Page 28 of Break Me Open
“Stop saying my name like that,” he snaps.
“Like what?” I tilt my head to the side, pretending to be confused.
“Like—” He stops, his hands flexing on his rifle, looking like he wants to grip my throat more than the gun.
“Like?” I prompt, stepping closer. There’s maybe a few feet between us now. We’re close enough that if I lean in, my chest will touch his.
He has to look up a little to keep eye contact. “Like you’re trying to get me in trouble,” he says finally.
“Lance Corporal. I don’t have to try.” He stares at me, and I stare back, grinning. The air between us sizzles and pulls like wire. Then, in the distance, there’s a faint crack of a branch that’s too loud to be just nature. I hear barely audible voices. The blue team is moving in.
“Down,” I say softly, dropping into a crouch behind a tree and pulling him with me by the strap of his vest. He stumbles, then catches himself with one hand against the bark beside my head. He’s close enough that his body heat bleeds through his layers, and his knee bumps mine. I could easily move away, but why would I?
“Eyes front,” I murmur. He does as he’s told, scanning the line of trees ahead, his posture hunched to make less of a silhouette. From the outside, we probably look like two soldiers in a tight hide. “You’re broadcasting your tension again,” I whisper. “If anyone walks by, they’ll feel it.”
“That’s not how that works,” he mutters.
“That’s exactly how that works. You’re loud, Caiden. Even when you don’t speak.”
“Can you shut up for five minutes?” He hisses.
“You like my voice. Don’t lie.” The first of Niko’s men appears between the trees, moving low with his rifle up. Behind him is one of the Brits. They sweep left, then right, methodically. Our team sneaks into view, staying down, waiting for the pre-agreed signal. If they spot us, we take the hit. If we let them walk past, we nail them in the back.
Simple.
“Sergeant,” Caiden whispers. “Are you going to give the order?”
“In a moment,” I say. They’re close now. Twenty meters away, fifteen, ten.
“Now would be good,” he grits. I say nothing. At eight meters, one of the Russians glances right, frowns, and starts to turn. I flick my hand once, and two quick pops of blanks crack from the left.
“Udar!”Hit!I shout, loud and amused. “You’re dead. Fall down, Andrei, I know you like to be dramatic about it.”
He swears and drops into an exaggerated flop. The Brit with him —the poor, wide-eyed corporal — tries to pivot, but before he can, the rest of my squad erupts from the ditch and log, shouting, firing blanks, and swarming them.
Laughing breaks out, and the tension of danger dissolves into the safer tension of bruised egos. “All clear?” Niko calls from somewhere back on the path.
“For you?” I shout back. “Never, brother.” There’s a smattering of laughter, and the exercise is technically over for this rotation. Which means I could take Caiden and rejoin, debrief, and play nice. He looks at me, then over his shoulder toward the noise of the rest of the squad moving away, then back again.
“We should go,” he says as we both stand.
“In a minute,” I say.
“Zakirov.” I cock my head.
“What is it you call this?” I ask softly. “My name. My rank. ‘Sergeant.’ ‘Zakirov.’ You use them as if you keep enough syllables between us, I won’t get through.”
“If I used fewer syllables, it would be inappropriate,” he scowls at me.
“Admit it,” I say, leaning in enough that our shoulders brush.“You like saying my name.”
“I like not getting shot,” he snaps. “We’re on exercise.”
“On exercise,” I echo, my voice dropping. “With blanks in the rifles and adrenaline in the blood. You know what that does to people, Caiden?”
“Enlighten me,” he says tightly.
“Let me show you.” I reach out and very deliberately catch his vest strap again, tugging him that last few steps closer till his chest hits mine.
