Page 149 of Born for Silk
Her…
She is safe.
Shifty figures gather in pockets of the shadowed compound, the lick of fire from the tank highlighting them every so often. Enough for me to count. One. Two. Three. Four.
Rounds run to my side, prefacing a screech from the sky and then deep, hysterical shouts—“Help me! Help me!”—that battle the wind.
Behind a brick pillar, I scout. I watch the terrified Endigo as he is lifted from the ashy abbey grounds by talons skewed through his neck. Odio hovers in the Redwind and jerks the body around, the heavy weight of it tearing along talon-made incisions, like popping stitches open at a seam.
Gory. Perfection.
The body drops.
Then the head.
Odio swoops for another.
That’s my good boy.
Pained whimpers hurtle from my left, triggering me in an unusual way; I wouldn’t usually risk my position to save one—one individual being too fucking noisy.
But for her, I snap my gaze to chase the sound, finding a woman scurrying backward on her arse as an Endigo looms over her, foaming at the mouth, knife spinning in one hand, his belt buckle unfastening in the other.
I dart through the shadows and approach him from the rear, using the muzzle of my rifle to skewer him through his fleshy centre. Blood sprays the woman’s face, and she howls in terror, drawing attention to herself.
And me.
Rounds rattle at my side. Kong is suddenly there, unloading bullets into an assembly of shady forms, but not before something hits the back of my leg, the side of my arm, somewhere in my shoulder.
I let loose a bellowing growl of anger—not pain. Too much adrenaline to feel pain. I whirl around with my body bulked to my full size and charge the remaining two. The advancing Endigo freeze under the sight of me. Upon them with a roar, I punch my fist into a dirty face, cave a skull inward, before lashing to the other, grabbing a throat and squeezing until a tongue and an eye pop outward.
Blood raves between my temples.
But she is safe.
While Kong roars from somewhere in the abbey, I step over the body of one of our Guards, half his entrails hanging from his middle.
Cracking my neck from side to side, tension carving up my veins like a blade, I stalk toward another huddled figure, unfazed by the rapid staccato of another rifle being unloaded.
Again, I hear Odio screech as he darts for the ground, but this time, the sound bends and contorts into something guttural and pained. The noise seizes me. My eyes hit the sky, where I watch Odio falling, upside down, his body tumbling out of control until he hits the dirt, lifting a mist of red.
Fuck.
No!
Rushing toward the mound of dark ruffled feathers, I take another bullet in my side. Outnumbered. We. Are. Outnumbered.
The abbey, the tank, and the fire begin to blur as I stride. Suddenly, my feet seem to shuffle, not lift. My upper body charges forward, but the weight of my injuries fills my shoes with cement, and I drop to my knees. I go to stand but can’t. I reach out my hand toward him. He is not moving. I growl at myself, at my feet, at my knees, not working.
Dammit!
The weight is an unyielding force, and with each passing moment, it builds more depth and adds more concrete to my body.
Focus.
Odio.
I am closing my eyes and shaking my head, demanding the blurry visions dissolve… when the gates to the community open and a light fills the void, making me squint, and then tank tracks roll past me… A Trade tank.