Process, Part 7 (CROSS//Process)

CROSS//Process, Part 7 Hildred M. Billings Contents Copyright Series Order 1. Chapter 1 2. Chapter 2 3. Chapter 3 4. Chapter 4 5. Chapter 5 6. Chapter 6 7. Chapter 7 8. Chapter 8 9. Chapter 9 10. Chapter 10 11. Chapter 11 12. Chapter 12 Get PART 8 Free Stories! FB Group Copyright CROSS//Process Part 7 Copyright: Hildred BillingsPublished: 3rd April, 2023Publisher: Barachou Press This is a work of fiction. Any and all similarities to any characters, settings, or situations are purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format. Series Order MAIN SERIES REBIRTH REVENGE REGRESS REPENT RELEASE PREQUELS PROCESS PROPHET one Tarka’s Outpost; Federation Year 4537 “That guy is already thinking about eating your guts for tomorrow’s breakfast.” Barnabus slapped both hands on Sonall’s shoulders, revving him up to get out of his corner and pound the ever-loving life out of his opponent. “Remember what we talked about? Go low. For the love of the Void, don’t take too many hits to the head! You’ve had enough concussions this year.” Sonall sniffed and rubbed his nose as he sized up the squat brawler who flexed before the famished audience. The tattoos covering the man’s bald head and running down his arms and back suggested he was ex-Forces and had run with another mercenary group unaffiliated with Cerilyn. The more he peacocks, the more this crowd eats it up. That worked in Sonall’s favor. The less noise he heard in his direction, the more likely he was to concentrate on this fight and stay conscious. “Also, don’t knock him out too early. We’ve got to wait for Sulim’s signal.” Sonall glanced at the VIP section of the crowd. As men and women placed their bets before spitting blood at the fighting ring, a small entourage of bodyguards escorted Lord Duntly di’Dimmin, the unfortunately named diplomat who spent most of his spare time running these “underground” fighting rings on outposts far from Federation control. In all of his years of surreptitiously running these pits, gambling houses, and pleasure moons, he had made several enemies. One of them had paid for a team of Cerilyn’s best and strongest to take out this loser. I hope this plan works. Sonall would get paid either way, but he’d rather not do it at the price of his brain. The guy taking a shot of yaya over in the other corner of the ring and smashing his fists together might prove Sonall’s biggest problem. And he’d have Sulim to thank because this whole operation was hers. Sonall glanced at Lord Duntly again. To his right was a tall, intimidating woman with enough weapons on her hip to subdue a small army of would-be assassins. Good thing that woman was Giselle, and she had been playing the long con ever since Sulim came up with her plan. In record time too. Once they received the assignment from Cairn, Sulim hit the nearest tavern and stayed in a back room for five hours until she emerged buying everyone a round of drinks because “this might be my best one yet.” She rarely failed Sonall, who had been her partner ever since Eyne defected to Third Tribe. Over the past few years, they had built a reputation that put them at the top of the mercenary food chain, not only in Second Tribe but on all of Cerilyn. No wonder, if we’re willing to put ourselves in this situation. Sonall would either come out on top or be sent to the infirmary. That was par for the course for him. “Are you listening to me?” Barnabus, there under the guise of Sonall’s trainer, grabbed him by the back of the head. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get hit in the face.” “The head, man!” “My face is my moneymaker, though. Chicks dig scars, but the face seals the deal.” “Then get a girlfriend under the cover of darkness!” Sonall stood up and flexed for the crowd. As women whistled at him and men screamed to make a new bet, he couldn’t help but think, At least the crowd loves me. They honestly loved both fighters because for every gambling addict, there was someone there for the carnage. “I’ll call a timeout as soon as Sulim gives the signal.” Barnabus waited for Sonall to sit back down before continuing. “It will give Giselle time to get Lord Dumbass out of here.” “Yes, we’ve run through the plan a hundred times,” Sonall spat out of the corner of his mouth. “Sulim was like a goddamn headmistress the whole flight over here.” While she flew the cruiser, no less. Sonall feared that if he recited his part of the plan wrong, she’d threaten to turn the craft around and head back to Cerilyn. “Then nobody gets paid!” He could hear it now. “All right.” Barnabus ducked back as the MC of the fight stepped into the pit. “Good luck! Aim low!” Sonall faced his opponent. As the MC introduced them, Sonall thought back on every fight he had ever won or lost over the past ten years. Has it been ten years? Close enough. He was getting too old for this shit. Aim low, huh? This fight was dirty enough that headshots were acceptable. In fact, the crowd would go nuts for it. Aiming low was the safe way out. It also required way too much concentration for a man who was supposed to keep this going until “Sulim gave the signal.” Knowing her, it would come the moment the MC declared the fight on. Or it would take her ten damn minutes. There was no in-between when a woman had to incapacitate security without killing any of them. Sulim peered through the grate separating her from the space colony’s vents and the