rebel-heart by Rakhibul hasan (best contemporary novels txt) 📖

deactivate the implant in her brain, and changed into the black tactical uniform Elise brought her over her civilian grays. Elise promised to find her by dusk, and together, they’d go west, to the Peace Command Center.

Dusk came and went. Lana grew uneasy and watched the sky flare with rocket and laser fire from the battle at the Peak. She touched the small vault containing the Horsemen in her cargo pants and sipped water.

The forest below her rustled, and she froze. Someone was down there. Elise didn’t give the bird call they’d agreed on, so Lana said nothing. Suddenly, half a dozen well- armed men appeared below her. They headed towards the top of the mountain. Moonlight glinted off their weapons and gear. She watched them go, startled to witness the men in Western uniforms that Elise had claimed to see. Growing anxious, she turned her attention to the sound of the stream Elise had told her to follow if she didn’t make it there by dusk.

Lana hugged the tree, willing her friend to appear. She didn’t look forward to traveling alone into the valley where she’d last seen a sat image of what looked like a militia. Its size was camouflaged by the surrounding forest and technology.

Another hour passed. She grew cold and her injured arm hurt more and more. She slowly moved from her position and crawled down the tree with effort, the movement sending pain through her tender wrist.

She carried little else than the lockbox, her micro, and enough meal supps and anti-sleepers for two weeks. She had a laser gun, even if she couldn’t hit a target two feet in front of her. Elise was going to help her.

If she showed.

Lana’s heart skipped a beat, and she pulled out the tracker Elise gave her, starting through the forest towards the stream. She didn’t walk far before she heard the creak and snap of branches. She froze. After a moment of silence, she started forward again.

A dark form dropped in front of her. She gave a startled cry and fell back, barely escaping a hand trying to grab her. Lana scrambled up and ran, careening into another man in dark clothing. She wrenched away, terrified. A backhand sent her reeling. She dropped, her head ringing. She felt someone tie her hands and haul her up. She was slung over someone’s shoulder, stuck between awareness and blackness. Panic spun through her, and she didn’t know which she feared more: Greenie finding her or the insurgency.

She had no concept of time in the in-between place. They seemed to walk for hours, until the first rays of morning lightened the forest. The world around her changed from forest to what resembled an army encampment with tents and mobile buildings hidden from sight by intricate nettings woven among the trees. The sound of men and movement around her pulled her from the daze.

She was cold and stiff. They entered a tent, and she was thrown to the ground. She landed hard on her left side, pain flaring through her as her wrist twisted. It was enough to make her nauseous. She was hauled to her feet and she blinked, struggling to keep the pain at bay. A slap stung her cheek, and she gasped.

“What do we have here?” the man asked in an accented voice.

There were two men behind him, and they crowded around to see her.

“You don’t look like a spec ops soldier,” he said, referring to the black uniform Elise insisted she wear. “What’s your name?”

They were all three bioengineered soldiers, thick-bodied and towering over her. But they didn’t wear military clothing or symbols. The slapper’s sleeves were rolled, revealing an intricate tattoo of battle scenes around the letters PMF.

Insurgents. Her breath caught, and cold fear trickled through her. Another slap.

“What’s your name, girl?” he demanded.

She stared at him, hand on her cheek where he’d struck her. He took each side of her collar and pulled, the effortless movement ripping the black uniform down the middle. His eyes went from the fed uniform to her face.

She tried to pull away, panic growing at the look that crossed his features. “We got us a fed bitch.”

“I’ll tell the boss,” one said, ducking out of the tent.

The man before her snatched one arm and flipped out a knife, cutting through her black clothing and tossing it aside. He glared at her, then unbuttoned his tac gear, pulling his arms free and pushing it down to his waist to reveal the dark T-shirt beneath.

“I hate fed bitches,” the other said. “Elite think they’re so much better than us.” “So do I.”

Shaking, she tried to pull away, to look away. The man in front of her spun her and gripped her neck with one hand. Her gaze went to the laser gun he’d tossed a short distance away. She felt him slice through her gray uniform with the other and tried to move away. His grip tightened, and she stopped.

“One thing civilian bitches are good for.”

Terror spun through her. He ripped the clothing from her, then sliced through her belt, shoving her over the stack of trunks. Lana shoved herself back, ignoring the pain in her wrist as adrenaline flew threw her.

He slammed her into the trunk, and she gasped, unable to move. Instead, she stretched for the laser gun, grasping it. Distracted, her attacker cut through one legging then the other. When she felt the knife near one ankle, she lashed out at him.

He cursed and wrenched her up, slapping her hard. She fell, head spinning. She aimed and fired. Curses indicated she’d hit him but not killed him. The man smashed his heel onto her already wounded arm. Her head cleared enough for her to see she’d hit one of his arms, which was drenched with blood. He snatched her legs and dragged her to him. Lana scrambled and fought, tears on her face as she

realized what she’d done in leaving the Peak. The insurgent pinned her in place with one foot on her stomach and wrenched off her civilian grays. He snatched her hands and pinned them above her head with one hand, settling his weight atop her as he reached down to undo the buttons of his trousers.

“I’ll give you a reason to scream soon, fed bitch,” he promised.

She crossed her legs at the ankles, and he planted one knee between her thighs, driving them apart. Lana struggled hard without being able to dislodge the muscular man. He pulled a laser gun from his boot and placed it at her temple. She stilled and squeezed her eyes closed, waiting for the inevitable.

The sound of a laser gun went off, and warm blood splattered her. She gasped, waiting to feel the pain certain to come. Suddenly, the man slumped and released her hands. She opened her eyes, staring at his open eyes and still body, at the blood pooling around her. Her gaze moved to the laser gun and then to the familiar man holding it.

Major Brady. Her heart soared, and she almost cried out at being rescued.

He signaled to the other insurgent, who obeyed and moved forward, grabbing the dead man’s ankles and hauling him out.

Brady wore PMF gray. He was one of them.

The laser gun was at his side. He stepped towards her, and she inched away. Her gaze went again to the pool of blood, then to the thick swath of red marking the trail of the dead man. She pushed herself away from him as he took another step towards her, a newfound horror creeping through her.

Beyond concerned, Brady crossed to the trembling woman and squatted. She shook like a leaf in a thunderstorm, her warm brown eyes wide and tears streaming down her cheeks. Donovan’s blood was on her face and T-shirt, and her wrist was bleeding again. The idea of the idiot raping her infuriated him.

“Aw, hell,” Dan said as he appeared in the doorway. “She’s okay,” Brady said, not entirely convinced.

As a warrior who spent his adult life at battle, he wasn’t really keen on how to comfort a woman who had seen three things she’d likely never witnessed before in the span of five minutes. He doubted she’d ever been in a situation where she’d barely escaped being raped, and he knew she’d never shot anyone or seen anyone’s head get blown off in front of her.

Donovan had gotten pretty damn far, he admitted. She was down to her underwear and a T-shirt. A minute more, and he’d have been too late. She huddled against the trunk, too terrified to make a sound. He held out a hand to her, and she withdrew further.

Brady looked at Dan, who shook his head.

“Burn her clothes,” he said. “Issue an order to the men. The girl’s mine.”

As the PMF commander of the Appalachia Branch, his word would hold, especially when his men heard he’d blown off Donovan’s head for hurting her. In the paramilitary organization that relied on secrecy and loyalty to survive, the soldiers followed the man they trusted most. He’d gone from one world to the other easily; it was in his blood, the blood of his father and grandfather.

The woman before him had never known any other world but her own. She definitely wouldn’t understand a world like this one.

He reached for her, as gentle as possible when she struggled. He picked her up and strode out of the tent and through the camp, ignoring the catcalls of the men around him. He took her to his tent. Though he did live in a tent, he liked to think he lived as comfortable as possible. It resembled a studio apartment with a real bed and dresser, a restroom cordoned off by opaque curtains in one corner, a small study where he kept his war docs, a kitchenette, rugs, and a small living area. He set her down on a rug.

She cowered away from him, favoring her hurt wrist. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Her tearful plea made him angry that he hadn’t been able to protect her as he should have. Even so, she wasn’t going to last long among the roughnecks in his camp if she didn’t toughen up a little.

“You have to do what I say,” he said. “You understand me?”

She nodded. He prepped bandages for her wrist, a bowl and washcloth, and a smaller version of the doc’s med-gun, loading it with enough painkiller to knock her out. She inched away, and he grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him. He gave her the shot first. Her body jerked, but its effects were immediate. She slumped against him.

Brady pulled her into his lap and set to work on cleaning her up and repairing her wrist. He didn’t know if she hadn’t had time to fix her wound or didn’t know how; the wound was on the verge of becoming infected.

“Here’s her shit,” Dan said, ducking into the tent. He tossed her micro, pills, and a vault half the size of his hand on the pillows near him. “She okay?”

“She’s gonna be a mess,” Brady said. “Donovan hurt her?”

“I don’t think so.”

Dan shook his head and flung himself down across from him, retrieving the sealed vault. He shook it then set it down when it made no noise.

“What is someone like this doing out here?” Brady demanded. “No idea.”

Lana’s skin was soft, her body fitting comfortably against his. His blood heated at her familiar scent. He’d found her voice soothing and enjoyed talking to her when he was her Guardian, enough so that he’d

looked forward to their paths crossing. He hadn’t expected her to be as small or exotically beautiful as she was.

“We found Elise,” Dan said. “She put up a fight?”

“Oh, yeah. Took out two of our guys until I told her we had this one.”

“Elise will do well here.