Destin's Hold (The Alliance #5)(72)

Twenty minutes later, Cutter guided the off-planet transport in the direction of the planetarium. Destin sat beside him. He removed all weapons except for the knife he kept in his boot, untied the black T-shirt from around the lower half of his face, and pulled the shirt back on over his dirt and blood streaked white one. He had discarded his jacket hours ago and had no idea where it was.

“Waxians are mercenaries. He would sooner cut your throat than negotiate with you,” Cutter was saying.

“I pretty much already figured that out,” Destin replied. “I’ve dealt with men like him before.”

Cutter shook his head. “They are ruthless, without compassion or caring for life – even their own if they discover there is no way out alive. To make the situation worse, Prymorus is a Waxian Warlord. They earn that position by killing their predecessor, which is no easy feat, believe me. Take into account what happened to Dagger and the situation on Dises V, and the likelihood of you and Sula surviving is very slim. There has to be a way to do this other than walking right up to him and giving yourself over.”

“Not one that doesn’t put Sula in more danger,” Destin said, shooting the other man a determined glare. “Her safety comes first.”

“Trig—” Cutter said, breaking off when Destin sharply turned to him and gave him a savage look.

“I,” Destin bit out in a slow, measured tone, “don’t give a flying fuck about what Trig, Razor, Ajaska, or some mystical message from the past or future says. Sula comes first. Do you understand?”

Cutter gave Destin a sharp nod in acknowledgement. Destin returned his focus on the scenery in front of him. They were approaching the planetarium. There was a grassy knoll where Cutter could land the shuttle. Destin saw a small medical transport in what used to be the parking lot.

“I’ll come around and land facing south,” Cutter said, making a wide circle over the water before swinging back around and coming in for a landing.

Destin jerked when the communicator he was wearing pinged. He touched his ear, and nodded to Cutter when the other man tapped into the communication so he could hear what was being said.

“Exit the shuttle when you arrive. If anyone remains on board, I will relieve Councilor Ikera of a body part,” Prymorus instructed.

“I understand,” Destin replied in a terse tone. “Release her and I will go with you.”

“You will go with me regardless of whether I release her or not,” Prymorus responded, ending the transmission.

“They are generally not very talkative either,” Cutter muttered, shutting down the power to the shuttle. “You go first and I’ll follow you.”

Destin nodded. He didn’t say anything. There wasn’t a lot to say – Prymorus held all the cards at the moment. All they could do was hope that by some miracle the other man fucked up somehow. Swallowing down the bile that threatened to choke him, he unstrapped from his seat and rose. Walking through the shuttle, he glanced around at the strategically placed weapons he and Cutter had hidden. If there was a chance to escape and kill the bastard, he’d do it.

Drawing in a deep breath, he placed his hand on the release. The back platform slowly lowered. When the platform hit the ground, Destin strode down toward Prymorus, who standing about twenty meters from the platform with Sula held firmly in front of him.

Destin stopped almost ten meters from the other man and returned the male’s assessing gaze. His eyes narrowed when he saw a hint of fresh blood on Sula’s shoulder. She stared back at him, her heart in her eyes.

“Release her,” Destin said in a quiet voice.

Prymorus’ lips curve up in an ugly smile. “You are not the one giving orders, human,” he stated coolly. “Where is the pilot?”

Behind him, Destin could hear Cutter’s footsteps as he descended the platform. An oath escaped him when Prymorus raised his arm and fired. The impact of the laser hitting Cutter in the chest sent him flying off the side of the platform.

Sula turned in Prymorus’ grasp, brought her knee forcefully up into his groin, and tried to get the gun out of his grasp. The blow startled Prymorus, and he groaned in pain, but held onto the gun. Destin didn’t wait. Sprinting forward, he tackled Prymorus around the waist.

This time Prymorus released the gun when his hand was slammed against the concrete as the two hit the ground and rolled several times. Prymorus landed on top and Destin elbowed him in the mouth when the other man tried to hit him. The blow, combined with the pain he was still experiencing from Sula’s unexpected attack knocked Prymorus off him. Destin jumped to his feet and reached for the knife in his boot.

“Stop!” Sula ordered, holding the laser pistol at Prymorus.

Prymorus shot Sula a venomous glare and rolled to his knees. He breathed deeply, the sound hissing through the air, and spit out a mouthful of blood.

“This is just the beginning, human. The Drethulans and Waxians have joined forces. This will not end here,” Prymorus said, slowly pushing up off the ground.

“It will end here for you, though,” Destin quietly replied.

Prymorus laughed and ran his arm across his mouth, smearing the blood covering his split lip. Destin felt a chill run down his spine at the other man’s laughter. Prymorus glared back at him. The flat sheen of his eyes was eerie, his gaze gleaming with a hint of insanity.

Destin was about to take the weapon from Sula when he saw a flash out of the corner of his eye. Destin wrapped an arm around Sula and fell backwards just as a blast struck a small bush behind where Sula had been standing. Prymorus took advantage of the distraction and darted up the platform. Destin rolled onto his stomach and released the knife in his hand. Prymorus stumbled when the blade embedded in his right shoulder, and started to fall, but caught one of the supports on the platform and flung himself inside the shuttle.