Page 34 of Break Me Open
He takes a step toward me, closing the distance between us without seeming to realise he’s doing it. We’re a few feet apart now. “You can’t treat people like that, like they’re pieces on a board.”
“Oh, detka, that’s exactly what they are. Pieces. Tools. Variables.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not how my CO runs things,” he says.
“Your CO hasn’t watched as many pieces get taken,” I snap, sharper than intended. I take a breath, then let it go.
“You enjoy it,” he says quietly. “Don’t you? Pushing people. Seeing how far you can bend them before they break.”
“I enjoy results,” I say. “If you want gentle, go to a civilian gym.”
“I didn’t ask for gentle, I asked for real.”
I step closer again until we’re only a hand’s breadth apart. “And what’s more real than being flat on your back with no air in your lungs and someone stronger deciding when you get to breathe?”
His breathing stutters. This close, I can see the pulse pounding in his throat. “And did you enjoy that, Arseny?” he asks, his voice rough. “Having me under you in front of everyone?”
“I’d be lying,” I say softly, “if I said it wasn’t... educational.”
His hand twitches at his side, like he might push me, or grab me, potentially both. “You’re out of line,” he fires back weakly.
“Probably,” I agree. “You could file a complaint. Tell your CO the scary Russian Sergeant sat on you too hard.”
“You’re an arsehole,” he says, his nostrils flaring.
“Da,” I say. “And you like it.”
“I don’t,” he whispers.
“Liar,” I reach up, my fingers sliding along his cheekbone, causing him to suck in a breath. “See?” I say quietly. “You didn’t back down. You didn’t tap. You didn’t cry.” My thumb ghosts his bottom lip. “You took everything I gave you, and you’re still standing. That’s not humiliation, Caiden. That’s proof.”
“Of what?” he whispers, before he can stop himself.
“That you can take more,” I say. For a dizzy second, I forget this is dangerous. I drop my hand, stepping back as if nothing had happened and the air rushes between us.“We’re done for today,” I say briskly. “Consider yourself... recalibrated.”
He stares at me, his chest rising and falling a little too fast, his hands flexing at his sides.“Next time,” he manages, “you could just tell me instead of putting on a show.”
“Where would be the fun in that?” I ask lightly, moving toward the door. I pause with my hand on the handle and look back over my shoulder. “And Lance Corporal?” I add. “If you’re going to challenge me in public again, make sure you’re ready for how interested everyone will be in watching you lose.”
“Who says I lost?” he says, his voice low.
I can’t help grinning. “Look at you, still arguing. You’re cute when you’re wrong, detka.” He takes a step toward me like he’s about to close the gap between us again, but I don’t let him.“Rest,” I say, yanking the door open. “Ice your ribs, and drink water. I’ll need you upright for next week’s drills.”
“Can’t wait,” he mutters. But there’s a look in his eyes that isn’t just anger.
I step back into the corridor, letting the door swing shut behind me. “Idiot,” I tell myself. “Dangerous, stupid, reckless idiot.” This is not a game we can afford to play.
I should leave it, let it go. There are a dozen other things that need my attention.
Instead, I find myself thinking about the way his eyes looked when I called him a liar.
Thirteen
Caiden
By the time the bottle hits the table, my headache already has a name. Arseny Zakirov. We’re off duty in the common room. It’s a mess of noise, bad lighting, beat-up tables, and mismatched chairs. Somebody’s dragged a radio in, it’s playing something tinny and too loud in Russian that everyone pretends not to notice until the chorus hits.
I’m wedged at a scarred table with four of my lads and Niko. The tension in my body is finally starting to piss off enough that the knot between my shoulder blades loosens a notch. I’ve spent most of the day trying very hard not to think about Ari’s hands on me. It hasn’t worked, not even a little bit.
