finally see what makes him tick. If the countdown doesn't kill her first. Or the wild and remote planet Coil, with its deadly volcanoes. Or the drug dealers responsible for tying her life to Brice--unable to be more than a few feet away from him without a painful death.

All that wouldn't be a problem, if being close didn't send them both molten, and the countdown of Livy's life wasn't winding down as fast as their waning control.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ella Drake
• Release date: Oct 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386278375

Ella Drake

As a child Ella read books under the covers with a flashlight. There she found a special love of elves, dragons, and knights. Now that she's found her own knight in shining armor and happily ever after, she loves to write tales of fantasy, hot enough to scorch the sheets. No flashlight needed.

Book preview

Dear Reader

Welcome back to the world of Silver Bound. If you remember Brice from that novel, I hope you'll enjoy learning more about him and reading his story, Molten Coil.

If you haven't read Silver Bound, you may consider reading it first but it's not necessary to do so before this novel. Both stories are standalone but are connected.

Don't miss a new release: http://www.elladrake.com/announce

~Ella

elladrake.com

Chapter One

A tai-mecha slammed his fist into the head of his downed opponent.

Crash! Crunch!

The crowd in the arena roared.

Clouded by the reflection of the lights, the dome overhead cleared for a moment and gave a peek of the desert sky full of stars. Then the flickering of the flood lights adjusted and the opaqueness returned, enclosing the thousands in attendance. This was a boisterous, loud, humid and smoke-filled world of its own, unlike anywhere else in the universe.

Earlier, on his way inside, Lieutenant Brice Levski had checked the airscrubbers’ readouts to ensure the mandated environmental protections still ran to standard. Taphgan had few areas that allowed ships to enter the atmosphere. None were as popular as here, the planet’s only tai-mecha complex. The fights were transmitted across the galaxy. In the stands, spectators mingled while putting aside old hatreds—for the most part. Seats filled with the few off-world visitors, Taphgans—nomads and the settled alike—and the rich terralofts, spacers who followed no laws on their space stations and struggled against the codes of any planet they set foot on.

The lure of the mecha fights brought the rich spacers in droves.

The black-market kept them here. Too long. But the Taphgans enjoyed parting terralofts from their money and welcomed the spoiled big-spenders.

Brice stood at the back of a spectator box crammed with his mounty deputies. Using the wealth he’d gained in his successful ranch partnership with his best friend Guy, Brice had made sure to get his hands on this same Arena box going on three years now. Crossing his arms, he shook his head when a pitcher of ale passed in front of him. One mug was his limit.

In his civvies of dungarees and linen shirt, Sergeant Alexander Euvgeny chuckled and nodded toward the most vocal deputy in the box. Livy sure likes the mecha fights. Surprised she has a voice after one of our nights out.

Celeston would probably suit up and go at the champ, Brice agreed.

She’d beat his ass into the ground, too. Euvgeny winced as a boom shook the floor. That had to hurt.

Brice glanced at the ring. The downed mecha threw the other against the transparent, reinforced carbon-tube plating that protected the spectators. The glass-like substance made a hard surface to smash into. A blue mecha with yellow stripes crouched over a green fighter and pumped his fist in the air. Inside the torso-caging, both drivers yelled at one another, their screams amplified across the stadium.

If the Green Machine doesn’t get off his ass, I’m gonna owe Acton a week of night duty, Euvgeny grumbled.

Sure it wouldn’t be a break, with the grandbaby visiting?

Doesn’t bother me, Euvgeny gave that besotted grandfather face. Brice grinned and shook his head. Euvgeny laughed. Yes, I’m hooked on the little tyke. Thanks for helping me rearrange. The missus and I don’t know how we would’ve gotten everything ready in time without your help cleaning out our back room.

Don’t mention it. Brice clapped Euvgeny on the back. Hope your son-in-law finds work soon. You don’t mind an extra three right now, but you know it’s only a matter of time.

Euvgeny quirked his smile before it dropped altogether. True enough.

The other deputies continued to whoop and holler, but he didn’t pay attention to the ongoing match. Listen. How ‘bout you bring him over tomorrow night? Maybe I can help him find something. He interested in Grassland? Guy might have need of a ranch hand.

I’ll bring him. The wrinkles pulling down Euvgeny’s mouth eased, but immediately hardened when he focused over Brice’s shoulder. Looks like Henry needs a talk again. He’s on transport duty in the morning.

I’ll do it. Brice turned and weaved his way through the box. The deputies rotated seats, bet on them, and used them as bribery, but Brice made sure it was always in good trade.

In the front row, conveniently on the aisle, Henry gulped from a mug.

Trash that sorry hide! Celeston screamed at a fighter. Brown hair flying, she jumped up and bumped Henry. Ale sloshed on both deputies as his cup emptied.

Careful, Livy, Henry groused. Then he swiped at the beer on his casual tunic and stowed the empty mug beneath his seat.

You have transport duty in the morning. You’re all set?

Henry nodded, opened his mouth to reply, but Celeston sank into her seat and interrupted. You’re on transport duty, Henry? Need me to watch the dog again?

I’d appreciate it. He’d be okay, but he likes when you take him on walks. Henry stood and moved into the aisle with Brice. The crowd erupted. The next round opened with a booming announcement over the loud speakers. He sighed, flicking his wet hands. I guess I’ll go walk him now.

Henry leaned toward Brice’s ear to yell his goodbye. Brice winced. It was louder than a corral of heifers when a bull was set loose. When the deputy walked off, his steps were steady.

Brice took the vacant seat. You never miss your turn in the box, do you, Celeston?

No, sir. Celeston’s clear gaze darted from Henry’s retreating form to Brice before she smiled. I used to read mecha stories to my little brothers. We had four of these old tattered bootleg copies of the comics. My brother Dare loved them.

Your family from here? She never talked about her family. Everything he knew about her history was from her bio file.

No. Her mouth firmed and she focused toward the center ring. Their box was about twenty feet back with a great view of center stage. Only one box was between the fighting area and theirs.

Then she gave him that smile. The one that said he was about to be had. I almost forgot. I have something for you.

For a moment he fell into a daze. Her familiar expression of challenge glinted in her brown eyes and her lips softened for a fraction. Then he shook himself out of it and waited for what had become a strange ritual between them.

Celeston reached into her pocket—she still wore her uniform, the only one other than Brice—and pulled out a square the size of her palm.

Brice groaned. Not again.

Found this one in a nomad’s wares cart. She leaned to the side, reaching to put the plexy in his hand.

You find them all in a wares cart.

True. Look at this one, Lieutenant. It’s a good one for your collection.

How many times do I have to tell you, Celeston? I don’t collect these.

You need a hobby. She plopped the plexy in the hand he automatically opened for her.

He sighed and peered at the odd little coin she’d given him.

In a clear case, an old piece of metal nestled, protected now but it’d been around for a long time. A chunk missing on one side, the artistic rendering of some foreign building barely discernible, it had to be from one of the other gen-three Earther colonies.

And damn but he was intrigued. He’d go home, investigate its origins and put it in the trunk where he kept anything of value. It was a small trunk.

Thank you, Celeston. He grimaced and put it in his pocket. He kept it because Celeston treated him with a cool reserve, except for when she gave him these. Well, maybe she even treated him with some suspicion. When he thought on her—which he didn’t do except for when she gave him these sands-blasted things—he couldn’t figure her out. Not that he needed to. He treated all his deputies the same, with the appropriate amount of concern and stayed out of their personal lives unless they shared them with him. Euvgeny did. Celeston did not.

Celeston grinned. Knew you’d like that one. You almost smiled.

Another roar of the crowd nearly drowned out Brice’s reply. I did not.

She’d already yanked her head around to watch the match.

Brice crossed his arms and started to change the subject, to ask how she liked the new rifle they’d taken to the range, but Livy tensed, frowning as she stared toward ringside. That bastard!

Following Livy's stare, Brice tensed. A man drew back to slap a woman he'd grabbed by the wrist as she tried to tug away. Before he could response, Livy lunged out of her seat, over the separating knee-wall, and into the box in front of them.

A woman—at least partly descended from the nomad tribes with her long black hair and dark skin—cupped her bleeding lip and blinked through tears. Her cheek had already puffed in what would be a nasty bruise. Brice tensed but didn’t move.

His deputy landed and kicked out, knocking the legs from under a tall, hulking man. Yelping, the perpetrator went to his knees and Livy pounced, subduing him in flexcuffs before her target could shake his head clear. Livy glared at him. Like to punch women, do you?

What are you doing, bitch? The belligerent male scowled at Celeston.

If she were any other woman, Brice would be on his feet and shoving the man’s face into the hard floor. But she wasn’t. She was a deputy. Livy struck hard and fast, right into the bruiser’s kidney. Dragging the moaning man toward the box’s exit, her chin squared, she nodded at Brice. Taking this one in for booking.

If the suspect resisted, Celeston would use her weapon to stun him. There’d be a mounty skimmer outside the gates. She didn’t require her lieutenant’s help. Still, he tensed, momentarily forgetting she was a mounty and not some other woman.

While Brice hesitated and before he could help, the injured victim ran after Celeston and her perp. Brice’s gut turned sour. The woman would be like all the others. She’d take the man home and let him do it again. Hit her. Celeston would do her best, talk to the victim, try to get her to press charges, but she wouldn’t. At least this time, Celeston had seen it firsthand. The abuser would end up stewing all night in a holding cell, but that might make it worse for the victim, later.

Brice shoved up and threaded through the crowded box, waving his goodbyes. His taste for watching fights had fled for the night.

*

Livy shoved the asshole into the back of the skimmer. Not only had he hit his companion, but she’d miss the end of the tai-mecha match. Green Machine’s famous crusher pounce was so beautiful. To her relief, Henry hadn’t left yet and came to assist.

Mind taking him in to booking? She slammed the skimmer shut on the belligerent screams.

Sure, Livy. Henry’s eyes had cleared. He hadn’t had enough ale to get drunk. She’d worried he’d started to slide, but at least for the night, he held his own. A man who’d worked his way through academy for a shot at the mounties, he didn’t have the pull to make it through if the drinking put a black mark on his record. For the past few weeks, she’d been keeping an eye on him. Right now, he looked right as rain.

Henry cast her that serious look the mounties all gave. The one that said, they’d try to get the victim to press charges, but it wouldn’t do any good. Talk to the woman. See you at the precinct.

With a nod, Livy turned, ready to do just that, ride in another skimmer with the woman, see to her injury, and try to convince her to report the loser, but the victim was already on the arm of another man and walking toward a skimmer-for-hire. Something about the way the man moved nagged at Livy.

Tall, with a liquid grace that exuded strength, confidence, and athleticism from hard work, this wasn’t a dissipated black-market hawker like the ones she’d usually see outside the arena. Nobody else had that breadth of wide shoulders outside the famous tai-mecha drivers that were picked as much for looks as quick reflexes and build. She knew her lieutenant’s body even from the back.

Her mouth snapped closed before she could call out to them. Something wasn’t quite right here. Her heart sped up until she took a breath to quiet herself. What was the lieutenant doing with the victim? Why would he direct the woman away from the scene instead of into a mounty skimmer?

Waving down the nearest for-hire, she hopped in. Follow that skimmer, there.

Listen, lady…

"It’s deputy. Not lady. Livy yanked her shield from her tunic and shoved in front of the driver’s face. This uniform is for real. So is this badge. Follow the skimmer. Now."

Yes, ma’am.

Livy clutched at the grab bars when the driver jolted into the roadway.

They traveled into a section of town that had seen a bit of a revival. The crime rates had dropped and the citizens put pride in their little square, but mounties still broke up fights, arrested petty criminals, and recently, made a few tech-theft busts. That’s when you knew an area was bringing in some money, when the techies decided you had enough to warrant their interest.

The lieutenant stopped outside a non-descript, three-story building. A neat little rock garden grew out front with her favorite flower, heather, in a healthy bunch. The place was well cared for and in decent shape despite the bars over the windows. The security grillwork that had once been a fixture in this neighborhood now looked out of place.

She paid the driver and hid back in the shadows while Levski escorted the woman to the door. His deep rumble came to her, Here it is. Jewel’s Haven.

Livy’s mouth went sour. She’d finally figure out what game Lieutenant Brice Levski played. All that money, he had to be up to no good. More than once, she’d caught him sending a deputy off on some secret side errand. She’d tried to get him to open up as a friend, encouraging that crazy coin collecting thing that was becoming a hobby on her side as well. But she hadn’t suspected him of something that looked to be exceedingly seedy. Not really. Somehow she’d both expected and doubted that Levski was dirty.

This place had to be some sort of whorehouse, or maybe a front for Misty dealing—that horrid drug that had insinuated itself into Taphgan’s working class, leaving dead, addicted, and permanently damaged people in its wake.

She crept around the side of the building until she could hear the conversation at the front step. The woman spoke low, the way some victims of abuse did—to keep out of sight, out of hearing, out of mind. I should go home.

You’ll be safe here. We’ve never had trouble, but if we did, the staff is trained. He can’t hurt you again. With unexpected gentleness, Levski spoke as quietly as the woman. He’d never sounded so non-threatening.

Nobody had ever spoken to Livy like that. Not that she needed anyone to take care of her.

A crackle of laughter sounded from a nearby alley. She froze. The low murmur of voices came from the street running parallel to the one she’d started down. Recognition flared. She’d find out what Levski was up to later. Following this new development was more time critical.

Hand on weapon, she edged down the alley toward the lit street beyond. The buzz of a skimmer drowned out the men talking. It passed, and snippets floated between the buildings as she drew within a few feet. Two men faced one another at the end. Their shadows lent them shape, but their faces were too dimly illuminated.

The last vial wasn’t enough. Need more. The wheedling voice of a thin, medium-height man went raspy, full of pain.

Buy two, then. This, from the one with a familiar barrel-chested frame. Zill!

Livy didn’t let disappointment stop her from doing what she had to do. If Canton Zill was dealing Misty, he’d gone too far for her help. Like many of the criminals on the streets of Rayford, the largest Taphgan city, Zill had been born into squalor, knowing nothing but crime. After his last arrest for petty theft, she’d found him a job at a sugar cactus farm. Guess he’d ditched that.

She pulled out her stun weapon and took aim at his sorry hide. Hands where I can see them, Zill.

The zing of laser fire whizzed past her head. She dropped to the ground. Weapon extended, she returned fire. Yelling and pounding feet echoed around her. Zill and his accomplice running. Her finger squeezed, sending a shot mid-back of Zill's buyer on the right. The buyer went down hard.