Fated Blades
- Автор: Эндрюс Илона
- Серия: Kinsmen #3
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: Montlake
- ISBN: 9781662500435
- Жанр: Любовно-фантастические романы
Электронная книга - «Fated Blades». Краткое содержание книги:
At first glance, the planet Rada seems like a lush paradise. But the ruling families, all boasting genetically enhanced abilities, are in constant competition for power―and none more so than the Adlers and the Baenas. For generations, the powerful families have pushed and pulled each other in a dance for dominance.
Until a catastrophic betrayal from within changes everything.
Now, deadly, disciplined, and solitary leaders Ramona Adler and Matias Baena must put aside their enmity and work together in secret to prevent sinister forces from exploiting universe-altering technology. Expecting to suffer through their uneasy alliance, Ramona and Matias instead discover that they understand each other as no one in their families can―and that their combined skills may eclipse the risks of their forbidden alliance.
As the two warriors risk their lives to save their families, they must decide whether to resist or embrace the passion simmering between them. For now, the dance between their families continues―but just one misstep could spell the end of them both. (less)
Haider shook, bent forward, and held his hand out.
“I think he needs a moment,” Ramona told Matias. “I don’t think he’s involved.”
“I can see that, but I still need to hear it.”
Haider choked a little bit and kept laughing.
There was no point in standing. This would clearly take a while. Ramona walked over to an elegant couch and sat. Matias remained standing, looming over Haider like some dark shadow.
Finally, Haider straightened. “Worth it. Do you know how long it’s been since I laughed like that? It was an ugly desk, anyway.”
“I need an answer,” Matias demanded. His voice was cold enough to freeze the marrow in one’s bones.
“No,” Haider said. “I wasn’t involved in any shenanigans with your spouses. Let me open a window into my life. My company is on the verge of bankruptcy. I’m reduced to borrowing money from distant relatives I hate and swore to never talk to again. Our precious son, who is now four months old, somehow inherited the Tarim mutation, despite numerous assurances by the best genetic firm on the planet that nothing of the sort could ever happen. That means he could simply stop breathing at any moment until he clears his first year. My husband is the carrier. He blames himself, no matter how many times I explain that it’s patently absurd, and he obsessively watches our son every waking moment, and when he should be sleeping, he takes boosters to keep himself awake to watch him some more, because he doesn’t trust the best medical personnel our dwindling money can buy. In the past four months, I had to watch Damien, the calmest, most rational being I know, turn into a paranoid, anxious ghost. He doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t eat, he barely lets me take care of him. I worry about our baby. I worry about my husband. I worry about my five-year-old sister, whom I adopted after my parents passed, because she keeps asking us every five minutes if her nephew is going to die. I worry about keeping the food on our table and salvaging the legacy my family has built. The only time I get any peace is at work, here in my office, when my brain gives out, exhausted by my frantic efforts to keep us afloat, and I shut down into a blissful stupor, which the two of you so rudely interrupted with your unnecessary acrobatics. Have you forgotten how to place a call? Have you considered the painfully obvious method of having your people contact my people, so all of us could peacefully meet in a nice neutral setting? What is wrong with the two of you?”
The office went silent. She saw the signs of fatigue now, the bloodshot eyes, the slight sagging in the skin of the face, and the deeper lines. This was a man on the verge of collapse. Considering that, his response to her attack was doubly impressive.
“His wife is screwing my husband,” she told him. “They have the entirety of our seco research, and they’ve disappeared.”
Matias pivoted to her.
“He deserves an honest answer,” she told him.
“Well.” Haider took a deep breath, pulled his chair from behind his ruined desk, and sat in it. “I am sorry. I know nothing about this. They didn’t come to us, probably because they realize we can’t pay them. Not as much as they would need to make it worth your combined wrath, anyway.”
As she suspected.
“Even if they had approached us, we would pass,” Haider continued. “Davenport, Inc., has abandoned its seco initiative.”
What?
“Since when?” Matias asked.
“Since the beginning of the month. We can’t stabilize the field fluctuations. I can no longer justify throwing good money after bad. We simply can’t afford it.”
Wow. The shock must have shown on her face because Haider shrugged. “It is what it is. Have you been able to stabilize the field?”
“Yes,” they said at the same time.
“I hate you both.”
She still struggled with the enormity of the loss his company would take. “Walking away after all this time . . .”
“It’s not a complete wash,” Haider said. “We’ve stumbled on a significantly more efficient way to calibrate the Kelly-particle agitator to sustain a constant flow of energy. It has multiple industrial applications.”
He caught on to the expressions on their faces and leaned forward, his eyes suddenly bright. “The two of you haven’t figured it out.”
Neither of them answered.
“Ha! I have something you don’t! You are running out of money. You can’t afford to keep researching it indefinitely. You and you are going to pay me for that tech. All the money.” He leaned back in his chair, spread his arms wide, and howled at the ceiling. “I’m the smartest man in the world!”
Matias looked like he was considering cutting Haider’s head off out of sheer irritation.
“I’ll pit you against each other and make you bid for it,” Haider continued. “Or, better, I’ll want a percentage of each sale. I’ll own this planet.”
Matias rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked at her.
“Clearly, he’s gone crazy with power,” she told him.
Matias didn’t look amused. The word likely wasn’t in his vocabulary. “He’s gone crazy with something.”
“Call me crazy,” Haider told them. “Call me anything you want as long as you pay me.”
Ramona allowed herself a small smile. Licensing from the Davenports would cost her family a fortune, but somehow Haider’s joy was infectious.
“That’s a good plan,” Matias said. “However, unless we recover our files, nobody will be paying you anything.”
Haider sat up, suddenly serious. “That’s right. I just thought of something. About two months ago, we were approached for a complete buyout. They wanted everything, every bit of seco data and research, all of the prototypes, even the failed ones, and the offer came attached with a draconian noncompete. Not only wouldn’t we be able to ever work on seco applications, we couldn’t even utilize any of the side projects we developed as a result. This was ‘abandon the family business, take a lump sum, and retire’ money.”
An alarm went off in her head. “An off-worlder?” she asked.
Haider nodded.
Kinsmen families had spread far and wide through the galaxy. They had come into being because humanity needed a vanguard for its expansion. Their ancestors led the waves of settlers, establishing footholds on dangerous new worlds. Each planet had their own kinsmen culture, but for Rada kinsmen, family was everything. Money mattered less than growing and maintaining the family business, cultivating it, and passing it on to the next generation. Business anchored them to the province. It rooted them, and they grew from it like a tree. Their status, their life purpose, and their self-respect, all of it was wrapped up in family enterprise. No Rada kinsman would ever make that kind of offer to another kinsman. It was an insult, and they would know it would be automatically rejected.
“Do you know the identity of the buyer?” Matias asked.
“No,” Haider said. “And believe me, I tried to find out. The pitch came from a private shipping firm, but I’m positive it was only a cover.”
“Why?” she asked.
“There was a lot of arrogance. It was less an offer than an order, and when we declined, the reaction wasn’t positive. There was no haggling, no bargaining, no attempt to sweeten the deal. We were expected to take the offer on the table, no questions asked. That’s not the way experienced businessmen do deals.”
The Davenports had a deadly reputation. They didn’t actively seek conflict, but if attacked, they retaliated decisively, and they didn’t stop until the threat was neutralized. The way the buyer went about it all but guaranteed failure. The question was, Was it ignorance or arrogance? Perhaps the buyer wanted his offer to be rejected, although she couldn’t imagine why.
“I can tell you that their cover identities were bulletproof,” Haider continued. “Either they have an incredible counterfeiter, or their fake IDs are real.”