Page 85 of Captured By the Scaled Outlaw
Simultaneously, a shot bursts from the sniper’s firearm, the bullet colliding with the upper wall of the Gaia 4compound. The sound startles me as a chunk of the compound tumbles to the ground.
Desperately searching the dune to verify that I’ve hit my target, numbness blankets me. The longer I stay above the barricade, the greater opportunity the enemy sniper has to shoot me.
Please.
My scope sweeps the horizons, my heavy breaths creating moisture that clings to my bow. Then I spot the sniper.
Lying on a pile of sand at the top of the dune, only a firearm remains. The long, sleek metal machine is toppled over and lain askew. The sand around the mechanical beast bleeds red, a sign of victory.
Relief fills me with joy, but not nearly enough to draw a smile.
I take only a moment to revel in the jubilation, my crossbow ready for another bolt. I load it in haste, lifting my sights to find scientists trying to hide while scrambling to load their weapons.
The untrained Gaia 4 soldiers will never be able to hit them from this distance. The weapons they stole are far too archaic and they lack the skill to use them. Part of me is grateful that I get to seize thesebastards, myself.
One-by-one, I release bolts into the scientist’s necks, heads, and chests, dropping them to the earth in a steady rhythm. The silence of my weapon creates confusion, firearms raised with nowhere to aim.
Kinsley always chastised me for using a manual weapon, but stealth is an advantage he never understood.
My body feels electric with each hit, suffocating anxiety morphing into vibrating giddiness. It builds until I burst into a smile from ear-to-ear, the excitement fueling my tired muscles to pull the bowstring back faster and faster each time.
I love how this feels: Revenge, retribution, and the catharsis of taking my anger out on the people who have wronged me for so long brings a sense of alleviation I never thought I’d feel.
Maybe Lowell was right about me on more levels than I realized. Sitting in an office building pushing papers for hours is nothing compared to the thrill of watching a bolt drive between the eyes of an enemy.
Heat pools between my legs with each bolt I release, a zap tingling my core.
Pressing my palms into my eyes, I breathe a hollow laugh.
I’m no better than Lowell. And after all the shit I gave him.
The noise of the battle has dulled by the time I make it to the center of the fighting. While partly due to my efforts, most have retreated due to injuries or lie limp on the ground. I can’t tell if they’re dead or not, and I don’t care to confirm.
Arriving at the open center, I see Ginny crouched behind a turret with Guy planted beside her. Guy’s breathing is labored, and Ginny is caked in blood, barely alive.
“Where is Lowell?” I call over the gentlepangof bullets hitting the sand.
Ginny’s eyes enlarge. “What are you doing here?”
“A story for another time, please,” I say, sighing as the adrenaline melts from my body. “Just tell me where Lowell is.”
Ginny’s uniform jacket is pressed into Guy’s bleeding chest, exposing her smattering of ghastly wounds.
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. He charged after a group of those Nilsanian soldiers and I lost him in the chaos. He’s in bad shape. Worse than before.”
I purse my lips, stress pumping into my extremities. His name alone makes me see red, the worry and anger indistinguishable from one another.
“I’ll find him,” I say.
Her expression dulls, her deep-brown eyes filling with tears as Guy embraces her hand with his own. Blinking the moisture away before they fall, she nods, whispering, “It’s bad, May.Reallybad.”
I exhale a quivering breath at the sight of her hopelessness. I’ve already accepted that I most likely won’t make it out of this alive, but the thought doesn’t scare me. Especially given the alternative.
Most of my life has been spent accumulating fears of stepping out of line by deviating from my plans, falling out of the order I’d used as a crutch. But somehow, Lowell’s annoying, persistent prodding has driven me to fear nothing other than stagnation, leaving me to bask in the freedom of impulsive choices I’d often despised.
Either that or I’ve gone insane. Both are entirely possible.
“I know,” I reply to Ginny, resting my crossbow on my shoulder. “Let me handle this.”
