Space Mercenary Novels & Stories

The last time we sat this close, I was still calling her "Cassie" "Ms. Price," I said. "Are you aware of the position you're applying for?" The role in question was secretary to the general manager at Thompson Group's branch office—the former Price Corporation. Cassandra was still unable to control her emotions well. At my deliberate provocation, her eyes instantly welled up. I thought she would burst out crying within three seconds. Still, Cassandra was silent for two full minutes. She didn't cry at all. "Of course I do," she replied. "No one understands this company better than I do. You should be well aware of that, Mr. Thompson."

Aria replied peacefully, "Old friend. Or old threat, depending on the day. He's called Azim. Killian brought him along for support." Killian turned around when he spotted her, beckoning her over. "Elena, Azim," he said. "Ex-arms merchant. Present-day mercenary with a conscience." Azim grinned, offering his hand. "The infamous Elena. I've heard stories." "Only the bad ones, I hope." "All the juicy ones." Killian went straight to the point. "We require a ghost team. Silent entries. No civilian blowback." Azim nodded. "I can offer you four men. Top quality. But it will cost you."

From the back, a sharp shriek cut through the air. "Hold on!" I roared, jerking the wheel to avoid a secondary pit maneuver. I drifted the sedan across three lanes of traffic, blowing through a solid red light. Horns blared; tires screeched as civilian vehicles swerved to avoid us. The mercenaries didn't even tap their brakes—they tore straight through the intersection after me, completely indifferent to civilian casualties. These weren't standard mob soldiers. They were lethal assets executing a high-value contract.

“I swear I’ll have the money by next Friday. I have a new gig lined up—” She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow and slowly lowered herself onto the wide leather couch, crossing her long legs. The silk robe parted just enough to reveal a smooth thigh. She didn’t speak for a long moment, letting the silence crush me. When she finally did, her voice was low, smooth, and terrifyingly composed. “Alex Mercer. Twenty-one years old. Computer science student. Broke, irresponsible, and apparently under the impression that I run a charity.” She tilted her head slightly. “I don’t.”

I ask, looking at the four others in the room. “Mehira and Jael are my most trusted warriors. My son would never go against me, unlike your father, and his mate would never go against him. Even if she started to say something she shouldn’t, Reyes would be able to deter her,” he says, smiling at Marlene to take the sting out of his words. “I know I’m only human, but I know how to keep a secret. I just don’t understand why she’s a secret,” Marlene says, shrugging. “She’s family, right?”

Then, a person covered head to toe in grime climbed out, hastily crying, "Hey, wait! This is all a misunderstanding! Don't attack, okay? I'm coming out right now!" After wiping the dirt off his face, Andrew finally saw him clearly. He was a skinny man with torn combat gear, and blood was still seeping from his shoulder. His appearance was shifty, and his eyes kept darting over Andrew. "You're a wasteland mercenary?" Andrew saw through him and asked directly. The man immediately forced a dry laugh. "Sir, you have sharp eyes. Yes, I am Jeremy Kramer from the Lone Wolf Mercenary Group." Andrew asked again, "Since you are a mercenary, why were you hiding in a grave? Were you looking for corpses

Like he punched a hole in a roll of paper. “They’re down there,” he hisses. I crouch and peek through the window to where he’s pointing. Three Silver Hunters walk through the courtyard. The Hunters are clad in black armor, their heads covered with hoods. Their mouths are hidden behind masks, and their eyes are hidden behind dark visors. Their boots crunch on the grass, and their voices are low but contain a sense of urgency. “Can you hear what they’re saying?” I whisper. Alec growls low in his throat. “They’re talking about how well this has worked out. That the… invitation was a great idea.”

The intense urge to catch her was strong but he couldn't do that at the sacrifice of his men. "YOU MOTHERF*CKERS! GREET YOUR FATHER," Hunter snarled, charging at them. Both of his claws extended out as he slashed one of the men. Instead of tossing his body away, he ripped his insides out as blood spurts on his face but he was smiling. The looks on the faces of his enemies were magnificent. They looked terrified. Hunter's men shifted into their wolf form as they lunged at the enemies. Including Hunter, there were only four of them while the enemies were nine in number.

Tonight, blood debts demanded alliance. The SUVs rolled to a stop, engines grumbling low like caged beasts. Doors opened. Men stepped out—mercenaries, pale-eyed, movements deliberate, weapons slung low but not forgotten. They carried themselves with the quiet of wolves who’d killed too many times to need to posture. Then Marek emerged.

Lillian noticed Darryl looked puzzled and she explained softly, "Darren, this is Harris Yammer from the Thunder Mercenary Team. The Thunder Mercenary Team is the largest mercenary group in The Nine Continents and they have great influence." Darryl nodded silently, his eyes fixed on Harris. ‘He’s a Level Five Martial Emperor. He’s quite powerful,’ he thought. Harris looked around and said, "Everyone! You know the purpose of this tournament. Yellow Sky Trading has monopolized the trade of all inner cores and treasures in every black market and trading market. The inner cores and treasures that we risk our lives and work hard to collect must be sold through Yellow Sky Trading.