Kyele twisted Gordo’s arm until the Marenian dropped his laser. His expression murderous, he shoved Gordo to the ground and placed his knee on his back. “One reason, Torkel. One reason why I shouldn’t.”
“We need to question him.” Torkel remained calm in the face of Kyele’s boiling fury. “Also because we need to get Vee back to the transport for medical attention.”
Kyele snarled and yanked Gordo to his feet. Bane rushed to Vee’s side. Jaron had him sitting up. The wound was a deep laser burn across the back of his left thigh. Not terrible considering the scope of the wound. The true danger was Vee’s Serpine nature. It made treating any injury risky because of his resistance to standard drugs and medications. At least the pressure bandage Jaron had slapped on should help.
“On your feet, my friend,” Bane coaxed, helping Vee to stand.
Vee grimaced. “This feels oddly enough as if we’ve been through this before.”
Bane fought the inappropriate urge to chuckle. Torkel went to stand next to Gordo and pulled out his plasti-cuffs. “Do the honors for our guest, Kyele.”
The Marenian snarled but didn’t resist as Kyele placed the restraints on him.
“Who’s she?” Torkel asked, his gaze going to Mischka.
“Coming with us,” Jaron countered, eyeing Bane as if he’d protest.
While Bane never wanted to see her again, he knew she could provide valuable intel regarding Lothar. He inclined his head toward Jaron. “Does anyone have another set of plasti-cuffs? I didn’t pack any in my bag.”
It took everything in him not to react to Dharm—no, Mischka’s gasp.
“Gladly.” Jaron unclipped his cuffs and tossed them at Bane.
***
More time.
Mischka licked her dry lips and wished she’d had more time to tell Bane the truth. As he drew near with the set of restraints, his expression was implacable. Swallowing back her remorse, she thrust her arms forward. Pride had her straightening her back.
He didn’t know her. Didn’t really want to know her or he would have given her a chance to explain. She hadn’t begged when Lothar abused her and wouldn’t now.
Bane clamped the cuff on her first wrist without meeting her gaze. When he lifted her second hand, he paused and his grip tightened. She glanced down. The webbed bracelet he’d made for her a few short hours ago dangled from her wrist like the cruelest taunt.
At the time, she’d considered it a...sweet sentimental gesture. As she’d worked through her shift, covering her patient load and Caris’, her fingers had rubbed the threads. She’d found the keepsake reassuring and was a perfect reflection of their night together.
The subtle flourish with which he’d placed it on her had touched a long dead part of her. All of those soft, warm emotions had confused and frustrated her. Her growing feelings for the Jutak were a mistake, but she’d been unable to avoid them. Mischka had promised herself she’d tell him everything when she returned to his room.
Even if it resulted in her death.
There was one thing she could do now, though. “I’m sorry, Bane. Truly.”
He snapped the second cuff before looking up. His expression hardened, the glare causing her to step back though she couldn’t get far with his hold on her. “Don’t! Don’t talk to me.”
Hurt slashed through her chest at the harsh command. The impulse to force him to listen to what she needed to tell him pushed words up her throat but she hesitated in the face of his unmasked anger.
“You lied to me,” he snarled.
“Activate comms. If this is Lothar, he only brought a small contingent with him but it doesn’t mean we can let our guard down.”
The tall, brawny dark-haired one giving the orders had to be Torkel Alonson. There was an air of authority about his presence. How Gordo and Tarshuk could think the others were him she didn’t know. This was Mischka’s first time seeing his face close up outside the two blurred image files Lothar had gotten his hands on.
Lothar. Her stomach cramped. The task to lure Alonson here had been a clear success. Two years of planning and waiting had culminated in this moment.
“V’hor, can you run?”
The diamond-eyed Serpine gave a clipped nod.
“Let’s go!” Torkel twirled his finger in the air and the men rolled out in single file. Bane brought up the rear with Mischka in front of him.
Their pace set strands of her hair to whip at her temple. She used her joined hands to hastily scrape at them to clear her vision. They were running at full speed, unimpeded by the sloping terrain as they headed to the space port. Mischka managed to stay on her feet despite her ill-equipped shoes compared to their sturdy boots.
Two Marenians raced toward them and tried to impede their way. The Jutaks at the front of their group raised their weapons and fired, causing the Marenians to lurch to the side and roll across the ground to avoid being hit. Before she could take a breath, they took off again.
Her gaze swiveled left and right. A hidden conversation was taking place around her as the Jutak warriors exchanged nods, spoke in clipped tones. It was synchronized pacing Mischka could only admire.
Lothar and his crew didn’t operate in the same smooth manner. Everyone constantly vied for his favor and disorganization tended to reign unless Nikol or Lothar themselves were present.
They all came to a smooth stop at an outdoor storage unit that formerly housed the equipment for the rehab center. Everything had been moved into the main building months ago and this site was tagged for demolition and recyclables.
“Lothar finally has you where he wants you, Jutak.” Gordo spoke into the hushed quiet as they leaned against the wall on one side of the storage.
Jaron glared. “You’re going to end up on a prison colony with a lengthy sentence. I wouldn’t be so quick to boast.”
Gordo laughed outright. Mischka hated his laugh.
“I won’t make it there alive to see it, but it is an honor to die on behalf of Lothar if it means he can take down Torkel Alonson.”
“Lothar has made it clear he has a hard on for me. So far I’ve outwitted him at every turn,” Torkel answered as he stared off into the distance, brows lowered and weapon up and ready.
Not getting the response he’d expected, Gordo jerked and kicked out. The Jutak warrior guarding him, Jaron, had no problem backhanding Gordo. A livid red mark appeared on Gordo’s cheek. He spat at the Jutak, but luckily it fell short of the black boots.
Jaron spun Gordo around and slammed his face into the wall of the building, hands clenched into the back of Gordo’s shirt. “Listen, Marenian scum. I can just as easily carry your unconscious ass. It will be a slog but worth it.”
With his head mashed into the wall, Gordo’s mouth twisted to speak. “Fuck you, suare.”
Mischka winced at the familiar slur. Bane glanced down at her but she refused to meet his gaze. Unfortunately, Gordo’s head was turned in their direction and he witnessed the simple byplay. He laughed until his breath caught and he choked. “She fooled you, Jutak. Mischka has always been a good tutanis.”
Whore.
She was considered a whore because Lothar had used her and cast her aside from his kitse. Mischka hadn’t minded being removed from the harem and would have gladly worked in a household role. Instead, Lothar had chosen to send her to Dr. Kirkem with the command to do whatever the crazed doctor requested.