Three
Caiden
Lights-out on a Russian base is never dark, not really.
There’s always that ugly strip of fluorescent glow leaking in from the hallway.
The kind of yellowish, sickly light that turns every metal surface sharp.
It skims off the lockers, glints across the rivets, and paints the whole barracks like something out of a morgue.
Most of the lads are already half-dead to the world.
Mason is snoring like someone’s sawing through timber.
Bennett mutters nonsense every few minutes — always about food, never about anything useful.
Collins grinds his teeth loud enough that I’ve occasionally wondered if he’s trying to chew through time.
And me? I’m lying in my bunk, staring straight up at the underside of the one above me, convinced the springs are mocking me.
Which is stupid, but my brain is stupid right now, so it fits.
I exhale slowly through my nose, trying to reset myself. Today should’ve been normal. Training, briefing, then eating sludge pretending to be dinner. Sleep and repeat. All mechanical, simple, and predictable.
But no. Because of him.
Niko’s voice hits my memory again. It’s uninvited and suffocating, like someone striking a match inside my chest. I close my eyes, willing the thoughts away, but it doesn’t work.
The way he leaned forward across the mess table, laughing at something one of the Russians said in passing, his whole face lighting up, the sharp edge of his officer persona softening into something startlingly human, currently has me in a chokehold.
I don’t know what my crush on him has become at this point. I’ve had crushes before. Quiet, controlled little things I could lock down before they became dangerous. A private indulgence safely compartmentalised.
But this one? Nikorin Zakirov is different.
Maybe it’s because he listens. Really listens. He talks like he expects you to be smart, not stupid. Or it could be because he’s a good man in a place that doesn’t encourage men to be good, and I’m starved enough for decency that I latch onto it on instinct.
But wanting him is stupid. Suicidally, catastrophically stupid. He’s my superior officer in a joint operations zone. He’s straight, for all I know. Maybe he has a family, a whole life I am not meant to orbit. And most importantly, he’s the brother of the man who is currently ruining my sanity.
I flop an arm over my eyes and release a low groan into the stale barracks air. For the love of God, Ari.
If Niko is sunlight, then Ari is a live wire jammed into my brain. I don’t even know how he got there. I didn’t invite him in. I didn’t even notice him properly when we first arrived. He was just another man in the corner of the briefing room.
Then he opened his mouth and looked at me like he was counting my sins.
As a memory slams into place from the training yard earlier, I grit my teeth. The way he leaned against the fence and talked to me like he already knew the easiest way to knock me off balance with a single sentence. “Boys like you snap when you bend.”
I grab my pillow and pull it over my face in pure, mortified rage. Why did that get under my skin? Why does everything he says get under my skin?
I’ve dealt with all sorts. Sadists, sociopaths, authority-drunk officers, and lads trying to prove themselves by breaking the quiet ones.
I’ve built myself up around that stuff. I’ve got control, I trained myself in that shit.
And yet, Ari showed up with a smirk, an insult, and suddenly, every nerve I have is raw.
His eyes — sharp and grey like storm metal — cut through me as if I’m transparent. His voice curls around my thoughts like smoke. Even after he’s gone, his presence lingers, as if he left fingerprints on the inside of my skull.
He walks around like he’s daring someone to challenge him.
He talks like he expects you to play along with whatever sick, taunting game he’s running.
And the absolute worst part is he’s right about me, more than I’m comfortable with.
He called me predictable, disciplined, and read me in thirty seconds flat.
That’s why I can’t sleep.
I don’t like being known. I hate people seeing the truth. I definitely can’t stand the thought of someone like Ari — chaotic, feral, unhinged Ari — getting anywhere close to my internal wiring.
And yet my mind keeps circling back to him, his smirk, and his voice in the mess hall when he called me out on staring at Niko.
He got too close. Way too close.
And I let him.
That’s the part that scares me. It’s not him. It’s me. Why did I stand there by the fence? Why did I let him talk to me like that? Why didn’t I walk away? Why did I almost enjoy it?
I breathe out hard, forcing the thought away. My mind ignores me, the traitorous fucker.
I can still feel the heat of his gaze from the yard. Ridiculous, since he never touched me or anything, but memory is a bastard.
The way his voice dipped just enough to feel like a hand closing around my throat—“I’m sure I’ll find you.” Why did that sound like a promise? Why did it do something to me that it absolutely should not have done?
I drag my fingers over my face again, trying to scrub the day off my skin. Everything feels too close.
The barracks, the air, my own stupid thoughts. I shift onto my side, trying to find some position that doesn’t feel like my body is trying to betray me. I need to get a grip. I’ve got responsibilities here. A job, reputation, and a future I’ve worked my arse off for.
I joined at sixteen and worked my way up the hard way. Always controlled, collected, and professional. Now one smug Russian sergeant with chaos in his blood is unravelling me thread by thread.
I hate him.
Okay, I don’t, not really. I don’t like him.
But I don’t hate him. What I feel is worse.
He fascinates me, challenges me, and makes me feel alive and furious at the same time.
He sees through me in ways I’ve never let anyone see me, and that’s what terrifies me most. What happens when someone like that gets too close?
When someone like that decides you’re interesting enough to break? What if he already has?
I swallow hard and punch my pillow in frustration. I’m supposed to be pining over Niko. That’s the safe crush, the harmless one, the one that will never go anywhere but won’t destroy me either.
But Ari.
He’s danger, temptation, a very sharp object I should never touch. And yet here I am, lying awake, replaying every second of him looking at me like he could peel me open.
This can’t happen. I won’t let it.
Tomorrow, I’m going to avoid him. Completely. Absolutely no exceptions. No eye contact, banter, or falling for provocations. And definitely no reacting when he smirks or gets close.
For fuck’s sake.
I groan again, rolling onto my stomach and burying my face in my arms. I need sleep, I need peace, I need Ari Zakirov to evaporate from existence.
“Please, God,” I mutter quietly into my pillow, “just make him leave me alone.” He won’t. I know that. In fact, I’m absolutely certain that tomorrow he is going to do the opposite.
He sees me, and for reasons I cannot fathom, he keeps coming closer.
I squeeze my eyes shut and hold myself still.
Tomorrow is going to be hell, but I’m starting to worry that I might like it.