Destin's Hold Read online

  “I will hold you personally responsible if anything should happen,” Prymorus responded before dismissing the other man.

  He walked over to one of the buildings he chose for his headquarters. It was a far cry from his accommodations on Dises V or the other dozens of places he controlled for the Waxian regime on different worlds. While he had no need for a permanent residence, Prymorus learned to appreciate the luxuries his authority afforded him.

  Stepping through the crumbling door of the building, he glanced around the dim interior. His top lip pulled upward in distaste when he saw the condition of the ruined foyer. A long counter divided a section on the left side of the room. The top of the counter was covered in dust. One of the paintings hung at an odd angle. The painting that had once hung next to the first now lay broken behind the counter.

  The bottom floor of the building opened into a spacious area where numerous chairs, low tables, and long couches resided, eerie reminders of the once magnificent building where humans came to gather and rest. Large and small fake plants lay on their sides and were covered in dust. On the far right side, it appeared to have been some form of dining section.

  Prymorus walked over to the desk area. His sharp gaze settled on a door that separated the large open area from the section behind the counter. He tested the handle and discovered it was locked. He took a step back and kicked just above the handle. The loud sound of the door breaking echoed through the interior. He watched dispassionately as the door swung inward.

  He pushed it out of the way and walked behind the desk, noting the different items on the counter behind it. It reminded him of a resting facility on several of the Spaceports he had visited. Stepping over the debris, he walked around the back of the partition. Satisfaction coursed through him when he discovered a large room. It would work well as a temporary base.

  He turned when he heard footsteps in the other area. Drawing his laser pistol, he walked over and peered around the wall. Several men were bringing in equipment.

  “Install the communication systems in here,” Prymorus ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” the men replied, slightly out of breath.

  Prymorus watched the men unload several of the crates of equipment onto the counter. It would take them approximately an hour to clear the back area and set everything up. In the meantime, he would return to the freighter they had stolen and work from there.

  “General Achler, the Raftian has notified us that he can leave without being noticed,” Retris said, falling into step next to Prymorus as he strode across the road.

  “Make sure he comes alone and unarmed,” Prymorus instructed.

  “Yes, sir,” Retris replied.

  Prymorus’ lips tightened. “When he arrives, bring him to me,” he ordered.

  “Immediately, General,” Retris replied. He paused and turned to bark out a command to a warrior waiting for his instructions. “Tell the Raftian to meet at the chosen rendezvous point. I will bring him in from there.”

  Prymorus continued to the freighter. It was covered with a reflective fabric, making it virtually invisible from above. Bowing his head, he stepped under the cover and strode up the platform. Within minutes, he was settled in the small room he had appropriated to use for an office.

  He quickly accessed his console, bringing up the vidcom and the image feeds from his team leaders. He wanted confirmation of the deaths of the women and children at the Trivators’ residences, and then he wanted to broadcast the vidcoms to Razor, Hunter, and the Alliance Council. It would be a definitive message to the rest of the Council of what was to come.

  A cold fury pooled in his veins when he watched his men die instead of the helpless women and children they were sent to kill. He could not care less about the men; they were expendable. No, the fury came from the knowledge that not only did the men fail their mission, an act that would have gotten each one of them executed anyway, but Razor and Hunter had been on the Rathon when they should have been detained on Dises V. He wanted to know how they managed to escape.

  He zoomed in on each face, focusing first on the team attacking Lord Hunter’s residence. He paused, staring at the blazing eyes of the man with a long scar across one cheek – Lord Ajaska Ja Kel Coradon, the Kassisan Ambassador to the Alliance. The suspicion that Dakar, the Kassisan he dealt with on Dises V, was a traitor among the Drethulan ranks solidified into fact. Dakar must have helped them escape. He knew the inner workings of the transport systems on Dises V.

  Prymorus’ hand clenched in an effort to keep from putting his fist through the image on the screen. Releasing a long, deep breath, he continued the video and paused on the next useful image. Facial recognition stated this was Scout, the father of Razor and Hunter. Prymorus studied the older man’s face. With a swipe of his finger, he added the him to the file for termination. Before this was over, he would eliminate the families of each member of the Alliance Council, starting with the Trivators. They would fear him. They would damn well quake in their boots wondering what he would do next.

  The next image showed two additional Trivators. He immediately recognized both men – Hunter and Dagger. Dagger should have died in the fight rings. Cordus Kelman had used the Trivator for his own personal financial gain for years. It had been audacious, Prymorus would give him that, but in the end it had clearly been a mistake, one that resulted in Kelman’s death.

  He quickly ran through the man’s history. A sneer curled his lip when he discovered that the man was mated to a human female named Jordan. What infuriated him even more was the fact that Jordan was the sibling of Taylor, the young human female that escaped captivity on Dises V.

  “I will strike at your heart and rip it out, female, making sure that you feel the pain as I do it,” Prymorus murmured, sliding his fingers across an image of Jesse, Jordan, and Taylor Sampson. “Now, to find the weakness of Razor’s mate.”

  Prymorus brought up the next file. His lips tightened when he saw Razor’s cold face. He followed each move in slow motion, pausing when he saw the blurred image of another man come into view. Zooming in on the screen, he captured the image and tapped to process the facial recognition. Frustration burned through him when it came up negative. Continuing the feed, he paused it again when the familiar coloring of an Usoleum moved into view.

  “Well, well, well, another member of the Council has joined the fight,” Prymorus murmured, studying the female’s face. The facial recognition immediately identified her. “Princess Jersula Ikera, a member of the royal house and Councilor Select for Earth.”

  “General Achler,” Retris’ voice murmured behind him. “The Raftian has arrived.”

  Prymorus started to close the image on his screen, then paused. The Raftian might know where Princess Ikera was at the moment. Rising out of his seat, he nodded to Retris. He folded his hands behind his back, pulling the sharp blade from the sheath he had attached at his waist.

  The Raftian entered and warily stood near the entrance. The small reptilian creature’s tongue swept out and nervously ran over his lips. The male was dressed in a long dark green tunic, baggy black trousers and short black boots. His clothing was covered with building dust. Pinned to his chest was a badge showing he was a maintenance worker.

  “Identify yourself,” Prymorus demanded.

  “I am called Cartis. I do maintenance, and work as a Level Three builder.” the male replied in a deep, rough voice.

  “Did the Jawtaw tell you who I am?” Prymorus asked, gazing at the other alien male.

  “Yes,” Cartis replied with a bow of his head in acknowledgement before falling silent.

  Prymorus walked around his desk and over to the other male. Lifting his hand, he used the tip of his knife to tilt the Raftian’s head back. He glanced under Cartis’ chin. A small, intricate tattoo was visible in the dim lighting of the cabin.

  Prymorus pulled the knife away, drawing a thin cut under the reptilian’s chin. The tattoo was a mark showing the Raftian had spent time in a Tartarus prison colony.


  “How did you escape the prison colony?” Prymorus asked suspiciously.

  “There was a prison break ten revolutions of Tartarus sun ago. You’ll find it documented in file E48231. I was in Cell Level 59. A Drethulan named Drex was in the cell next to me. After we escaped, he hired me to kidnap fighters for his fight rings. We both eventually ended up on Bruttus, a spaceport located in the Tressalon galaxy, and he took over a fight arena called The Hole after killing the previous owner,” Cartis replied.

  “What happened to Drex?” Prymorus asked dispassionately.

  “He was killed by the Trivators. Drex risked everything to host one of Cordus Kelman’s fighters, a Trivator, then capture Chancellor Razor. The fight ring was shut down and Bruttus is now under the control of the Alliance Council,” Cartis replied, pulling a dirty cloth out of his pocket and holding it under his chin to stop the bleeding.

  “How did you get here?” Prymorus inquired.

  “Bruttus was crawling with Trivators after that, but before I left, I saw an unusual female, a human, one that I didn’t have a chance in hell of taking with me, but I knew there’d be a high demand to own one. I bartered for transportation off the spaceport. I eventually ran into Omini. He knew of a group running a slave ring that had purchased a large group of human females. We went to find out where they came from, but arrived too late. The females were delivered to an Armatrux trading asteroid to house until they could be sold. Two Trivators discovered the females, killed the guards, and returned them here. There are big credits to be had…. Omini said he ran weapons with you when he was younger and that you might overthrow the Armatrux.”

  “My interest is larger than the trafficking of a few human females,” Prymorus stated with a wave of his hand. “If you are shipping slaves off the planet, you must have some knowledge of the Trivator security and personnel.”

  “I know there are not as many as there were. A Trivator named Cutter has taken command of the forces here. I was told Chancellor Razor eliminated the last of the large scale human resistance. While small pockets still exist, the Trivators are monitoring them and are working with the human leaders to contain it,” Cartis said, with a wary expression.

  “I am aware of the events you speak of. I want specific information about the security of their base camps, and what is happening within them,” Prymorus demanded, twirling the knife he was holding between his fingers.

  Cartis eyed the knife before jerking his gaze back to Prymorus’ face. “I saw an arrival today at the city’s main headquarters. I heard their leader had returned from the Trivator home world. I can gather the other information you are requesting. One of my assignments is in the Trivator base, down near the lake,” Cartis muttered, nervously licking his lips again. “I also overheard that a Waxian ship was destroyed near one of the outer planets.”

  “I am aware of the Waxian warship’s destruction. What can you tell me about the human leader?” Prymorus demanded with a wave of his hand.

  “I heard his name is Destin Parks and that his sibling is the mate of Chancellor Razor. He arrived with the new Usoleum Councilor and another Trivator a few hours ago,” Cartis informed, blinking nervously.

  Prymorus took a step closer to the Raftian. He assessed the male for several long seconds. The male could prove useful – as would the Jawtaw. The Waxians and Armatrux had a tense working arrangement. He would not contact them until he was ready to make a move. “You will work for me now. I want information on the Trivators movements. I also want information on Destin Parks and the Usoleum Council woman,” he instructed briskly.

  “I…,” Cartis started to argue before reluctantly nodding his head. “I will find out whatever information you request.”

  “Make sure you do, Raftian. Keep our meetings private if you value your life,” Prymorus warned.

  “What about Omini? Will he be informed about what is going on?” Cartis asked.

  “I will deal with the Jawtaw. You will bring a detailed report to me of the Trivator movements in this area, but more importantly, I want the location and movements of Destin Parks.”

  “It will take me a few days to do it without raising suspicion,” Cartis warned. “The last thing I want is for the Trivators to discover the shipment of females scheduled for departure at the end of the month. Omini wouldn’t like it if we lost that many credits.”

  “I will give you three revolutions of the planet to get me the information. If you do not have it, I will find someone who can,” Prymorus stated in a cold tone that left no doubt in Cartis’ mind as to what would happen to him if he failed. “Go and report back in three Earth days.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cartis replied, backing out of the room before turning and hurrying through the freighter.

  Prymorus stood still, deep in thought. The Armatrux could be a problem, but they would scatter the moment the Drethulans arrived. The Armatrux could fight, but their numbers were decimated centuries before when they tried to take over the Drethulan home world, unaware of what lay beneath the sands. Still, they may prove to be a good distraction when the Drethulans arrived. Until then, he would begin preparations for an internal attack.

  “Slice through the artery and watch them bleed before removing their head,” Prymorus murmured, returning to his seat and the neglected vidcom screen. He sat back in the chair, gazing thoughtfully at the image. “Councilor Ikera and Destin Parks will be a good beginning.”

  14

  Destin leaned back against the lift and ignored Trig. He had not felt this relaxed – ever. His body was still humming from the experience a short time ago and he could not quite hide the pleased smile that curved his lips.

  It had been a long time since he completely let go of the strict control he kept over his mind and body. He wasn’t exactly sure what the hell just happened upstairs between him and Sula, but whatever it was, he wanted more. He felt a connection to her that went beyond what they shared on board the Star Raider. The wild abandon, with an almost primitive explosion of need, had excited him with a vision of what the future could hold.

  “You smell like you had a good time,” Trig muttered with a sigh.

  “Keep your damn nose out of my business,” Destin retorted dryly.

  “That’s a little hard to do when you have a sense of smell like we do,” Trig replied, glancing at Destin with a pained expression. “We are also in an enclosed space and I have to tell you it has been a long time since I’ve been with a female, so you ‘rubbing it in my face’, as Jordan would say, isn’t helping matters.”

  “Breathe through your mouth,” Destin suggested, straightening when the lift slowed to a stop.

  “Great, then I get to taste it as well as smell it,” Trig muttered under his breath. “That doesn’t help, Destin.”

  If he wasn’t feeling so good, he might have been annoyed. At the moment, though, he was feeling good and he wasn’t going to allow some sex-deprived Trivator to get under his skin. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more the image of the fierce alien having a set of blue-balls, if they had them, amused him.

  “You don’t know what you are missing, Trig,” Destin replied with a deep, satisfied sigh.

  “Something tells me you are going to enjoy rubbing in that fact,” Trig muttered, following Destin when he pushed open the door to the office three floors below his apartment.

  “If it drives you nuts – yep!” Destin chuckled before he grew serious when he saw the group waiting for them.

  “They don’t look too happy to see you,” Trig murmured under his breath.

  “I’m sure you being here isn’t helping,” Destin replied before stepping forward with a serious expression. “Let’s go to the conference room – assuming there is one – and deal with your concerns.”

  “Is the alien coming, too?” Jason asked with a hint of a sneer in his voice.

  “What’s with the alien glued to your ass, Destin? Since when have they been privy to our meetings?” Richard asked with a frown.

  “Yeah, y
ou never let that other one interfere with what we were doing,” Troy added, shifting uncomfortably when he glanced between Destin and Trig.

  Destin studied each face intently, trying to determine which one of them might support him. Out of the seven men standing in front of him, none of them looked like they were on the fence about this particular issue.

  “Come on, guys. Get your panties out of the crack of your ass. I thought only women wore them that way. It’s good to see you back, Destin,” a cheerful voice commented from behind Tim. “Move your ass, Tim, before I put my foot up it as well.”

  “You’d better watch your mouth, Beth, or I’ll be telling Mary on you,” Mike warned, half-serious, half-joking.

  “If you do, you’d better plan to never sleep again, Mikey,” Beth laughed, squeezing past Tim and walking up to Destin. She stared at him for a moment before she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. “Grandma said to give you a hug when you got back,” she whispered near his ear before releasing him and stepping back. “How’s Kali doing?”

  Destin smiled at Beth Clark’s glowing face. She had filled out over the last few months. He had known Beth since she came home from the hospital twenty years ago. She was the granddaughter of Mary, one of his most staunch supporters. Mary and Beth had lived in the apartment beneath them. A few months after the Trivators appeared they came out of hiding and found him and Kali.

  “She’s doing great. She wanted me to tell you and Mary hello. I’ll show you some pictures of her and Ami later,” Destin replied.

  Beth shoved her hands into the back pockets of her faded jeans. The movement pulled her pink T-shirt tight across her breasts. She gazed with amusement at the alien standing next to Destin when he smothered what sounded like a muted grunt or groan. Tilting her head to the side, her dark brown eyes twinkling with mischief. The long rows of tiny black braids fell to the side.

  “Hi, I’m Bethany Clark, but everyone calls me Beth,” Beth said, sticking her hand out.