by Sue Lyndon
Retribution
Kall Alien Warriors, Book Three
Sue Lyndon
Contents
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About this book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Also in the Kall Alien Warriors series
Also by Sue Lyndon
Sue Lyndon writing as Sue Mercury
About Sue Lyndon
Retribution (Kall Alien Warriors, Book Three)
Copyright © 2021 by Sue Lyndon
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All rights reserved
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This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
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This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Editing by Celeste Jones
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Cover by Sweet N’ Spicy Designs
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Published in the United States of America
Sue Lyndon
www.suelyndon.com
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About this book
Her life belongs to him...
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Renowned Kall expert Layla Remington is horrified when her estranged husband, Michael, murders a Kall female named Shessema in cold blood. She suspected his allegiance rested with the human rebel cause, but she never believed he would take his hatred for the conquering aliens so far. When she’s summoned before a Kall court, the ancient Custom of Retribution is followed—Layla is given to Shessema’s grieving husband, General Zamek, to do with as he pleases.
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His mercy comes with a price...
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General Zamek arrives at the courtroom, intending to exact his vengeance immediately and take Layla’s life. But one look into her soulful dark eyes and he falters. Instead of driving a sword through her heart, he carries her off, telling himself he’ll avenge Shessema’s death by making Layla suffer before he eventually kills her. But the first time he hurts her, nothing goes as planned, and he soon finds himself becoming fiercely possessive—and protective—of the little human female whose life will forever belong to him.
Chapter 1
EARTH 2072
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Please make it stop.
Shouts rang out from the kitchen. Cabinets slammed. Glass shattered. Hate-filled curses pierced the air.
Layla closed her eyes and huddled deeper into the oversized sofa, pulling the blanket up to her chin. Her stomach twisted, and her throat burned.
She should leave before it got worse. Before Michael turned his fury on her. But she was too nervous to move. The door rested just beyond the kitchen. To reach the corridor outside the apartment, she would have to walk right by her angry husband.
Perhaps angry wasn’t the right word. Insane? He wasn’t himself. Hadn’t been for a long fucking time. She barely recognized him as the man she’d married only two years ago.
A lot could change in a year or two. Wars could be fought and lost. Humanity could be conquered by a powerful race of aliens. Resources could become scarce. People could turn on one another, even on those they were supposed to love and protect.
“Fucking Kall dictators and pathetic human cowards and…” Unintelligible words followed, but she knew Michael was ranting about the Kall aliens again. The war had claimed his eighteen-year-old son, Amos, only a month into the fighting. Since then, Michael’s loss had festered into something dark and unpredictable.
She swallowed hard, thinking of the rebel flyers she’d recently found hidden in his sock drawer.
BEST METHODS FOR KILLING A KALL WARRIOR
THE HUMAN REBELLION IS ALIVE AND STRONG
THE ONLY GOOD KALL IS A DEAD KALL
Her left cheek tingled, right where he’d struck her for asking questions—the one and only time he’d laid hands on her, though she worried it wouldn’t be an isolated incident. At the time, she’d been desperate to learn his level of involvement with the rebels, but he hadn’t given her any straight answers yet.
The flyers were dangerous. Possession of such paraphernalia could lead to imprisonment in a Kall-run detention camp.
And an actual honest-to-God affiliation with the rebels?
Well, that could lead to a much worse outcome.
Execution. Forced labor. Torture.
A shiver ran down her spine.
She glanced at the clock. It was just after two in the afternoon. She was supposed to meet Fiona at the café in an hour. Would her friend worry if she didn’t show?
She pulled out her portable comm, preparing to send a message, when Michael stormed into the room with all the fury of a hurricane. His livid, red-rimmed gaze settled on her. His eyes teemed with accusation and her blood ran cold.
Before he reached her, she knew what he would start shouting about. It was an argument they’d had time and time again. One that never ended well because he refused to believe her.
He snarled and hauled her off the couch, his fingers digging into her upper arms. Okay, now this was the second time he’d laid hands on her in anger. Fuck. She wished she’d vacated the apartment before his ranting turned to something worse.
“Michael,” she whispered, searching his glassy eyes. Vaguely, she wondered how much he’d had to drink today and if he’d consumed anything else. Sometimes she found empty, unmarked pill bottles littering the counters.
“Renowned Kall expert Layla Remington.” His tone was cruel and mocking, and his lips curled in a sneer. “Did you know what the Kall were planning when you spent those two years on their planet? Did you know how many humans they would eventually kill? Did you know they would conquer Earth and become our fucking overlords?” He shook her hard enough to make her teeth rattle.
She pushed at him and twisted in his grasp, finally escaping his hold. She backed away and glared at him, rubbing her sore arms. He stood near the couch, anger radiating off him in waves as he stared her down with those damnable glassy eyes. He looked positively deranged. Like a complete stranger, even.
“You need help, Michael,” she said. “I still have contacts at the White House. I can make some calls and get you the help you need.”
He sneered and took a step toward her. She lifted her chin and held his gaze, refusing to back down. If he declined help, she was out of here.
“You need rehab and grief counseling,” she said. “And I swear to God, if you touch me again, I will call the authorities.” This last threat felt empty, even though she meant it. The cops didn’t always come when you called these days.
He picked up a vase from the coffee table and hurled it against the wall, too close to Layla’s head for her liking. She gasped and moved to the side, though a few of the shards bounced off her arms.
Something inside her snapped.
She was tired of walking on eggshells and making gentle suggestions that he get help, tired of the constant blame he leveled at her. Just because she was a well-known Kall expert, he thought she should’ve seen the war coming long before it started.
“Get out,” she said, her voice eerily calm. “Get out and don’t come back until you’ve come to your senses.”
He scoffed and shook his head, his eyes gleaming with madness. “This is my home too. Why should I leave?” Spittle flew from his mouth as he shouted.
“The apartment was leased in my name,” she reminded him, “and I’m not going to live with a potential rebel who also happens to blame me for a war that wasn’t my fault.” Coldness suddenly gripped her. If he really was involved with the rebel cause and he also blamed her for the war, she sure as hell wasn’t safe in his presence, or safe in the company of his friends for that matter.
Rebels liked to make examples of people, especially humans they deemed traitors. She repressed a shudder and held her ground, glaring at him in hopes that he would give up and leave.
“You’re my wife.” Some of the anger left his eyes and for a second he looked like the old Michael, the man she’d fallen in love with. Did she still love him? After all the ways he’d hurt her, all the blame he’d thrown at her feet, she honestly couldn’t say for certain. Right now, fear masked any affection she might still harbor for him.
“Technically, you’re still my husband,” she said, “but you’re not the man I married.” Her throat tightened. “You’ve become a stranger to me, and I don’t feel safe with you anymore. Get some help—for the drinking and the pills—and get some grief counseling too, and then we can talk.”
He ran a trembling hand through his hair and blew out a deep breath. His appearance was completely disheveled. He looked as though he hadn’t showered or slept in a full week.
“I know you think I’m crazy, but I’m not,” he said in an adamant tone. “For the first time in my life, I’m seeing things quite clearly and I know what I must do. I know my purpose.”
I know my purpose. These four words struck fear into her heart. What the hell was he talking about?
She opened her mouth, preparing to question him further, but quickly pressed her lips together. If he was talking about the rebel cause, she didn’t want to know more. It was bad enough that she’d seen the flyers. By not turning him in to Kall authorities, she was breaking the law. She could be jailed along with him.
It would be easy to say she knew nothing of Michael’s allegiance, easy to deny knowledge of the flyers he’d hidden away. But if he told her actual details about the rebels and his involvement with the doomed cause, that would put her in a terrible position, especially given that she used to work closely with the President of the United States.
“I’m sorry for what happened to Amos. He was a wonderful young man and I loved him too. But the war is over and the Kall won,” she said. “The sooner you accept that, the sooner you can begin to heal.”
Her heart broke as she held Michael’s gaze. She wouldn’t turn him in, but she sure as hell didn’t want to be implicated alongside him if he got caught. More reason for him to leave. More reason for their marriage to end. She used to feel protected by him and now she felt anything but. He was putting her life in danger, in more ways than one.
“Look, Michael, I don’t want to fight anymore, but this,” she said, motioning between them, “isn’t working out. We need to separate. If you won’t leave, I will.”
He released a dark chuckle that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Then he strode straight for her and grabbed her chin. His sour, alcohol-scented breath wafted against her face. “I know exactly where you’ll go if you’re the one to leave. You only have one friend, and she happens to be married to a fucking Kall.”
“Let. Go. Of. Me.”
To her surprise, he released her chin and backed up a few steps. Her insides shook but she tried very hard to look brave as she faced him. He was out of his mind and he was risking both their lives with his behavior.
While she undoubtedly sided with mankind, she still believed it best to go along with the Kall-Earth treaty and the terms of Earth’s surrender to the aliens. It was the only path toward semi-peace. The Kall were too powerful for mankind to have even the tiniest hope of defeating them. Michael was deluding himself if he thought the rebels stood a chance of compelling the remaining Kall forces to leave Earth.
“The rebels are a lost cause,” she blurted, not caring if the truth reignited his anger. “You’re a fool if you join them and I will not stand by and watch you destroy yourself. Now, I’ve asked you to go. Are you going to leave, or should I?”
“I’m not going anywhere, traitor bitch.” He stumbled backward and fell upon the couch, where he spread his legs out and settled into the cushions, making an obscene show of his intent to stay.
His words stung and she blinked fast when tears welled in her eyes. She shouldn’t be surprised by the name calling, but she was. The old Michael would’ve never called her a bitch or even screamed at her. He used to be laid back, kindhearted, and quick to laugh. She mourned the loss of him.
Had this crazed, cruel person always lurked underneath? Or could war and loss truly change someone so immensely? He was a shadow of his former self.
“Alright then,” she whispered. “I’ll be the one to leave.”
It didn’t take long to pack her things. She already had an emergency bag stashed in the back of her closet, which she’d packed after discovering the anti-Kall flyers. But, knowing she likely wouldn’t return anytime soon—if ever—she packed a second bag, shoving as many of her belongings inside as possible.
When she walked past the living room, Michael was sprawled out on the couch, snoring loudly. Her shoes crunched over shards of glass. She stood there for a minute, watching her husband sleep, as she held a suitcase in each hand. Would he remember their argument when he awoke? Would he have any regrets?
He’s old enough to be your father—it’ll never work.
The two of you are so different—be careful.
Proposing marriage after only two months of dating is a red flag—please don’t rush into anything.
Her aunt’s voice rang in her ears. Aunt Colleen had tried to convince Layla not to marry Michael in the first place. Had her aunt seen something Layla had missed? Or had Layla been too blinded by love and their whirlwind romance to see the monster that lurked beneath?
She supposed none of it mattered now. But damn if she didn’t feel guilty for leaving. She hoped Michael sobered up and got the help he so desperately needed. She also hoped he didn’t align himself with the rebels any more than he already had. At the very least, she prayed he didn’t get caught.
The Kall justice system wasn’t even remotely fair. After watching her best friend, First Daughter Betsy Carson, get condemned to a lifetime of slavery on the Kall homeworld, she understood that better than most people.
If Michael got caught, the Kall wouldn’t take his mental condition into consideration. They wouldn’t show him any leniency.
Please don’t let it come to that.
She exited the apartment and closed the door behind her. Adjusting her grip on the suitcases, she rolled them down the corridor, thankful the elevator was working again. With each step, the grief filling her heart felt heavier.
It was over. It was truly over.
She knew, deep down, that she and Michael would never reconcile. How could they? Even if he got help and he changed, while
she might be able to forgive him, she sure as hell couldn’t forget the last year, and she would never be able to trust him again. This realization deepened her guilt, but it didn’t slow her steps. She kept going and she boarded the elevator and she hailed a cab outside.
A short while later, she found herself standing on the doorstep of Ambassador Merokk’s grand house. In the aftermath of the war, she’d become close friends with the former Kall warrior’s wife, Fiona Lockhart.
Taking a deep breath, she rang the bell and waited for a servant to admit her.
Not long after she stepped inside, Fiona ambled down the staircase.
“Oh, I wasn’t expecting you to meet me here. I thought we were supposed to meet at the café this time,” Fiona said with a smile, but a frown soon darkened her features when her gaze landed on the suitcases. “What’s happened? Are you okay?”
Layla hesitated to reply. She needed to be careful and not breathe a word about Michael’s possible ties to the human rebels. Fiona was married to a former Kall warrior who was now an ambassador for goodness’ sake. She didn’t wish to put her friend in an awkward position.
