Free Sabotage: Beginnings by LS Silverii

who had begun to disrobe.
    His ears rung with a hell-borne shriek. He watched her elbow swing viciously into the crowd of rapists.
    Batya stumbled down the hall on wobbly legs—reached for Justice as they slammed her to the ground. She whispered, “ Slicha li .”
    Four naked bastards sneered hungrily as they snatched her back by the legs and her long hair that was covered in blood and straw. She whimpered and thrashed, but to no avail. She’d been beaten within an inch of her life—there was no physical fight left. Only her spirit.
    “Forgive me?” Justice repeated in English. “But I failed you, Batya, daughter of God.”
    He fell into the wall and slid against the rough surface until his ass landed in puddles of piss. His all hadn’t been enough. Justice struggled to stay conscious as blood loss from Jabar’s stab weakened him.
    He mustered what strength remained in his soul. “Jabar, I’m going to kill you, motherfucker.” Justice screamed until his temples pulsed and his throat burned like hell fire.
    Jabar jabbed his meaty head into the hall so Justice could see him. The fat across his soft chest and round gut shook as he laughed. He sneered, and in perfect English spit out, “Fuck off, American.”

Chapter 8

    B en was always partial to Justice Boudreaux. He’d never held the hunting and executing of the other experimental diplomats against him. They were both products of the same fucked up federal agency that had taken advantage of their sense of duty through military service. Justice was a machine on autopilot—just like him.
    Although he’d never met Justice, Ben enjoyed the cat and mouse game of surveillance/counter-surveillance. Both men were skilled at stalking, and although Ben had never intended to kill Justice, he did have a vested interest in knowing where he was and what he was up to. It was a simple line in a life of non-simple lines—slip up and Justice would kill him.
    Ben had laid up about a quarter mile outside the Popi village after his blood fest. He didn’t feel well and assumed digesting the different types and tastes of flesh had upset his system. Hands pressed against his gut, he cringed at the thought his mommy might be right about getting sick.
    His interest was piqued at the quick arrival of Justice and an unknown partner in the village. It scared the hell out of him, but also drew his erection upright at the realization he’d come so close to being erased in the act of consumption or butt fucking. He grinned.
    Ben’s agitation grew as he watched Justice swing a camera across the village. He knew it was a live feed back to Langley, Virginia. His fists rent against the hot air because he also knew his mommy would soon see what he’d done.
    “Fuck her. I’m done talking to mommy.” He ducked behind the ridge. “Mommy, I miss you, but I’m not a bad boy. I am CIA.” He wiped a mixture of moisture and sand from beneath his eyes. Ben looked around as tingles of chills snaked up his spine.
    “Who the fuck are you talking to, idiot?” Ben asked himself.
    “I’m not an idiot,” he replied.
    He sat up, his spine rigid and tight. He stretched his eyes open wide. His head cranked slowly left and back to the right. There was no one around—just him—who was he talking to?
    Pay attention to Justice.
    That shit bothered him. Ben tried to shake the solo conversation out of his mind. He’d been alone for a long time, but never doubted his sanity. He was doing his government’s work after all. It sure didn’t affect his libido—his dick was still as hard as desert rock. He resumed his watch over Justice and noticed that his partner was a female—a very pretty female. Nothing at all like his mother.
    Ben’s monocular scope zoomed in on them. He dabbed his sticky tongue over chapped lips and pressed it into his bristly mustache. He thought the facial hair helped him look like Freddy Mercury when he donned sunglasses. He liked that persona, though his mustache was still