Nanoshock by K. C. Alexander

Author:K. C. Alexander [Alexander, K. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780857666284
Publisher: Watkins Media
Published: 2017-09-08T04:00:00+00:00

23

I kept her in my peripheral. One shot, right? But who? If she turned on me, I’d have to drop her first. If she didn’t, if she waited too long, I’d drop Rectum over there.

Then her.

Mohawk would have to wait.

“Hurry that ass,” Rictor said sharply. “We gotta make some tread!”

She stared at him.

I stared at Rictor of the Bad Teeth.

We all kept each other in our sights, periphery to periphery. My finger tightened. Legs braced. At least I’d gotten a recharge.

Muerte turned to me. “Sorry, Riqa,” she rasped quietly. “We knew this was coming.”

“Only because you tricked me,” I snarled, just low enough to carry her way. Up on his vehicular throne, Rectal looked bored, thin smile fading. I shot him a grim little smile of my own.

“Come on, bebe. I told you there was shit on your ass.”

“Didn’t know it smelled like you,” I said tightly. I flicked a hard look at her.

She winked at me, glittering red dimples sparkling.

Winked.

The nanosteel balls on that bitch.

I had one decision to make and I had a nanosecond to make it. Leaps of faith weren’t my thing. A merc doesn’t eat on faith, and I had nothing else to go on. No gangland saint turns on her crowd for shits and funsies; whatever Indigo could give her, Muerte would be committing suicide by Kill Squad, which meant she’d obey. Couldn’t possibly be worth keeping my ass in her black book.

My target snapped to her just as she grabbed a firearm from the small of her back. I lived, breathed, shit my role on this street; I was damn comfortable as a splatter specialist, but Muerte juggled her roles with fucking finesse. She whipped her weapon out so fast, I blinked and missed it.

We were suddenly barrel to barrel, eye to eye, as I glared down the sights at the asshole of a fixer I’d let snow me.

One problem, though. I packed a Cougar, and 11mm caseless rounds were nothing to sneeze at. But Muerte carried a TaberTek 42 Mini, one of the smallest submachine guns out there. Easily holstered, it boasted 12mm rounds and easily switched from selective fire to full auto. It was the weapon of blackops and wetworks everywhere.

Sweat dripped down my back. Rolled down my temple. My heart slammed so fast, I struggled to slow my breath down. I was not ready for this. Was not prepped to go toe to toe with Muerte and her backup shitgoons.

My own ex-Squad. Guess I should have been prepped for this much, too.

I braced, taking three steps back from the car – Muerte in my line of sight and her crew still in my radius. Rictor held up both hands like he’d taken the fall on a carnival ride, rictus stretching ear to ear. “Whoa, whoa, little dead girl, don’t go taking my kill!”

Muerte ignored him. I snarled without taking my eyes off her. “Eat my dick.”

“Gonna try,” he drawled.

Mohawk over there made tasty smacking sounds with his lips. “Muerte, darlin’, you come back here.

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