Leave Me Behind

I’m being reassigned to a squad of devils. No, not literally. Just men that come really fucking close.

The entire Riøt Squad was killed two years ago during a Level Red mission in Patagonia. Everyone except me. And what did my survival get me besides a heavy dose of trauma? I’ve been reassigned to the worst possible squad: Malum.

I let a long sigh roll from my lips and check my watch for the hundredth time. I tap my foot impatiently as I wait for the row of passengers ahead of me to grab their luggage from the overhead bins so that I can get off the plane and get to my next terminal.

Racing through the airport for my connecting flight, I desperately try to convince myself that my new squad’s respect can be won with nothing more than blood and sweat. Let’s just hope they aren’t as ruthless as Riøt was when I first joined.

By the time I board, the window seat is already taken in my row. I pull out my ticket to double-check my number. That asshole is in my seat. I blow out an irritated breath. It’s a three-seat row and two men flank each end, leaving the middle chair for me. The one in the aisle seat has his hood pulled up, hiding his face from view.

The other guy is also dressed in black with his hood pulled up, but he’s staring out the window. He doesn’t seem concerned about his surroundings. I stand there, annoyed, but people are already getting impatient behind me, so I settle for the middle seat. God, I hate flying. Everyone is angry and tired and so, so goddamn rude.

The aisle guy doesn’t bother moving his legs or lifting his head, so I swallow the curse words building in the back of my throat and try maneuvering around him. I’m already regretting wearing the thin black leggings I threw on this morning as my thighs brush his knees. In hindsight, I should’ve worn sweatpants.

As I’m stepping around his feet, my back foot gets caught between his and I fall forward. My backpack falls into window-seat guy’s lap and aisle-seat guy half catches me with a strong hand that splays over the center of my stomach; the other is wrapped around my inner thigh.

Instinctively, I snap out of his hold and shoot him a death glare. It’s short-lived. Because now that he’s looking up at me, I can see his lovely face. There is a frosty edge that radiates from his pale blue eyes. The set of his sharp jaw and blank expression don’t add any warmth to his demeanor. A thin one-inch scar resides beneath his left eye, making him appear tired. Another crosses the bridge of his nose and two small scars rib his lower lip on the right side, almost appearing like piercings. The hollows of his cheeks are lined with muscle that defines the bone structure. He’s easily the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

My senses return to me as I remember that civilians won’t take kindly to my trained responses of profiling.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Thanks,” I say as casually as I can before sitting in the center seat. He doesn’t respond and leans his head back against his chair. I glance at him and see sound-canceling headphones peeking out from beneath his hood. I don’t think twice about the small encounter. I just want to get this final flight over with so I can sleep before the nightmare begins tomorrow. The window-seat guy gives me a brief smile and hands me my bag. “Sorry about that,” I mutter, not bothering to look any higher than his lips.

I pull out my own sound-blocking headphones and shove my backpack under the seat before getting comfortable. Well, as comfortable as one can get on an airplane. I loathe flying, always have and always will. Anxiety used to pulse through my veins when I’d get on a plane, but I’ve been trained rotten out of the fear of it.

It’s a six-hour flight to California. At some point, I fall asleep and am startled awake by turbulence.

Alertness instantly snaps me into focus before I recall that I’m not on a chopper. Any rivets in the air set me off. I’ve grown used to sleeping light. I snap my head up and look around urgently, pulling my headphones down around my neck as I blink away the drowsiness from my nap. I find that everyone is either silently reading, watching a movie, or sleeping.

Relieved, I look at the window seat passenger next to me. He’s staring at me with a curious expression. My eyes widen as I take him in. It’s dimly lit in here, but even if it was completely dark, I’d still be able to tell that he’s handsome and, wait… I could swear he was sitting in the aisle seat before I fell asleep. Black hair peeks out from under the rim of his charcoal gray beanie, matching his dark brows. His eyes are a darker, softer blue than they were earlier.

But there’s no scar under his left eye, across his nose, or on his bottom lip.

“I’m sorry, weren’t you sitting in the aisle seat earlier?” I ask him hesitantly. He doesn’t look like the nicest guy. So I’m surprised when he drops the analytical stare and gives me a small smirk.

“Nope. That’s my twin,” he says smoothly. His voice is husky and pleasant. Not too high, not too low, but perfectly in the middle.

I’m struck by his charm; it takes me a moment to collect my thoughts. “Oh.” My brows knit and he seems amused by that. Twins? His eyes flick down to my lips and then back to my gaze. Is he a model? He certainly could be one. I’m eager to ask him questions that I normally wouldn’t. There’s something inviting about his wry smirk that taunts me. It reminds me of Sergeant Jenkins. I quickly push the thought down—thinking of Jenkins only brings a deep ache to my heart.

“Yeah, he doesn’t talk much, unlike me.” He winks. “But that turbulence spooked you, huh? You were passed out cold with your head on my shoulder.” He chuckles, and my heavy soul lifts a bit.

Hold on—I did what?

Heat races to my cheeks and I lean as far away from him as I can in my seat, feeling entirely too close and embarrassed. But there’s no escape, our thighs are literally touching.

I’m mortified. “I’m so sorry.”

He chuckles lightly and shrugs. “It’s fine; I just wasn’t expecting it. You must be tired from traveling. What’s your final destination?” My heart flutters with that boyish grin he shoots me. His lashes are long and thick, making those ocean eyes all the more irresistible. He looks to be in his late twenties.

“I don’t think you can say final destination on a plane.” I return the charm with the movie reference and let a small laugh slip. “Coronado, Cali. You?”

He shifts in his seat to face me more as he grins devilishly at my comment.

“Same, actually. I travel a lot for work, so I’m used to long flights.”

I nod, thinking better of mentioning that I am too.

He takes my pause as me not wanting to respond, so he mutters, “Eren.”

“Huh?” I glance back up at him and he smiles softly again.

“My name is Eren.”

“Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Eren. I’m Nellie.” I use my nickname instead of my formal name. I offer him my hand awkwardly. Do people still shake hands? I’m used to saluting. Everything feels surreal out here on the civilian side.

It’s not like I’ve had time to familiarize myself with society. I showed my true colors to the world when I was orphaned at fifteen. That’s when the underground military faction first laid their hands on me. It’s been ten years since then.

That’s how you come to be in the company of elite killing machines. The dark forces take people like me who did something unspeakable and put us to use, rather than throwing us in prison. We don’t exist, not on paper. We’ve been long forgotten by the people we used to know.

I am only a weapon. A rabid dog running from an inevitable death shot.Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

It’s perhaps the government’s darkest secret, the underside of the special forces that does all the dirty work they don’t want to sully their hands with. Anti-terrorism, foreign combat, black market weapons raids. We get sent to stop it all and we don’t get a lick of credit.

Basically, when it’s all summed up, we’re suicide squads. The generals only want to make sure we get the missions done. They don’t give a shit about us.

Eren takes my hand and gives it a light shake. “The feeling is mutual,” he says.

He leans his head against the chair and stares at me. His eyes are so unrelenting, piercing me and daring me to look away. I’m the type of person who can’t hold eye contact for more than a few seconds, but with him, I don’t feel the urge to pull away. He’s searching my eyes for something, studying me closely.

“Nice neck tattoos,” he says with a smile.

My hand goes to my neck. “Thanks, they hurt like a bitch when I got them.”

“I bet, but they look great. Got someone waiting for you in California?” he asks boldly.

I shake my head. I’m sure he can see the flush across my cheeks. “Nope—just work. No one special there.”

Or anywhere.

Eren lifts a brow and tilts his head. “You’re too pretty to be without a special someone.” The kid sitting behind us kicks my seat and I blink like an idiot at his words.

He thinks I’m pretty? Being in the military, the only comments I get from men are: “nice ass,” “you’re fuckable,” “love the long dark hair to grab onto,” and “you have dick-sucking lips.” But then there was Jenkins, and, although he never once told me I was beautiful, he certainly made sure I knew it with his stolen glances and heady kisses.

But when I think of Sergeant Jenkins, I only remember the blood he was drenched in that final night. After seeing him the way I did in Patagonia, it’s difficult to recall his beautiful blond hair and the rare smile he spared for only me.

I blink away the flames that lick at my memories.

“How about you?” I ask. I’m sure Eren has a family or at least a wife. My eyes flick to his hand as I think it. No ring.

“Nah. I don’t do relationships.”

That piques my interest. Is he military? He must notice my curious stare and cracks a smile.

“I’m in the army,” he admits. I can tell he doesn’t want to speak on it too much, so I don’t pry. I don’t mention that I’m a trained killer as well. I’m supposed to be discreet with the squad I’m joining, so I keep it out of the conversation. But the thought of it reminds me of the hell I’m heading toward. Malum Squad. The dark forces team they send when they can’t send any of the other suicide squads. Malum, who fucked Riøt when they didn’t show up to the checkpoint before shit hit the fan in Patagonia.

“Thank you for your service, sir,” I say slyly. His eyes widen with a flicker of interest that pulls at his lips. He wouldn’t be anyone I’d run into at the base, right? I highly doubt it. Normally, I wouldn’t flirt with fellow servicemen because it always ends badly, but the guys I normally work with aren’t model worthy. They are depraved and murderous, like me.

I think he’s in the clear. Besides, there’s no way he could be in the dark forces. He doesn’t have the hardness about him.

Eren laughs at that and shakes his head. “I’m just some low end officer. Oh hey, Bradshaw’s awake,” he mutters, looking past me. I follow suit and glance at the man on my other side, the other thigh that presses against mine. I’m met with those icy blue eyes again and that intimidating scar under his left one. The discoloration is just shy of his lower eyelid, but he doesn’t appear to be impaired by it at all. He’s lucky to have evaded a blade that close.

Jenkins wasn’t so lucky. I shudder at the memory of the blood that spilled from his chest. My fists close over my thighs and I try to blink away the last images of him in my head. I should remember him as the soldier he was, not how he looked when I left him on the battlefield. He told me to leave him there and I did. I followed his final orders.

I’m haunted by that the most, the realization dawning over his eyes that I was leaving him there just as he commanded. He gritted his teeth in acceptance and smiled.

The ache will never cease, it only grows.

I force my fingers to unfurl.

Bradshaw looks at me calmly with his cold demeanor still intact. The uninterest that radiates from this guy is unreal. They are twins, no doubt, but now that I see them both up close, their eyes are different shades of blue and their personalities couldn’t be more opposite. Like fire and ice.

“Nellie.” I offer my hand to shake his like I did with Eren but Bradshaw just levels me with the same callous look. He doesn’t even seem tempted to shake it. Jesus, what’s with this guy?

Eren nudges his shoulder against mine. “He’s an asshole to everyone, don’t take it personally.” Bradshaw doesn’t reply or even seem offended. He simply pulls his headphones back over his ears and closes his eyes. His lashes are long and grace his pale skin. I stare a moment longer than I should. Admiring his ethereal features before returning my attention to Eren. He grins. “You want to join us for a few drinks tonight? Or do you have somewhere to be?”

He’s inviting me out? A flutter skates across my chest. There’s really only one person I’m worried about running into before tomorrow. They call him Bones. He’s rumored to be the cruelest man in the dark forces. Apparently he likes breaking open ribcages and literally pulling people’s hearts out. Sometimes their bones. Hence the disturbing code name he bears.

Unfortunately, he’s my partner on Malum and I’m not sure how I’ll survive.

But Eren isn’t him. I’m sure of it. And if I’m going to be miserable for the next month, why not have a bit of fun?

I return his smile.

“Sure. I just can’t stay out too late. Early commitments tomorrow,” I say as casually as I can. My veins fill with adrenaline at the thought of going out on one last free night. Hopefully getting Eren on board for a one-night stand.

His grin is murder. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping something as sweet as you out too late.”

The bar turns out to be a full-blown nightclub. Not the gross ones in small towns, but the kind that has bouncers up front checking reservations and lists.

I pay the Uber driver and stare at the building. The music is bumping so loud it’s even hard to hear the conversations outside. Should I just go back to the hotel? I consider it, but Eren is waiting for me and shouts my name.

The leggings and soft, body-tight T-shirt I wore on the plane seemed appropriate for a bar setting, but now I feel like I stand out amongst the younger women who wear belly shirts and short-shorts. Not that I have anything to wear like that anyway. I packed light; I don’t own more than three outfits for street clothes. Traveling here is the first time I’ve been off base in months. The dark forces aren’t exactly free individuals. We’re halfway between criminals and military hounds.

Eren meets me on the edge of the sidewalk. “There she is. I thought you’d totally bounce if I wasn’t up here to catch you.” He winks and all I can do is smile awkwardly.

“It did cross my mind.”

He chuckles and leads me straight to the doors. I glance over at the line of angry people waiting to get in, their impatience and rage palpable. I hate when people cut too. The bouncer gives me a gruff look but Eren nods at him and he lets me slide through without any trouble.

I didn’t pin Eren as someone who frequents the club based on his appearance.

“Ever been here before?” he asks smoothly, laying his arm around my shoulders. A chill spreads up my spine and my heart beats faster. I shake my head and he smirks. “Get ready to have one hell of a night.”

We enter the club’s main floor. It’s dark here and difficult to make out other people’s faces. Blue and purple lights flash with the music bumping through the room and thrum excitement through my veins. Vapor curls in the air as the lights cut through shadows and the distinct scent of alcohol rolls over me.

I haven’t been to a place like this since I was twenty-two, but this is way, way fancier.

Eren smiles down at me, clearly pleased with himself at my awe. He says loudly, “I’ll get us drinks.”

“Get me an unopened can,” I shout over the music. A wicked look spreads over his face.

“Smart girl.” He winks and disappears into the crowd swarming around the bar.

I laugh and shake my head, wondering how tonight will pan out. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to have a one-nighter to ease me into the dread that’s coming tomorrow. Eren seems like the kind of guy that is good at flings. In our profession, that’s not a bad trait to have. Our lives are fleeting at best and we’re always on the move. But in my case, I’m underground; I couldn’t have a relationship even if I wanted one.

It looks like Eren might be there awhile. I narrow my eyes as I watch him try to get the bartender’s attention, but there are so many people shouting and waving their cards around that I have little faith he’ll be back soon. My gaze sweeps over the sea of people bumping and grinding to the music on the dance floor. It’s in the center of the club with seating lining the outer rim for people to take breaks and drink. Each beat booms so loud it reverberates in my bones. I smile to myself and push my way into the warmth of drunken, sweaty bodies. Where I’m sure no one will see me having the time of my life.

It’s an entirely different feeling to be in a place where no one knows you. No one to judge you for letting loose.

I’ve been dancing for over ten minutes with casual movements when a club remix version of “Hey Mama” by David Guetta ques up and everyone lets out excited shrills. The sensation is exhilarating and my heart pounds lightly in my chest. I let my body follow their excitement and move with the bass, shaking my hips to the rhythm of the song.

My eyelids are heavy, chin tilted up and I happen to look at the far wall of the club. Up against it is Bradshaw. His arms are crossed tightly and he’s wearing all black, hood still pulled up. A flash of purple light beams down on him for a moment, lighting up those cold eyes and revealing that they are focused solely on me, as if he’s been watching me swing my hips this entire time. I didn’t get a good look at his neck tattoos earlier but with the light hitting him, it’s impossible not to notice the ink that follows and hardens his perfect jawline.

There’s something in the way he stares at me, like a starved man who’s contemplating a heinous act. You don’t have to tell me there isn’t one good thought in his head.

Red flags are flying all around this guy. But I can’t look away. He captivates me, scares me even and I can kill a man in five seconds flat.

My veins chill under his scrutiny but I don’t stop dancing. I hold his intense gaze for a few seconds to let him know I will not be intimidated by him before forcing myself to casually glance the other way as if I don’t find him mesmerizing.

How did I forget about the psycho twin? I chide myself and roll my eyes. I refuse to let him know I’m affected by the way he watches me so carefully. My mom always said I was into bad guys. I doubt she knew I’d grow up to be into ones who clearly had psychological problems. The ones you don’t tell God about when you pray at church to forgive your sins—the ones with dark backstories and baggage.

Curious and maybe a bit teasing, I lift my lashes slowly back to him and find him still staring at me steadily. Heat rolls through me at his brashness. He doesn’t care that I’m looking straight back at him. He doesn’t look the least bit unnerved as I continue to dance, unfazed by him, rolling my hips and putting my hands up over my head like everyone else, but I notice his fingers tightening around his arm and his lower lip flattening under his teeth.

Oh. His walls aren’t so impenetrable after all.

As I continue dancing, someone comes up behind me, drawing their fingertips softly over my hips in a silent query. I smile, answering by leaning back into them and pushing my ass against a hard boner.

Yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve been in a club like this. Where the air is thick with lust and alcohol. Where strangers will touch your body with the hope that you’ll let them.

My new dance partner instantly responds by moving in rhythm to my hips. He buries his fingertips into my waist as we sway; his breath becomes heavier with each beat of music. I forget myself for a moment, letting my back fall against hard muscle and enjoying the sweep of cologne that fills my nose.

I glance back over to where Bradshaw is, but he’s gone. The boner grinding into my ass has me not too concerned, but I don’t have to wonder where he went for long.

“Hey, what are you doing?” the man behind me shouts furiously. His body parts from mine quickly and the cold air instantly makes me sour.

The music is loud, pulsating my heart for me at this point. I turn and find Bradshaw shoving the guy I was dancing with to the side. He looks like he wants to push Bradshaw back, but he takes one look at that intimidating build and settles with cursing and walking back through the crowd.

I scowl and shout, “What’s your problem?”

Bradshaw snaps his attention back to me with the same coldness, but there’s a tinge of interest there now. “You’re here with us.” He speaks for the first time and for a second everything else is silent. His voice is loud in my head even though he didn’t shout. I want to hear it again.

I swallow and decide to just drop it, unsure of what exactly his intentions are.

The next song comes booming in, a remixed version of “Summertime Sadness” by Lana Del Rey. As I resume dancing, I keep my eyes locked with Bradshaw’s. His icy gaze flickers with the flashing lights. His nostrils flare and his jaw flexes.

I turn to avoid his heavy stare, letting my body find the rhythm again. God, I hope Eren hurries with those drinks.

Calloused hands slide over my hips. I don’t need to turn around to know they belong to Bradshaw. They’re hard and demanding, as stiff as he appears, yet more sensual than any I’ve ever known. Maybe it’s the malice behind them. The intensity of his grip. Heat floods through my entire body as he sinks his fingers into my flesh.

My traitorous body instinctively melts into the hardened planes of his chest. I’m pleasantly surprised with the muscles I feel beneath his hoodie. Is he in the military like his brother? I grind my ass into him and grin when I find him hard.

He keeps one hand on my moving hips while dipping a finger beneath my shirt, brushing the skin of my stomach as if asking permission. My smile is starting to hurt from this exchange. I slide my hand down to his and push it up a bit more so he knows I’m good with him exploring.

Bradshaw chuckles darkly, almost not loud enough for me to hear. It’s a sound so voracious that I have to squeeze my thighs together to keep the urgent sensation in check.

Holy shit. Who is this guy?