Wrath: Operation Outreach, #1

By Elle Thorne

What could make a regular ol' cashier from PennyMart turn to bounty hunting and pursue a criminal across the planets? The kind of emotion that gives birth to wrath.

How does the first born of Zama's royalty become conscripted into taking a mail order bride? That's one story. What does he feel when his brother signs him up for that? Pure wrath.

Smyrna wants one thing. Just one. She wants the man who killed her best friend dead. Being a bounty hunter isn't her life goal. It's the means to an end.

Caayn's younger brother played a cruel joke on him. He signed him up to be hand-fasted to a mail order bride. Hell has no fury like a woman scorned? Not so. Hell has no wrath like a man signed up to marry a woman he's never met.

Until he meets her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barbed Borders Press
• Release date: May 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393576600

Book preview

Chapter One

You really think getting drunk is going to solve the problem? Razor pointed at Smyrna’s sweaty beer bottle sitting on the bar top.

Smyrna scowled at Razor, bartender extraordinaire. And former best friend as of about five minutes ago, now that he’d been criticizing her drinking habits.

Not here, since you’re going to bug the shit out of me. Smyrna took another long drink from her beer. So, that shot of tequila. Happening? Or do I need to go somewhere else to get it?

It’s five ‘til two. Bars close in five minutes. And the next nearest bar is fifteen minutes from here. I’d have to say you’re shit outta luck.

Smyrna’s scowl grew. You don’t think I have a right to get drunk?

Didn’t say that. Razor, six-foot-tall, head shaved, skin like shiny dark walnut wood, obsidian eyes glittering dangerously in a face carved of granite. Asked if you thought getting drunk was going to solve the problem.

Tears of fury burned the back of Smyrna’s eyes. Razor had a point.

But when your entire life is derailed, and everything you’ve been working for becomes pointless, what else do you do?

Smyrna didn’t bother asking Razor. She knew better. Razor had no interest in self-pity or giving in to emotions. The former latch-key kid lost his mother to gang violence, grew up homeless, then turned to the military, and now lived off the grid and off the books; Razor knew adversity.

Hey, look. Razor put the bar towel down and leaned against the counter, triceps popping out without his trying. I know you’re pissed. I get it. But you can find a way.

Smyrna stared into his eyes. Ray-Ray—

Don’t call me that. His eyes turned steely.

She knew he didn’t appreciate the nickname she’d given him when they were kids more than twenty years ago.

Sorry. Habit. She raised the bottle toward her lips.

She didn’t make it halfway before Razor swiped it from her hands and dumped it down the sink in front of him.

Hey!

We’re closed. His smile was tight.

Prick.

He remained stoic.

She stared.

Standoff.

Smyrna gave in first. Okay, Mister Smarty Pants.

Razor raised a brow at the moniker.

Ignoring the brow, she continued, "Since you think I can find a way, tell me how the hell I’m supposed find a way to get on a rocket ship from here to Janus."

Janus. She made a bitter beer face when she said the name of the planet.

I don’t think they call them rocket ships anymore. That’s so twenties.

Like the year 2020 was that long ago? Smyrna sneered.

Long enough. They’re called spacecraft.

Fine. Jerk. You’re missing the point. I can’t afford a flight—do they still call them flights?

He ignored her sarcasm. Go for passage.

Whatever, I can’t afford the passage to Janus. Hell, she didn’t even know where the hell Janus was. Just because some of Earth’s governments had decided to have a relationship with a different planet didn’t mean she had to know the geography of it. Passage sounds like a word my grandmother would’ve used, anyway, she snarked.

It probably was. But that’s what they’re calling it. Help me clean up. Then breakfast at the Over Easy. I’ll buy.

Give me a beer and I’ll help.

A head shake, a scowl, and he poured her a cup of coffee.

Chapter Two

Smyrna moved her link sausage from one side of the plate to the other. She made swirly patterns in the egg yolks of her over easy entrée.

Razor watched the television above her head and wolfed down his food.

She ignored the white noise of late night infomercials. I don’t know how you can eat this shit, she grumbled. Wincing as the snottiness of her way-too-over-easy egg whites slimed all over the yolks. I asked for over-medium.

Keep your voice down. You’ll offend Branson.

And? She mock-shivered in fear. He’ll what, spank me?

Yeah, I’d bet you’d like that. A booming voice came from behind her. You don’t like the cooking?

Smyrna glanced over her shoulder. It’s cool, Bran. It is.

Branson, former military guy, friend of Razor’s, definitely didn’t look like he’d be cooking at a twenty-four-hour café.

She’s got a lot on her mind, Razor said without looking away from the TV.

Did you get fired? Branson moved out from behind the counter and closer to them. "I told you a year ago, just because the laws allow anyone to bounty hunt didn’t mean that everyone should. Or could." He crossed his arms over a massive muscle shirt, his normally olive complexion reddened by the heat in the kitchen.

I didn’t plan to make a career of it. Smyrna pushed her plate away.

Told you to let Razor take care of him, Branson insisted. Told you this was right up his alley.

I’m not letting him risk his life for this. If he were caught…

Razor whistled low under his breath.

Branson looked up at the screen. His eyes lit up. Mhm.

With a frown, Smyrna turned to see what they were looking at.

A light-haired woman, yes, indubitably attractive, was sitting on a couch, interviewing a woman.

Probably selling some sort of makeup. Or lotion to make your neck skin look younger. Or—

Then a banner flashing across the bottom caught her eye.

FREE PASSAGE TO JANUS.

What the hell?

She glanced at Razor.

He nodded.

That’s why he’d whistled. She glanced back at the woman. Or it could have been her. She was damned stunning. Smyrna turned to look at Razor, a brow raised.

He scoffed. Think I’m that shallow?

You saying your head isn’t turned by a pretty face?

He let out a quiet breath. If it were, we wouldn’t be best friends. We’d be knocking boots.

No one says that anymore, Ray-Ray.

It’s making a comeback, and quit calling me—

She smacked him on the shoulder and turned her attention to the screen, calling out to Branson, Turn it up, would ya?

A commercial was on. Really? Who interrupts an infomercial with a commercial?

Branson laughed and pointed the remote. The interviewer’s voice grew louder as the infomercial returned.

The attractive, light-haired interviewer was now talking to a man who’d joined them.

The man said, Thank you for sticking with us. He pointed to the woman doing the interviewing. Messina Argyle is a successful business woman, entrepreneur, founder of Boundless and Borderless Love, TV personality, and now the face of Operation Outreach.

Messina nodded. Thank you, Chris. I’m here today interviewing our first applicant for Operation Outreach, she waved toward the woman smiling at the camera, looking more or less like a deer caught in the headlights.

Messina put her hand on the woman’s knee. This is Emily’s first time on camera.

The camera closed in on Emily. She chewed her lip and nodded. I’m excited to go to Janus. To meet my… Boron.

Her what? Smyrna muttered under her breath.

The camera pulled back and the man appeared back on screen. So back to you, Messina Argyle. His teeth gleamed, unnaturally white.

Television talk-show white, Smyrna liked to call that color.

Messina nodded, tucking her hair behind one ear in a practiced gesture. So, we are looking for more candidates for the Operation Outreach Program. Please fill in the application online.

The website streamed across the bottom of the screen.

Another brilliant smile from Messina.

She sure is one fine looking woman, Branson commented.

Thanks, why don’t you sign up to be a judge for the Miss Galaxy competition, next time. Smyrna gave him a tight smile.

Someone’s uptight.

Smyrna ignored him and turned back to the show.

We’re taking applications for candidates who would like to see another planet and meet their soul mate.

Get the fuck out, Smyrna bit her tongue, but her mind was already on the possibilities.

All you have to do is charm them, and convince them you’re looking for an extraterrestrial soul mate. Razor used his toast to slop up the last of the egg yolks and runny whites mixture on her plate. He’d cleaned it, after finishing his own.

Charm them? Branson snorted. She’s so screwed.

Razor snorted.

What? Smyrna scowled at Branson and then Razor. I can be charming.

More laughter from both.

Bastards. Smyrna rose from the table and paced the otherwise empty café.

Chapter Three

Four excruciatingly long days later…

---

It had been online interview after online interview. First through emails, then messaging, then LensNet, a service that allowed a party to communicate with another via a camera and microphone. Not a single one of the interviews had involved any of the men she’d be considering for the project.

Now, after that gauntlet, Smyrna had reached the final step. A face to face meeting with the woman herself, Messina Argyle. She wondered if she’d be forced to meet any of the men through LensNet, and really hoped not. It was a waste