Read Online Sabotage: Beginnings by LS Silverii - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: LS Silverii
Tags: Fiction
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decision to cooperate with Jabar. They would’ve been better off fighting to the death back in the Popi village.
Justice assumed Batya was incapacitated—panic swept through him. It was up to him to save them both. He huffed as his heart pounded in his ears while he pulled and swung his rifle from side to side. He couldn’t shake the bastards off. Every one of them seemed to have a grip on his weapon. Except Jabar and the white smile guy.
The harder he fought, the more he felt the burn of the stab wound in his stomach. He felt the blood pump as the hole enlarged with each exertion.
“Do something,” Justice screamed out in English.
The man averted his gaze.
“Fuck you, coward,” Justice yelled as the throng of men shoved him backward.
Justice wormed his right index finger into the rifle’s trigger guard. He gritted his teeth while he pulled back as hard as he could. Three red-hot flashes erupted from the muzzle. Bodies jumped and flailed. Shoved and fell forward.
He crashed to the ground as the swarm of inhumanity piled on. They sliced the nylon harness, stripped his rifle and body armor. Even his tactical blouse and t-shirt were torn off. Feet kicked relentlessly at his face and torso until he’d back crawled into a small corner. Blood splashed across his stomach. The dark tattoos that covered his upper body were indistinguishable beneath the crimson flow.
Justice came to alone. The jagged mud walls tore at the skin on his back and shoulders. He grimaced as his body pressed against the tight corner. He lurched to his feet. His head remained bent beneath the low ceiling. The metal bars wouldn’t allow him to advance any further. Rage exploded. His fists rattled the cage.
Justice bit his tongue as Batya began to call out. His left eye was still swollen, and now his right eye pulsed with every heartbeat.
He patted himself for a weapon—for anything to use in an attack. No fucking way he’d die in this cell. It got cramped quick and he gagged at the stench.
He saw Batya across the narrow hall, pressed against the far wall in her own cell. Justice motioned to capture her attention. Her face lifted from her palms. A quick glance and she buried her own bloodied face.
He grunted because they’d stripped him of everything but his pants. He licked the bloody moisture that painted his busted lips, and muttered, “As if one of them could wear a size 15 boot.”
Noise caught Justice’s attention. His forehead scraped against the rusted hinge as he angled to look for the source. He pulled on the door and howled to get their attention. They never even looked at him. They were focused on Batya.
Her gender had to still be unknown to them, but Justice knew their interest was that Batya was still fully dressed, and possibly armed.
He tried reaching through the bars—no luck. Two gunmen took a post on either side of Batya’s cell door, their weapons pointed straight on her. A third man uneasily unlocked the door. Two others forced their way into the small cell and began to grab at her.
She kicked and punched from a classic ground fighting position on her back. She was highly trained but how much could she resist?
Beckoned by a gunman, another man entered the hall. Unshaven face, dead expression. He spun around the threshold and immediately began wailing blows to Batya’s head and face. Justice pressed his lips tight as he heard her grunts. She wouldn’t scream out or they’d know she was a female.
Justice frowned at the sound of something other than flesh striking flesh. It sounded like a solid wooden baton. Her grunts stopped. He peered through the tangled bodies and saw Batya’s boots sprawled flat on the dirt floor. They didn’t move.
His yell bellowed through the hallway. Several men jumped at the ferocious sound.
“Let me out,” Justice demanded. He was like a beast inside a cage. The gunmen pressed their bodies against the opposite wall to distance themselves from his limited reach.
“Quiet,
Justice assumed Batya was incapacitated—panic swept through him. It was up to him to save them both. He huffed as his heart pounded in his ears while he pulled and swung his rifle from side to side. He couldn’t shake the bastards off. Every one of them seemed to have a grip on his weapon. Except Jabar and the white smile guy.
The harder he fought, the more he felt the burn of the stab wound in his stomach. He felt the blood pump as the hole enlarged with each exertion.
“Do something,” Justice screamed out in English.
The man averted his gaze.
“Fuck you, coward,” Justice yelled as the throng of men shoved him backward.
Justice wormed his right index finger into the rifle’s trigger guard. He gritted his teeth while he pulled back as hard as he could. Three red-hot flashes erupted from the muzzle. Bodies jumped and flailed. Shoved and fell forward.
He crashed to the ground as the swarm of inhumanity piled on. They sliced the nylon harness, stripped his rifle and body armor. Even his tactical blouse and t-shirt were torn off. Feet kicked relentlessly at his face and torso until he’d back crawled into a small corner. Blood splashed across his stomach. The dark tattoos that covered his upper body were indistinguishable beneath the crimson flow.
Justice came to alone. The jagged mud walls tore at the skin on his back and shoulders. He grimaced as his body pressed against the tight corner. He lurched to his feet. His head remained bent beneath the low ceiling. The metal bars wouldn’t allow him to advance any further. Rage exploded. His fists rattled the cage.
Justice bit his tongue as Batya began to call out. His left eye was still swollen, and now his right eye pulsed with every heartbeat.
He patted himself for a weapon—for anything to use in an attack. No fucking way he’d die in this cell. It got cramped quick and he gagged at the stench.
He saw Batya across the narrow hall, pressed against the far wall in her own cell. Justice motioned to capture her attention. Her face lifted from her palms. A quick glance and she buried her own bloodied face.
He grunted because they’d stripped him of everything but his pants. He licked the bloody moisture that painted his busted lips, and muttered, “As if one of them could wear a size 15 boot.”
Noise caught Justice’s attention. His forehead scraped against the rusted hinge as he angled to look for the source. He pulled on the door and howled to get their attention. They never even looked at him. They were focused on Batya.
Her gender had to still be unknown to them, but Justice knew their interest was that Batya was still fully dressed, and possibly armed.
He tried reaching through the bars—no luck. Two gunmen took a post on either side of Batya’s cell door, their weapons pointed straight on her. A third man uneasily unlocked the door. Two others forced their way into the small cell and began to grab at her.
She kicked and punched from a classic ground fighting position on her back. She was highly trained but how much could she resist?
Beckoned by a gunman, another man entered the hall. Unshaven face, dead expression. He spun around the threshold and immediately began wailing blows to Batya’s head and face. Justice pressed his lips tight as he heard her grunts. She wouldn’t scream out or they’d know she was a female.
Justice frowned at the sound of something other than flesh striking flesh. It sounded like a solid wooden baton. Her grunts stopped. He peered through the tangled bodies and saw Batya’s boots sprawled flat on the dirt floor. They didn’t move.
His yell bellowed through the hallway. Several men jumped at the ferocious sound.
“Let me out,” Justice demanded. He was like a beast inside a cage. The gunmen pressed their bodies against the opposite wall to distance themselves from his limited reach.
“Quiet,
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