Leave Me Behind

I wait patiently outside the men’s showers until my squad reappears. Bradshaw isn’t among them and they seem to catch my wandering eyes.

“Bones showers separately. None of us are allowed to know what he looks like, so if you’re going to fuck any of us, it can’t be him. Unless you’re into mask shit,” Harrison says snidely. I don’t bother responding to his goading. I am indeed into that. Pete and Ian laugh cruelly as they throw their towels at me. I step aside and let the towels fall to the floor.

I remain quiet as they lead the way to our barracks. The dorms are in their own section of the building, down a long hall with other squad rooms. Though, the underground squads are supposed to room on the lower floor. Sure, normal units see us around, but they have no clue the dark forces exist. They think we’re just special ops. We are required to room in different halls to keep the chances of discovery low, so my curiosity piques when they open one of the doors on this floor.

Our room is a small cement chamber with three twin bunk beds only a few feet from each other. A barred window sits at the far wall. It feels like a big jail cell. Great. At least we’ll be heading into the field for a while and we won’t be cooped up together like hens. I’d rather sleep in the dirt and bushes than in this tight room.

I get it, though. Tight groups make for a trusting team and efficient missions. But there is a fatal flaw to that. My eyes linger on the bed at the end, above Bradshaw’s bunk. It’s empty for a reason. They had to recruit me to replace the guy Pete mentioned and I’d bet he wasn’t just another squadmate. Achilles. He was probably a brother to all of these men. But he was second to Bradshaw. The two of them must’ve been close. The loss was probably a devastation to the squad, but catastrophic to him.

And they blame the Riøt Squad.

My legs don’t allow me to approach the bed. An ache resides deep inside my chest. I’m no stranger to losing a partner in this hell. Losing a fellow certified killing machine is not easy.

It hurts like a gaping wound that will not heal. No matter what you try to fill it with, it remains cancerous and starved for grief.

I think of Jenkins’s icy blond hair, the dark brown of his eyes. How I’ll never see him watching me from across a room ever again. Two years is not enough to forget him. No amount of time can erase his face from my mind.

I was his second. It should’ve been me who died, not him. I close my eyes and think of his last words.

“I love you, Gallows. Leave me behind.”

I loved him too and I let him down in the end. I want to be dead alongside him.

I fist my hands at my sides.

Pete comes up behind me and nudges my shoulder, startling me from my thoughts. “You’re at the end. Top bunk.” I nod and hesitantly walk to the back of the room. Bones isn’t back yet from wherever he showers, so I don’t waste time tossing my bag to the top bunk.

We each have a small dresser at the foot of our beds with our names labeled. I frown at my drawer. The label reads Bunny. And there are kid stickers of bunnies placed around the name.

I take another deep breath and ignore it before opening my drawer, pulling out a black uniform. We’re a dark ops team so we don’t wear the typical gear the other branches do. Ours are entirely black and matte, non-light reflective and a shade darker than any black you’ve ever seen.

We’ll be damn near invisible tonight and part of me rejoices in that thought. I haven’t been in the field for a while. I miss the hum of unknown territory and the adrenaline rush of being in action.

My pants hit the floor and the four men watch me unabashedly and with a fraction less of disdain as I get dressed. It’s nothing I’m not used to. As long as they don’t touch me, we won’t have a problem.

They talk amongst themselves like I don’t exist.

“I can’t believe General Nolan chose her for the replacement,” Ian retorts as he pulls on his field gear. Harrison nods and gives me a dirty side-glance, though his eyes linger on my breasts.

Jefferson smooths his hand over his light-brown hair and laughs. “Part of me still thinks it’s a fucking joke.”

Pete has his back to me as he mutters, “At least she’s nice to look at.” My cheeks heat with rage as the four of them lift their heads and steal another look at me.

Ian laughs and gives me a nasty smile. “Yeah, she’s got a pretty mouth, doesn’t she?” I can see the thoughts sifting through their heads. We’ll bully her out by making sexual comments.

Fuck you.

I force a smile that physically hurts. “You have the prettiest mouth of all, Ian. Don’t worry, your dick sucking spot on the squad is safe.” Harrison’s hand flies to his mouth to muffle his laugh-gasp. The others only give me cold stares.

Jefferson opens his big fucking mouth to say something else, but Bradshaw opens the door and everyone falls quiet. It’s good to know that he at least has respect amongst his comrades. They don’t act the same when he’s around. I force my eyes to the floor to avoid any more arguing with the men. If I want their respect, I’ll have to make Bradshaw accept me first. God, that will be easier said than done.

Bradshaw walks past me as I secure my bulletproof vest and tighten the straps. I take him in as he sits at the edge of his bed. He’s wearing the same outfits we are, except his uniform neck rises high enough to meet the end of his mask. His ebony hair is covered with his slick black helmet. A small skull is painted on the bottom side, a glossy black that shines against the matte.

He must feel my gaze because those pale blue eyes lift to mine, his brows furrowed with annoyance. My instincts tell me to steer clear of him, but I know that won’t work. We’ll have to get along eventually, even if he is the world’s biggest asshole.

“I look forward to working with you, sir,” I say with a manner of respect. Though, it tastes like poison coming out of my mouth. I just want to forget about last night and start this mission on the right terms.

He doesn’t let his eyes trail away from me as he says cruelly, “I want you to quit, Bun.”

My chest drops and the other men stop talking as their attention is drawn to us.

I can’t hold back my offended scoff. “That’s not happening.”

Bradshaw stands and shoves me back by the shoulders. My ass presses against the cinderblock wall and heat spreads through my entire body like wildfire. Stay calm. Stay calm. You can’t punch your superior. Not on the first day, in the first hour.

“I don’t want you as my second. None of us want you on the squad, Bunny. You couldn’t even keep your prior first alive. What was his name? Jenkins?” My heart stops and he sees the anguish race across my features. His eyes flicker with regret for a second, but the resolve doesn’t leave. He’s standing over me, hands braced on either side of the wall, trying to make me feel small.

Oh, fuck this. No one talks about Jenkins like that.

“You don’t want me on your squad because I won’t die as easily as your last second. What was his name? Oh, I guess it wasn’t worth remembering because I sure as fuck don’t know it. At least you’ve heard of Jenkins.”

Bradshaw’s pupils expand and his face is horror-stricken for a millisecond before he controls the emotions.

Yeah, that didn’t feel very good. Did it, big guy?

I want to unsay the words the second they leave my mouth, but anger makes them stay. Bradshaw’s eyes fill with hatred. He fists my vest and furiously slams my back against the wall. My head rocks back toward the cement, but instead of impacting on stone it’s cupped by Bradshaw’s hand, his knuckles taking the brunt of it. The force shakes down a few of the framed awards from the wall and they crash around us.

A few audible gasps sound from the opposite end of the room but all I can focus on is Bradshaw. Even he’s blurry through the brimming tears that I furiously blink away.

Bradshaw’s teeth are gritted together, keeping venomous words back I’m sure, but it doesn’t stop the force with which he holds me against the wall, keeping me pinned with pure rage. My airways strain at the pressure and as my wits come back to me, my hand flies to his wrist. He doesn’t let up; he only searches my eyes.

“You’re as good as dead,” he finally says darkly—a sinister promise.

The others watch us with twisted expressions. Harrison has his hand extended toward us like he’s going to interject, but he doesn’t speak out against Bradshaw.

“Not if I let the enemy kill you first,” I spit back at him. Bradshaw’s eyes widen with disbelief. “I’ll bet that’s how your last second died, saving your ungrateful ass. If I die, it’s because I’ll be taking a bullet for you too and that fucking sucks.” I lift my knee swiftly, intending to nail him in the balls but he releases me quickly and steps back. His knuckles are bloody where he took the impact from the back of my head.

There’s a new flame in his cold eyes and I know that this is going to be a long, long night.

The chopper pick-up is vacant with the exception of our small squad. The helicopter blades block out all other sound as it descends to the circular pad. The seven of us lower our heads and swiftly move into it with nothing but our backpacks strapped to our backs. Eren takes up the rear and boards last.

Bradshaw sits to my right side while Jefferson is to my left. Pete, Harrison, and Ian sit across from us. We each wear muffled headgear so we can hear the instructions for our mock mission and training. Eren stands in the center, holding a handle in the center of the helicopter ceiling and speaks loudly through his mic.

“Malum Squad, we’ve located a group of armed specialists for a Level Red operation. They’ve taken five hostages deep into the Rocky Mountains. Our mission is to find them, extract them safely, and return to the pick-up location by seventeen hundred exactly three weeks from today. I want you to take everything in this training seriously. That means if you get hit, you’re out. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sergeant,” we all say in unison.

He hands out our guns, loaded with dummy bullets that pop with a red dust substance upon impact. I don’t think it’s been approved for general military use yet. They like to have the dark forces practice with all the new equipment “downstairs” before handing them out to the people who matter “upstairs.”

I take the sniper rifle from Eren as he hands it to me. I’m used to handling them and the weight doesn’t bother me one bit. The others eye me distrustfully. Ian even looks a bit arrogant, hoping for me to fail once we get out there. Not only do I need to prove myself as a marksman, but I have to excel at the hand-to-hand combat too. Please, God, don’t let my sparring partner be Bradshaw when the time comes.

I bring my eyes back to my feet, reminding myself not to let the others get to me. It’s hard to be the black sheep of the group, especially after coming from my last squad. It took years to get their respect. I only have one month with Malum.

My thoughts fade as I watch the others get their weapons. One of my specialties is, unfortunately, observation. I can break down a person’s position and mannerisms in a matter of minutes. Though this squad is a bit harder to read than most, you can learn a great deal about a soldier based on the weapons handed to them.

Jefferson and Pete both get machine guns and assault rifles. They are our fireteam. The ones that have the heavy-duty weapons that can wipe out the enemy quickly and loudly.

Bradshaw shifts his leg and bumps my knee. I glare at him and he gives it right back. His hollow eyes pierce me and only fuel my hate-fire. Focus on cataloging.

Ian gets an assault rifle and a bag with radio equipment for airstrikes. He’s the least armed and the one we need to rely on for communication. He’s a signaler, but I already knew he was a dark air force member based on the raven wings tattooed on his neck.

Harrison gets a grenade launcher. Obvious, the grenadier.

Eren is our sergeant, so he hangs onto an M16 and pistol, while Bradshaw is our close-range assassin—he gets a fake blade, edged with red for marking his false kills and a silenced M16.

I shut my eyes and let my mind sort out situations we might have. Assuming they’ll be difficult to work with, based on their reluctance to my presence, I think through a few additional scenarios. Of course, nothing is set in stone until we get to the site and see what we have to work with.

No one talks during the flight. We remain silent and on guard for any surprise emergency landings. After an hour I finally let my mind slack off and once I do I become acutely aware of how close we’re all packed in here. Bradshaw’s thigh is pressed against mine and his body heat leaks into me.

A mixture of different emotions thrum through me. I’m torn between wanting to tear his head off and apologizing for the shit I said. Even though he started it… we aren’t children. I should just apologize; I decide I’ll do so once we’re alone tonight.

He takes a deep breath and lets his head fall back against the headrest. His hand is clenched over the fake blade, but it trembles like he’s freezing. I frown and glance up at his face. His mask hides a lot of things—his lips and nose, the sharpness of his cheekbones. But it cannot hide the torment that racks through him. His brows are pulled in anguish, his dark lashes pressed firmly together, breath uneven.

I look over our squad in the small chopper and find all their eyes are closed, trying to get rest before we land.

Reluctantly and silently, I place my hand down on Bradshaw’s trembling one. His eyes open instantly and he straightens his back. I see many things in his eyes, loathing and distrust, but more than that, I see a weary, hurting man. Very much unwilling to accept my comfort.

He looks down at his hand clutching the blade like his life depends on it and loosens his hold. The trembling stops so I withdraw my hand. I honestly don’t know what I was thinking, but I wasn’t expecting him to stand up and move to the center of the chopper, preferring to hold the handle attached to the ceiling rather than sit beside me because I touched him.

Bradshaw’s eyes are shadowed as he stares at the floor, looking disgruntled by me.

I can’t fucking stand him.

It’s evident that he’s the real MVP of the squad. The rest of us are expendable. And whether they want me here or not, I plan on executing my purpose flawlessly. Because it’s all I have left—my usefulness.

I’ll get revenge for you, Jenkins. This mission has something to do with Patagonia. I know it.

I’ll paint the sky red for Malum, even if I fucking hate them. As long as I get to stay on the squad.

Eren stands and signals all of us. We stand with our sergeant and get ready to dismount from the chopper. I stand right behind Bradshaw. The sniper rifle is strapped to my back and I hold my pistol with both hands. I check it to ensure all the chambers are filled with the mock bullets. They’re lined with streaks of red down the back to be easily identified. My thoughts hesitate on the fact that they aren’t black, like they always were on the Riøt Squad, before I blink away the memories.

The moment the chopper hits the ground, we move rhythmically. Bradshaw leads the right-end exit while Eren leads the left.

I’m hot on Bradshaw’s heels and do an initial area sweep before seeing the glint of a gun in the foliage. Raising my pistol, I pull the trigger as if it’s as easy as breathing and fire into the brush. Bradshaw fires his M16 from my side; we’re almost back-to-back. My instincts kick in and I spin, checking the far side where Eren’s team is. They stare at us, surprised that we discharged our dummy weapons already. I fire again, twice in the opposite direction and then do a final sweep to be sure before straightening and using a silent hand gesture for clear.

The whole squad looks aghast and stares at us like Bradshaw and me are measuring dicks. In all honesty, we might as well be.

Not Eren, though. His lips pull up at the corners as three men step out from the bushes. They’re wearing camouflage and all have red powder on their foreheads and chests.

Ian’s and Harrison’s jaws fall open. Jefferson’s eyes narrow at me but there’s a new fragment of respect there now. Pete stares at me for a second before letting his eyes shift behind me to Bradshaw. I follow the motion, turning and finding his pale eyes boring holes into me. If I thought the loathing there was bad before, it’s ten times worse now.

I deflate.

What’s it going to take to prove myself to him? I was the only one who was as keen on the enemy’s presence as he was.

“Let’s move out. Bones, Bunny, you two take up the rear,” Eren orders and we follow without question.

Bradshaw jerks his head to let me know to go ahead of him and I don’t argue. Ian walks in front of me. His helmet and gear make him almost indistinguishable from the others, but he has a tell in how he lets his foot drag for a fraction of a second before he lifts it. I occasionally get a glimpse of his neck tattoo when he scratches it.

I take in our surroundings. The Rocky Mountains are a tough terrain, very telling for what the environment of the real mission will be like. The woods are thick here, with many sharp rock formations along hillsides and cliffs as we ascend to higher elevations. The cold mountain air is brisk and the wind cuts straight through my gear, chilling me to the bone.

We walk single file through the thick forest brush. It’s darker beneath the canopy of branches, even though the sun hasn’t quite set yet.

It’s cold and miserable—hours of hiking in mostly silence. I’m acutely aware of each step Bradshaw takes behind me. The crunch of the earth beneath his boots, the calculating thoughts inside his mind. I know he’s going to do something to get rid of me, the question is what it will be.

Eren sets a brutal pace and we don’t slow until we reach a thick underbrush that leads back to a rocky cliffside. By the time we get there, my feet ache and it’s pitch black with no moon. We are far away from any civilization.

“Get comfortable, Malum. We’re staying here tonight. I want team watch rotations. Myself and Harrison will take first watch. Stick to your partners… and Bunny⁠—”

I lift my head and meet Eren’s calm blue eyes.

“Good job today. If this were real, you’d have saved our asses. It’s clear to me why you are so revered,” He praises me, and it’s the first time I’ve received acclaim from a sergeant so openly.

My eyes are wide and all I can muster is a curt nod.

Eren has the same gentle demeanor I sensed when we met on the plane. It makes me hopeful that I’ve grown a bit on his good side again. God, I wish it were him I’d brought back to the hotel instead of his psychotic twin.

The rest of the squad gives me dark expressions, but none of them are as grim as Bradshaw’s. He looks like he’d rather eat dirt than share a post with me.

We get as comfortable as we can in the underbrush. Branches and insects make it difficult, but at least it isn’t raining. It definitely could be worse. We’re fortunate it’s the middle of fall and not the dead of winter.

We eat our MREs in silence and then break apart into our sleeping posts. My shoulders can’t be the only ones that hurt after carrying a pack all day. Bradshaw is tight against my side and I try as hard as I can to ignore his presence. Our altercation earlier comes back to me and guilt tugs in the back of my mind.

I know I shouldn’t have said those things. No matter what he said to spur it on. It’s eating away at me.

“Bones,” I whisper.

He doesn’t respond right away. I wonder if he’s sleeping already, but I doubt someone as traumatized as him can find rest so easily. God knows I can’t.

“What?” he says in a low, irritated voice.

“I’m sorry about what I said about Achilles. It was out of line.” The words hang between us and stretch the silence until I’m certain he won’t reply.

He shifts and I turn my head enough to look at him. He rolled to his other side to face away from me. My teeth gnash together but I force the muscles in my jaw to relax.

I knew I wasn’t getting an apology back, but it still irks me.

My head is heavy and my thoughts falter before I eventually find sleep.

A boot against my arm snaps me awake.

I sit up quickly and blink up at Bradshaw. He doesn’t look like he got a wink of sleep. Dark circles ring his lower lids. It’s pitch black and I can only make out his features with the lighter he holds near his face as he lights a cigarette. He lifts the bottom of his mask to take a puff before nodding toward the night watch post and waits while I stand and grab my rifle.

Eren and Harrison give us a once-over before making their way to their brush bedding. Too tired for words, I imagine, just as I am. I watch Eren until his figure disappears into the dark. Dread swallows me whole as I sit down beside Bradshaw.

The first twenty minutes pass slowly. The forest is loud with crickets and the sound of bats swooping between pine boughs. My eyes remain trained on the distant bush lines, waiting for any signs of movement.

“I’m sorry.”

He hadn’t spoken for so long that his voice startles me. I stare at him blankly.

Bradshaw doesn’t glance at me as he speaks. “About Jenkins. I shouldn’t have dragged his name through the mud.” His voice is low and husky. My eyes narrow with pain at the sound of Jenkins’s name.

A beat of awkward silence follows because I’m unsure what to say. But I finally decide to try to make peace with the devil, if he’s willing.

“You know, he was the only reason I survived in the dark forces,” I say, voice raspy. I haven’t talked about Jenkins out loud since he died. He lives solely in my mind. For some reason, it’s easier to tell your secrets to people you don’t know very well. Bradshaw turns his head in my direction and stares at me. For the first time it’s void of loathing, instead I find a subtle curiosity there. “He was the only one who saw the real me and trained me to be like him.”

Bradshaw blinks slowly and I spot a hint of a smirk from beneath his mask.

“Was he the only one who knew you were a little reaper deep down?” His tone isn’t cruel, but somehow it still stings. Is it that obvious?

I force my eyes away and choose to ignore his comment. I shouldn’t have told him I thought of myself as one. “I wasn’t a reaper yet. I was only twenty. Stupid and emotional still. I think he saw bits of himself in me and the hazing I endured was hard for him to watch without stepping in… I also killed a squadmate and made it look like an accident.” I glance back at Bradshaw. His eyes are hollow, patient. Unfazed by my admittance. “He helped me become a reaper because he liked that part of me. The part that killed against the rules.”

“You don’t think he was just trying to fuck you?”

A flash of heat spreads over my cheeks and my stomach twists with rage.

Bradshaw lets a couple low chuckles reverberate through the air between us. “Oh shit, you two did fuck, didn’t you? Did you trick him like you tricked me?” The cold-hearted asshole is back. Or maybe he never left and he was only baiting me.

“What’s your problem with me?” I ask and try to keep the bite out of it.

He gives me a stern look, those weary lines beneath his eyes pulling on my heart more than they should.

“You know, I was trying to hook up with Eren, not you.” I blow out a breath and let my muscles slack. I lean into the tree behind us. “I just wanted one last night of fun, a small pleasure that I could indulge in before my last mission.”

His shoulders tense. “What do you mean your last mission? Are you earning your cards out?”

The curve of my lips makes his eyes harden. He thinks I’m even close to earning my cards to a new life?

“No. I just have a feeling it will be my last. We all eventually expire, don’t we?”

I look away, but I can feel his heavy gaze burning into my skin.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you think it will be your last?” His voice is mundane but pushy, nonetheless.

Should I tell him it’s because I want it to be my last? Or because Malum goes on missions that most soldiers don’t come back from? Like Achilles. Or should I tell him the truth? That I know with the mission at hand we’ll be going after the asshole who caused Patagonia to go upside down. Sure, Malum blames Riøt for their loss and we blamed them back, but the real enemy is the third party that invaded our operation.

I settle on shrugging.

He stares at me for a few more minutes before dragging his eyes away from me.

The hush around us digs into my skin. I’m glad he’s not much for talking.