I stare down at him, and I can smell the soft tones of his skin. The little fucking tease.
“Are you blocking my way, Lipovsky?”
He jumps back, his chest heaving. “No, sir. I just…can I be honest?”
“When have you ever not?”
His eyes meet mine for one second, two, before he shifts them downward and murmurs, “You make me uncomfortable, that’s why.”
Well, well, would you look at that?
It takes everything in me not to grab him by the throat and throw him against the nearest wall.
But then again, all the scenarios I’m picturing in my head are frowned upon, especially with someone who’s supposed to be under my care.
So I step past him.
“I answered you. Are you going to give me a chance?”
“No.”
“But you said—”
“I might consider it. I did that and decided against it.” I disappear down the hall and catch a glimpse of the insolent soldier glaring at my back.
Good. Because I’m going to make him even more uncomfortable going forward.
To the point where he’ll hate his own skin and regret ever crossing my path.
* * *
On the dayof the mission, everyone is on high alert.
However, it’s not the suffocating type where it feels like a mistake is waiting to happen.
My team is focused and have the level of training to keep their heads in the game.
The sooner this is done, the faster we’ll get to leave.
I’m about to head out of my office when someone barges through the door. Before I contemplate smashing their head in and using the corpse as my new mattress, the man in question comes into view.
His round belly precedes him in presence and has more character than the man himself. At least that belly has been consistent, which can’t be said about him.
An air of confident smugness coats each and every one of his beady features. His darker eyes shine with pure evil. His nose is straight, high, and makes him look as arrogant as a god.
That’s about the only physical feature I inherited from the man. I mostly take after my mother—something he and I share a mutual disregard for.
Viktor appears at the threshold behind him, wearing a rare apologetic expression.
He of all people knows that Roman Morozov and I shouldn’t share the same continent, universe, or time—period. In fact, seeing him on the day of my mission is no different than dreaming about ravens, crows, and serpents eating from my skull.
And I’m not even superstitious.
There’s no need to ask how he got here. My father has the type of power that enables him to stuff some politicians in his pockets and some military leaders in his service.
The only thing he’s pissed about is that he doesn’t have enough power to have me discharged yet.
I glance at Viktor and he nods, then steps outside.