Free Defying Fate by S. M. Reine

Kavanagh’s.
    Traveling with Elise had been terrifying. Having her disappear without so much as a goodbye sucked, too. But realizing that he had lost the Kerry territory to an overlord was the worst part of all.
    After that, having a goat-fucking asshole like Gary Zettel steal his job was nothing. And getting convicted for treason? He couldn’t even work up a yawn for it. At least the food in the detention center had been good.
    Now he was handcuffed in the back of an armored SUV on his way to Italy. They were either going to acquit him, or kill him.
    After the trend of the last few years, Malcolm was not feeling optimistic.
    “I’m sick of NPR,” Malcolm called to the front seat. “Put something good on.”
    The driver ignored him.
    “Come on . How’s about a little Wolfmother? The Black Angels? You’re supposed to be transporting a prisoner, not torturing him.”
    “Deal with it. The airport’s only five minutes away,” Krista said. She was his guard for the trip, and she had no sense of humor.
    Malcolm sighed and slumped in the chair. “Then you think you could uncuff me? Having my wrists behind my back for such a long drive isn’t very comfortable.”
    Krista gave him a small smile. She had Scandinavian features, so her smiles were a lovely thing to behold. She could have been a supermodel if not for the palsy. The genetic lottery had played two cruel jokes on her—both the birth defect, and in making her a rare female kopis. It made the left side of her body weak, including the hand she currently had draped over a gun.
    But she had some of the nicest eyes that Malcolm had seen, which matched her very nice tits and ass. If he got executed in Italy, he would leave the Earth with one major regret: that he had never managed to talk Krista into a little one-on-one grappling time to get acquainted with that ass.
    “For the record, I think it’s a shame,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the driver.
    “What, the NPR? Right there with you, sister,” Malcolm said.
    She lowered her voice. “The Union needs more guys like you and fewer like Zettel. I hope they give you a fair trial in Italy. I want to see you back on the ground soon.”
    Malcolm grinned. The Union had confiscated his eye patch as contraband, so it probably wasn’t nearly as charming as her smile. “Why, Krista, I didn’t know you cared. It’s not too late for a quickie, you know.”
    She returned his grin with a lopsided smile of her own. “Not happening. I’m still carting your ass off to the plane. But don’t take it personally.”
    Ah, well. It had been worth a try.
    “No worries. You’re just doing your job.”
    Before his arrest, Krista had explained to Malcolm that she had enlisted with the Union for two reasons: because they paid for physical therapy, and because they had agreed to let her serve as a soldier despite the disability.
    Malcolm could dream of all the quickies he wanted, but there was no way she was going to put her job at risk when she loved it so much. Not for him, not for anyone.
    Total waste of a perfect ass.
    The SUV came to a stop and waited for the gates to open. Krista kept her gun trained on him the entire time, like he might try to escape. Malcolm couldn’t help but laugh at that. He was a drunkard, not a moron.
    They got clearance quickly enough, and moved inside. Malcolm leaned his forehead against the window to take in the sight of the last flight he would ever take.
    It was a small airplane, which was painted black with white lettering on the side, just like everything else the Union owned. The door was already open and waiting for him. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought the fuselage was shaped like a coffin.
    When the SUV stopped, he was surprised to see Gary Zettel open the door.
    Malcolm stepped onto the tarmac. Zettel was much shorter than him, and he had the personality of a disgruntled Chihuahua to go with the height. Malcolm briefly entertained the idea of dropkicking Zettel