The most fucked up part of that statement was that Krijero knew Benor believed every word he said.
Dexel still wouldn’t get out of his way. “You’ve used weapons, even if you yourself didn’t wield the blasters to kill those who oppose you. You’ve killed through your men. Not to mention Frenzy and Delir caused more crime-related deaths in the last dozen years than percussion blasters. The officers out there might try to distract you with negotiations, but they’re not letting you go. We need another plan to get the hell out of here.”
Benor’s tone was dismissive enough to be insulting. “Don’t tell me what they’ll do. We’ve got one of theirs.” He smirked at Krijero. “The righteous bastards can’t stand to see one of their own killed, unless it’s men on the take like yourself. Now get out of my way and do as you’re told.”
He angled his body to walk around Dexel. The Dramok investigator grabbed his arm. “I’m not sticking around for this. Not when you’re responsible for the deaths of thousands. Not when my association with you guarantees me an incredibly long and painful execution.” He looked to Panow, who stood nearby. The enforcer had been supporting his partner in the arguments with Benor. He knew the stakes too.
Dexel told Panow, “Let him sign his death warrant. We need to find a way out of here. If they catch us with him—”
The shoo-wup sound of a percussion blaster echoed through the large area. Dexel’s entire midsection disappeared in the point-blank shot. The man, now in two parts, dropped to the floor.
Panow didn’t even wait to register he was covered in the blood and pieces of his partner. He launched himself at Benor with a howl. However, the kingpin had already decided to take him out. The sound of the shot that had killed Dexel hadn’t yet died out when he shot Panow too.
Krijero closed his eyes against the horror. He didn’t care if the night ended with his death or not. He just wanted it to end.
Benor’s voice oozed self-righteousness. “Now I’m guilty of murder, you stupid fuck. They’ll probably give me an honorary escort out of the Empire simply for getting rid of you two.”
He told someone, “Bring them and the other one so these bastards can see I’m not playing games.”
Someone seized Krijero’s arm roughly and jerked him up. He shrieked as agony barreled through his body once more. That didn’t keep the Nobek who’d grabbed him from dragging him across the room to the desk in the corner where a com waited. Krijero was in so much pain he barely noticed he was being yanked through the bloody trails left by the lifeless bodies dragged in front of him.
* * * *
Empty corridor after empty corridor wound about the warehouse level until Gelan began to suspect he and Wynhod were walking in a circle. However, his Nobek was in the lead, holding a thermal indicator before him. He moved confidently, though he’d looked over the floor plan only once since they’d gotten inside. Wynhod made sure to check every room and open area they passed before signaling for them to continue on.
Wynhod neared yet another corner that went into another hallway. This time he froze. He backed up and motioned for them to retreat to the last room they’d passed.
This storage room was large and housed manufacturing machine parts from what Gelan could surmise of the goliath and somehow alien pieces. As soon as he and Wynhod had reached its dim environs, the Nobek took out his handheld and called up the level’s floor plan. He pointed out to Gelan where they were and the hallway he’d kept them from entering.
“Just around that corner I stopped at are two doors. Heat signatures from the temp scan shows there are two guards walking up and down the hall.”
Gelan said, “That must be where Benor is. Maybe Krijero too.”
Wynhod brought up another vid and nodded. “That’s where his com signal is coming from. He’s in there.”
“Okay. So how do we get to him? We’ll have to take the guards out somehow without anyone noticing.”
“Let’s see how far they patrol that corridor.”
The two men eased to the doorway where they could keep an eye on the corner where Wynhod had halted them. Endless seconds stretched past as they waited.
A trailing scream brought Gelan to full alert. Wynhod also tensed at the terrible sound. The cry resembled that of a trapped and tortured animal.
By the ancestors, don’t let that be Krijero. The level of pain registered in that agonized shriek was too much for him to bear thinking it might be his Imdiko. His blood ran cold.
“If it’s him, then at least he’s still alive,” Wynhod whispered.
Before Gelan could reply, the Nobek went very still. Alerted, Gelan responded in kind. An instant later, a dark figure appeared at the juncture in the hall. It paused, giving Gelan the idea the man peered in their direction. Then the guard turned away and disappeared back the way he’d come.
Wynhod brought the floor plan back up. “All right, this is good. There’s another hall at the opposite end of that space they’re guarding. The other guard is probably checking that one when he goes that way. I’m going to take this route to get over there.”
Another scream twisted its way to their hearing. Wynhod’s handheld shook minutely, but he kept on with his plan of attack.
He showed Gelan a circuitous path through hallways and connecting rooms that would get him to the opposite corridor. “I’ll let you know when I get there. On my signal, you’ll have to take the guard on this side with a blade. We must make this silent, so no one knows we’re coming. He’s carrying a blaster, so wait until he turns around and starts back before you strike. That will be your best chance to take him.”
“Got it.” A shriek raised the hair on the back of Gelan’s neck. He exchanged a look with Wynhod. “Make it fast, Nobek.”
His clanmate jerked a nod and took off. Gelan was left alone to listen to the continuing screams, coming faster and faster. Every sound of anguish stabbed his heart. He had no doubt it was Krijero, especially after the one scream that ended with the words, “Just tell him you won’t negotiate! Let him kill me now!” The voice, ragged with agony, sounded nothing like his Imdiko. Yet Gelan knew it was him.
The pain in Gelan’s chest at Krijero’s cry drove the air from his lungs. It was all he could do to not run in, his blaster firing at anything that moved. Seeing the guard reappear at the end of the hall only made things worse. It took every ounce of Gelan’s hard-won self control to not go after the man at that very moment. He needed to get to Krijero. He needed to stop the screams. Where the fuck was Wynhod? Why wasn’t he in place yet?
Someone will pay for this. I will fucking kill Benor myself. He will scream twice as hard as my Imdiko, I will double the damage to him, no, triple, they will all pay for this, anyone who has laid a hand on him, I will kill and kill and kill—
“I’m in position, Gelan. Get ready.”
At last, Wynhod’s voice sounded in his earpiece. Gelan drew a steadying breath and tried to blink away the red tinge that circled his vision. “Copy.”
He eased into the corridor, keying a temperature scanner into his handheld. From his current position, it extended only a yard beyond the corner, but that gave plenty of forewarning of the guard’s advance. It left Gelan the hellish matter of waiting some more.
Gelan concentrated on his breathing. They would only get one chance to do this right, to save Krijero and get revenge on those who were hurting him. The Dramok forced his hot rage to turn to cold intent. Just like that, clarity descended over his mind. He was ready.
His handheld flashed yellow and orange as the telltale sign of body heat entered the scan. He quickly put the portable computer away and pulled a blade from his belt. He melted back into the doorway and watched.
The dark figure of the guard came into view. Glanced down the corridor. Began his turn to return the way he’d come. With Krijero’s continued screams ringing in his ears, Gelan flew out of the doorway as fast as he could make his legs move.
The Nobek guard turned back towards him, his blaster already comi
ng up. Before he could sight on the investigator, Gelan crashed into him with a thud and grabbed a handful of hair, yanking the other man’s head back. He had an instant of seeing the Nobek’s fangs were out, that his blaster now turned towards him.
Gelan’s blade slashed hard and deep across the guard’s throat. The sudden thump told him they’d been falling all this time, his weight bearing his foe down to the floor.
A gout of warm blood sprayed across Gelan’s face and chest. He didn’t wait to see if the enemy had died. Instead, he turned his knife in his grip and stabbed down. His arm kept pumping, kept sheathing the knife in the body beneath his until another scream woke him from his battle frenzy.
He struggled for lucid thought, knowing he needed clarity to make something terrible stop happening. Krijero. That pulled him out of the haze and onto his feet.
A quick glance told him no one had been alerted to his struggle, nor that of Wynhod’s. The Nobek rose from the bloodied remains of the other guard, his blade dripping red. His burning gaze met Gelan’s, and they exchanged a nod.
Wynhod moved to the door on his side of the corridor. Gelan did the same on the other end. He peered in.
Shelving loaded with cases marked with the names of plasma rifle parts blocked most of his view of the room’s interior. However, he could see some movement through gaps in the stock. Someone yelled angrily about ‘not fucking around with this’. Beneath that were the desperate moans of someone in pain.
Wynhod’s whisper trickled in Gelan’s ear. “I don’t have a visual from here.”
Gelan told him, “I think they’re closer to my side.”
“All right, let’s ease in and see if we can get a look at what’s happening. Right now I’m thinking we’re going to come at them from either side, confuse them with our rush.”
“Copy.”
The word had barely left Gelan’s mouth before he crept into the storage room. He clutched the blaster, eager for the moment he could kill his Imdiko’s tormentors.
* * * *
Krijero sobbed through his screams and didn’t care. There was no dignity in what he’d been forced to endure anyway. He experienced the worst agony of his life.
Benor screamed too; screamed at the three negotiators beaming through the vid transmission. The smooth and controlled businessman had disappeared, replaced by a furious maniac who couldn’t believe he wasn’t immediately getting what he wanted. He shook the long, thick barrel of a plasma rifle in one hand as he shouted.
In the other hand, he held Krijero’s broken, limp body up by a fistful of hair, which slowly and painfully tore out as Benor jerked him about. “You saw what I did to the other two. You know I have no problem killing this one as well. Stop stalling and get me my shuttle!”
Benor had insisted on a specific space-worthy shuttle he owned, one that no doubt was untraceable like the raiders Kalquor’s space fleet employed. Not that Krijero gave a fuck. He just wanted the pain to stop. If he could have wrapped his broken fingers around a blaster, he’d have tried to lay hold of either Benor’s or his thugs’ weapons. He would have happily blown his own head off.
The negotiators continued to try and reason with Benor. To buy time in which they hoped to save Krijero’s life. He’d already begged them to stop, to let Benor kill him. They kept at it though, prolonging his descent into a hell no sane person could ever fathom.
One of the negotiators told the apoplectic Benor, “These things take time, Dramok. We’re trying to locate the shuttle now—”
Benor shrieked and shook Krijero some more, who screamed as his broken body jostled. “Locate it? Locate it? I told you where the fucking thing is! Put my brother on it and send it now!”
He used the barrel on Krijero, pounding him in a frenzy of rage. With both his arms broken now, the Imdiko could barely move them to protect his torso from the blows. He shrieked nonstop, though his cries were weaker than ever. His voice gave out, but that was the least of Krijero’s worries.
Krijero’s hair tore in Benor’s grasp, dumping him to the floor. His tormentor kicked him as his violent tantrum continued. Two snaps announced Krijero’s ribs giving way, and fresh, hot pain seared his chest. His screams abruptly changed to hacking coughs. Blood sprayed from his mouth.
The negotiators were shouting in the background.
“Stop beating him or there’s no deal!”
“Stop right now or we come in shooting!”
“Last warning, Benor!”
Benor gave Krijero a final kick, knocking the Imdiko over on his side so that he faced the endless lines of shelving. The shouting continued, with Benor’s voice added to the din. Krijero was now too out of it to make out what anyone said.
At long last unconsciousness stole over him, finally taking him away from this terrible place. He welcomed it, letting his still-good eyelid droop as the wisps of darkness traced over his sight.
Just before his eye could finish closing, a face appeared from behind the shelves he faced. A beloved face he’d never thought to see again.
Gelan?
Krijero forced his eye all the way open despite the surety that in his pain-fogged state, he’d only experienced a hallucination. It was no doubt a sweet dream for him to take into the blessed darkness where no one could hurt him anymore. But no. The face of the man remained, the man he would call his Dramok if only his stupid fears would get out of the way. Gelan was in the room. Right now.
Not a gentle, final hallucination. Not with that look of rabid fury on Gelan’s expression. He was really here.
The Dramok motioned to Krijero to stay down. As if the Imdiko had a choice. Both his legs were now broken, along with his arms. But he felt no relief to see his lover. He found no joy in knowing that if Gelan was here, then Wynhod was too. There was no pleasure in knowing they’d come to save him, not when it could cost them their lives.
If Krijero had to watch them die, he would not survive it. He couldn’t possibly. He wanted to yell at Gelan to run, to leave him here. However, that would most assuredly bring the Dramok and Nobek’s deaths.
Krijero could only stare pleadingly at Gelan, silently begging him to not get killed over such a worthless Imdiko.
Chapter 15
Gelan couldn’t tear his gaze away from the heaped body of the broken, bloody mess of the Imdiko he’d come to save. The one purple eye not swollen shut stared into his face, imploring him.
It was Wynhod’s mind Gelan could usually read with startling accuracy, not Krijero’s. Yet he knew exactly what that fear-filled expression meant. His Imdiko was asking him to leave him, to not take the chance on getting hurt. In the midst of all he’d endured, Krijero was more worried about him than his own assured death.
The Imdiko loved Gelan. In spite of all he’d done to avoid being clanned, Krijero loved him. The force of the realization came close to shattering Gelan.
However, the burning rage in Gelan swallowed most of his senses right now. His pulse throbbed in his head, chanting make them pay over and over. They would pay, the debt settled in blood. If Gelan had anything to say about it, not one of the eight men surrounding Krijero, including Benor, would stand trial for their crimes. Gelan intended to have the blood of every last one on his hands.
Wynhod’s voice in his ear was the sole thread of sanity Gelan tethered himself to, and his Nobek finally told him what he wanted to hear. “It’s time to do this. Pick off the man closest to you first, the one standing over Krijero. Concentrate on shooting as many of them as fast as you can, the ones nearest you first. Stay under cover.” When Gelan didn’t answer, a note of worry crept into Wynhod’s tone. “Gelan?”
His own voice was wooden. Unfeeling. Unforgiving. “I’m here. They all die, Wynhod.”
“Yes, they do. But remember, you can’t save our Imdiko if you’re dead yourself. Keep protected until they’re all down.”
“All right. I’m ready.”
He aimed his percussion blaster at the Nobek who guarded Krijero. The bastard stood over Gelan�
��s Imdiko, as if the poor man’s twisted arms and legs would drag his body anywhere. He tried not to notice Krijero still stared at him and had started shaking his head. Nor the tears streaming from Krijero’s one good eye and the way his shoulders jerked with moaning sobs. Gelan made himself concentrate on his target, the percussion blaster aimed dead center at the guard’s chest.
Wynhod’s signal whispered in his ear. “Now.”
The air filled with blaster fire.
* * * *
Gelan’s first shot took out the Nobek standing over Krijero. The man fell onto the Imdiko, sending bone-shattering pain through his tormented body. It felt as if jagged shards of glass exploded, ripping the psych to pieces from the inside. Howling with agony under the dead man’s weight, Krijero struggled to get out from under.
Blaster fire rang loud and continuous. Even with all the cacophony, the Imdiko heard Gelan yell, “Krijero, stay down!”
He didn’t heed the voice. The crushing weight of the Nobek on him ground those glass shards deep. It hurt even more to move, but he couldn’t lay still under such torture either. He had to escape and make the agony lessen.
Through more will than strength, Krijero finally wriggled free of the corpse to lie gasping on the floor while percussion blasts deafened him. He sprawled smack in the middle of the firefight, the air shivering overhead from the force of the shooting. His only defense was the paltry one of lying down. It didn’t matter. Death still sounded more of a reward than punishment at this point.
Claxons blared, adding to the din. Wynhod’s voice rang out through that and the eardrum-rattling shots. “The rest of the team has broken through the perimeter! They’re on their way!”
Gelan’s shout came next. “Benor, give yourself up now! It’s over!”
And the high-pitched scream of Benor, edging well into hysteria. “Kill them, damn you! Kill the bastards or we all die!”
Blasts continued, though far fewer. Krijero was blessedly unaware of much of anything besides pain and noise. He knew men were dying around him, but he saw only one of Benor’s men get shot, a gut blast that sent gruesome bits of flesh and huge gouts of blood flying through the air. It was like being trapped in a nightmare that refused to end.
Clan and Conviction (Clan Beginnings) Page 34