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  VORTEX

  Cyborg Force 3

  Cara Bristol

  Vortex (Cyborg Force 3)

  Copyright © October 2022 by Cara Bristol

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  eISBN: 978-1-947203-48-8

  Editor: Kate Richards

  Copy Editor: Nanette Sipe

  Cover Artist: Croco Designs

  Formatting by Wizards in Publishing

  Published in the United States of America

  Cara Bristol Website: http://carabristol.com

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Other Titles by Cara Bristol

  About Cara Bristol

  Acknowledgements

  Her dream job is becoming her worst nightmare.

  Attorney Tempest Waters jumps at the chance to make a difference in the galaxy by joining the president’s administration. But once inside the White House, she discovers the publicly personable politician is criminally corrupt and venal to the core. Unfortunately, Tempest has seen too much to be allowed to resign. When the menacing henchman Benjamin Bane begins dogging her every step, she fears she may be in serious trouble. With the excuse of checking on the president’s planetary interests, she escapes to dune-covered, sand-blasted Sajave—only to have Bane follow her.

  Not all cyborgs are good guys. Some are stone-cold killers.

  When Benjamin Bane undergoes the transformation to cyborg, he suffers a rare complication—the loss of his emotions. He’s unable to feel more than shallow sentiments. On the plus side, being dead inside makes his job as an enforcer doing the president’s dirty work a lot easier. But then he encounters Tempest Waters. Something about the unassuming but efficient presidential aide catches his eye. What begins as mild interest soon becomes an obsession as she reawakens his dormant passions and sweeps him into a vortex of emotion.

  But he can’t afford to feel anything. He’s been ordered to kill her.

  Vortex (Cyborg Force 3) is an enemies-to-lovers science fiction romance that will have you clinging to the edge of your seat. Get Vortex and hang on. Your steamy, suspenseful, action-packed ride is about to begin.

  “I can see clearly now the storm is gone. I can see all obstacles in my way. Gone are the dust clouds that had me blind. It’s gonna be a calm, calm Sajave day.”

  From “The Sajave Song” by Tempest Waters

  Chapter One

  Bane

  “I can’t trust her,” the president said.

  I had doubts about Tempest Waters, too, but until I had facts, I would hold my opinion. At the slightest nod of agreement from me, Tempest’s life would be irrevocably altered, and not for the better. The taking of a life equated to no insignificant matter. I remembered each and every person I’d killed. The fact they deserved it didn’t allow for a more peaceful sleep. Having a conscience could be damned inconvenient; most staffers checked their ethics at the door when they joined the Jodane administration.

  “She hasn’t done anything to indicate disloyalty,” I responded noncommittally. Actions spoke louder than words, unless you factored in gut instinct. The president and I shared an ability to read people. Intuitive hunches had saved my life many times. Hers had ended people’s lives.

  “She took off for Sajave without my approval. That’s not the behavior of an innocent person.”

  I highly doubted there were any innocents in her administration. “Would you have rejected her request to leave?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “The competing interests of the MORE Corp and SEW Solutions could clash in a financial and public relations disaster. As your corporate liaison, Tempest probably determined the matter required personal oversight. Only so much can be accomplished via vid-comm from millions of miles away.”

  Jodane and I convened via vid-comm from millions of miles away.

  She narrowed her eyes. “You’re awfully protective of her all of a sudden.”

  “I am protecting your interests. As long as she does the same, I will support her. But, if you wish, it’s not too late to reverse course and bring her back to Earth.” The spacecraft had gone through the wormhole, passed the halfway point, and would arrive on Sajave in the morning. Passengers and crew would be furious, but the captain wouldn’t dare disobey an order from the president.

  Jodane hesitated. Finally, she sighed. “No. Thus far, she has been…competent, and since I don’t have a ready replacement, I’ll allow her to assess the situation, but I expect you to become her conjoined twin. Don’t let her out of your sight. I don’t trust her, but I trust you, so, on your say-so, I’ll permit her to proceed. But, if she betrays me, it’s on you.”

  “I understand. That won’t be a problem.”

  Her wrinkles of disapproval relaxed. “You are one of the few I can trust.”

  “Because your gut tells you so?” More than curiosity prompted the question. I had a vested interest in the answer—my life. If I knew why she trusted me, I could better ensure she would continue to do so.

  “And because you’ve proven yourself.”

  Soon after joining the administration, I’d been asked to handle a little problem. Citizens for Open Government had begun raising questions, accusing the president of corruption. The “organization” amounted to a ragtag band of a half dozen malcontents led by a blustery noisemaker. The group offered no proof to support their claims, and the president’s propaganda machine—the adoring press—ignored them. COG’s claims received no coverage or airtime. Their social posts were censored and blocked. So, other than their existence being an irritation on principle, they’d been neutralized by a disinterested media. Like yappy little lapdogs, they were all bark and no threat. Jodane could have tuned out the insignificant yipping.

  Instead, she’d ordered me to stop the barking permanently.

  I recognized a test when I saw one.

  I passed. COG didn’t exist anymore, and neither did any of its members.

  “I don’t even trust my own daughter,” she said.

  I do rank high in her estimation then, I thought with derision. Only a fool would trust a stardust addict, and the president was neither a fool nor an indulgent parent. Sandra Jodane staggered in and out of rehab so often, insiders joked the drug treatment center had insta
lled a revolving door. Reportedly, she’d been clean for a while, but the press corps already had a pool, betting when she’d relapse again. Ironically, the news media never reported on the president’s daughter’s addiction.

  “Sandra has her uses,” I said.

  “Sometimes she does,” Jodane agreed.

  Nobody got rich off a government salary, even a presidential one, so public servants found creative ways to boost their incomes, often involving family members. Sandra brokered access to the president and then funneled the payola to her mother. Are you a foreign national or corporate lobbyist requesting an audience with the president? It’s going to cost you. The president could be bought, but not for cheap.

  Her gaze adopted a speculative gleam, and she circled back to her original concern. “Tempest must prove herself.”

  “You want her to kill somebody?” I arched my eyebrows as if it was a big joke.

  Nothing involving the president could be considered funny.

  Tempest Waters first entered Jodane’s orbit about twenty years ago when Junior Senator Jodane spoke to law student Tempest’s class. The ambitious politician had kept tabs on the young woman and her career, and, upon election to the highest office in the land, had recruited her. As canny as she was corrupt, she must have seen some trait in Tempest that led her to believe she’d be a good fit.

  No naïve idealist, Tempest by then had been an attorney of some repute and discernment. She had to have seen through the congenial public façade. She had to have had some inkling of who she would be working for.

  “Let her do her job. That will be proof enough,” I argued. “I’ll keep tabs on her. She won’t be able to take a shit without me knowing it.”

  Jodane scowled. “I don’t appreciate your language.”

  I almost laughed at the ludicrousness. She had uttered far less polite comments. She’d done much worse. “I apologize.”

  I had much bigger issues than the corporate liaison to deal with. Why should I care what happened to her? She was just a forty-two-year-old woman of average height with ordinary brown eyes and hair. Pretty enough but not a beauty. Likable but forgettable. I sometimes wondered if she’d been recruited because she blended in so well. Unfortunately for Tempest, she had attracted the president’s attention and not in a good way.

  While getting out of the administration proved more difficult than getting in, nobody, myself included, had been conscripted. Tempest had hooked up with Jodane voluntarily. Choices produced consequences. She now faced the consequences of her decisions.

  And if she hadn’t understood the threat at the start, she did now; obviously, it had spurred her flight. What I didn’t understand was what specifically had precipitated the run. Had she learned something she shouldn’t? Seen something she shouldn’t have?

  Whatever it was, it had made the president nervous, and I’d been ordered to keep tabs on her. I needed to find out why Tempest was running to Sajave—but first, I had to get her there before the president took drastic measures and ordered me to kill her.

  “I’m going to let you handle this matter, but I expect you to keep me apprised,” the president said.

  “Of course.”

  “I hope, for your sake, you’re right about her.”

  The connection severed.

  * * * *

  On the viewer, I zoomed in on the observation lounge, where, as expected, I found Tempest staring out the massive window. Stargazing never got old, no matter how many times you ventured into outer space, and, according to her dossier, this was her first spaceflight. But, from her furrowed expression, I wondered if she was enjoying the stars or plotting her next move. Or quarterbacking actions already taken?

  I closed out the screen and left my stateroom.

  Outside her cabin, I accessed my internal wireless and palmed the entry reader. A sizzle of electricity shot down my arm as I breached the security protocol and opened the door.

  The tiny economy cabin mirrored mine, containing a single bed—which fit her height but left my shins and feet dangling over the edge—a small desk beneath a wall-mounted monitor, and just enough space to squeeze around them both. There was no private bath; economy passengers shared a communal head. Members of the administration normally did not slum it, but our passage had been ticketed in the final hour, and all first-class accommodations had been taken.

  I pressed my hand to the wall to pop open the hidden wardrobe compartment. She hadn’t bothered to hang any clothing but had stowed her duffle bag inside. I’d already searched her luggage in the cargo bay. I tossed the duffle onto the bed and peeled it open, carefully rifling through the contents. A nightgown, a change of clothes, toiletries, underwear. Tempest dressed buttoned-up and buttoned-down, in dark neutrals, charcoal, navy, brown. Nothing flashy to attract attention.

  But underneath the professional armor? Cherry-red lace-and-satin bras, panties, camisoles.

  Lingerie as personal metaphor. You’d never guess the inside from the outside. How many other secrets did she harbor? How many had Jodane discovered? I’d spotted other enforcers following Tempest. I knew the signs, and they stuck out like marchers waving flags in a parade. Another reason for getting Tempest to Sajave—separate her from the others so I could do my job.

  Was it worth it, Tempest? You probably thought you would gain so much by working for the president. Are the doors the opportunity opened really the ones you wanted to enter?

  Prior to her unfortunate career choice, she’d worked in corporate law for a medium-ish firm. She hadn’t been famous or rich, but she’d won a few significant cases and had garnered some name recognition. She’d also done pro bono work for nonprofits and had volunteered at a pet shelter. Sang in a choir. People genuinely liked her. And then she threw it all away for tainted glory.

  We all had reasons for serving the president, but dammit, she never should have gotten involved. And I should not have started to care. Why did this have to happen to me now?

  I stared at the secretive lacy red underwear. I don’t know why of all people, good and bad, she would be the one to stir my emotions. And why now? I’d been dead for nearly twenty years.

  Cyber medicine specialists had labeled my condition cybernetic affect suppression, euphemistic psychological mumbo jumbo for I no longer give a fuck. The loss or dampening of emotion was a rare complication of becoming a cyborg. Unfortunately, it had happened to me. Following the transformation, the intensity of my emotions had waned until joy, love, sadness, anger, and fear had become mere memories. I’d lost a large measure of my humanity, and I couldn’t even get angry or sad about it.

  Not giving a fuck had served me well in a job requiring unpleasant tasks.

  Then I met Tempest. Pretty enough, but not beautiful. Smart, but not brilliant. Too straitlaced—

  (I hadn’t known about the lingerie then) to be sexy. And she disliked me. She didn’t overtly say so, but I’d caught the drift. Yet, she’d aroused my interest. Curiosity at first. Amusement. Vexation. Then concern for her as a person. She’d caused me to feel again, damn her.

  After ensuring her belongings were exactly as I’d found them, I returned the bag to the cabinet and smoothed the bedcover. One step put me in front of the desk where I picked up her comm device. She’d assumed it was safe to leave a password-protected handheld in her locked cabin. Somebody should have warned her to keep it on her person at all times.

  Activating my wireless again, it took two seconds to hack in and twenty seconds more to copy and download files on the device and upload the data to my brain for later review. An end user, not a programmer or digital forensics expert, she would never notice anything amiss, but I wiped all electronic traces of my presence and replaced the device on the desk in the exact position I’d found it.

  My ears detected the click of a door unlocking. Perfect timing.

  “What the hell are you doing in my cabin?” Tempest demanded.

  Chapter Two

  Tempest
>
  “Answer me! What are doing here?”

  “Waiting for you,” Jodane’s henchman said.

  “Get out! You have no right to be here!” My heart hammered so hard, I feared it might burst out of my chest like the alien in a century-old movie. Bane’s mere presence scared me; finding him in my cabin freaked me out. But I refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing he frightened me. “And how did you get into my locked cabin?” My stateroom had been secured with my palm print.

  He shrugged. “It opened for me.”

  I did a quick visual inventory. Nothing appeared out of place.

  Boldly, I met his gaze again. “How long have you been here?”

  “Not long.”

  I had to tilt my neck way back. The top of his head nearly grazed the ceiling, and his huge frame filled the small space. A woodsy aroma teased my nostrils, and I found myself automatically inhaling. His scent seemed so…anomalous. He smelled warm, masculine, human, and Bane was only one out of the three.

  More automaton than human, he wasn’t like other men or other cyborgs—he was the coldest person I’d ever encountered, emotionally and physically. In rare instances when we’d touched, I’d noticed his skin felt chilled, as if there was no warmth inside him at all.

  A man this cold-blooded wouldn’t have limits. There was probably no order the president could command that he wouldn’t follow.

  “Are you afraid of me?” he asked.

  “No,” I lied.

  “You should be.”

  He took a single step closer, which put him so near, my heart leaped into my throat. Could he see the pulse beating in my neck? God, I hoped not. “Why? Do you intend me harm?”

  “Not today.” Which implied I was safe now, but later I might not be.

  “So you lied when you vowed I could trust you.” Recently, Bane had told me that if I got into trouble, he could help me. I’d laughed in his face, recognizing the offer as a crock. No one working for Jodane could be trusted. Misdirection, omissions, bald-faced lies were standard operating procedures.