Rhys
Cold sweat broke out on my skin as I sat up on my military bed.
I can't forget her face no matter how hard I tried. Her blonde curls and those beautiful big, brown doe eyes.
I thought that I'll never see her again. But alas here she is, beaten up and in danger.
'It's just a joke' she said. I scoffed at her statement. I twisted the ring on my index finger absentmindedly. I'm worried for her.
I stare down at the cuts and scars slithering over my skin, serving as a constant reminder of what happened before I got here.
The reason I escaped it all.
It's also the reason I have this fucked up need to rule it all.
No one can deny me or order me to do anything if I'm leader. Infact it'll be the other way around.
I throw on some pants and a t-shirt, slipping out of my room to the empty training camp.
The soldiers were granted a night out, so they all fucked off to get drinks and pussy while they could, including my men who usually follow me like wannabe shadows.
The solace gives me the calm and the needed space to push myself beyond my limit.
A groaning sound reaches me from the other end of track, and I stop.
It comes as a low 'Ugh' in a very familiar voice.
I follow discreetly, without making a sound. The night serves as a camouflage and silence, my cover.
I reach the source of the noise and sure enough, a dark figure is doing push-ups against the soil.
The arms that peek through the t-shirt is pasty white in the night and the face is red from exhaustion.
Her movements are disoriented, uncoordinated and her limbs shake uncontrollably.
"106…107…108…109" With each whispered number, she grows weaker, her rhythm, breathing and impatience spiking up.
"You're doing it all wrong," I leaned against the pillar, my arms and legs crossed.
Lipovsky raises her head to regard me then stumbles and falls sideways, her frail muscles giving up on her.
For a second she observes me like I'm some twisted form of salvation. She did it a week ago when I stopped those fuckers from raping her.
This was a bold move considering the way she's regarding me without a hint of salute.
It could be because of my stare that she immediately stands to her feet and salutes. "Captain."
She looks rough at best with unflattering oversized t-shirt and cargo pants that is soaked with sweat front and back.
"If this is your way of proving yourself, you might as well give up." I shrugged. "Men do 200 without batting an eye or shaking like a leaf or an amateur."
Her eyes widened, appearing alarmed before schooling her expression. "I'm improving compared to my previous record. I'm comparing my achievement to myself sir."
Her words surprised me. She wasn't like this before. Guilt pierced through me almost immediately.
"That's a foolish way of saying you'll never improve. The past you isn't a measurement of success and if you only do self comparison, the world will move on before you even know it." I straighten. "On the ground, private."
She regards me with defiance before doing as I say.
"One," I count. "Two."
"How many am I supposed to do?"
"Until I stop counting, three."
He remains on the ground, a slight curve in his back.
"Four, five, six."
"Sir, may I speak?"
"You already are."
I watch her slightly curvaceous body not fit for military in the first place.
"Sir my limit is 120 and I've been adding ten every six days. I can't go anymore."
I jam my boot on her back watching her ass curve up. "Your desire to join the team should be the deciding factor of whether you should continue or stop."
It takes a few moments to hear those half groans and grunts before she lowers himself further.
I count faster and keep my boot on her back then on his ass when she starts getting sloppy.
Her face became redder and I'm tempted to keep my boot right where they are but she lifts her back slightly drawing my attention to her ass.
"I can't take it anymore," Her voice and limbs tremble.
I keep counting, making her push through her limits.
Her voice chokes and she falls over, going limp all of a sudden.
She fainted on me.
I would've walked away given she doesn't know who I am yet. I should have let her go.
But I don't.
Her skin is so soft like butter beneath my fingers and that's fucked up. I can't be involved with her like this.
She started wheezing, her breathing irregular. I turn her over on her back and watch her reddened face gasping for breath.
Her smaller hands grabbed my wrists as I straightened to leave.
"Please don't send me out,"
"Why not?"
She meets my gaze with weary ones and for a fraction of second, I see the panic in her eyes. Just what is her plan?
"Begging is rather pointless. So instead of indulging in meaningless nonsense, how about you do as you're told?"
She inches closer, her hands wrapping around the length of my boot. "Please,"
I don't know if it's desperation, a last resort or something in between.
"Why go the length?"
"I.. I need to find my husband."
I didn't expect that at all. I was thinking that she moved on. How did she get this idea that he would be in a place like this?
"Captain,"
The words die in my throat as the new presence approached us. I don't have to look back to know who it is.
Viktor.
I craned my neck to catch a glimpse of my life long companion, my bodyguard since we were kids and the only man who would offer his life on a platter.
I turned to her. Her eyes still pleading.
"I'll turn a blind eye," I muttered turning to leave.
If discomfort could be observed in a person's face, she was emitting it in waves.