Blood of My Monster: Chapter 7

I can’t breathe.

My feet refuse to move, and my heart thunders in a rhythm so intense, I’m surprised it hasn’t ripped its way out of my rib cage and spilled at my feet.

Invisible hands claw harder at my throat the longer I stare at the man’s face.

I wouldn’t have missed it if I’d tried. I couldn’t. The sight of his round face, thick build, and half-bald head is engraved in my memories as if I saw him yesterday.

He was at our house a few days before the massacre. My brother and cousins didn’t know, because they were forbidden from the office area, but I snuck about with Mama when she was bringing them drinks.

I hid by the wall and saw this same man sitting on the chair with a nonchalant coldness while Papa and my uncles spoke heatedly.

The reason I could never forget his face is because of the psychopathic-like disinterest he held for the whole conversation. I didn’t hear much because Mama quickly shut the door and shooed me away, but I heard Uncle Albert ask in a supplicating tone, “Just one more chance…”

I remember thinking a man like that wouldn’t give whatever chance Uncle Albert was asking for, and I was right. I have no clue how involved he was in the annihilation of my family, but I know for certain that he played a role in it.

A major one.

It’s no coincidence that he was at our house only a few days before it was transformed into a bloodbath.

It’s also not a coincidence that I’ve seen him here, in the Special Forces camp, of all places, now of all times. Civilians aren’t allowed inside training military institutions, so he must have some sort of link to the higher-ups. This is probably fate giving me a chance to avenge my family by so fittingly putting him in my path.

A red haze covers my eyes, and my muscles home in for action. I forget why I wandered here in the first place. My physical being slowly detaches from my mental being until only one thought beats beneath the surface of my skin.

Kill.

Shoot.

Revenge.

The man moves lethargically, walking with the speed of a turtle, probably due to his large build. A disapproving look covers his features, turning his face blue. There’s nothing of the nonchalant coldness he regarded Papa and my uncles with that day.

No aristocratic haughtiness that made me want to punch him in the face even back then.

I study my surroundings, forcing my bloodstream and breathing back to normal. In fact, they’re so low, I’m slipping into the category of camouflaging my existence. A technique I’ve learned since I joined the special ops.

Viktor, who’s standing by the door the man came out of, slips inside and conveniently disappears from view.

Since he was followed by an army of guards the other time, I’m sure they’re waiting for him outside. I only have this chance to get rid of the man.

My steps are inaudible, and my movements turn fluid as I slip forward in pursuit. Once I’m close enough to perceive the glistening sweat on the back of his neck, I lean down and retrieve the knife stashed in my boot.

The closer I get, the more I suppress my breathing, mentally preparing myself for the strike.

But the moment I’m about to stab him, a shadow appears from the opposite end of the hall.

In a second, I jump back behind a wall and glue my body to it.

The shadow is his guards. Not one, but three. Burly, tall, and with mean expressions written all over their features. If I’d killed him, I’d be in shreds about now.

My breathing heightens, coming out heavy and irregular. A tear clings to my lid as I stare at him being escorted out of reach.

There’s no worse frustration than lacking power.

If I were stronger, those three guards wouldn’t have fazed me, and I would’ve finally started getting revenge for my family.

But I’m not stronger and, therefore, will be stuck in this position of thinking ‘almost’ and ‘could’ve.’

“Here you are.”

I hide the knife in the belt of my pants and dab at my eyes as a body crashes into me from behind and wraps an arm around my shoulder.

Maksim has that usual joyful gleam on his face, but there’s the general wariness everyone brims with today. “Why are you here, Sasha?”

My mouth goes dry, but no answer comes out. Why the hell did I come here in the first place…?

Seeing that man turned my head entirely blank, and I forgot why I wandered here alone instead of being part of what the guys call a ‘mission ritual,’ which is basically meditating and worshipping their weapons.

Maksim stares down the hall, then narrows his eyes on me.

He has a boyish charm and an easygoing presence that I’ve gotten used to ever since he ‘took me under his wing.’

Now, however, he looks suspicious. “Have you come to see the captain?”

Oh. I remember now.

“Yeah, the captain! I wanted to ask him one more time to give me a chance.”

I swear I lost a few years of my life when I made the decision to stand face-to-face with Captain Kirill. Since our last encounter, I’ve been dreading looking him in the eye, let alone having any alone time with him.

Hell, I was ready to bribe Viktor to go with me, even though his company isn’t that enjoyable. It’s still less intimidating than the captain’s, though.

But then I saw the man from the past, and all my plans went to hell.

“Either you’re too naïve or too foolish if you think Captain would change his mind after making a decision.” Maksim ruffles my hair. “You’ll learn, though.”

“You said you’ve known him since you were born?”

“Yeah, my father works for his father.” He grins. “But I was too cute for my own good, so the family doted on me, in a way. Everyone except for Captain, that is.”

“Why?”

He releases me, then glares in a perfect imitation of the captain’s usual expression. “He was born looking exactly like this and being Mister I Hate the World, and I’m Going to Keep Viktor Close So We Can Hate the World Some More.”

I smile. “Was it always that bad?”

“I’m kidding.” He lets his hands drop. “Viktor had a mutation and has actually become way worse.”

I hit his shoulder jokingly. “You’re an asshole.”

“I’m a funny asshole. There’s a difference.” His expression sobers. “In all seriousness, Captain is a product of his father’s rigid upbringing. You know how they say some monsters are born and others are made? He falls right in-between.”

“Rigid upbringing how?”

“Nothing you should worry about.” He subtly ignores my question and points down the hall. “Let’s get out of here before Viktor hears and comes up with creative methods for our punishment.”

“But I haven’t said anything.”

“You listened and laughed. That counts.”

I follow after, begrudgingly giving up on convincing the captain, even if a part of me is glad that I don’t have to face him.

“Hey, Maks?”

“Yeah?”

“You said the other day that most of you grew up together,” I circle back to the previous topic. “Does that mean everyone has come here at the order of the captain?”

“Not everyone—about seventy percent. And there was no order. Boss, Captain Kirill, decided to leave the family and enlist, so many of us followed.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Maksim lifts his shoulder. “Some do it for the action, but most of us are just loyal to him. Not to the level of Viktor’s stoic loyalty, but those who came to Russia prefer him over any other member of the family. Besides, it doesn’t hurt to gain experience in the meantime.”

He speaks the words with so much affinity and sure determination. For some reason, I’m jealous of the captain. I wonder what he did that these guys would follow him blindly to the pits of death, just because he decided to leave his privileged life and enlist.

“No one in the family approves of his choice to come here,” Maksim continues. “More accurately, the old boss doesn’t approve. He comes around once a year or so to personally try to drag him back.”

“The old boss?”

“Captain’s father. You just saw him leave. That old, round man?”

My lips part, and I fall a step behind him. “That’s…the captain’s father?”

“Sure is. His name is Roman Morozov. We all paid our respects to him just now when you disappeared since he’s our boss’s father. He’s always bitching about how we should go back to New York, and although we nod absentmindedly, we mean nothing of it. Where Captain goes, we go.”

My hand trembles, and it takes effort to stop it from giving away my state.

The man who definitely played a role in my family’s demise is the captain’s father.

Why did he have to be his father?

But most importantly, what am I supposed to do with this information now?

At the start of the mission, everyone is on high alert.

Since I’m backup, I remain where the captain ordered us to—near him. We’re all the new additions to the unit, and even though some have more combat experience than me, I’m consoled by the fact that they’re also kept on backup.

Our mission today is to infiltrate a warehouse where illegal weapons are stored, apprehend or kill the terrorists, and then report our findings back to base.

We’ve landed near the warehouse that’s strategically located in a cave under a dome of snow. As per the training we’ve been repeating for weeks, we have successfully crawled to the warehouse.

Captain raises his fist, stopping all of us in our tracks behind some large trees. He motions at the snipers to take their positions. Three soldiers crawl away to find the preapproved locations that offer a clean shot.

The rest are divided into Team A, led by Rulan; Team B, led by Viktor; and Team C, aka the stupid backup, led by the captain himself.

Captain Kirill motions at us to stand, using the trees as camouflage.

According to the mission map, Rulan and company should’ve been out already. It’s not wise to delay these types of encounters any longer than needed, considering their volatile nature.

However, the captain has been looking at the barely visible windows of the warehouse for the past five minutes, unmoving, like a wall of muscles.

He’s wearing his helmet and is turned away from me, so I can’t see his expression, but I can see the stiffness that mounts from his legs to his back.

If it were any other time, I’d probably be attuned to the changes in him, but after finding out the identity of his father, I’m not sure how to act around the captain anymore.

I can’t use him to get to his father since Maksim mentioned they have a muddied relationship. But at the same time, I can’t just forget that he’s a product of that man.

Maybe my initial apprehension about the captain was correct, after all.

He’s bad news and dangerous.

Rulan cuts off my hyperfocus on him when he advances forward. “Permission to go in, Captain?”

“Not yet.” He stares up, then down, as if searching for an invisible needle in the snow.

“Is something the matter?” Viktor whispers so low, I wouldn’t have been able to hear him if I were in the back.

“Something’s off.” Kirill tilts his head to the side. “No one is around.”

“It was snowing just now. They’re probably hiding,” Rulan says, to which Kirill shakes his head once.

“Storms and snow don’t scare these people. They’d have patrols to secure the premises and watch out for intruders. Unless…they knew we were coming.”

“That’s impossible,” Viktor interjects. “Only the base knows about this mission. Our intelligence has no leaks to warrant this suspicion.”

“Yeah, Captain. We trained so hard for this mission that we can do it with our eyes closed,” Rulan says, and the others nod in agreement.

Heavy silence falls over the team. No one talks as we wait for Captain’s decision.

He doesn’t look convinced. If anything, he’s surveying the premises harder than before.

But since he’s the leader of this operation, he has to make a decision.

He slides his gloved fingers up and down his rifle in a methodical, controlled rhythm. Everything he does oozes authoritativeness. I’ve been in the army long enough to meet men who idolize control, but they soon revert back to their old selves once no one is there.

Not Kirill.

It’s part of who he is. A personality trait that can’t be separated from his essence.

His movements come to a halt before he announces in a clear voice, “Only Team A will proceed. Team B will be backup.”

Viktor gives him a look, probably feeling left out of all the fun.

“It’d be faster if we go at the same time,” someone from Team B, none other than Maksim, says, not giving a damn about the glare his team captain gives him.

“Only Team A,” Captain repeats. “And, Rulan, I want you to follow your gut. If there’s anything amiss, don’t wait for my signal. Retreat to the pickup point, got it?”

“Yes, sir.” He salutes, then motions at his team members to follow him.

Viktor and his men slip between nearby trees to their positions. They strategically crawl away to avoid triggering any of the mines that we already know the locations of due to the intelligence.

It looks easy, but it takes a lot of concentration and memory to avoid all of them while going unnoticed.

“You three.” Captain motions at the guys with me. “Go back up the other snipers. Any suspicious movement, you shoot to kill.”

“Yes, sir.” They scatter as well so that it’s only me and the captain.

I inch closer to him, my hand tightening on my rifle. “What about me, Captain?”

“You stay still.” He’s speaking to me, but his attention is on where Rulan and the others have disappeared to.

“Maybe you should’ve done everyone a favor and left me at the base then,” I mutter under my breath.

The captain faces me with frightening slowness. Only his eyes are visible from beneath the helmet and they’re narrowed with obvious disapproval.

“Are you talking back to me, soldier?”

“No, sir.” It takes everything in me not to click my tongue.

“You obviously have dissatisfactions. Voice them.”

“Those three guys score lower than me. Why do they get to be backup and I do nothing?”

“Because I said so. Do you need another reason?”

I think I glare at him. No, I’m sure I do, but I catch myself quickly and lower my head.

The dictatorial asshole.

He steps forward, unapologetically barging into my space. I have to remind myself that I’m a ‘man’ and men don’t cower, especially if they want to be taken seriously as a soldier.

I have to remind myself that the captain is only trying to intimidate me, but the pep talk does nothing to slow the rhythm of my heart.

Just why the hell does he affect me this way?

It doesn’t help that I’m inhaling him with every intake of air. It’s impossible to ignore his presence that dwarfs mine or his height that makes me feel like he’s a giant.

Breathing near him is no different than sucking air through a straw.

And this isn’t normal.

“Lift your head, Lipovsky. I want you to look at me again the same way you did just now.”

There’s a dropping quality to his voice, like it’s become deeper and lower than his normal speaking tone.

And now, I’m downright scared about looking at him. Maksim told me Captain is always a wild card.

It takes a man of a certain caliber to leave a family of the Morozov’s standing, just to play a game of death.

I’m slowly starting to see what type of man Captain Kirill is, and I certainly don’t want to be on his shit list.

Not now. Not ever.

But he’s being unreasonable by banning me from the action, so I do glare when I look up.

His eyes are ice cold, but there’s a hint of fire brewing beneath the surface. It’s subtle and discreet, but it’s right there.

Captain reaches a hand out for me, palm open, and a prickling sensation of danger tingles down my spine.

It’s like I’m facing the paw of a lion on the brink of an attack.

My first thought is to run.

But before I can do that, a loud boom echoes in the air.