THREE

June 

I huffed out, my ribs hurt so much that I might pass out from the pain.

It turns out I connived and snuck into this establishment without proper training because as Kimberly put it, there wasn't enough time to train me.

My muscles ached, and I groan with each movement. I'm sluggish, I lack energy and I'm weighed down by heavy army boots. Each step is a struggle, every breath scratchy and choked.

A buzzing sounds in my ear as I leaned against the toilet wall to calm my heavy breathing. I lift my hands, the florescent lights giving a gruesome visual to my cuts.

This place definitely has no regard for women.

“And who do we have here?” A distinctive Russian accent shakes me out of my little bubble of peace.

The hallway comes into focus with it's greenish stains and dark walls that belongs in a prison than a military institution.

My eyes goes to the one who spoke, Anton. He's a senior military in my unit that displays such toxic behavior and arrogance.

This time, he's accompanied by four other douchebags who watch me with unveiled disgust and humiliating disregard.

All dressed in t-shirts and cargo pants, wearing harsh gazes, they're probably more comfortable than I dressed in combat gear.

I was waiting for them to finish before I enter the bathroom, a routine I've been doing for eighteen months now. 

I'm the only woman standing and refusing to leave. And the entire squad pants after these weak moments of mine.

Despite the factor of intimidation, I square my shoulders and look them dead in the eye. I suppress a wince and look Anton straight in the eye.

“If it isn't the weakling, Lipovsky.”

I took up the Russian name Lipovsky but I kept my first name, June.

His four companion snicker and hit each other in the shoulder like it's the funniest joke. 

My first thought was to knee him in the balls but it's like signing my death certificate. With my current state, I can barely stand against one of them. Five is an overkill that could end me in a hospital or neatly tucked in a coffin.

“Let me through, Anton.” I say in a clear tone glaring at him.

“Let me through, Anton.” He taunt. “Such a good girl with manners.”

He grab my shoulder and I stiffen. He strokes my shoulders, and even though clothes sperates us, the predominant need to escape taunts me.

I fling myself hard to escape his touch but he was faster and shoves me against the wall, my head banging against the hard wall. I heaved, the tears already forming.

“Are you going to cry? I would love that, but there's other way to make it worth it.” He taunts, his voice low and dangerous as his hands tugs his crotch.

I grabbed his shoulders and kneed him in the balls, his face went blank and his words were cut off.

His hands loosened and I took the opportunity to run. My muscles ached from exhaustion and my boots weigh down my escape but I don't stop running.

Just as the exit is within reach, strong hands wrap around my nape and flung me back, and tossed me on the floor like I'm nothing.

The thud splashes all the way to my bones and I groan, grabbing a painful spot on my arm. It's either broken or sprained.

A shadow hovers above me and I stare at a very pissed Anton with his goons behind him.

“You really fucked up, little bitch.” He grabbed me with a savage grip on my jacket.

The material rips nearly revealing my sports bra. I dig my nails into his hands while I gather what remains of my jacket to keep in place.

His palm wraps around my neck, applying enough pressure to cut off my breathing. I wheeze, dragging my nails over his face.

My legs flair while the others laugh, snicker and make jest of me. He slams my back against the wall and reaches for my pants.

I thrash and scream, a haunting sound escapes me. Each of his goon grabs on a limb effectively stopping my movements.

Anton looks at my horrified expression and smirks, then slowly releases my neck to dedicate his whole attention to my pants.

These fuckers will be enticed by my begging so I swallowed my plea. “Fuck you,” I snarl instead, even as my voice chokes and my hope starts to shivel.

He smirks. “But you'll like it and I don't intend to make it easy for you.”

I close my eyes not wanting to see further. Being a woman in a man's world is just as bad.

I push my body forward in one desperate attempt to escape him. In exactly my twenty-four years of my life, this is the second time I've felt this helpless.

“You're an obedient little bitch,” He licks his lips in a suggestive manner. “Bet you're submissive and shit.”

I spit on his face. He pauses, wipes his face clean with his palm and sends a punch to my face.

Blood splatter on the wall, my lips feel twice their size and my nose is clogged.

Nevertheless, I laugh like a maniac.

He raises his fist again and I stare at him, dead in the eye expecting another blow.

“What's going on here?”

We all stiffen at the commanding voice. If anything, the world pauses for a fraction of second as the newcomer strides in our direction.

He is tall and muscular but not as glaringly buff as the soldiers surrounding me. He has the type of physical profile that would fit an agile spy or a member of the special forces.

Infact judging by his black long sleeved shirt and cargo pants, he's a special ops.

They have their own camp and he happens to be a special guest for our training.

But why does he feel familiar?

Gravity pulls me down and Anton holds me like I'm his best buddy. He salutes the newcomer. “Captain.”

His black boots steps right in front of me. My gaze lifts to his face and I'm struck by his features.

They are dark, sharp and most importantly, blank. He lowers his head, his light blue eyes slam into mine.

“I asked a question, Lipovsky.”

How did he know my name? 

My eyes widened for a fraction of a second before schooling it again. 

“It is just a joke, sir.” The lie tastes bitter in my mouth.

He narrowed his eyes on me. His eyes tapering with an acute sense of disapproval.

“Does joking include a bloody nose and lips, soldier?” His eyes on me but the question directed at Anton.

“Sometimes, yes sir.” Anton replies like the low life he is.

“Very well,” The Captain finally push back, but before I can breathe properly, he swings his fist and punches Anton across the face so hard, he reels from it.

Collective gasps echoes as blood drips from his nose onto the ground.

The Captain lowers his hand letting it fall nonchalantly at his side. “Then let's say I'm joking with you.”

Then he turns around and leaves with long, even strides that steals my attention.

I need him to teach me. So I followed suit.