QSFer S.M. Stiles has a new queer cyberpunk book out (bi, gay): The Heart of the Syndicate.
Synclare “Sync” Thornwryght is just one of the Twenty-One crime syndicate heirs. He’s the weakest, the angriest, and the one most likely to fade into obscurity because no one knows what he really wants in life-and he really doesn’t care. Maybe no one would burn him with cigarettes there.
After rumors spread that not all the Twenty-One were of the same paternal bloodline, DNA tests provoked a new disappointing reality. Sync becomes the One-the only actual living heir to the Thornwryght throne. Sync’s father commands his personal bodyguard/driver, Tacyturn, to protect Sync from assassination-his last unfortunate hope to keep the crime syndicate in the family.
Before Sync can dare to show his face back home, he must prove himself worthy of the throne by surviving the manhunt led by his ex-siblings.
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Excerpt
Just as the enemy car was downed, they were now in the city again.
“Coffee?” Tacyturn asked as if nothing exciting had just happened. Sync was about to object to getting himself a treat when he was the cause of all the chaos, but saw that they were already at a drive-thru coffee shop.
A barista emerged with an ube macchiato. She hesitated when she realized something was off.
Cautiously approaching, she stared and slowly processed what she was seeing—the driver with a noosed young man on his lap holding his bleeding neck, both coated in broken glass, dirt and leaves.
Just before she spoke, Bandit peeked her head out from between them and loudly meowed. The barista jumped and Tacyturn caught the drink as she dropped it.
“Nursewryght,” Tacyturn tersely said as he held onto Sync’s coffee with an arm dangling from the window.
Recognizing the word, the barista quickly nodded and disappeared. Tacyturn pulled the car up to the back of the small building and an older woman emerged with a medical bag. The driver opened the car door, letting debris fall out onto the street. The woman sighed seeing his bleeding leg and neck. She wanted to speak, but knew better.
Once Sync was freed from holding his neck, he slid into the passenger seat and Tacyturn handed him his coffee drink without looking at him. Bandit stretched and jumped into the back seat, needing some space.
The woman quickly patched Tacyturn up like she had done it many times before. She handed Tacyturn the bullet from his leg, then she went right back to work in the coffee shop, leaving a wet cloth hanging on the car door before she left.
“Are you okay?” Sync asked him when they were alone again.
The driver nodded whilst handing the cloth to Sync and tossing the bullet into his cup holder.
The young man cleaned the blood off of his hand and attempted to soak blood out of his leggings, but decided he would just toss them later. He handed the cloth back and Tacyturn then cleaned his own hands and the steering wheel. He then tossed the cloth into the nearby dumpster and drove off.
Sync quietly stewed in his anxiety as he went through everything that had just happened.
Author Bio
S.M. Stiles is a fantasizer who spends way too much time thinking about worlds and beings who don’t exist-and then inevitably became a writer so that they could exist in the form of stories. Stiles dabbles in drawing beings into existence, as well. Outside of a spirited imagination, Stiles lives a down-to-Earth life in the Palouse with three sons, three cats, and one husband.