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An expression of pure panic covers his features and his voice comes out a bit weak, apprehensive even. “I…can’t leave.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t. It’s not safe for me out there.”
“It’s not safe for you here either, if you remain at this level.”
He sits up, desperation coating him like an aura. “Please, sir, don’t have me discharged.”
“Begging is rather pointless. So instead of indulging in futile things, how about you do as you are told?”
He inches closer and grabs the threads of my boots in a fist as his eyes shine under the silver light.
I’m not sure if it’s desperation, a last resort, or something in between.
“Sir, I—”
“Captain.”
Lipovsky’s words die in his throat as a new presence materializes in the silence. I don’t have to look back to know who it is.
“A word,” he insists in his gruff voice.
I crane my head to catch a glimpse of my longtime companion, my bodyguard since we were kids and the man who would offer his life for mine on a platter.
Viktor.
He’s built like a giant, has more muscles than he needs, and he’s been my right hand both before and in the army.
Needless to say, he enlisted just because I did. In fact, most of the men in my unit are the same as Viktor and have a similar level of infuriatingly persistent loyalty.
Part of their annoying behavior is cutting in without reading the atmosphere. The live example is how Viktor interrupted whatever Lipovsky was about to confess.
He slides back on the ground and then pushes to a standing position and watches Viktor peculiarly. As if he’s seen him before.
If discomfort could be observed on someone’s face, Lipovsky’s is emanating it in waves.
The view is worth watching, but not enough to have Viktor take interest in him, or worse, put him on some sort of shit list.
“Remember what I told you,” I say, then turn around and head toward my guard.
Viktor throws one last glance at the private before he falls in step beside me.
“Who was that?” he asks with a note of doubt, suspicion, and every other synonym in the thesaurus.
Being distrustful is both his strongest and his weakest point.
“No one you should worry about.” I glance at him. “What are you doing in camp? Shouldn’t you be drinking or making sure the others aren’t drinking too much?”
“Too late. The fools are wasted.”
“No surprise there. They’re celebrating being out of your dictatorial reign, Vitök.”
“Are you sure that shouldn’t be reversed to you, Captain?”
He’s staring ahead, having not a care in the world after he threw out the statement as if it’s a given.
“You must be tired of living.” I speak in my usual somber tone, but that doesn’t affect Viktor one bit.
