Contents
Also by this author
Metal Angels
Copyright
Dedication
Kira - 1
Eron - 2
Tamas - 3
Kira - 4
Eron - 5
Blake - 6
Tamas - 7
Kira - 8
Blake - 9
Kira - 10
Kira - 11
Blake - 12
Eron - 13
Kira - 14
Blake - 15
Kira - 16
Tamas - 17
Blake - 18
Eron - 19
Kira - 20
Exclusive Sneak Peek!
What next?
Also by this author
YA Paranormal/Scifi - written as Danielle K Girl
ExtraOrdinary
ExtraLimital
ExtraImperial
Urban Fantasy
Metal Angels - Part One
Metal Angels - Part Two
Metal Angels - Part Three
Metal Angels - Part Four (Finale)
Metal angels
Part One
By
D K Girl
Metal Angels by Danielle K Girl
© 2018 by Danielle K Girl. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.
Cover Design: Jake Clark
Editor: Inspired Ink Editing
ISBN-13: 978-0-9981427-6-0
for Mikie.
You should be here.
Kira - 1
Kira raised her metal fist and sang her booze-soaked heart out to the ceiling. The music blaring in the pub downstairs made the whole room vibrate. She hit the high note. God damn nailed it.
‘Christ almighty.’ The guy beside her rolled his generous package away, and grunted out of bed. ‘You could kill small animals with that voice, K.’
‘I don’t pay you to talk, Liam.’ Kira tossed a pillow at his smirking, pudgy face, and the room spun. ‘Be gone. I’m done with your dimpled ass.’
She was up for a lot of things, but her rent-a-fuck seeing her puke wasn’t one of them, and any second now a bolt to the bathroom would be compulsory.
Liam pulled on his pants, gave her the finger, and launched that smile. Honey on warm toast. He may have a gut you could eat breakfast off, but damn, that grin. It made his grey eyes gleam, and wrenched ridiculously high tips from her blacker-than-black credit card.
‘Till next time.’ He stepped into the hall, the blast of music deafening before he pulled the door closed.
Kira sighed. Her nipples were on full alert under the touch of the breeze coming through the wide-open windows. She arched her back, sending her boobs skyward, but even that small movement made her gut twist. She jerked upright, swallowing hard.
‘Fuck. Nope, no way. Stay down. Sangria and whisky you need to be better friends.’ She reached for her underwear, slivers of sapphire-red material lying on the timber floor. Carefully, super carefully, she pulled the delicate g-string up over her thighs. Satin bra next. She’d learned a lesson early on about the metal prosthetic she called a right arm. It didn’t think much of Victoria’s Secrets. The ‘armadillo’—what Kira called the intricate folds of hard metal that moved with the smoothness of oil on skin— existed on a diet of lace and satin, always managing to catch threads between its layers and refusing to let go. The bastard thing had cost her a fortune in the beginning, but three years on Kira had it under control. Even at times like now, when her vision was blurry, and the room tilted and lurched like a motherfucker.
She stood up, defying gravity. Jeans on, zip done. A god-damn dressing genius. Shirt proved an issue. Whose fucking idea had it been to buy something with more holes than material? It took three tries to find the armholes; two of those attempts ending up with her flat on her back. Sangria and whisky held hands, waiting patiently at the base of her throat.
‘Jesus. Perry’s going to kill me.’
Nothing new there. It was pretty much his permanent state. And yet the crazy son of a bitch had agreed to partner with her in the Wheel and Barrow. She was supposed to be downstairs right now, behind the bar. She’d promised Perry she’d cover the midnight-till-three shift, but her promises were as empty as the fishtank in their musty back office. Thankfully, the guy was practically some kind of Sri Lankan saint. Never bitched at her when she ditched the whole damn town of Pryden on a whim and flew off to Greece, or somewhere equally stupidly beautiful, just because she was Kira Beckworth and she could. And his lips remained sealed on nights like this. When she drank too much of the stock and decided small talk with drunk-ass customers was overrated, and she had better people to do.
Liam didn’t cost top dollar for nothing; but damn, it made the room stink. She sniffed her armpits. Sweet Jesus, the room wasn’t the only thing. Kira focused on the door like a magnifying glass on an ant and found her way out into the hall, up the short flight of stairs to the fire exit, and out onto the rooftop. The night sky was velvet black, dotted with hundreds of diamonds, and the breeze coming in off the desert pushed goosebumps to attention across every centimetre of her skin.
Kira raised her arms to the view. ‘Fuck yes.’
The town of Pryden was a small blob of light in the wide expanse of curving, undulating sand hills that spread out forever around it. Somewhere off to the east, and hidden in the crux of a mountain range, was the Facility. And in that sterile, high-tech, boring-as-bat-shit place sat Kira’s sister, Blake.
The great and wondrous Blake Beckworth. The goddess of bioengineering. The reason anyone paid Kira two shits of attention. The gossip mags had fallen in love with the idea that nothing about Kira was real. That her grief-stricken genius sister Blake had created a masterpiece in her biotech nirvana after the accident: building an android version of her dead sis to dull the pain of her loss.
Yeah, right. The sisters both knew Kira wasn’t the one Blake would have resurrected if the aliens had actually said yes to using a shitload of their precious, funky metal to play ‘build a likeness.’ Dear old Dad
