Tempest (Valos of Sonhadra Book 2)
Table of Contents
EPILOGUE
Title Page
Copyright Page
Tempest
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
VALOS OF SONHADRA
MORE BY POPPY RHYS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
TEMPEST
VALOS OF SONHADRA
BOOK II
Science Fiction Romance
by
Poppy Rhys
Copyright 2018 by Poppy Rhys
Edited by Tiffany Roberts
Proofread by LY Publishing
Proofread by Alexa B.
Cover Art: Cameron Kamenicky & Naomi Lucas
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted on the cover is a model.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Tempest
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
EPILOGUE
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
VALOS OF SONHADRA
MORE BY POPPY RHYS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
WARNING
This story contains a reverse harem (m/m/f/m/m) of fish-man, element wielding alien heroes, mature content, violence, and probably too much language.
Best read after Alluvial (Valos of Sonhadra #1)
The day has finally come! After pulling all-nighters for an entire month to meet this collaboration deadline (and neglecting pretty much everything else in my life) here it is.
Tailbone woes aside, I had a blast.
(PS, we had no f*cking clue what we were doing.)
Enjoy!
INTRO
When an orbital prison is torn through a wormhole and crashes on an unknown planet, it's every woman for herself to escape the wreckage. As though savage beasts and harsh, alien climates aren't enough, the survivors discover the world isn't uninhabited, and must face new challenges—risking not only their lives, but their hearts.
Welcome to Sonhadra.
The Valos of Sonhadra series is the shared vision of nine sci-fi and fantasy romance authors. Each book is a standalone, containing its own Happy Ever After, and can be read in any order.
ONE
“LEVEL TWENTY-FIVE, please,” I told the cabbie, stepping off the curb and sliding into the dingy green vehicle. The odors from the nearby noodle hut clung to the high collar of my black jacket.
That smell would be a bitch to get rid of for whomever it would be donated to.
“Level twenty-five, you say?” He winked at me through the rearview mirror. “Never picked up a rider in this part of town who was a level twenty-five resident.”
I stared back at him through the reflective glass, lips thinning. Overly talkative cab drivers got under my skin. It wasn’t his business to make conversation with me. He was there to get me from point A to point B.
“All right.” He finally put his eyes back on the road. “Level twenty-five we go!”
He flipped a switch on the glowing dashboard. The vehicle rose higher in the hover lane until we reached the correct highway twenty-five levels up.
Horns blew as he swerved into traffic, cutting other drivers off before accelerating.
I crossed my legs, my black tights keeping the skin of my thighs from touching as my matching snug dress rode further up. The glowing multicolored lights played tricks in the dark as I watched them fade by while keeping an eye on the cabbie that was once again peering at me through the mirror.
Another pervert.
I should’ve been used to them by now, and for the most part, I was. If they kept their paws to themselves, and they weren’t a mark, I ignored them.
If they were a mark, well, I enjoyed my job a little more.
Tonight had been one of those times.
My palms still hummed with the feel of the gun’s vibration when I pulled the trigger, planting a bullet into the skull of my target before he could knead at my flesh any further.
I shuddered thinking about it. Too bad I didn’t have time for a shower.
Normally I wouldn’t resort to such violent measures to dispatch my target. I preferred making their deaths look natural or accidental. You know, heart attacks, aneurysms, faulty brake lines, gas leaks, and so on.
Cabinet Minister Jackson had been a filthy one, though. Poisoning small villages in Asian countries—mostly children—to further his own business interests, multiple counts of sexual assault of young women, and political corruption I didn’t know the depths of.
But he was rich and untouchable. Exceedingly so.
It wasn’t my duty to know the nitty gritty, however. I read enough of the file to get myself into the right mindset to make sure the job got done.
I didn’t ask questions, I didn’t weigh the pros and cons, and I certainly didn’t dwell on their deaths when I went to bed each night.
I simply did.
Kill, that was.
Guns were complicated, messy, and usually easier to trace. When I was forced to use one though, I preferred the popular modified pistols that didn’t require manual racking. Painless to obtain and harder to link back to me. Hand me a clip and a suppressor, and voila! Success.
“The Martin is my building,” I told the driver, spotting it up ahead. He sent me another suspicious look. A greasy lock of his slicked back sandy blond hair curled over his forehead.
I could guess what he was thinking: a level twenty-five resident who was standing on the curb in district four, on level one, and she lived in the Martin building?
Unheard of.
Anyone who lived above level ten rarely spent any time upon the ground in the city. That was where the impoverished lingered. Orphans, criminals, those who couldn’t afford homes, and district four was the worst of them all. A festering wound in the city of London.
Even decent prostitutes didn’t hang around there.
Truth be told, I wouldn’t step foot in district four if I didn’t have good reason, and oh, I had a good reason.
The cab stopped at t
he covered drop-off at floor twenty-five, and I swiped my left thumb across the payment scanner. It instantly flickered green, accepting funds, and the system unlocked my door.
“Have a good night!”
I didn’t respond as I walked past the security droids posted outside. Their matte black figures remained stationary as I swiped my thumb again to enter the lobby. My entire life, my whole identity, was on that flexi chip tucked under a few layers of skin there.
At least, my public identity was.
“Welcome home, Charlie Arkin,” the artificial butler’s smooth voice greeted me using my alias. His tones melted over my skin like butter, the British accent sounding insanely sexy even though I knew he wasn’t real.
“Thank you, Ben.”
“Have a pleasant evening.”
I stepped into the hall, the soft soles of my flats making little noise as I came upon my apartment door, once again using my thumb to gain entry. The lock clicked, and I stepped through, shutting the black metal barrier behind me.
“Lights on fifty-percent.”
The room lit slowly to my specified setting. It was easier on my eyes.
“Tea, chamomile.”
I shrugged off my jacket, placing it on the hook along the hallway as I heard the tea kettle brew, and then kicked off my shoes.
“Open database,” I murmured, pulling the band from my hair and shoving a hand into my shoulder-length curls to break up the mass on the way to the living room.
I stared out the wall of windows that overlooked the River Thames. I’d grown used to viewing it from this height. I was far enough away that my fear of water didn’t bother me too much.
Normally, a level twenty-five resident wouldn’t have the views I did. Even this high up, there were usually buildings nearby blocking the sights.
What little sights there were, anyway. London was a packed city.
Views like this were reserved for level forty and up. I was fortunate, getting this apartment, though it wasn’t my doing. My handler put me here. Twenty-five was a level that wouldn’t stand out, but not a level that would put my security at risk either.
“Login required.” The large, opaque computer screen sitting on the side table prompted me. I padded over to it, swiping my thumb.
“Identification number required.”
“F-two-six-four dash T-zero-five-five.”
“Pass code required.”
“Banana,” I sighed, rolling my eyes. My handler, Jamie, enjoyed giving me daily pass codes that a child would find entertaining.
“Thank you, Charlene Elena Sol.”
The kettle dinged, indicating my tea was prepared. I made my way to the kitchen, grabbing the mug and dropping in a pellet of honey to sweeten the hot liquid.
“Open file PM dash twenty-three,” I spoke as I stood back in front of the windows. The river, black even in the daytime due to the pollution, reflected the lights of the city as it flowed while boats left churned up trails on its surface.
“Opening file PM dash twenty-three. Would you like to update the status, Ms. Sol?”
“Yes.” I took a sip of the tea. It was still too hot. The roof of my mouth paid for my impatience, and I returned to blowing on it lightly. “Target terminated.”
My gaze lifted to the sky, and through a thin break in the smog, I saw twinkling lights. I couldn’t tell if they were stars or satellites, but that wasn’t what I sought.
The Interstellar Penitentiary System, better known as IPS Concord, was what I was looking for, though I knew it was too far out to see with the naked eye.
Shaped like a daisy flower, it sat in space, housing the planet’s worst criminals.
Decades ago, the world governments came together and agreed on a joint effort to build a prison system that would put brick and mortar lockups to shame.
The ultimate penitentiary system that no one could escape.
I’d heard my fair share of horror stories about it up there. IPS Concord had its own set of laws, as it belonged to no single government, but a private company.
“File updated.”
“Good.” I took another sip of tea, and that time it was just right, so I swallowed a little more. “Now erase everything.”
“Please give confirmation code to wipe the system.”
The muscle in my cheek twitched with annoyance before I said, “Monkey.”
Damn Jamie and his idiotic sense of humor.
Far off in the distance, I heard the sound I’d been expecting: the wailing sirens of the police. They were coming for me.
“Encrypted line for Gerard Sol,” I said to the computer, setting down my empty mug and catching my reflection in the mirror across the room.
Shadowed brown eyes stared back at me, and the freckles I’d learned to accept littered my face in dark, uneven patches against the pale cinnamon skin I inherited from my Cuban mother. Misshapen auburn curls sprang in various directions, half of them crimped from the hair tie.
“Is it done?” my father asked, and my gaze swung back to the screen. He was sitting in his office. Old school bookshelves filled with real hardbacks lined the walls, his collection of knickknacks breaking up the spines.
“Yes,” I answered, peering into his pale gray eyes. His light brown hair was cropped close to his head, and his fair white skin looked healthy. He seemed to defy aging; he was in his mid-fifties.
The military kept him in shape.
Back to what I was saying before: guns were messy. Tonight, when I killed Cabinet Minister Jackson, I left my DNA in every place I could before I left.
I was good at disappearing. Really good. I’d been trained to blend in anywhere I went, anywhere Project Nomad sent me.
A faction of the US government employed people like me to do the murky jobs. To slip in, do what must be done, and slip out.
Governments were built, wars began and ended because of people who moved in the shadows, adjusting and tweaking and pulling off an assassination or two. Operatives who lived among the public right in plain sight.
If I got tagged, that was it. My file disappeared, Project Nomad never happened, and the US government would pretend I never existed.
Tonight, I blew my whole career.
On purpose.
The sirens grew louder.
“I can hear them,” he said.
Making sure I didn’t get marked by the security cameras on my way out of the Cabinet Minister’s hotel room gave me enough time to visit district four.
It took me, my dad, and my handler, months to get to this day. It was hard work. Jackson was a paranoid man, and rightly so. He had a reputation of eventually fucking over anyone he did business with. Funny, because they continued coming back for more.
I never claimed criminals were the brightest. Needless to say, there was a long list of people who wanted him dead, not just my family.
He was using Preta—my sister—as leverage, knowing my dad would cooperate—putting his whole career at risk—if one of his daughter’s lives hung in the balance. Super original.
No more.
Spending years taking out the uglies of the world pushed a person deeper into the underground than one might imagine. It started out slow, but eventually I began to brush shoulders with people who dwelled beneath society.
Those people had the power to influence governments just like Project Nomad, but with a vicious flair. Their hits weren’t quick and painless, and they weren’t for the welfare of innocents. It was dirty. The kind of hit that disassembled you slowly so you really felt it. All for greed, pride, and status.
My last act as a government operative was to exchange a favor with an underground hacker—an acquaintance made a few years back. He wanted some information on a new AI code Japan was working on, and I needed him to intercept communication between Jackson’s people and his contact on IPS Concord.
All he had to do was feed the contact bogus—but believable—information, fuck with the news stream a little, and keep anything related to Jackson’s de
ath out of their updates from Earth. Simple.
It would give me the time I needed to locate Preta.
My first act as a law-abiding citizen was to pay him for creating the new identities for my sister and me, and whatever crooked IPS guard he was commissioning to get my ass—and Preta’s—off that station.
Okay, so maybe I’d need to restart on the law-abiding citizen part once I was back on Earth.
I wasn’t looking forward to getting stuffed into a cargo bin, but if it meant my family would be whole again, new identities and all, I’d suffer through.
The realization that, once I was back on Earth, I’d never have to kill another person again gave me pause. I was twenty-nine, and Project Nomad had been my whole life. Ten years, fifty-seven successful hits, and nothing to show for it.
I’d been paid well enough to fund the new lives and new identities for my sister and me. Maybe this was a good thing. Maybe I’d get to be a normal person with a boring job and a regular life where the US government wasn’t toting me off to new countries every few months.
I turned, moving to the windows. The sirens blared below, and I watched the armored police droids enter the building. They’d be here any minute.
“Find our girl, Charlie.”
I faced the computer once more. “I will, Dad.”
We didn’t have to say the mushy stuff. It was already implied by the silent look we exchanged.
The screen went black and my apartment door slammed open, denting the wall. I raised my hands in the air to show I had no weapons.
“This is the police,” the droid announced monotonously. “Charlie Arkin, you are under arrest. Turn around and lace your fingers behind your head.”
I obliged, my gaze lifting to the dark sky to take it in one last time from this angle.
Soon, I’d be up there.
I’m coming for you, Preta.
TWO
I CAN TAKE IT.
I can take it all.
I sat cross-legged in the middle of my blindingly white cell and rested my palms upon my knees.
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.
My psyche was fracturing around the fringe. I could feel it.
I’d only been in this place for a week. The lights went off for two hours each night, sending the cell into total darkness.