Weapons Master Galactic Gladia - Anna Hackett Page 0,5

cheek twisted.

Come on, asshole. Bellamy had grown up fighting in the street and schoolyard. A neighbor boy had taught her to fight—smart and scrappy.

The guard got close, and Bellamy moved.

She ducked low and punched out hard, hitting his groin. The man made a horrible, choked sound.

His grip on his staff loosened and she snatched it, and swung.

She smacked him in the gut, knocking him off balance. He took two staggering steps backward…and tumbled into the pit.

He screamed, and the caquls attacked.

“Stop her!” Zulnath roared.

All around the room, men and women leaped up, grabbing their weapons.

Bellamy backed up and grabbed the arm of the other captive, tugging the woman back.

A man charged them, a bulky, metallic weapon in his hand. Flames spewed from it.

Flamethrower. Shit.

Bellamy pulled the woman with her and they dived over a table.

The man came closer, and Bellamy scrambled under the heavy table. She whacked the staff into his legs.

She heard the snap of a bone breaking. He yelled, and fell to the floor. His weapon flew out of his hand and skittered across the stone tiles.

“Get her, you idiots!” Zulnath’s enraged voice.

Bellamy darted out and grabbed the flamethrower. She smiled.

Then she rose. Zulnath’s green gaze met hers, and his eyes widened.

She pressed the trigger and sprayed flames all around.

Chapter Three

They were still a long way out from the Meridian Outpost, when he saw the plumes of smoke.

Maxon leaned forward. What the drak? The thick, black smoke rose in huge columns into the pale-blue sky.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

Magnus’ face was focused like a predator, staring through the forward viewscreen of the sleek ship. “Nothing good.”

The House of Rone’s elite cyborgs—except Zaden, who’d stayed behind in charge of the House of Rone—and Quinn filled the seats in the ship. They all waited, tension filling the air. Quinn crossed her long legs, her blonde braid dangling over her shoulder. Her face said that she really wanted to fight.

Soon, the outpost swept into view.

It was encircled by tall, metal walls—common in the desert to protect inhabitants from beasts and raiders. Inside the walls, Maxon saw that several buildings were on fire, and people were running and fighting out on the sand.

In the mêlée, he spotted a small blonde waving a flamethrower around.

Drak. Earth women.

Maxon watched as several men, including an Edull, began to converge on her.

“We have to help her,” Quinn said.

“Magnus,” Maxon growled.

“I see.” Magnus leaned forward over the pilot’s chair. “Dachard, get us in low.”

“Sure thing, imperator,” Rillian’s pilot replied.

The ship swooped low over the outpost.

“Everyone ready?” Magnus scanned the cyborgs and Quinn, who were all standing, each one of them filled with edgy energy.

“Let’s do this.” Quinn smirked. “I’m ready to crack some heads.”

Drak, yeah. Maxon nodded. “Let’s go.” He wanted this done.

Magnus opened the side door of the shuttle and wind rushed in. Then, without pausing, the imperator leaped out. He sailed into the air and dropped fast.

Jax, Quinn in his arms, jumped next, his red cloak flapping behind his body.

Mace, Acton, Toren, and Seren followed.

Maxon pulled in a breath and leaped, the wind rushing into his face. The ground raced up to meet him.

The House of Rone cyborgs landed in crouches all around the outpost. Maxon bent his knees to absorb the impact, coming up and assessing the fighters.

Beside him, Mace’s skin turned into a silver shield, and he charged an Edull. Magnus swung his cybernetic arm, which glittered with blue electricity.

The other cyborgs and Quinn leaped into the fight.

Maxon lifted his weapon, aiming at the man attacking Bellamy. He fired, the bolt of laser finding its target. He swiveled and fired again.

With screams, two fighters went down.

Bellamy and several other slaves, only wearing tiny, ridiculous scraps of fabric, were all fighting. Bellamy had a fierce look on her face, spewing flames around.

Then the flamethrower died. She shook it, her lips moving. Maxon could imagine her creative curses.

A large alien closed in on her. She threw the flamethrower at the man.

Maxon charged in and kept firing.

“Bellamy!” he roared.

Their gazes locked, and it was as though a jolt of electricity hit him. He grabbed the second gun out of his holster and threw it. It sailed through the air.

She snatched the weapon, lifted it, and smiled.

They both started firing, and he worked his way toward her.

Suddenly, a tall alien tackled her from the side. They crashed to the sand.

Drak.

Maxon sprinted closer. He grabbed one of his knives from his belt and threw it at another incoming alien. Bellamy and the alien wrestled on the sand.

With