Page 3 of Captured By the Scaled Outlaw
My finger twitches over the trigger.
“Hey! I said drop the weapon!” they shout again, lurching at me.
Pull it. Kill them. Just one.
My jaw tenses at the thought, excitement tipping the corners of my mouth. Hairs on my arms lift as goosebumps flood my skin, the imagery of one of these bandits crumpling to the ground a satisfyingthought.
I blink rapidly, opening my mouth to relieve the strain on my jaw muscles.
You’re not an animal,I reprimand myself, dropping the crossbow into the sand.You’re better than that.
My heart rate plummets, disappointment filling the space left by the fleeting adrenaline.
I huff.
Cautiously reaching for the black bag, my gaze falls to the bandit’s tattered clothing. While I normally don’t care about the attire of criminals, I notice a familiar patch sewn to their jackets: the planet earth with four moons orbiting. It’s a clear and recognizable symbol of the eco-terrorist organization Gaia 4.
Double shit.
Known for their coordinated attacks on railroad and pipeline expansions, government buildings, and anything they generally don’t like, Gaia 4is the city of Nilsan’s public enemy number one.
I have no clue what they want with me. They’ve never attacked a surveyor in the past, since they rank too low to provide any useful information. And what could they possibly steal from me, vials of sand?
I slip the bag over my head, beads of light streaming in between the threads of fabric. It quickly becomes hard to catch my breath, but my struggles go unnoticed.
The assailants stride closer, their hushed voices unintelligible over the roaring engines. I resist every urge in my body to struggle as they take my arms, leading me towards the sounds of machinery.
I could be walking to my death, given the group’s penchant for violence, but running away now would only guarantee it. At the very least, I can feign ignorance; diplomacy has always been my strong suit.
I wheeze out a strangled gasp as I’m dragged.
“I’m just a land surveyor, you know,” I say, tripping over my own feet. Sand slips into the tops of my shoes as I stumble. “I’m just doing my job.”
I hear a laugh.
“So are we.”
Something hits me in the back of the head, and everything goes dark.
Chapter 2
Cold shackles send shivers over my skin, the hard metal pinching the delicate flesh around my wrists. I stare at a bowl of gruel and a half-filled water cup pushed hastily beneath my cell door. A woman, who I’ve heard the others call Ginny, smiles at me through the bars. Despite her rigid posture and dirty-blonde hair pulled tightly into a bun, her eyes are a disarmingly charming deep-brown.
“Please eat. It’s been three days,” she pleads with an annoyed huff, as if I were a fickle child.
To my understanding, by the way the underlings excitedly salute her, she is high-up in the chain of command. But for some reason, she’s been tasked with the menial obligation of attending to me.
“Fuck you,” I snarl, kicking the tray. Gruel and water slop across the stone floor.
Ginny furrows her brows in discontent. “You have to drink water, at least. Or you’ll die.”
I stifle a laugh. She has no idea the cell guards are so disorganized, they often forget who is supposed to give me water — resulting in themallgiving me as many cups as I desire. I understand their inexperience as meaning they don’t keep many prisoners, but the rusted lock on the cell door is enough of a suggestion.
I maintain my glare, flexing my wrists against the restraints. “Isn’t that how I’ll end up, anyway?” I ask.
Ginny shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers.“I told you. We are not going to kill you,” she sighs. The frustration in her voice grows with each syllable.
Her tone irks me. As ifI’mthe one being unreasonable.
