Wrath (Operation Outreach Book 1)

by Elle Thorne

  Wrath

  Operation Outreach

  Elle Thorne

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  Copyright © 2017 by Elle Thorne

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Wrath

  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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Also by Elle Thorne

  The Shifters Forever Worlds

  Thank You!!!

  About Elle

  Elle’s Newsletter

  Wrath

  What could make a regular ol’ cashier from PennyMart turn into 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.

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  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 hea
t 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 of Smyrna’s time, since she had no interest in any of them anyway.

  The offices were luxurious in the middle of downtown MidMerica, in the tallest building, and on the top floor. The view was spectacular, not even remotely giving a hint of the rat trap that Smyrna called home a mere two miles away.

  Smyrna was waiting in a room that could have housed her whole apartment. The war had been good to Messina Argyle.

  Not so much so for many of the population in what used to be called the United States of America. A former unified country, the U.S. was now composed of varying provinces.

  “Miss de Soto,” Messina rose from a desk that should have belonged to a cigar-smoking, pork-eating, pot-bellied senator. Her lithe form skirted the corners as she made her way to Smyrna.

  Smyrna pulled on the dress she’d managed to borrow from one of her neighbors and resisted the urge to rub on her eyes from fear she’d smear the mascara again.

  She didn’t do dresses. She didn’t do makeup. But she’d make an exception for this. Hell, she’d give up her right arm for it.

  “Smyrna,” Messina took her hand between both of hers. “Call me Messina, please.”

  Nodding, Smyrna extricated her fingers from Messina’s grip. This woman exuded charm, maybe she’d be a senator one day herself, minus the potbellied, pork-eating, cigar-smoking part, Smyrna thought. She definitely had the people skills.

  Should have taken charm lessons from her, rather than let Razor and Branson think they could teach me.

  “Your test results matched you perfectly. We’ve got just the one for you.”

  “No kidding,” Smyrna replied and pasted a smile on to amend her seemingly smart ass response. “That’s wonderful. I’m so excited.” She lowered her head in as demure a way as she could.

  “This is the interview. The last test, if you want to call it that. It’s important to the process that we send candidates who really are what they appear to be.”

  I’m so screwed. Smyrna raised her head and tried to look doe-eyed. This is for Leticia, she reminded herself. This whole thing was for Leticia. And it was absolutely imperative that Smyrna get accepted into this Outreach thing.

  “We have to be sure it’s not just curiosity seekers. A free flight to Janus is tempting.”

  Smyrna nodded. Time to play it cagey. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “We’ve matched you perfectly with—” She picked up a file, reached out across the desk to hand it to Smyrna. “Here, look for yourself.”

  Smyrna opened the folder. First thing she saw was a headshot of a face that looked like it belonged on the cover of a soldiers of fortune magazine. It was a mix of hard-ass blended with sexy. Steel gray eyes, full bottom lip, cheekbones that were sculpted from marble.

  She looked at the text below the face. Caayn Fellish. “How do you say that name? I mean, I figure the Fellish part, but…” Smyrna glanced up at Messina.

  “Cane. As in sugar cane.”

  Or Cain, the one that killed his brother. Wasn’t wise to voice that one, so she kept it to herself. “He’s the one that matched me?”

  “Perfectly.”

  Great, because I lied about everything.

  “When can I leave?”

  Messina laughed. “You’re certainl
y ready to begin a new life, aren’t you?”

  Right after I end Baldwin Porter’s life. “Very much so.” She forced a smile to creep to her face, hoping it made it to her eyes.

  “Great. We’ll get the paperwork together.”

  “Paperwork?”

  “Legalities,” Messina’s smile was tight, controlled.

  “Like I’ll need a passport or something?”

  Messina frowned. “No. Like the contract.”

  First thing Smyrna thought was, damn I should have read the fine print before I agreed to the terms and conditions.

  It had been a wall of text on a computer screen at the offices of her employer. Smyrna hadn’t ever been much on the reading of fine print. So, she’d clicked to accept.

  “Where’s the contract?”

  “It’s the last thing in the file. Take it home with you, study, review, make sure, then come back when you’re ready to sign.” Messina tapped a pen on the desk, looked at a calendar that took up half the surface. “Say tomorrow? Or the day after?”

  “Sure, tomorrow. But I can sign it right now—”

  With a head shake, Messina said, “Go ahead and take it. I’d like you to sleep on it. It’s a big commitment, after all.”

  It’ll be a big commitment if I get apprehended for murder on Janus. Otherwise, it’s my dream day.

  Chapter Four