Page 69 of Rage

The back door exploded, flinging two of the rebels back with its force. Batya and Christopher ran towards the others, disabling their camouflage mid-way. The young man screamed when Batya slashed his stomach with her scimitar.

His guts squelched when he tried to hold them in. With one smooth motion, she sliced through his neck. More gun fire echoed from the inside of the compound. Their data showed there would be 45 people guarding the building. It looked like they were going to kill them all.

Excellent.

She whipped out her handgun and aimed for the rebels who were heading towards her team members. Tap, tap. Tap, tap.Two more fell to the ground, bullet wounds to the chest and forehead oozing crimson.

Alexander, Merrill, and Jimena ran out first, opening fire on the remaining rebels. The enemy’s bodies danced as the high powered weapons tore through their bodies. Blood, skin, and flesh splattered everywhere.

Castille and Khyron emerged right behind them. Castille was dragging someone with him, but Batya couldn’t tell who it was. Khyron lobbed a bomb through the door and a flash of light filled the entire compound.

Batya’s eyes widened. There was no explosion, but the night air reeked of burnt flesh. When no-one else moved, she lowered her weapon. It was over.

The courtyard was littered with bodies. Blood dripped down Batya’s face, coated her neck, and covered her hands.

Castille was still at the back door so Batya moved closer. He had someone pushed against the side of the building, his hand wrapped around the rebel’s throat.

It was the rebel leader. He clawed at Castille’s vice grip to no avail. With the silence of surrender, Batya heard the leader’s futile gasps for air. Suddenly, Castille moved his hand and allowed the man a few gulps of breath.

Is he really letting him live?

When the leader slumped against the wall and his breathing steadied, Castille plunged his tactical knife into his neck. Blood splattered the wall and sprayed Castille’s face.

He licked the blood from his lips. Batya’s breath caught when he yanked his knife from the leader’s neck and let the blood drip into his waiting mouth. It would be a dangerous practice if the world hadn’t been rid of diseases for centuries.

There he was.

The Butcher.

The other recruits looked away but she was transfixed. Castille wiped the knife clean before returning it to its sheath. He caught her stare and held it. When she didn’t look away, a grin spread across his face.

Maybe she wasn’t the only one looking for acceptance.

Chapter Eleven

With the adrenaline of battle wearing off, Batya felt all the heavy, lingering aches in her muscles. The blood caked to her skin didn’t help. She looked forward to having a long hot shower and wearing fewer clothes.

As she approached her room, Khyron stopped her.

“Castille wants to meet with you.”

She looked down on her stained clothing.

“Now?”

“Now.”

Batya trailed behind Khyron and was surprised when he stopped at Castille’s room instead of a meeting area. Her heart hammered. Khyron knocked and the door slid open.

“Go in.”

He was shirtless. Batya’s eyes flicked from his muscular chest to the waistband of his pants. She wondered what she’d done to warrant this kind of meeting.

“Batya the Bloody.”

It sounded so alluring when it rolled of Castille’s tongue coated in his rich baritone.

“Sir?”

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