Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 103656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
I stuff my face with the bland food. I used to eat way less than these men, but now, I’m a beast just like them. On the bright side, this means I’m improving my stamina.
It’s all thanks to…
I crane my head to get a glimpse of the special ops table. Viktor sits at its head, and despite his gloomy nature, a general cheerful atmosphere radiates from the rest of the guys. They’re all dressed in black, so they stand out against our green uniforms.
Some faces are as harsh as Viktor’s, some are young, and others appear welcoming, serious, and, well…loyal.
I’ve heard so much about them. Most of those men followed Kirill from the United States. They’re Russian, and most are Russian-born, but many, including the captain himself, are American-born. They still hold their Russian citizenship and have the right to serve in the Russian army if they choose to.
He recruited the rest from the professionally trained infantry he thought were worthy of joining his ranks.
One of them, a younger boy, probably about my age, laughs loudly, and Matvey clicks his tongue, then whispers, “Bunch of entitled fuckers thinking they’re all that.”
I narrow my eyes at him, but I tactfully choose to focus on my food.
“They’re not even real Russians,” goon number one agrees.
“How they think some Americanized motherfuckers are worthy of Special Forces is beyond me,” says goon number two before he chokes on his food.
Good. Hope he dies.
“Ever thought it could be something like, I don’t know, skill?” I ask with a raised brow. “Besides, how are they less Russian than you, when they flawlessly speak the language?”
“You shut it, Lipovsky,” Matvey snarls at me. “You get saved by the captain once, and you’re suddenly a convert?”
I snort but say nothing. His jealousy of the special ops is showing, and anyone, his goons included, can see it.
“You have something to say, sodomite?” His tone hardens, and my temper flares.
Still, I regain my control as I say, “Oh, nothing. I was thinking maybe this animosity stems from the fact that you applied to the special ops and were rejected twice in a row.”
“You damn—” He reaches out to me, but I duck and pretend that the food has all of my focus.
One of his goons brings him back down, whispering something about how we’re being watched.
I smile at Matvey sweetly even as he turns a deep shade of red that’s likely to explode any second.
“They’re going back to their camp soon,” goon number three says, trying to change the subject. “Good riddance.”
My body goes still.
They’re…leaving?
I cast a glance at the table, and, as if knowing I’d look at them, Viktor meets my gaze with his unwelcoming one.
Neither he nor the captain told me that they were leaving.
A weird sensation tightens in my chest, and I want to tap it, but I don’t do that in public. I place my spoon on the table, suddenly losing my appetite.
It’s not that I can’t continue this pace on my own. With time, I can be strong enough to challenge Matvey and beat him.
But something’s different when the captain’s not around.
Yes, he’s harsh, unforgiving, and has a mysterious way of destabilizing me, but all of that pales in comparison to how he’s pushed me to grow into my strength.
He invested his time and teaching abilities in me—something no one but my family has ever done.
And now that he’s leaving, I have no clue what to do.
If only I could be at that black table. They’re so lucky to have him as a captain. Ours doesn’t give a fuck about us on an individual level. All he cares about is collective results. Whenever I fall behind, he looks at me as if I’m a thorn in his side.
The chatter dies down and everyone stands and salutes. I follow suit as our and the special ops captains stride inside, following the major and lieutenant general.
I can’t help being drawn to Kirill. He’s the tallest of the bunch. He also has this mystic aura that’s impossible to miss.
His purposeful strides eat up the distance even as he remains behind the other higher-ups. But for some reason, he feels like the most authoritarian figure here.
The most commanding, too.
“At ease,” our captain says once they’re all at the podium overlooking the entire hall.
A collective lowering of hands echoes in the room, followed by deafening silence.
“As you all know, the special operations unit was with us for collaborative training, but that has presently come to an end,” our captain announces in a semi-bored tone. “The known information is that the unit will be leaving our camp in two days’ time. But what isn’t public knowledge is that Captain Morozov was here on a scouting mission. He has watched each and every one of you closely, studied your files, patterns, strengths, weaknesses, and mental abilities. He’s picked the best five soldiers, who will leave with his unit. If he calls your name, step forward.” He casts a glance to his side. “Captain.”