Burn for Me (Chaotic Love)

10. Ten

Ten

8-30-2024

This mission will destroy me in more ways than I initially thought.

-Jasmine

Staring into the uneven mirror, I don't see the put-together woman I once was, but I can recognize some similarities. I still wear my hair tied up high and tight, and my shoulders are just as straight as they've always been. However, my clothes aren't as stylish, and jewelry no longer decorates my skin.

I tuck my white tank top into my cargo pants and ensure my boots are tied properly. My father loved how composed I appeared when I was younger. My sundresses were never wrinkled, and my hair always framed my face like my mother’s and little sister’s. That was only because he never realized what I had to endure to reach that level… or maybe he did. I’d rather not know.

I survey the room once more before stepping out. I've experienced this feeling plenty of times—the sensation of being watched—but there are no flashing red dots in this room, and there’s hardly any space for a person to hide. I’m sure the stress of everything is piling up, making my mind look for a distraction.

Just as the door clicks shut, I’m startled by a voice.

“I was just looking for you!” Moe exclaims. I don't know how he’s always so happy, but I appreciate it anyway.

“You're always looking for me.” I laugh.

“Yeah, well, we’re going to be doing some shooting today. Light work—just a run-through of what we've been practicing.”

I'm already five steps ahead of him, nodding as he rambles.

“Honestly, you can think of it more as a warm-up before you get the real action.”

I hiss at the temperature change as I step onto the landing deck from the back entrance. The mist from the waves crashing against the boat clings to my skin, and the sun beams on the metal platform, creating unbearable heat.

“I highly doubt Sam is going to let a gun anywhere near me, but thank you for the enthusiasm,” I mutter. Looking across the area, I spot Sharkie standing at a comical distance from a makeshift sparring mat. Everyone knows better than to get too close when Sam is training, but my feet carry me forward despite that.

He has proven that I can be near him. I can punch, push, scream, or cry, and he can take it.

"I’d trust you with one," Moe says as he steps beside me. However, I can't concentrate on his words; I'm too distracted by Sam's shirt clinging to his body, soaked with sweat. Tide throws his arms over his face as Sam straddles him, but instead of hitting Tide, he punches the ground beside his head. There is so much restraint in his actions, but the struggle is evident in the way his brows furrow and his breathing becomes uneven.

I want to understand why he thinks he’ll lose control when he keeps proving he has it together. But now that I’m seeing it through the lens of his fears, it almost makes sense.

"Let's go!" Sharkie shouts from behind me. I turn my head to look at her, casually twirling a knife between her fingers while Moe hurries to her side.

Unlike Moe, who craves knowledge, I feel the opposite. Not knowing is better. I reluctantly follow Sharkie but glance back at Sam, watching me walk away. I smirk and exaggerate the sway of my hips with each step.

Four encasement rooms occupy the landing pad, taking up a quarter of the makeshift training area and reminding me of base. Moe darts into one booth while Sharkie steps into another, still spinning that annoying knife.

I hate to admit it, but I’m jealous of her. Despite everything, she found the love she needed and never changed. She stood firm in her beliefs and still won, even as our enemy.

I wish I could be open about my mistakes while standing by my reasoning. I want to be strong enough to fight for my beliefs and what I want.

A sharp shove jolts me, and I glare at a scowling Sharkie.

“Focus. I don't plan on being shot today just because you couldn't get out of your head.”

“Whatever you say, Shark.” I hum, relishing in the aggravated grunt she lets out as she thrusts a pistol in my direction. My humor quickly fades, and I'm left frozen, only able to stare.

“You load, aim, and–” Sharkie takes my hand with an annoyed huff, sarcastically forcing it to wrap around the cold metal.

“I know how it works.” I bite out. I just don’t like the position it puts me in. It makes me realize that I'm choosing a side. Everything I've been preventing will burn to ash at my feet if this goes sideways. Either way, the people I care for will get hurt. Her brows furrow, and she studies me, but I refuse to look at her, opting to focus on the target hanging from a cable at the end of my booth.

A beautiful red dot is in the middle, begging me to pull the trigger, but as I aim and shoot, I hit the corner of the sheet on purpose. Sharkie steps behind me, correcting my stance into one I know all too well, and steps back again.

“Have you talked to Sam?” She asks calmly, and I shrug, hitting the bottom right corner of the sheet. No . He's been at a distance since that fantastic breakfast, just as expected. I found the mask he left behind when I drunkenly stumbled through my door the other night. I won’t admit how I held it to my nose out loud or how his scent eased me to sleep instead of a pen and paper.

“That explains your foul mood.” I stiffen as Sharkie mutters and hit the top right of the paper. “You two are so odd. It's like you hate each other, but then there's moments where–”

I pull the trigger, cutting off her words with the loud pop it makes, and hit the bottom left of the paper.

“What?” I bite out and turn to look at her while unloading the clip to put a new one in. I don't understand why she's talking about it now when she probably could have pulled more from me while I was drunk.

“I think your bun is too tight again.” She murmurs, forcing me to breathe and calm my misguided anger. Her head tilts, looking over my target, and she sucks the back of her teeth before speaking again. “Funny how you can make a perfect square but can't hit the center.”

I glance at the target and then at Moe's. All his holes are beautiful, grouped in the center.

“Dumb luck,” I mutter under my breath.

“I guess that's why we’re friends.”

I huff; if she had said that a few months ago, I would've been convinced she was getting ready to kill me, but I guess we have come a pretty good way together. We both deserve a friend– I want to be a real one for her.

Keeping my line of sight on hers, I fire four bullets one after another.

“Fucking faker! Why couldn't you have done that in the first place? I would’ve called us best friends instead!” Sharkie exclaims, and I don't have to look at the paper to know my aim is perfect. Sam was the one who taught me when I first joined. I already knew the basics and didn't plan to take his lessons seriously. That changed one late night when he found me training on my own. With his chest pressed against my back and his hand wrapped around mine, he whispered in my ear, "Breathe. "

From that moment on, I had one goal: to perfect it.

It took plenty more nights sneaking out of my quarters to hit the firing range, occasionally lingering around the workout room to watch Sam get lost in the motion of his fists connecting with a bag, but it was worth the lack of sleep.

“I wouldn't say that,” I grumble as I hand her back the pistol. I don't deserve her friendship. Just because I'm willing to give her mine doesn't mean I'm willing to accept the loyalty she can provide.

She takes the gun and fires her shots at the same target, hitting each mark beside my own.

“Why not?”

Because you don't know me.

“I think I still owe you a few apologies.” It’s a short answer, doing little to give away what is going through my head, but I need to get through my assignment and prove myself before I can lay my sins out for everyone to see.

“We all do.” She shrugs and presses the button for the pulley to bring our piece of paper back. “Besides, I've always heard the best friendships begin with two people hating each other.”

“Oh, come on, we didn't hate each other!”

“Well, you did act like an ass when we first met and threw a gnarly punch into my cheek.” She glances at me out of the corner of her eye with a slight grin.

“I never hated you. If I did, I would've never gotten Sam that day.” I tiptoe around my words, trying to lighten the tension.

“I knew you were standing up there watching. When everything ended, it just proved that you aren't as bad and out of place as you make yourself to be. Your timing could have been a little better, though.” She laughs, and I laugh in return.

“Sorry. Kinda hard to judge the situation when you don't know what's going on.” I mutter. Her features soften, and she pushes my shoulder.

“Start demanding answers. You’re stronger than you act and–”

“What's next? This is getting boring; give me a challenge.” Moe cuts Sharkie off as he steps around the corner with a fake yawn. Her lips part to answer him, but she turns her attention to me instead and puts the target in my hand.

“We’re friends now. So, I have the right to say this: stop putting yourself down. You belong with us.”

“Hell yeah, you do.” Moe laughs, not picking up on the intensity of the topic.

“Whatever you say, Shark.” I force a grin and clear my throat, “Is it okay if I shoot for a while?”

“Do it while you can. The other soldiers will take all this down tonight.” She nods and places the pistol on the makeshift table as I fold the paper and put it in my pocket.

I just needed some space to think alone, but I lost time. I don't know how long I went through the steady motions of putting up a new target, pushing it out, shooting, and pulling it back in just to repeat the steps, but throughout it all, I continued to rationalize my thoughts. Nothing will likely happen while we're there. I'm under an alias; my face will be covered, and if things go south, Sam is big enough that I can hide in his shirt if I have to.

My arm trembles with my last shot from holding it stiff for so long, and I miss the target. But as soon as I go to drop my hands, something sweaty and thick presses against my back—firm and solid like a brace, keeping me upright. Tattoos come into sight, dragging down my biceps and forearms until calloused palms wrap around my hands.

“Breathe.” A voice rasps in my ear, and I follow the command. His finger slips over mine, and he puts enough pressure that I pull the trigger, letting my final shot hit perfectly.

The whistle blows, signaling noon, but neither of us moves.

He’s so close I can feel his breath against my ear, so I turn my head in vain, hoping that maybe…

“Jasmine…” He mutters so smooth and soft it almost sounds like a plea, pulling me from the trance I’ve found myself in.

“Sam,” I whisper in response, and his attention pulls to the movement of my lips forming his name. For a moment, I'm convinced he’ll finally give in, but he clears his throat, and his touch is gone with the steps he takes back.

“You should go rest. This needs to be cleaned up, and you've been at it as long as I have.”

My jaw sets. God, I hate him. I hate this mission. I hate how it doesn't feel fake or like some way for me just to piss him off anymore.

“You can stop acting like I'm the plague. You're bound to kiss me at some point during this.” I snap as I click the release on the side of the pistol. The mag drops into my palm, and I shove it into his chest.

I'm pissed that I know where I belong, but he's making it so damn difficult to tell myself it's worth it.

His jaw flexes, but the curious arch in his brow conflicts with the motion as he tries to calm me. “You're tired. I was only–”

I suck the back of my teeth, cutting him off, “Do us both a favor and stop acting like this is real until it's time to, and I’ll do the same.”

I don't even give him a chance to respond as I rush off. There was no reason for me to snap like that–It was out of character and crude–but I just can't breathe without feeling like my lungs are burning, and I know I won't be able to until this is over.

That's if I don't set the world on fire before then.

I groan, feeling something sharp digging into the side of my neck. Pushing my arm under my head, I search for whatever has woken me from the fantastic sleep I was getting.

“Stupid…” A quiet huff from the corner interrupts my groggy, irritated words as I locate my notepad. My eyes shot open at the sound. As I shove the book under my pillow, I try to squint against the darkness, looking for what made the noise, but all I can see is the glimmering light falling across the foot of my bed.

“Who’s there?” I say quietly, terrified that I'm going insane. Has spending time with Cordelia rubbed off on me? It doesn't work like that, does it? I shift into a sitting position, pulling my blanket up to my chest with the motion.

“Lay back down. You wore yourself out today.” Someone rumbles from the corner. The calm feeling that washes over me from the familiar voice quickly turns to pure rage.

“How did you get in here?” I murmur as I strain my eyes in a pitiful attempt toward the door but can't see the lock.

“You can stop glaring at the wall,” Sam says, and I turn my head toward his voice. What was once a small dark spot in the corner now blurs into a large shadow. I open my mouth to demand answers, but he speaks before I can.

“I need you to stop panicking and let me know if you’re ready.”

He steps forward, and the light from the window silhouettes his body, making him appear like something from a nightmare. Clearing my throat, I force myself to focus on his statement and what he’s referring to.

Of course, I’m prepared. I will perform perfectly on my first mission if I ignore my anxious thoughts.

“I’m not panicking,” I say, trying to sound confident, but my voice grows small as the bed dips under his weight, and he turns to look at me. The moonlight accentuates his face, once clean-shaven, now with more scruff along his jaw. The worry lines on his forehead deepen, and the smile creases at the corners of his mouth twitch. It’s hard to imagine how he got them when he hardly ever smiles.

“You’ll wear my last name and my ring on your finger. Every moment of every day, you’ll be by my side, holding my hand, kissing me, and acting like you love me. Because if you don’t, we are compromised, and we still don’t know how dangerous this situation can get.”

I swallow hard, glancing at his features, trying to decipher how he feels about this, but as always, he shows nothing. I pull my legs to my chest and pick at a bit of fuzz on my knees.

That was the least of my worries, but now—

“I’m ready.” I breathe out.

“Are you sure? You freaked out earlier… on me .” He runs a hand through his hair. “If this is too much, just say the word. Someone else can fill the position, and when you’re ready, we can find you something else—”

“Because I’m tired of you getting so close just to back away! It was easier when I made the moves, and you acted like you regretted ever finding me, but now it’s affecting the job. I want to do this right, Sam, and you just… just...” I growl in frustration. I feel exposed and vulnerable right now. Being in the dark makes it all too easy to talk and follow what Sharkie told me.

I'm stronger than I look. I need to stop putting myself down.

“I know; I can see the change.” He starts but huffs out a breath when I turn my head away. I don’t want to hear anything he has to say.

“You need to understand… I backed away because anytime I’m close to you, it feels like I’m being burned alive.” His hand curls around my jaw, tilting my head back, but I keep my eyes down despite his attempt to pull my attention.

“Careful, I wouldn’t want you to feel tortured–” I pause my sassy remark when his breath falls against my mouth and the tip of his nose brushes against mine.

“That’s not the issue,” he murmurs, his hand trailing further down to rest against my throat, where I know he can feel my rapid pulse. “The problem is that I like the pain.”

My mind goes blank, and my lips part, but before I can say anything, he leans in, catching my lip between his teeth, biting hard enough that I hiss and my thighs clench. The taste of copper floods against my tongue until he's sucking the broken flesh, replacing the taste with his own.

It's not enough. I want to feel his mouth mold to mine. I lean forward, but he flexes his fingers into my throat, catching my breath.

“I need you to stay still, little devil.”

I'm trembling with the need to move closer. Still, I remain motionless, letting my lashes flutter shut so I can focus on how firm lips wrap around mine.

His hand shifts until it tangles in my hair, cradling the back of my head, angling it to his liking, making my lips part and his tongue dips in, teasing my own. He tastes like whisky—smooth and strong, threatening to intoxicate my senses and cloud my judgment from the undertone of sin.

The heavy weight of his dog tags drops from his shirt, landing on my knees. I have the insane urge to grab them and pull him closer, but before I can act on the thought, he pulls away.

It’s a struggle to fully open my eyes as I bring my thumb to my lip to rub over the cut and feel the broken, swollen flesh.

“That um…” I try not to focus on how tight my chest feels or how my skin is burning with each brush of the sheets against it, but his words still sound muted despite my efforts.

“I believe that was all we needed to cover before arriving.” I turn to his voice, but for once, his focus isn't on me. I know his calculating look—the one he wears when trying to figure something out–but the pull in his brows and strain in his jaw are unfamiliar. It’s almost as if he's in pain.

I want this buzzing feeling to go away so I can focus on the underlying hurt of his reaction, but I can't seem to push it away.

“Right. Yeah, I guess that covers all the basics.” I mutter, finally finding my voice.

“Caspian called in a private jet. It'll land on the flight deck in the morning and refuel, then we will head out.”

The mattress jerks with the sudden motion of his standing.

“Sam?”

“The stars are getting their chance to shine." The door follows his voice as he answers what he already assumes I'm going to say, leaving me alone with the impending feeling of death lingering where he just sat.

This mission will destroy me in more ways than I initially thought.