Mercury's Orbit

by Lia Black

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

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  ~Other Books by Lia Black~

  MERCURY’S ORBIT

  Lia Black

  Copyright © 2017 Lia Black, VineDark/BlackHouse Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner

  without the written consent of the author/publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  Thanks, as always, to my beta readers, and a special thanks to Steve: who believed that this story deserved to be told.

  Thanks also to my mom, who still reads all of my books, and my daughter, who never ceases to amaze.

  1

  It should have been perfect.

  The event had been planned for months, each minor detail painstakingly taken into account, every arrangement made and contingency assumed. He’d left nothing to chance.

  Most of the invited guests had all ready arrived, several gathering near the sparkling champagne fountains and admiring the flower-shaped canapés, which looked almost too beautiful to eat. Expensive artwork, vintage pieces depicting grapevines, hunting dogs—whatever sort of crap impressed the unimpressible—hung between tall white columns and statues of stylized Greek gods. Every man appeared identical in his black tuxedo, every woman tried to outdo the others with a ball gown that set her apart. They were all ready for the party of a lifetime.

  For most of the guests, that lifetime would end here, tonight.

  From his darkened glass suite, Mercury Fie clutched his champagne flute with one gloved hand, fingering the stem with the other. His heart was fluttering against his ribs, beating with a similar anticipation to that of first love. High above the ballroom, his gaze followed each guest, cataloging and checking them off of his mental list. Meeting his own eyes through the smoky composite of the window, he reached up to smooth a stray lock of silver hair from his glitter-dusted face. While getting ready for the event, he’d spent a lot of time admiring the fit of his bespoke clothing. A very talented young fashion designer had created a shimmering white satin body suit that covered Mercury like a second skin. Designers loved his svelte figure, but he had no time or desire to model professionally; he was a man who enjoyed solving problems. Embellished with crystals in the shape of his namesake’s planetary symbol, he’d appreciated the clever touch, though most of his minions were not smart enough to understand it, mistaking it for a crudely drawn bull. He hadn’t hired them for their looks or their brains, so it was unfair of him to expect much of either, but he still found it disappointing. His boots were made of the same satiny material as his bodysuit; and with the six-inch heels he towered nearly seven feet tall. But his favorite part of the ensemble was the jewel-encrusted codpiece. Glistening silver chains held it in place and dangled free, creating a short skirt finished by crystal teardrops. Normally, he might have chosen something more subdued, but his birthday was in a few days and he wanted to get himself an early present. Besides, tonight’s event would far exceed any standards of normal.

  Behind him, a man cleared his throat, and then said, “Sir.”

  Mercury’s violet gaze shifted to the reflection of someone entering behind him. The man’s tuxedo blended into the darkness of the room, obscuring his muscled bulk and making his head appear to float on its own.

  “Princess,” Mercury answered, without turning. His breathy voice sounded mechanical as it echoed back from the glass. “Have you seen? It’s so lovely. It’s all going to be wonderful tonight. I can feel it.”

  Princess wasn’t a handsome man, but with his face normally buried between Mercury’s thighs, he rarely noticed. He was the man who had the honor of sharing his bed now; his most trusted adviser, the general of his army in his little empire. “Close the door, would you?”

  Princess did as he was told, then returned to his previous spot, standing a few feet away. “Sir, Sec Ops has reported a possible breach near the north tower.”

  “Are they handling it?” Mercury asked, taking a sip of his champagne. It slid down his throat with a little bite, like a kiss from a golden razor. Expensive stuff, not the toilet water splashing in the fountains below.

  “Yes sir—”

  “Then what’s the problem?” Security had been accounted for. He’d paid overtime to the mercenary crew scouting the grounds. They would not disappoint him, because they had families, and he knew where they lived.

  In the ballroom below, one of his most important guests, Doctor Tamak Lin, was about to descend the marble staircase with his wife du jour on his arm.

  Princess cleared his throat again, finally getting around to answering his question. “Sir, I think—”

  Mercury didn’t hear the rest because his ears were squealing with blood. Dr. Lin’s trophy-wife entered wearing a crimson ball gown, as if tonight were her special event.

  “That bitch!” Mercury’s champagne flute shattered in a small explosion of golden liquid and crystal shards, skittering across the shiny black floor. “I told them! I told them all! No one was to wear red!” The deliberate insult turned his last swallow to gasoline in his stomach and fire roared up his spine.

  “S-sir—” Princess flinched as Mercury pulled a jeweled pistol from his garter belt and pointed it at his face.

  The tension in his muscles had him nearly pulling the trigger out of habit, but he held back. Mercury fought the screaming static in his head, reminded himself that it was not Princess who’d precipitated this anger. Returning to the dark window, he pushed it open and yelled down at the doctor’s wife. “You stupid cow!”

  The murmurs of music and conversation stopped as though someone had flipped off a switch, and all eyes moved skyward. Now he was the most important person in the room.

  As it should be.

  They’d been foolish enough to believe the invitations they’d received were legitimately from the corporation in which they were all stakeholders, even though he’d deliberately tipped his hand by adding: Mercury Division. Did they not make the connection? People were like that. They would ignore the obvious if it appeared to benefit them, just as that bitch had ignored his single stipulation: wear no red.

  Mercury brandished the gun, swinging his arm in a wide arc. He found a target below, closed one eye, and pulled the trigger. Blood blossomed like a rose across the crisp fabric of a waiter’s white tux as the projectile hit his ribcage. The waiter fell, his tray of drinks and hors d’oeuvres crashing down.

  “If you wear red, how can I see the blood?”

  Screams filled the ballroom; that shearing, splitting sound that only served to make the pain in his head worse. Well-dressed doctors and dignitaries surged against one another in a sea of cashmere and tulle, every one of them trying to save their own worthless lives. They were the true criminals, the real murderers. Because they did not soak thei
r hands in blood, it was easy to feign innocence. But Mercury knew. He was judgment, and ignorance was not a defense. They would know the error of their ways. It would slowly sink in what selfish fools they’d been as they struggled to take their last, worthless breaths.

  Mercury emptied his pistol randomly into the crowd of bleating ovine below, oblivious of whether or not he’d hit a target. When he ran out of ammunition he threw the useless weapon down and watched it shatter into sparkling bits across the tiled dance floor.

  “Princess, give me your gun,” he reached back with one hand, palm up, keeping his eyes trained on that bitch in the red designer gown. At least the color made her easier to see, like a bloated tick struggling through the shifting currents of black and white. Princess didn’t immediately comply, and Mercury felt cold foreboding tingling at the base of his spine.

  Ah. This again.

  When he turned, Princess was leveling his gun at him and speaking into a small, black microphone. That was not standard issue; Mercury gave his employees ear-pieces shaped like little purple hearts.

  “Affirmative. East elevator. I’ve got him covered until you get here.”

  “Crashing my party?” Mercury raised an eyebrow. Though he maintained a haughty smirk, his heart dropped into his stomach where it was dissolved by the rising acidic sick. Betrayed, once again, by someone who’d claimed to love him.

  “Don’t move, Mercury. You can’t outrun us this time,” Princess said. It almost sounded like an apology, but in this case, sorry wasn’t enough.

  “Princess. I’m so…” Mercury hesitated, trying to find a word that wouldn’t come out as an agonized roar. “Disappointed.” Disappointed, but not surprised. He’d thought Princess might be different. He’d been lulled by the man’s kindness, seduced by love letters and precious little gifts, even after Princess had won his way into his bed. For three months he’d taken control of the things Mercury found troublesome while never seeking to control him. That’s how Princess had achieved the coveted rank of general. He should have realized: any man that tried so hard to please him would turn out to be a fucking cop. Mercury felt dizzy, and darkness oozed through his brain.

  A large evacuation was underway in the ballroom. The special ops units of the CSD—Civilian Security Department— swarmed like shiny black carrion beetles entering the hall. A few of his guards stationed below tried to do what he’d paid them for, pulling their guns on the intruders, but they were outnumbered, picked off by snipers disguised as shadows hidden behind pillars and statues.

  Mercury sighed, struggling to keep control, to keep his intelligence working over his boiling emotional core. “Looks like you’ve got me surrounded.”

  Princess pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his suit coat. So that’s what that unsightly bulge had been. They rattled as he let one end swing free, popping open the bracelet in his hand. “Let’s just do this nice and easy.” His voice remained soft, like it did when he whispered to him from his pillow, except now it sounded condescending rather than coddling.

  Mercury saw him shaking. Princess wasn’t a fool; he’d seen the bloody rages, and knew what could happen if he let his guard slip, even the slightest. Maybe he felt guilty, because he wouldn’t look Mercury in the eye, or maybe he was afraid. The gun pointing at Mercury was not steady. If it’d had a laser sight, the beam would be zinging across his chest like a glowing, red gnat. Mercury ran his pink tongue slowly across his gelée-glossed upper lip, tasting the sweet, greasy flavor of artificial strawberry. He watched Princess’s eyes follow the movement; saw the expansion of his throat, the muscles rigid, as he swallowed. Slowly, Mercury raised his hands near his head in mock surrender.

  Princess began to approach, each step measured as he came closer to apprehending him, as if stalking a wild animal. It was amusing and tragic to watch, like bringing a butterfly net to a tiger hunt. Mercury waited until Princess was nearly upon him, estimating timing, force—anything to keep himself thinking—so that when he moved his body, it was quick, precise, and deadly. Mercury raised his leg, catching Princess on the chin with the pointed steel toe of his boot. With a wet crack and an explosion of blood, Princess’s head snapped back. His body folded as though he were trying to sit in a chair that had been pulled out from under him. When he hit the floor, his weight coming down made the entire sky-suite shudder. Mercury crouched and grabbed the gun the as it tumbled from Princess’s hand. He stood over him, creating a bridge over Princess’s large, shuddering, struggling body with his legs, pointing the weapon at the bloody mess that had been Princess’s face.

  Mercury would have shot him, but for some reason, the gun wouldn’t stay still and tears were blurring his vision. The elevator at the end of the catwalk pinged as the car reached the top floor. Mercury couldn’t afford to waste any more time. Any second the CSD would be racing down the narrow walkway. He threw the gun, bouncing it off Princess’s barrel chest and turned, climbing out the open window. There was a metal bar that ran along the outside of the suite, purportedly a safety feature to keep some drunken fool from plunging to his death. Mercury hoped it would do the same for him, though he wasn’t concerned with falling.

  Teetering on the railing in his high heeled boots, Mercury surveyed the scene below. Tears and glitter blurred into shifting rainbows, making the room a spinning kaleidoscope. The floor was now empty except for the uniformed men and women raising their guns in his direction. He glanced around, his eyes darting and taking in every possible escape; he felt the sky suite tremble as heavy boots clamored across the catwalk. They were shouting things to one another, shouting to Princess, shouting at him. Too much shouting. It was making his headache worse. Mercury determined his route, took in a deep breath, then leapt.

  Weapons followed his path from below as he soared like an acrobat over their heads. His teeth clacked together when metal met the hard soles of his boots as he landed in a crouch on a crossbeam in the rafters. A few crystals fell off his codpiece, drifting towards the ballroom like fairy tears.

  There was a moment of such complete stillness that he thought all of this might just be a dream.

  And then they started shooting.

  Electrified projectiles ricocheted, exploding in sparks around him as they struck the metal supports. One shattered near his cheek, the burn of the charged metal shards disrupting his vision with white streaks as another carved a burning trail along his right thigh. Mercury sprang through the girders, his genetically-enhanced instincts taking over, shutting down rational and emotional thought. His muscles propelled him, his spine arched to steer, and his hands grabbed, clamping on and shoving him forward to the next beam, and the next, heading towards a ventilation shaft on a nearby wall. He ripped open the grate, wincing as his manicured nails broke off, and flung the grate down to the ballroom floor before pulling himself inside the narrow opening. Although he was thin enough to fit into the tight space, the low ceiling forced him to crawl along on his elbows instead of his hands and knees, slowing him down. Had he known things would go so horribly wrong, he might not have worn these boots. While they’d done a lovely little dance across Princess’s face, the buckles that ran up the sides were making an awful racket against the metal walls of the ventilation shaft. He could hear the voices of police below as they tracked his location, shouting as they followed him from room to room.

  This wasn’t the first time Mercury had dealt with someone trying to ruin his events. It used to bother him, the terrible things they said: that he was a criminal, a murderer, and any number of things that seemed true, but only when taken out of context. Sometimes one had to carve away the rot in order to enjoy the sweetness of the fruit. Mercury was the knife.

  Damn it. He’d worked so hard for this—to have everyone right where he wanted them. But that bitch had literally made him see red, and instead of consoling him, Princess had pulled a gun.

  Something exploded though the vent, temporarily deafening him, as his ears filled with fluid. Sharpness and sparks tore through his belly as ho
t, white pain and electricity shot up his spine. The current hit his brain, pushing hard against the backs of his eyes.

  A teddy bear, strapped to a table. Doctors in white masks. A spinning blade. White fluff billowing as they cut into its soft, brown head.

  Nausea burned greasy in his stomach, bringing up the bitter taste of champagne, blood, and strawberry lip-gloss. He shuddered and swallowed it down, imagining it all just running out of the hole in his belly. His breath came as short, noisy gasps as imaginary claws reached down from his diaphragm and ripped through to his guts. Certain his innards were spilling out, he struggled onto his back. A rolling blanket of nausea temporarily swaddled the pain, making his ears ring and the world outside his body turn to foam. His knees and elbows beat muffled clangs against the sides of the rectangular conduit, but he barely felt them. Mascara had run down with the tears from his eyes, drying sticky over his cheeks.

  Better. It would be okay.

  Anyone else hit by those charged projectiles would have been dead or comatose from the nerves being fried. But not him. No, no, lucky him. Law enforcement had done their homework, cheating off the information that Princess had been feeding them for months. That’s why he couldn’t sense their communicators—they’d been smart enough not to use them until they were all ready inside the building. Apparently, they wanted him alive.

  “Goddamn it! I said hold fire!” an angry female voice bellowed, echoing through the vents. It bounced around, distorted and tinny like a voice from the grave.

  Mercury took one of the fingers of his white satin opera gloves between his teeth, pulling it off. He moved that hand down, hissing as his trembling fingers felt the slick blood and found the rips in his expensive outfit. Never mind the stains, holes that size in such delicate fabric could never be mended. Fresh tears created a film over his eyes and he squinted, trying to clear them enough to assess the damage from the light filtering up though the holes in the vent. His lower half glittered like black crude oil from the stomach wound. They wanted him alive, but this might kill him. At least his insides were still where they belonged.