Page 40 of Break Me Apart
Just before the barrier comes into view, Ari releases me before we even slow down properly. The release is clean and quick. Niko pulls over. Ari opens the door and gets out, his posture shifting into something official as he steps onto the snow.
He stands out of view of the barrier with his hands in his coat pockets. Like this, he looks like a man who belongs here, who understands the rules, and who can movethrough them without flinching because he has no other option.
He leans down to my window, his eyes flicking once to Niko, then back to me.
“You know where to find me,” he says.
“I do.”
“And you will,” he adds. It’s not a question or a request.
“Yeah,” I say, and I mean it. “Ya tebya lyublyu.”I love you.
“Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu. Skoro uvidimsya, detka.”I love you too. See you soon, baby.He doesn’t smile; he just looks at me for a second, then he reaches in, grips the back of my neck, and pulls me into a kiss. It’s fast, hard, and over way too soon. When he steps back, his gaze drops to my mouth for a second, then lifts again, as if nothing happened.
He turns, then begins to walk back to the checkpoint.
I look in the side mirror as we drive away without meaning to, and he’s there, standing in the snow, hands in his pockets, watching the car drive away.
Then the road bends, and he’s gone.
Niko doesn’t speak for a while. He drives with his jaw set and eyes forward, taking us toward the airport with the same competence he brings to everything else, and I let him have the silence because I don’t trust myself not to say something stupid and embarrassing anyway.
By the time we hit the outer roads, he clears his throat and speaks without looking at me. “You will write.”
“Yes.”
“And you will not be an idiot about it,” he adds.
I almost laugh. “I’ll try.” He snorts, then goes quiet again.
The rest of the drive passes in the same managed silence, broken only by the sound of tyres on packed snow and the occasional shift of the car as we hit uneven ground.
The airport appears out of the grey, and Niko pulls up at the curb, jumping out to get my bag before I can, then hands it to me. He studies my face like he’s checking something off internally, then pulls me into a brief, rough hug — one arm, hard contact, no lingering — then steps back and nods once.
I watch his car disappear into traffic before I turn toward the terminal.
I move through security on autopilot, boots off, bag through the scanner, jacket folded just so, and by the time I reach the gate, the adrenaline has burned off enough to leave something quieter behind.
I don’t replay the kiss, and I don’t let myself linger on ‘soon.’
When they call for boarding, I stand and move with the rest of the crowd. I’m just another body in a line, another set of documents checked, another plane waiting to lift me away from something I’m already committed to returning to.
I smile to myself, because this time, I know what I’m coming back for.
Or shouldI say... who.
TWELVE
ARSENY
This new recruit has misaligned his sights... again. I don’t look up when the shot pulls left. “Again,” I say, flat. The second shot is worse. I walk over, take the rifle out of his hands without asking, adjust the idiot’s grip, and shove it back into his chest. “You’re not wrestling it. You’re guiding it.” He nods, and I step back.
He fires again, better. Behind him, Niko is running close-quarters drills with the new intake. He’s moving through them himself — demonstrating instead of just correcting. He’s fast and clean, then he sweeps one of them to the floor with a movement so casual it looks lazy.
He offers the man a hand up; that’s not a new development, but he’s talking more now and not barking. One of them makes a joke — I don’t hear it — but I hear Niko laugh.
He looks… solid. Shoulders back, face relaxed, and eyes sharp in a way that isn’t defensive. When the drill ends, he wipes his hands down his trousers and looks straight at me.
