Bigger Balls (Victor)

Victor felt the blood rush to his head as he tightened his grip on the trigger. He hadn’t broken a sweat this entire session, but a haze pressed behind his eyes.

The ship’s sway beneath his feet was oddly soothing, yet still a cruel reminder that he was at sea, the last place he wanted to be. If someone stopped him mid-duty and asked how he was feeling, he'd say—without hesitation that he was optimistic.

Ridiculously so.

He was practically euphoric compared to the dull, empty days he usually spent locked in with callous, weak men who folded like ants under his pressure.

Even now, with a gun in his hand and his lieutenant fumbling in front of him, Victor's heartbeat hadn't strayed from the quiet satisfaction that had lived in his chest since two days ago.

Sandra Hollis. She was a chance. A beautiful, ridiculous chance at something that felt like home. Like freedom. Like peeling off the uniform and not feeling like a weapon.

He hadn’t slept much. Not with Sandra’s last words echoing through his skull like a church bell with a goddamn smile attached. It was training day, but his mind hadn’t left that phone screen.

The click of a safety being pulled snapped his focus back to the now. His eyes locked on Knox, his first lieutenant, his personal misfire. He’d appointed the man for a laugh, nothing more. It was such a bad choice that even Victor questioned what the hell he'd been thinking.

No leadership in the guy. Not one grain of it. But still... Victor had handed him the title.

Out of pure, smug curiosity. A cruel joke.

Now, two full hours into stimulation training, Victor was still waiting, just one moment, one move, one goddamn flick of brilliance that might throw him off balance and slap his pride to the floor. Just once.

Three years. Nothing.

Knox lunged, and Victor’s body responded before thought could catch up. His instincts were tattooed into his limbs by now. Knox’s approach was too wide, too obvious, childish.

"No," Victor muttered, flipping his gun in one clean motion. He slammed the butt of it straight into Knox’s face. The man yelped. Victor swept his legs out from under him, sending him crashing onto his back.

Before Knox could recover, Victor straddled him. Gun aimed at his face. Trigger pulled. Just a click. But for a second, the silence in the hull was loaded.

Knox stared up at him, panic widening his irises. His lips parted, trembling. His hand lost its grip on the weapon.

Victor dropped his gun beside the man’s head. The metal clacked on the floor, and Knox flinched.

Victor stayed right where he was, knees grinding into the man’s torso, breathing slowly. Knox’s brows knitted in discomfort. His freckled face was flushed, strands of messy brunette hair fanned out like a kid who’d tripped face-first into adulthood.

Victor hated that look. That boyishness. It had never sat right with him.

"Too much footwork. You telegraph your moves like a damn parade. Still feels like I’m training a rookie."

Knox’s body sagged beneath him when Victor planted both hands on the floor, one on each side of his head. Heat soaked through his palms.

He closed his eyes briefly, then reopened them.

"How many times have we done this?"

His voice dropped.

"If you keep being a disappointment, the best-case scenario is an honourable discharge with a limb missing. Worst case, you die."

"Sir," Knox spat, loaded with all the disrespect it deserved. His face was tight with irritation. A dry laugh broke out, humourless.

"Has anyone on this ship ever beaten you? Just once?"

Victor tilted his head.

He had a point. Not one of them had gotten the drop on him, not even close. But that wasn’t comforting. It was a fucking indictment.

A team of failures.

"That’s not the point. You’re in charge. You’re a soldier, Knox, think."

He leaned in closer. He always had to get right up in their faces when he said the important shit. Needed to see their pupils dilate, needed to hear the breath stutter.

Knox’s eyes flicked across his face like loose change shaken in a tin can.

"You should be untouchable. You should at least be able to save yourself."

"I'm not as shit as you make me out to be, Walla—Captain," Knox bit, lifting his head an inch off the floor.

"I only land headshots. Every man here’s lost to me. All of them. But you? You’re just you. That doesn’t make me a disappointment."

Victor’s nose wrinkled.

He pushed up off Knox and stood, towering.

"You might be the king of shit, but that doesn’t mean you’re better than the enemy."

"Sir—."

"That’s all for today," Victor said coldly, already turning.

"Captain."

Victor paused at the door. Knox had rolled to his side with a wince and was getting to all fours like a kicked dog.

"Why did our destination change to Greece?"

Victor froze.

That question hit harder than Knox's fists ever had.

Sandra. Her name rang in his skull. He could almost hear her laugh. His lips felt dry. He licked them, fingers flexing unconsciously.

"Classified," he said without turning.

"Is that even authorised, sir? Changing our route might be a federal crime."

Victor’s jaw locked. He turned slowly. Knox was on his feet, that same hard stare in place, but there was something extra now. A cocky tilt. A dangerous curiosity.

"Are you questioning my authority, Lieutenant?"

"Didn’t you promote me so I could?"

Victor stepped in, close enough to feel the static.

"Stick your nose in the wrong place again and it’ll get torn off."

"I just asked. For the sake of the team. It’s our livelihood. Our integrity. Shouldn’t we know why we’re changing course? Was it even approved?"

Victor let a breath in slowly. Steady. Controlled.

"All you need to know is that I made the right call."

Knox's mouth twitched. Then he laughed.

"For our good?"

Victor wanted to wipe that look off his face with a fist.

"Or for yours?"

Victor stepped in again, this time letting his gaze sweep from Knox’s head to toe.

"We exchanged missions with another team. You must’ve grown bigger balls overnight to start poking into captain-level business."

Knox’s smirk slipped.

"Even if it was a crime, what would you do? Report me?"

"I just asked," Knox said, more cautious now. "No bad intentions."

Victor laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. Squeezed.

"Do it again, and I’ll throw you overboard myself. Don’t believe in me? Then swim to shore."

Knox opened his mouth, probably to double down. But then shut it. Head bowed.

"I won’t."

Victor leaned in.

"You won’t what, Knox?"

"Won’t question your decisions, sir."

Victor nodded, patted him twice on the head like a dog.

"Good. Maybe that little backbone you found can be useful in training next time."

He left him there, steaming in silence.

The moment Victor stepped out of the training room, something loosened in his chest. Like Knox’s presence had been pressing on him.

He made it to his quarters fast, peeled off his sweat-streaked shirt, and snatched his phone.

No notifications.

His mood dipped.

He was about to toss the device back onto the bed when—

Ping.

Sandra: Had a good morning?

His whole body unwound. He grinned, dropped back onto the bed like gravity had tripled.

Victor: Same as always. Training session with one of my men. It was fruitful.

Sandra: 😂 Sounds like you beat the crap out of him.

Victor: Comes with the job, sweetheart. How was your morning?

Sandra: Discovered a new hobby.

Victor: Something new? What is it?

Sandra: Standing up to my boss.

Victor reread the message.

A grin curled on his face, but it was sharp now. Curious.

Standing up to her boss?

He cracked his knuckles, almost thoughtfully.

"Maybe I’ll meet him one day," he muttered.

He had no idea.

And Knox? Knox had just loaded a brand-new round into the chamber.