Page 72 of Break Me Apart
It doesn’t now.
I’ll have to tell Ari, but not like this. Not in a letter and not in some half-finished message. And definitely not while Niko is sitting ten feet away looking like someone has scooped the centre out of him and left the rest standing by accident.
For now, a man is breaking apart on the sofa, an eleven-month-old is glued to my chest, and I am exactly where I need to be, even if none of this is anything like what I imagined when they said Russia.
Outside, the base carries on as if nothing has changed.
But inside, everything has.
TWENTY-TWO
ARSENY
I wake up with Caiden’s arm heavy across my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck, and for a few quiet seconds I let myself stay there.
The room is still dark. It’s not fully night, but it’s not morning either. It’s the strange in-between hour when the barracks block goes silent. The radiator next to the bunk knocks once and then goes quiet again. Somewhere outside, I hear faint footsteps scraping across the frozen ground, then they fade off into the distance. Caiden shifts behind me with a soft, tired sound and drags me closer, his face pressing into the back of my shoulder as if nothing is waiting on the other side of the door but another normal day.
I look down at his hand where it rests over my stomach. I put my own hand over his and feel him wake up properly beneath the touch. “You’re up,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.
“Mmhmm,” I reply. He kisses the back of my shoulder lazily, and I hate how quickly my body responds to him. Even here. Even with my nerves wound so tight they ache. I turn in his arms, and he lets me, opening them enough to make space, then closing them again the second I face him.
His hair is flattened on one side, and his eyes barely open. His thumb brushes lightly over my jaw. “You look like you haven’t slept,” he says, smiling down at me.
“You’re so irritating,” I tease. I could tell him to shut up and stop this before my head catches up and starts listing every reason this is stupid. Instead, I kiss him because in dreams there is always that first moment where you’re given exactly what you want before anything starts to rot.
He makes a quiet sound into my mouth and pulls me closer until there is no space left between us at all. My hand slides up into his hair, and he kisses me harder. One hand grips the back of my neck, the other splayed over my spine.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. “Stay with me,” he whispers.
“I have to get up.”
“In a minute.” His voice is still thick with sleep, but I let my eyes close. I let my hand rest against his ribs. I let the illusion hold.
Then the corridor erupts.
There’s sharp, distant shouting through the door coming from somewhere outside, followed by the hard thunder of boots coming in fast. Caiden’s entire body changes under my hands. He’s awake in an instant, every soft edge gone. He is already moving when fists slam into the door hard enough to shake the frame.
We both freeze for one stupid, useless second.
Another hit comes, louder, harder, the wood splintering near the lock.
“Arseny,” He shouts. I’m already out of bed. The room is in chaos in seconds. I snatch for my trousers. He grabs for his shirt, swears under his breath, then drops it because there’s no time. The door crashes inward with a sound that tears straight through me.
Men flood into the room before either of us can do anything useful. Someone catches me across the chest and drives me back, and another goes for Caiden.
“No.” The word tears out of me so hard it hurts. “Get the fuck off—.” A hand grabs and closes on my arm. I wrench free and hit the first man I can reach. My fist connects with bone. Another body slams into me from the side, and I go tumbling into the edge of the desk hard enough to crack my hip bone. Caiden is fighting too. I see him throw one man into the bedframe. Another grabs him around the middle, then he drives an elbow back into another man’s ribs.
“Get your hands off him,” I snarl and launch myself at the man holding him.
I nearly reach him, but a baton catches me across the stomach, folding me over double. Air leaves my lungs so fast it makes my vision blur. I drop to one knee, and another soldier grabs the back of my neck, trying to force me down to the floor. I twist and fight my way free of his grip. I come up swinging blind and connect with a jaw, a throat, something soft enough to make the man gag.
Across the room, I see Caiden. He has blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. One of them has hold of hiswrists behind his back, and another is trying to shove him forward to pin his shoulders to the floor.
“Don’t fucking touch him,” I shout, louder now, my voice breaking into something ugly. Something hits me in the face, and white light bursts across my vision.
I taste blood immediately.
I go for him anyway, but it makes no difference. There are too many of them. Every second I gain is swallowed by another body, another grip, another blow. Somebody twists my right arm behind my back. The shock of it vibrates up through my shoulder and down into my spine. I drive my heel backwards and feel it connect. But the grip tightens, and my knees hit the floor.
