Kept by Luna Voss
Chapter Eighteen
Barion
“I don’t know,” I growl, still in action mode. “They’re humans. Probably mercenaries. Keep close to me. There could be more of them.”
I lead her down the beach holding the plasma pistol I just picked up, ready to blast anything that looks remotely like a threat. My heart is pounding, brain scrambling to solve this new mystery. I don’t know why a bunch of humans would want me dead. But this was clearly a planned, coordinated attack.
My heart sinks. There’s only one explanation that makes sense.
“This must have something to do with Sarizor, right?” Melyta asks quietly as we make our way back to the resort. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
The conclusion is inescapable to me as well, as badly as I don’t want it to be true. I nod, my throat dry.
“So what do we do?”
“I… I don’t know. I don’t understand what’s happening. It doesn’t make sense to me why Sarizor would send humans to Zog like this. Usually in the Vostra, you want to off somebody, you make them think they’re your best friend until the very last moment. He didn’t need to send assassins. He could have invited me to dinner and then had someone shoot me in the back of the head while I was chewing.”
“Maybe this wasn’t official,” Melyta suggests. “He knows that you’re well-respected in the Family. What if he doesn’t want the Family to know that he had you killed?”
“That’s possible,” I admit. “That would help us if true. That would mean we could go back to Tarsheb 8, and he’d have to play nice publicly.”
“How does that help?”
“It gives us a chance to kill him. Before he kills us.”
She falls silent for a long moment after that.
“This is really happening, isn’t it?” Melyta says finally. “I know it’s been coming for a while, but… it’s really him versus us now, isn’t it?”
I nod grimly, my own conviction growing. “I think it was always going to be this way. But now we don’t have a choice. He just started it on his terms. We need to find a way to finish it on ours.”
I’m expecting to see fear on Melyta’s face when I turn to look at her, but I don’t. Instead, I see resolve. Conviction, just like mine. I’m filled with a rush of affection, of gratitude that my Fated Mate is her, and not anyone else. She can handle this. She’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.
“Look,” she whispers, pointing. From the beach, we can see the main building of the resort, climbing 20 floors high with our honeymoon suite at the very top.
The light in the honeymoon suite is on. And even from a distance, even through the frosted window, it’s impossible to miss the fact that there are people moving around inside.
“Fuck,” I grunt. “We need to get out of here.”
All of a sudden, I’m intensely glad that we stopped for dinner before our sunset walk. At least I’m carrying my communicator and my credit chip. Without that, we truly would be fucked.
Melyta and I head straight from the beach to the resort parking lot. I call a cab, and we wait for it nervously in the darkness, my hand resting on the grip of the plasma pistol in my belt the entire time. I keep it there even after the taxi shows up, and it’s not until we’re at least a mile away that I allow myself to drop my guard even a little.
At my request, the driver lets us off at some fleabag motel, not a fraction of the quality we’ve been enjoying up until this point. I use my communicator to check in digitally, and we’re able to go to our room without even talking to a person.
“Let’s get some sleep,” I say to my mate, curling up next to her on the shitty, uncomfortable bed. “We have a big day tomorrow.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Oh? Did you think of a plan?”
“Yes,” I tell her, nodding as I put the pieces together in my mind. “We’re going to have a little talk with our pilot buddy Frank, and see what he has to say about all this.”
“You really think Frank had something to do with this?” Melyta says to me the next morning. “He seemed so nice!”
I close my eyes for a moment. “I think that Frank is heavily tied to the human mob, and I’m not a big believer in coincidences. We got attacked by humans. Almost nobody else knew we were here. He’s involved in this somehow, and he’s the only lead we’ve got.”
“You don’t think… Korva wouldn’t…”
I shake my head firmly. “No. Korva is about the only person I trust in this world, other than you. He would never betray us. But that doesn’t mean Frank couldn’t betray him.”
Melyta nods, and her jaw sets. “We need to talk to Korva.”
“I sent a message out to him last night. Two days there, and two days back. That’s a minimum of four until we get his response.”
“You’d think after all this time, someone would figure out how to send a message faster than a spaceship.”
I almost smile. “Those pesky laws of physics.”
We both fall silent. The situation is too grim for cracking jokes to be enjoyable. The conflict that’s been brewing inside the Dultaz Family ever since Gurtion’s death isn’t something that’s happening in the background anymore, something we can avoid or push off for later. It’s real, and it’s now.
And if we don’t navigate it correctly, we’re both dead.
* * *
Melyta
“Thanks Frank, I really appreciate it,” says Barion into his communicator. “I’ll see you in 20 minutes.”
He hangs up.
“So we’re all set?” I ask him.
He nods, tucking the plasma pistol into his belt. “We’ll get him at the airstrip. Shouldn’t be too hard.”
We take a cab to the private airstrip, and I can’t deny that I’m nervous. This business of kidnapping Frank is necessary, but it scares me. This is the side of the Vostra life they focus on in the movies. Almost like that Rangasta World ride.
As our taxi pulls onto the highway, I notice Barion looking nervously out the window.
“What is it?” I ask. “Do you see something?”
“I don’t— it’s probably nothing,” he sighs, even though I can’t help but notice the way his hand is resting on the grip of his weapon.
But it isn’t nothing. A moment later, I see it, too: a pair of matching black hover cars following us closely as we get to speed.
“Do you think it’s—” I start to say, but break off as one of the cars gets dangerously close behind us, and the other slides into the lane to our left.
“I’m going to need you to floor it,” Barion says to our driver.
The driver turns around to look at him, head still bobbing to the music playing in the front seat. He’s not paying any attention to the two black cars. “What’s that? Sorry, I’m going as fast as I can. Can’t make traffic move any faster.”
He shakes his head as he turns back to the road, as if to say, tourists.
Barion’s hand produces the gun, and he waves it so the driver can see. “I’m not fucking asking. I need you to get us away from those two black cars. Now.”
The taxi driver’s eyes narrow and his face sets. “Listen, asshole, we both know you’re not going to shoot the person driving your car while you’re at speed on the fucking highway. Put that dumbass thing away. Can’t believe I’m fucking dealing with this shit.”
And that’s when the car to the left of us swerves, ramming us into the shoulder of the road.
“Fuck!” our driver screams, cranking the steering wheel and barely avoiding crashing into the cement barrier. “What the fuck is happening?”
“I told you, you need to get us away from those black cars!” Barion snarls, rolling down his window. “Whoever those guys are, they’re not playing.”
The crack of Barion’s plasma pistol rings out, and I wince as he fires out the window at our attackers. All around us, cars screech and honk their horns, disturbed by the suddenly violent commotion.
“They’re right behind us!” I scream as one of the cars comes up on our tail. “Look out!”
Our engine rattles and barks as the driver floors it, zooming forward in the shoulder of the road. The car behind us gains, and Barion shoots another volley of plasma at it, which splashes harmlessly off the front of the vehicle.
“Down!” he yells, pushing me lower in my seat and completely covering me with his body. A moment later more gunfire rings out, and I hear plasma slamming into the back of our taxi. The driver gasps, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
“Watch the car to our left,” says Barion, face illuminated as he fires out the window again. “He’s going to try to ram us into the barrier.”
Sure enough, the other car swerves again, producing a nasty crunch as it makes contact with ours. We scrape against the barrier as the driver struggles to maintain control.
“Fuck!” he screams from the front seat, sheer panic in his voice. “Fuck fuck fu—”
His voice is cut abruptly short as the passenger in the vehicle to our left opens fire, hitting him right in the face. He crumples forward with a disgusting sizzling sound, smoke trailing from his head.
“Fuck!” It’s Barion swearing now. He jams his arm through the divider between the front and back seats, barely managing to keep the steering wheel steady enough that we don’t end up in a spectacular crash.
Screeching against the cement barrier to our right, our taxi slows to a stop. The two black cars take positions in front of us and behind us, effectively pinning us in place.
“When I tell you to run, you run,” my mate hisses, giving me a meaningful look. “I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”
Barion clutches me, weapon at the ready, as the doors to the car in front of us swing open.
