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Dark Ice

Davin tried to clear his name, and wound up owing the most dangerous man in the solar system. And it’s time that debt was paid.

Davin’s mercenary crew, the Wild Nines, are being sent out to Neptune and humanity’s fringes to try and find a lost freighter, one carrying enough valuable material to clear Davin’s sizeable tab. Problem is, the Wild Nines aren’t the only ones interested in this treasure, and Davin might be late to a very deadly party.

Dark Ice is the second novel in The Wild Nines series, an action-packed space opera where humanity’s expansion through the solar system is driven by blood, sweat, and greed.

If you’re looking for a planet-spanning adventure with characters as willing to crack a joke as blast an enemy, pick up Dark Ice today and step into the story!

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Publisher: Black Key Books
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Mox set Opal down near the door. Checked again to make sure she was still breathing. Viola's little bot said the sniper hit her head when the shuttle cracked. Could have used her here. Fast, accurate trigger fingers were handy in situations like this one. But no time to wait, now.

Back at the elevator, Mox heard them cutting away the ruined floor. Chunks of tiling, broken up by the bomb, dropped away as someone armed with a las-cutter made a hole. One sidearm in each hand, both set for stunning. It used less energy than the killing shots, and with the time Mox had, it'd be almost as good. Besides, his fists could always end things later.

The first hand appeared, gripping the outer edge of the elevator. Gloved like a mechanic, thick and gripped. Probably the one with the las-cutter. Mox shifted out of view. Better to let them get fully out. Surprise the group before they could react.

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Softer noises now as at least another two clambered out of the hole, supporting themselves in the remains of the elevator. Mox tightened his grip. A quick one-two-three. Inhale. Go.

Stepped around the corner, the angle widening and bringing three hijackers into view. Each one sporting the same outfit, a thick working garb that looked ready to withstand temperature extremes. Full helmets with masks covering their faces, great to keep themselves safe from cold, wind. Mox pulled the triggers, the sidearms blasting blue-purple bolts into the bulky suits and doing nothing.

“Sorry, mate,” the lead one, holding a sidearm of his own, said. “No luck with those.”

Then he raised his sidearm and Mox saw a flash, then nothing.

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