Page 30 of Rage

As he raises it higher, something flashes in the bright light as it moves through the air. A second later, the man crumbles to the ground with a knife lodged in his throat. There are three more cries of warning around me. Their bellowed commands and guns don’t frighten me. They only make me laugh harder until my stomach hurts and I’m bent in half, forced to hold in it in fear that my stomach might just tumble out of me.

By the time I get my laughter under control, the ground is littered with bodies, and only two are left breathing. Before I can react, my men step up beside me. They’re heaving hard. I can hear it behind their masks, but they’re ready to see this through.

“Stop!” one of the two men cries out between sobs. “Please, juststop!”

I frown at the voice before taking a curious step forward and my guys move with me. As one, we approach. Both men scramble backward, their backs hitting the grill of the SUV. They split apart, each one attempting to round the vehicle to climb in.

My guys move, launching forward as a unit. I watch as they grab the two guys and drag them back, away from the vehicle.

“Are you the ones in charge here tonight?” I ask as they’re thrown to their knees in front of me.

I know at once they’re not. These two, they’re just boys. They can’t be older than eighteen, judging by the way they’ve yet to fill out. One sobs pathetically, snot oozing from his nose as he cries. His brown skin is dark, almost as dark as the night around us. I can barely see the fear in his eyes given how watery they are. His friend is somber. He stares up at me with a hard press of his mouth. I think, if he wasn’t so terrified for his life, his fair skin would have a nice glow to it, like he’s been hanging out in the summer sun a lot. His hair is slicked back, styled in a way that tells me he’s trying to be a man, not a child. His eyes, an indistinguishable color in this lighting, stare up at my mask. I can feel his terror through his gaze, but he remains stoic and still.

Kids. They’re just… kids.

Unease blankets my killing high as I study them. Both are dressed in tailored suits. An expensive outfit for a night like tonight. Who are they and why are they here? They’re not even armed. Who sends kids to oversee something like this?

“You’ve been asked a question,” Owen snarls when neither child answers.

Swallowing hard, the pensive boy looks to his friend that’s in the process of practically curling in on himself like an armadillo, then back up at me. He shakes his head.

“N-no, we’re not in charge,” he mutters. “We’re just here to facilitate the transfers of goods.”

The hand holding my blade tightens around the hilt while the other balls into a fist.

“Goods?” I repeat coldly. “Goods? Is that how you see human lives? As ‘goods’?”

The boy blinks rapidly, his mouth pulling down into a frown while his brows furrow with bewilderment. He looks around at my guys, then back at me before shaking his head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Liar,” I hiss, taking a step toward him, my blade rising as I contemplate killing them right now. “You know exactly what I’m talking about! Exactly what you’re overseeing in this transfer!”

The boy shakes his head as his friend wails louder beside him. “No! I swear, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Peter’s dad demanded we wait for him while he went to go get his clients. He was going to introduce us and help us network. There should be…Ah, actually I don’t know,” he looks down at his friend. “Peter, what does your dad do for work? What does he sell?”

Peter rocks forward and back, sobbing. Beneath him, a dark puddle is forming.

“Peter! Come on, man. Tell them! What does your dad have in there?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,I don’t know! He doesn’t tell me anything,” Peter wails. “Just leave us alone! Please!Please!”

The less distraught teenager shakes his head and looks back up at me. “Look, his dad has his hands in a lot of pots. I don’t know exactly what’s in there but?—”

“What’s your name, boy?” I ask, cutting him off coldly.

The kid’s bottom lip trembles but he juts his chin out and answers, “Maverick… Maverick Sutherfield.”

“Well,Maverick,” I start, bringing my knife up so that the tip of it rests just beneath that proud chin of his. The blade is dripping with the blood of his security team and smears againsthis skin. “I’ll show you what Peter’s dad has in this container.” Without looking around at my guys, I ask, “Where’s Dre?”

“I’m here,” Drake announces, jogging onto the scene. His backpack and rifle hanging on his shoulder bounce as he joins us.

“Here, let me help,” Wyatt offers, stepping forward to take Drake’s bag.

“Get the bolt cutters out for me,” Dre mutters.

Wyatt does as he’s told, and Drake hands the rifle to Owen. Wy hands jerks the bolt cutters free of the backpack and hands them to Dre. Kingston stomps over with Drake to the shipping container, ready to be there to help if needed.

“Turn around and watch,” I order Maverick.

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