Page 67 of Rage

“You can call me Batya the Bloody.”

“Duly noted.”

They pulled their forks away at the same time.

“It’s refreshing to finally be in worthy company,” Merrill stated, with a smile.

Batya couldn’t have agreed more.

Chapter Seven

The next day, she was fully dressed and ready to go when someone knocked. It was Jimena.

“We provide you with weapons, you know.”

Batya slipped the bone-handled knives into her belt.

“I made them from a carcass I found at home. They go everywhere with me.”

Jimena shrugged before adding, “Suit yourself.”

They walked past the orientation room into a much larger space. Batya lost count of the different types of weapons that lined its walls. The guns were a given, but she couldn’t wait to try out the swords, knives, and a whole assortment of throwing weapons.

“Shooting range first.”

Batya had no problems hitting the targets with a handgun.

“That’s impressive. Have you ever given thought to more long-range weaponry?”

“You mean like a sniper?”

“Yes.”

“It couldn’t hurt to try.”

“Good to know. Let’s move on to those swords you were admiring so much.”

Batya nodded. Everyone here was impressively observant. It was refreshing given how little some of her former classmates noticed. When she got back to the larger room, she spotted Alex and Christopher sparring. The two appeared equally matched.

In an aggressive move, Christopher sprang forward, surprising Alex with a head-butt to his chin. When Alex lost his footing, Christopher pressed his sword to Alex’s chest.

“Not bad. Want to go again to break the draw?”

“How about we give the ladies a chance?”

The low rumble of his voice grabbed Batya’s attention immediately, but she didn’t turn around. Jimena straightened her stance and Batya did the same. It had to be him.

Castille.

He plucked a scimitar from the wall. The curved blade glinted under the room’s harsh light. He stood before her, towering over Batya’s 5’ 9” frame. If anyone could be called ‘Black Adonis’ it would be him.

Their gazes met as he handed the weapon to her. When she took the scimitar from him, their fingers touched – making her inner muscles pulse with an intriguing need. None of the accounts she’d read had mentioned how alluring Castille was.

She folded her bottom lip between her teeth as his dark brown eyes held her hazel ones. Batya was surprised by the kindness in his eyes, the softness in his touch. Could this really be the man they called The Butcher?

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

“Fight well.”

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