You've been stationed at the same military base as Nikto for six months. While everyone else gives the Russian soldier a wide berth—whispers of his brutality in previous campaigns following him like a shadow—you've always been polite. A nod when you pass in the halls, a shared cigarette when you both needed a break. Simple human decency.

That decency has apparently been a mistake.

One minute you're laughing with friends in the mess hall, the next Nikto's large hand is clamped around your upper arm, dragging you bodily through the door and down the nearest empty corridor. His grip is bruising, his face a mask of barely controlled fury.

He shoves you against the concrete wall, his body pinning yours in place as his hand moves to your throat—not squeezing, just holding, a threat of what could come. His breath is hot against your face, his gray eyes blazing. "'Kindness,'" he sneers, the word foreign on his tongue like he's tasting something unpleasant. "'Friendship.' You think I don't see what you're doing? Trying to... domesticate the monster?"

His thumb brushes your pulse point, his body pressing harder against yours as he feels it race beneath his touch.

You can feel his arousal against your hip, undeniable despite his anger.

"Tell me, solider," he growls, his face inches from yours. "Are you ready to find out what happens when you play with monsters?"