Chapter One
The last time Nolan drew a gun on a terrorist, he’d fired without a second thought.
One quick squeeze of the trigger was all it took to send a Balefire bolt through the man’s skull. The mass-murdering bastard had died before he could reach for the detonator to set off his suicide vest—saving Nolan’s entire Silverguard platoon and half of Terra Omega in the process.
This time, however, Nolan wasn’t so quick to shoot. The terrorist in question was a half-dead former Silverguard slumped on his couch. Bex—Rebecca Ajeen, according to the dossier Agent Styver had given him—had only narrowly escaped death by epileptic seizures a few hours earlier. With the blaster pistol in his hand trained squarely on her chest, Nolan had no doubt he could put two bolts through center mass before she had time to flinch.
He was wrong.
Bex might have been weak from the Heavy Detox protocol that purged the Blitz from her system, and her muscles wasted by the drug. Yet she, like Nolan, had served in the Nyzarian Empire’s elite military unit. Silverguards didn’t live long by waiting to act.
There was no sudden tension in her muscles, no rigidity in her face to indicate her attack. One moment she lay on the couch, her face pale and lined with exhaustion; the next, she launched herself at Nolan, hands outstretched and reaching for the blaster pistol.
Nolan squeezed the trigger—too late. Bex’s left hand slapped the gun off-target the instant before it fired. The blaster bolt hissed over her head, scorching a hole through the ceiling of Nolan’s apartment. Bex locked her grip around Nolan’s gun hand and brought her right hand back for a devastating flying punch.
But Nolan hadn’t been truly caught off guard. The lightning ferocity of her attack surprised him, but he’d been ready for her to try something. Knowing she’d have to focus on his gun, he’d prepared a surprise for her in his free hand. Before she could land the blow, he brought his left fist up and drove it into her chest.
“Now!” he shouted mentally, activating the neural link he shared with Taia.
The AI activated the taser probes built into the stun gauntlet Nolan had slipped into his wheelchair’s cushions. Thirty thousand volts pulsed through the contacts and into Bex’s body. The jolt, paired with Nolan’s punch, sent the woman half-flying, half-stumbling backward, and Nolan tore his gun hand free of her grip. She landed hard on the soft couch, momentarily incapacitated as the low-level electric current locked up her muscles.
Yet, for all the helplessness of her body, Nolan could see her mind hard at work—assessing him, the threat of his gun, her surroundings. Desperation, panic, fear, and a hint of something else, something angry, twisted her face and darkened her eyes.
Nolan didn’t wait for Bex to recover. “Taia, play the footage from Agent Styver,” he told the AI silently.
Taia brought up the requested video, displaying it on the screen built into the wall of Nolan’s apartment. Agent Styver’s footage appeared grainy, likely captured by a security camera. Yet despite the poor picture quality, there was no mistaking the woman’s plainly visible features as she and a blond-haired man, both wearing dark clothing and black combat boots, broke into the Imperial Assault Forces armory. The same armory that had been storing the weapons and gear Nolan had found in the hands of his recent foes: German French’s Rücksichtslos, Wolfe, and the White Sharks.
Bex’s face turned an even sicklier shade of pale, her eyes going wide, and her mouth dropped open. “Where did you get th—”
“Tell me that’s not you,” Nolan growled. He never took his gaze off the woman—he’d seen the footage already—but studied her with a hard expression. “You and Elden Croyle breaking into that IAF armory.” His jaw muscles clenched. “Stealing all those military-grade guns, REMPs, and combat suits, which you then sold to every gang and cartel in New Avalon.”
Bex’s brow furrowed at his words, and confusion twisted her face. She tried to sit up and, finding her muscles once again responsive, managed to push herself upright. “That…is me,” she said slowly, “but…” She trailed off, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “But that place…”
“The IAF armory outside Phobury.” Nolan studied her reaction as he said the words. He’d spent enough time studying people—both as a Silverguard trained in threat detection and as the Protection Bureau’s target-stalking hired assassin—to recognize the subtle signs of deceit and subterfuge.
Yet, to his surprise, her expression showed no sign of evasion. No sudden shift of her eyes, a slight flush to her cheeks or chest, or a twitch of her fingers. Instead of the reaction he’d expected of someone preparing to lie, he saw only confusion on her face. He might have written it off as the effects of the Blitz, but the cognitive assessment test he’d given her minutes earlier proved that the drug hadn’t addled her brain. The speed and efficacy of her attack banished any lingering doubts as to her mental capacity. Had she not been weakened by the Heavy Detox protocol, he’d have approached the situation differently. Even in her state, she was still capable enough to nearly get the drop on him.
But if she’s got all her memories, Nolan thought, why does she look so surprised and confused to see herself on the video? The question nagged at the back of Nolan’s mind.
His scrutiny of Bex revealed nothing more. The woman’s attention shifted between the gun in Nolan’s hand, Nolan himself, and the video footage. The stubborn defiance in her face and posture increased every time she tore her eyes from the screen, yet the bewilderment grew whenever she glanced at the video. There she was, caught on camera breaking into an IAF armory with her partner, yet it seemed she was seeing it for the first time.
“Talk,” Nolan growled. He leaned forward in his wheelchair, his pistol never wavering as he fixed Bex with a hard glare. “You served, so you know first-hand what those guns can do in the wrong hands. Why the bloody hell would you steal them from the IAF armory in the first place, and, worse, sell them on the streets?” His jaw muscles worked. “Thanks to you, sixteen innocent people are dead, and dozens more in the hospital. Wolfe and his White Sharks—”
“Wolfe!” The name certainly elicited a reaction from Bex. Her gaze darted toward the door and every muscle in her body tensed in anticipation of a fight. When the door remained closed and no threat appeared, her head snapped back to Nolan. “What do you mean, thanks to me?”
“White Sharks shot up the Spacer’s Paradise two days ago, then Wolfe and his goons came here looking for me.” Anger blazed in Nolan’s chest. “They were carrying Machnikov X-ARs, the guns you stole from that armory.” He jabbed a finger of his free hand at her, but his pistol never wavered. “You flooded the streets with those guns, and you got people killed!”
“No!” Bex’s shout echoed even louder than Nolan’s. She half-leaped to her feet, defiance and fury burning in her eyes, but the effects of the Blitz and the stun gauntlet left her weak. Her legs gave out and she collapsed back onto the couch, her muscles trembling. Yet there was nothing weak about the ferocity of her expression. “I didn’t break into any IAF armory or steal any weapons! Even if I had, you think I’d be stupid enough to sell them to bastards like Wolfe and his goons?” Outrage flashed in her eyes, as if Nolan had just spit in her face. “I wouldn’t trust those pricks with rusted spoons. I’ve been inside their operation and I’ve seen what they can do!”