Page 126 of Toxic Salvation
That as soon as this war is over, I’m going to make her mine in every way that matters.
But for now, this kiss will have to be enough.
43
KOVAN
I was fifteen the first time I dodged a bullet.
The whistle came first—a sharp note in the night air. Then the breeze against my cheek, so close I could taste copper and gunpowder on my tongue.
The whole thing lasted maybe two seconds. By the time my brain caught up to what had happened, I was already diving behind cover, adrenaline pumping through my system.
No fear. Just pure electric rush.
That night taught me something important: If you’re going to get shot at, skip the terror part. Fear makes you hesitate. Hesitation gets you killed.
I carried that lesson with me for twenty years. It’s kept me alive through more firefights than I can count. Made me the kind ofpakhanwho leads from the front instead of hiding behind a desk.
But tonight, crouched behind shipping containers in our newest arms warehouse while bullets tear chunks out of concrete around me, I’m not feeling invincible.
I’m feeling fucking terrified.
Not for myself, though. I stopped caring about my own mortality years ago. But now, I have Vesper at home, nearly six months pregnant with my son. I have Luka, who calls me Papa and trusts me to keep him safe. I have a family that depends on me coming home alive.
And that changes everything.
“Call for backup!” I shout at Osip, who’s pressed against the crate beside me, reloading his Glock.
“Already did. Pavel’s en route with reinforcements. Should be here in five.” Osip grins as he slams a fresh magazine into place. The idiot actually looks like he’s enjoying himself.
Must be nice to only have one life to worry about.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” I warn him.
But he’s already moving, vaulting over our cover with his gun blazing. The fool has completely exposed himself in the open space between shipping containers.
“Osip, get down!”
Too late. I can see the motion from the shadows—someone has a clean shot at his back. Without thinking, I throw myself into the open, tackling Osip to the concrete just as the bullet whines past where his head used to be.
We hit the ground hard. Osip’s helmet cracks against the floor, sending up a cloud of dust and debris.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snarl.
He coughs, spitting grit. “Since when do we play it safe?”
“Since I have people depending on me to come home.”
Osip’s eyebrows climb toward his hairline, but he doesn’t get a chance to comment. More gunfire erupts from overhead.
“Stay down and cover me,” I order.
But Osip’s already on his feet again, charging toward the nearest shooter. The man has balls, I’ll give him that. No brains to speak of, but plenty of balls.
I sight down my barrel, picking off targets as Osip draws their fire. One shooter drops. Then another. But there’s a third one creeping along the eastern wall, trying to flank us.
“Behind you!” I call out.
