Countdown to Clan and Conscience

            “I hope you’re pleased with yourself,” Ospar scowled. “You have nerve busting in and making me out to be a buffoon.”

            Jol’s fists clenched. Yet again, the fantasy of planting one of those fists—no, both—in Ospar’s mouth beckoned him. “You are a buffoon. And an idiot. If you want to die so much, I’ll consider it a privilege to throw you off the top of this mountain. All you have to do is ask.”

            Ospar snarled, “If I didn’t believe it would make you the happiest man alive, I’d fire you right now. I knew what I was doing.”

            “Walking into a zibger’s lair? Teasing the beast, trying to get yourself made a meal of? Yeah, that’s an intelligent move.”

            “I was in no danger,” Ospar snorted. “I alerted you to where I’d be in case there was trouble. Which, incidentally, there wasn’t.”

            “Because I showed up. Did you not notice the Nobeks standing on either side of Urt?” The hair on Jol’s neck stood up remembering the horribly scarred pair.

            The fool shrugged. “I notice everything. Hired muscle, the same as you. I figured out they belong to the syndicate. What of it?”

            Jol gritted his teeth and spoke slowly, hoping he’d bore it through the Dramok’s thick skull. “Those kinds of men are not the same as me. The so-called ‘hired muscle’ which works for the syndicate are professional killers, Ospar. The kind of men who make people disappear without a trace. Or leave their mangled bodies behind to remind everyone who is in charge here.”

            “You make it sound as if the syndicate runs the territory on actual muscle and not cowardly intimidation.”

            Jol drew a deep breath. Made himself count to ten. “Last year, twenty companies in Wenza lost their highest executives. Most died in supposed shuttle accidents. Two were killed when their homes mysteriously exploded. The other half dozen are missing, with no sign of their whereabouts. The one thing they were rumored to have in common was refusing to let Syodab take their companies over. Now that they’re gone, the syndicate has put puppet leaders in their places.”

            Ospar blinked. His angry look bled away.

            Jol kept going. “Syodab owns nearly every inch of Wenza Territory. All but small corners of it, like Itga Mining. They did not get where they are with empty threats. They do not hold onto what they have with empty threats. Now you’ve put a big bullseye on yourself, placing your uncles’ business in danger in the process. Syodab Syndicate won’t let your challenge go unanswered.”

            The Dramok stared at Jol. Was the truth finally dawning on him?

Releasing Friday

Fighting murderous enemies. Battling each other. It’s the perfect recipe for romance, Kalquorian-style.

On the surface, young Dramok Ospar has it all: money, prestige, power. Yet what he dreams of most is outside his grasp. His drive to prove himself has left him lonely, with no one to turn to…except the Nobek bodyguard who is decidedly unimpressed with his accomplishments. Oh, and there’s the matter of the local crime syndicate trying to kill him too.

Nobek Jol faces his worst security assignment ever: guarding the most irritating Dramok to draw breath. It’s not that Ospar isn’t handsome, intelligent, brave, and charitable. It’s just that he’d be so much better gagged into silence.

Temple of Life priest Imdiko Rivek wishes for inner peace and total enlightenment. He knows he won’t find it in the lethal world Ospar and Jol inhabit. However, fighting the allure of the pair to achieve perfect tranquility is proving to be more difficult than he could have imagined…plus the fact that their enemies think he’s the perfect target to bring Ospar and Jol to heel.