Clan and Conviction (Clan Beginnings) (47 page)

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.

Still, the fire lessened, as if a lot less people were shooting.  Then there was a wild volley of it, coming closer.  Darkness abruptly streaked towards Krijero, bringing the terrible sound of shooting right to him.  Then the blasting stopped and Benor stood over him, the muzzle of his weapon pointed right at Krijero’s head.

Benor looked to Krijero’s right, where the stock shelving was and where Gelan had been hiding.  “I’ll kill him, you
gurlucks
!  Right now!”

All the firing had stopped, leaving a high, keening whine in Krijero’s ears.  He didn’t have long to think about it or the weapon aimed at his face, though.  Benor reached down and grabbed a handful of his hair to jerk him up to a sitting position.

Krijero screamed as broken bones ground together with the movement.  In that horrific thunder of pain, he didn’t even care that the blaster now touched right between his eyes.  He barely noticed Benor kneel on one knee, getting lower and using Krijero’s body as a shield. 

He did see the grin spreading over Benor’s lips.  A smirking, taunting smile that Krijero would have given anything to slap off.

Benor invited Gelan and Wynhod, “Come out.  Come out now or he’s dead!”

Krijero was afraid they would.  To his relief, Gelan answered, “If we come out he’s dead anyway.”

“Fine.  Say goodbye to his once-pretty face then.” 

Benor’s finger on the blaster’s button-trigger tensed.  Krijero waited for the end to come at last.

Gelan’s shout sent terror through his veins.  “All right!  I’m coming out.”

Krijero cried, “No, Gelan, don’t!  Don’t let him, Wynhod!”

Benor ignored him.  “Both of you, get out here where I can see you.  Now!”

Gelan and Wynhod emerged from opposite ends of the room, coming out from behind the shelves.  They stared at Benor with raw hatred, their blasters pointed at him.  Krijero thought if anyone looked at him like that, he’d give himself up for dead.  Benor wasn’t that smart.

The Frenzy mastermind snarled. “Drop your blasters.  Drop them!”  In his extreme state, Benor’s hand shook violently.  It would be easy for him to trigger the blaster simply by accident the way his fingers jerked and skittered over the piece.

Wynhod and Gelan looked at each other, sharing one of those moments of perfect nonverbal communication.  Krijero moaned, wanting to beg them not to do it but afraid Benor would choose to open fire on them just to torture him some more.

A sob escaped his throat when both men carefully laid their blasters on the ground.

Benor laughed and shook his head.  “I knew it.  I knew you’d do anything to save one of your own.  I told them, but they didn’t believe me.”

In contrast to the almost childlike merriment displayed by Benor, Gelan’s fangs were down, his pupils slitted in naked rage.  His words were nearly indecipherable through the growling texture of his voice.  “Let him go.  You can have me instead.”

Benor’s chuckles ceased and he looked Gelan over.  “You?  Yeah, you.  I do want you.  Dead.”

The moment Krijero dreaded arrived.  Benor’s blaster muzzle left where it pressed against the Imdiko’s forehead, moving up and around, on its way to sight on Gelan.  He was going to kill Krijero’s lover.  Maybe both of them.

Krijero shrieked.  At the same time he made his broken body move, fighting off the torrential pain of his injuries with the oncoming pain of his heart and soul.  He couldn’t even wiggle the crooked stems of his fingers, so he grabbed Benor’s blaster arm with his badly bent forearms, shoving it down.  He darted his head forward and used his fangs to bite into Benor’s wrist.

Benor screamed and jerked.  He let go of Krijero’s hair and punched him in the side of the head, dislodging the Imdiko’s desperate clutch.  As Krijero fell back towards the floor he saw the blurred bodies of Wynhod and Gelan streaking towards them and Benor’s shaking blaster turning once more to sight on his face.

The blaster went off and Krijero knew no more.

* * * *

Wynhod leapt an instant before the shot went off – a kill shot, one at pointblank range that could only have one result:  the disintegration of Krijero’s head.

The split-second realization that he’d gotten there too late was all that saved the Nobek from looking and seeing the horror that had befallen his Imdiko.  He collided with Benor, the man who had killed his lover, his lifemate, his Krijero.

The blaster spun from the murderer’s grip, leaving Benor no defense against the roaring Nobek that bore him down to the ground.  Wynhod smashed the body beneath his with pounding fists, feeling the bones break and smashing them again to reduce them to powder.  He tore at the flesh of his enemy with his fangs just as fury and grief tore at his heart.  Yet no matter how hard he hit, how deeply he bit, the relentless tattoo played in his head: 
Krijero’s dead, Krijero’s dead, Krijero’s dead…

He had failed his Imdiko.  He had let this piece of shit take the life of one of the men he loved.

Head Investigator Utta’s voice was far away and unimportant as Wynhod sought to turn the screaming creature beneath him into pieces.  “Enforcer, stand down!  You’re killing him!”

Yes.  Kill him.  Kill him as Krijero had been killed. 

Krijero was dead.  Not just dead.  This asshole had tortured him.  Shredding Benor was the least Wynhod could do at this point.

“Gelan, deal with your Nobek!”

“Let him kill the bastard!  If he doesn’t, I will!”

“You know I can’t let – damn it, take him down, men.”

An unknown voice said, “Sorry about this, Wynhod.”

Men attacked him, uniformed enforcers with grimly sympathetic expressions.  They fought him, driving him away from Benor with punches and kicks.  Wynhod raged against the impossible numbers, fighting to get back to the still body he hadn’t finished with, determined to not stop until nothing of Benor was left but small, unidentifiable scraps.

Gelan was suddenly there, yelling and shoving the enforcers aside.  “Fine, I’ll stop him!  Get off him.  Wynhod, Krijero’s alive.  He’s alive!”

The words pierced Wynhod’s blinding blood rage.  He grabbed Gelan by the collar, pulling him so close their noses bumped.  “He shot – the bastard shot him point blank—” 

“He missed.  He rushed the shot.  The damned thing went off right by Krijero’s head, knocked him out, but he’s still breathing.  I swear it, Wynhod.  He’s alive.”

Wynhod stared into his clanmate’s eyes.  Gelan wouldn’t tell him a lie, would he?  No, they weren’t capable of lying to each other.  Besides, if Krijero was dead, Gelan would be fighting to kill Benor too, not trying to make Wynhod stop.  So that could only mean—

Hardly daring to breathe, Wynhod staggered to one side, dragging Gelan with him.  Lurching to a place where he could see past the emergency techs crowded around the bent, twisted body of the Imdiko.  They were feeding an oxygen tube into his mouth and down his throat.

Krijero still had a mouth.  He still had a face and head.  It was all bloodied, bruised, and swollen beyond recognition, but everything was there.