Pain, hot and sharp, lanced through me; everything hurt.

"I'm never drinking again," I muttered to no one.

The cold floor was less than comfortable; all around me, guys were in similar straits. Someone had duct-taped Yuri to the wall, where he snoozed peacefully.

These Russians knew how to party.

I pushed myself up, nearly retching as the room spun.

'Kay…Still drunk.

I staggered into the bathroom that looked more like any war zone I'd left than a bathroom at this point. I took a long look in the mirror, splashing some water on my face.

Groans from outside told me that the fellas were coming to. I had the cure for this; I just needed to find my supplies…Quickly.

Balalaika's laugh was legendary, hurting my head but making me chuckle as she walked in fifteen minutes later; I'd set up a mini-triage, running IV lines and helping my boys chase away the hangover. She looked no worse for wear, gorgeous to a fault in a dark blue suit.

"I see you've found your niche."

I smiled, "Morning, Captain. Sure looks like it… somebody has to keep 'em alive."

She snorted, "Admirable, I have a job for you, once you straighten out, of course.

I slid a line into Alex, and he nodded gratefully, wincing at the motion.

"Whatever you need, Captain."

"I need to discuss a job with the Lagoon Company that I think you'll be perfect for, given your relationship with Dutch."

I nodded, peeling my gloves off and tossing them in the trash, "Like to get some chow first if I could."

She nodded, "Of course, I already took care of it."

I cocked my head at her smile when the doors opened, and the local catering outfit rolled in, carrying trays.

"A well-fed army is a happy one."

The smell of bacon wafting from the trays made my mouth water.

"Captain, I could kiss you…" I froze when I realized what I'd just said, and to whom. My cheeks started heating up. "I mean, this is very nice, thank you."

Her grin was million-watt, but she didn't respond to my apparent slip. I didn't know how to feel about it.

The guys started showing signs of life, especially when the smells diffused throughout the room. Looking like the walking dead, dragging IV poles, they shambled up to eat. I watched them grab plates until the last guy was finished before I headed up, slowly filling two plates with Bacon, Eggs, and Sausage. Balalaika watched me with something akin to curiosity as I worked, bringing a dish to the still dealing with it Viktor, he nodded from the cot, and I grabbed him another pillow to help hit sit up a little more. The saline would do its job, and he'd be good to go soon. I grabbed the other plate and headed back to where Balalaika stood.

"Have you eaten?"

She cocked an eyebrow, "Not yet."

I shoved the plate into her hands, smiling, "There ya go, fork and everything."

In truth, I wasn't even thinking about my actions long ago; in a firehouse in my hometown, someone had told me that your people always eat first; it was a reflex at this point.

I gathered up my own plate, sat on the floor, leaving the chairs and cots for the worse off guys, and dug in. No one was more surprised than me when someone slid to the floor next to me, smoothing out her skirt. We ate in silence for a few minutes, and I was painfully aware of her; she wasn't even that close, but I could almost feel her…

Lock it up, Briggs.

My revelation last night, drunken though it may have been, was as real as anything. I was in love with her, and I barely knew her; it made no sense. Balalaika wasn't the kind of woman you had emotional discussions with, she was a fighter, and that was it. But I wanted to know her favorite color, what made her ugly laugh, if anything made her cry anymore…

LOCK. IT. UP!

…If she felt the same, even though I had nothing to offer her but devotion. I wanted to know…everything.

"You look like you're about to explode."

I jumped a little, glancing up to see her regarding me evenly, "Would you like to tell me what has you looking so…introspective?"

I shook my head and screwed the mask back into place, "No, just having a religious experience with this bacon."

She didn't believe me, not by a damn sight; it was written all over her face.

I cut in before she had the chance to, "So about this Lagoon Company job?"

"They're to transport some cargo for me; Dutch asked if I had anyone available to assist; you were the obvious choice."

"Simple delivery?"

She nodded, "But stay sharp; there's always a risk for interference."

I polished off my plate, "Will do; when do I leave?"

"Dutch wants to be gone by the afternoon; he'll have more information once you're underway."

I pulled my phone and checked the time; I still had a good couple of hours until noon. Plenty of time to shower, grab some gear, and make my way over to the Office.

"On it, Balalaika, thanks for the food, thank you for last night, hell, thanks for everything."

She smiled, and I noticed she was done, offering my hand without thinking, she accepted it, and I pulled her to her feet, trying not to think about how warm her hand was in mine.

"Think nothing of it; you better get going, wouldn't want you to be late."

I smiled in return, ignoring the iron butterflies beating their way through my guts. "No, ma'am."

I took my time, getting a shower in before dressing comfortably, simple jeans and a light long sleeve shirt. My Glock slid into its holster at the small of my back, a ratty ball cap slipped onto my head, and I hoisted my gear bag onto my shoulder, heading for the door.

The drive to the dock was pleasant; I thanked God for AC and Bluetooth as I bobbed my head to some decent country. This was just what I needed, some time away from Balalaika, get my head on straight. I sang softly as I rolled through the city, relishing the long gone song.

Dutch was waiting on the gangway as I rolled up, stepping out and shouldering my bag.

"Briggs! You're early!" He called out as I headed down the dock.

"Better early than late! Need a hand with anything?"

"Nah, man, everything's loaded, " We shook hands, and I stepped aboard, the smell of fresh paint with an undercurrent of rust and salt.

God, I love this boat.

"Hey, Boy Scout!"

I smiled, turning to see my favorite gunfighter coming up from below.

"Revy, 'sup, dude." I offered my fist, and she knocked hers into it.

"Working for a living," She grumbled.

Dutch laughed. "She's just mad because the chances of her getting to off someone is real low this time out."

"You're goddamn right, Dutch! No action at all? It's enough to ruin a girl's day!"

I let them hack it out as I started below, ditching my bag in the guest cabin. I was headed to the bridge when Rock popped out of his cabin; he caught sight of me and smiled, offering his hand.

"Hey, Zack."

I shook it, "Rock, how's it going, buddy?"

"Well enough, the life of a pirate in waiting."

I snorted, "Ya need an eyepatch, bud."

He chuckled, "Given how close the need is for one at any given moment, let's not put the whammy on me, huh?"

"Fair."

His face changed a little, some severity slipping into his eyes, "I heard you joined up with Balalaika?"

I nodded, "Yeah, the situation dictated, so I obliged, not a moment too soon with everything that went on at the clinic." I closed my eyes, shaking off the images, "They deserved better."

Rock laid a hand on my shoulder, "I never got the chance to meet them, but I'm sure they were good people; I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thanks, man, water under the bridge, unfortunately, nothing to be done now but move forward. Speaking of moving forward?" I jerked a thumb topside.

He lowered his voice, "No developments."

I smirked, "One day, man, gonna have to pull that trigger."

He tugged at his collar, "Pulling triggers is exactly what keeps me where I am."

I laughed, letting it go; no point in teasing the kid any further.

"Smart man."

Dutch came down the ladder with Revy in hot pursuit.

"Hey D, so Balalaika said you'd let me know what was up?"

He nodded as he brushed past me, and I followed, leaving Rock and Revy in the passageway. Throwing a quick wave to Benny in the radio room, he smiled and flashed me a thumbs-up as he calibrated his equipment.

"Just a simple delivery, we're meeting the customer down the coast in Cambodia, about two days ride if the weather holds up."

"Understood, where do you need me, Cap'?"

He chuckled, "At ease that shit, bro, you're along as Balalaika's rep to make sure it goes smooth, fear factor, nothing more."

"I tally, well, if it's all the same? I'm gonna go grab some shut-eye, long fuckin' night."

"Do it, man; I'll send someone for you if we run into a scrape."

I nodded, slapping him on the back and heading for the guest cabin.

My nap wasn't interrupted; eight long hours later, I walked topside, Dutch had locked our course in, and with the exception of Benny manning the radar, the place was quiet. The smooth metal railing was still warm from the heat of the day as I cleared the hatch, a million stars greeted me, the light from the moon reflecting off the water as we knifed through it.

I lit a smoke, the smell mixing with the sea air beautifully as I stared out at the open ocean.

With everything quiet, I had some time to reflect. The last week had been…mad, and that was putting it lightly.

Lost more friends, gained somewhere to call home…

Got my soul back, courtesy of Eda.

I smiled at that particular memory.

Balalaika had occupied my thoughts pretty consistently, but Eda was there too. It'd been so long since I'd cared about romance, to be entangled like this, even if it was one-sided on The Russian's part, was new and so normal I almost chuckled.

Stuck in a love triangle with a Russian Paratrooper turned Mob Boss and a CIA officer at the far reaches of civilization.

Anything but normal, Briggs.

What even was my fucking life anymore?

Eda was my best friend after Dave; she knew me like the back of her hand(literally after the other day) and had my back even though she gained nothing by nursing my broken-down self. She did it because of who she was. I'd be a fool to kick her to the curb.

But I didn't love her.

At the same time, I loved her too much to treat her like second best because she never could be.

The dangerous edge I felt around Balalaika was intoxicating; Eda taught me to use my gifts, Balalaika stoked the fire that I'd tried to hide, the borderline nutcase that enjoyed the fight, enjoyed the snap and whine of bullets passing overhead, enjoyed dropping the hammer on bad guys.

She scared me because of what she dragged out of me. But I liked it.

It felt like all the walls had fallen, and I was my true self, taking lives and saving them, reveling in the contrast and the bloody glory of it.

I'd tried to bury it after Sudan when Dave had told me to watch my ass, not fall too far; I'd taken it to heart, only engaging when I had to, ignoring the thrill of knowing that each time I sent a round downrange, I made the world just a bit better, especially after that first year in Syria, the only time I'd slipped…

We stalked through the empty, nearly destroyed camp, bodies laid all around, sneering prisoners lined up and flex-cuffed; Eylo was on my right, Cecelia and a few aid workers from the Red Crescent were behind me, flanked by guards from the YPJ.

The smell that I'd been trying to deny got stronger as we got closer to the center of it all.

The smell of burnt flesh.

I sliced a corner around a low wall, my AK snapping to my shoulder, and a moment later, my mouth dropped open in sheer horror.

They'd dug a pit, piled the civvies we'd come to rescue inside it… the fuel tanker sat off to the side.

They'd burned them alive. Only women and children, small twisted bodies, blackened and dead, lined the pit, some gnarled together, trying to save each other or provide some comfort in their finally horrifying moment, I didn't know…

The men's bodies were scattered around, heads severed and lined up neatly, haloed in dried blood. I backed away, shaking my head, trying to deny what I was seeing before I stumbled, retching into the dirt. Mylo was at my side in a flash, yelling something in Kurdish that I couldn't make out over the ringing in my ears.

My heart pounded in my ears, and the horror of it only got worse when I closed my eyes to block it out. Then I heard one of the bound ISIS fighters bark something at Cece… my head snapped around just in time to see him spitting at her feet.

The ringing stopped, the pounding of my heart stopped, and the tears stopped.

I used the butt of my AK to push myself off the ground. I didn't make a sound as I stalked past our line towards the crowd of prisoners. I waved the Kurds away from behind them; they nodded and stepped off.

There was no hesitation.

Someone screamed as my AK snapped up, and the selector lever went all the way down to full auto.

Was it me? Or was it one of them?

I didn't care.

The first shot broke the dam, taking one of the prisoners in the shoulder, he cried out in pain, and I smiled.

The rapid thumping reports followed, and it morphed into a grin, blood in my eyes, and murder in my heart. Spraying blood and cries of agony spurred me on, ahead exploded, an arm snapped, three rounds to the chest spilled organs all over the ground.

I ripped them to pieces until my mag went dry, hurling my empty AK to the side.

Only a few left alive.

But I was lost to it now.

My pistol whispered out of its holster, a Makarov I'd swiped from a dead fighter, my finely honed knife followed.

I waded into them; one young kid raised a hand, blood water falling from his mouth; I fired a round into his face, splitting it down the middle in a spray of spilled brains. Someone clutched weakly at my boot; I spun, dropping to a knee and planting the bayonet right in between his shoulder blades, twisting it as it withdrew and stabbing it back in again; his weak, gurgling screams were music to my ears.

Someone was laughing.

I reached the fighter that had started it all; his legs were shredded, one arm hung limply, shattered, he tried to crawl away, but he never had a chance.

Just like those poor people.

I used my boot to roll him over.

He stared up at me with tear-filled eyes, all his earlier defiance gone.

I holstered my Mak' and jammed my knife into the dirt, sliding to my knees and straddling him, my gloved hands wrapping around his throat.

I squeezed until blood vessels broke in his eyes; he shook his head, arms shuddered against the zip-ties, trying to stop me. I locked my elbows out and squeezed harder until the lights went out. My knife came out of the sand, and I slit his throat in one smooth motion, the slow bleed told me he was already dead, but it never hurt to make sure.

I rose, like death itself, off the burning sand; I felt fucking untouchable. The shocked looks from the other aid workers a sharp contrast to the thrill I felt.

Cece didn't talk to me for a few days, flinching whenever I walked into a room and making an excuse for a hasty exit. Eventually, we worked on a young boy together, tagging in and out to save his life over five hours of battlefield surgery.

"I know why you did it," She whispered as she held pressure on his small chest. "They were animals, and they died like animals; they deserved it."

I looked up into her pretty grey eyes, "I'm sorry I scared you."

"You didn't. I wanted to do the same damn thing; I struggled with it, think I've got my head around it now."

I clamped the artery and started stitching, "Still, you didn't need to see that. Can I get his O2?"

"Ninety and rising. I'm telling you it's okay, Briggs," She reached across and squeezed my hand, "Doesn't make you a monster."

I rolled my hand over and squeezed right back, "Thanks, Cece."

But I knew, somewhere, that she was wrong...

"You keep making that face; it's gonna get stuck."

I jumped about afoot at the sound of Revy's voice, "Christ almighty!"

She chuckled, clearly pleased with herself, leaning back against the railing and lighting a smoke, "Not my fault you were all up in your head, Briggs."

I shook it off, "Old bad memories. Can't sleep?"

"Nah."

I caught myself before I could ask her to go see if Rock was up. I wasn't a moron.

"Seems to be a common thread, huh?"

She nodded but didn't respond, and we sat there in silence for a long minute.

"You're a real mystery, aren't ya, Boy Scout?"

"Nothing mysterious about it; I see a fucked up world, and the only thing I can do is try and help."

She scoffed, and I could see the other side of her rising to the surface, "Help? You can't change anything…The world is the world, always gonna be what it is, the best you can hope for is to cash out big, or go out with a bang."

I lit another smoke, offering her one; she took it and used her own to chain light it.

"Two schools of thought. Either the world's fucked, and there's no hope. Or you fight harder because the world is fucked."

She shrugged, "Simple enough; get what you can while you can."

I nodded, "Not gonna pretend I agree, but I do get it, caught myself close to the line enough times, just about to say fuck it, and something would always pull me back."

"Some would call that naive."

"Some would call it finding meaning in the meaningless."

She rolled her eyes; for some reason, she was spoiling for an argument, one that I had no desire to get into, "Bullshit, Briggs. It makes you feel better, feel like you're contributing, selfish bullshit, at least have the balls to admit it."

"Is it so hard to believe that I do what I do because it's right?"

"More than a little, you remind me of Rock, always whining about what's good and proper."

I pivoted to face her, whatever she was after, she wasn't getting it from me, but my mouth got ahead of me as I glared at her, "I don't have an answer for you. You wanna fight? Take it somewhere else. Maybe Rock's awake; go use his ass as a piñata; I'm fresh out of fucks to give, and I don't like getting grilled."

She held my gaze for a second before she shook her head, laughing, the one-eighty giving me a little whiplash. She slapped my shoulder, grinning.

"See? Now that was real. Face it, buddy, you're just as fucked as the rest of us. I can see why Sis likes you."

…

Did I just get finessed?

Sonofabitch.

Also WHAT?

I tried to be casual, "What do you mean?"

She rolled her eyes, "You think she takes in every stray dog that washes up here? You impressed someone," She smirked, "I don't see the appeal, but someone clearly does."

Easy cowboy, she's trying to rile you again.

She stopped laughing at the look on my face, "Oh… don't tell me…"

Fuck…

I looked away, and she snorted, "Are you fuckin' serious? Sis? The goddamn boogeyman? Really, Briggs?! I take it all back. You're crazier than all of us put together."

I looked back at her, the shock was plain on her face, and Revy didn't rattle.

"Rev' I'm asking you, from the bottom of my heart. Drop it."

She held up her hands, "Dropped… crazy motherfucker."

I returned my gaze to the ocean, feeling the hopelessness wash over me; if Revy thought I was fucked, I was probably fucked.

"Thanks."

She gently patted me on the shoulder and walked back below without another word, leaving me alone with my turmoil.

Two days went by, we bounced around the boat, taking turns on watches and driving the ship. Revy, true to her word, didn't say a word about our conversation; the gunfighter was nothing if not trustworthy. I was lounging on the deck, loading magazines when Dutch called out from the bridge.

"Coming up on the meeting spot! Eyes up!"

I seated a full mag, racking the bolt on my shorty AK as we wheeled towards the dock. Our customers looked to be there already, standing on the shore.

Revy walked up next to me.

"I count ten."

"Ten in all, worried about what they're not showing us."

"Right?"

I slowly stood as we pulled alongside; Dutch came out with a duffel bag.

"Gotcha covered," I whispered as he passed.

He nodded, tapping Revy on the shoulder, she fell into step next to him, and they strolled down the dock, looking like they didn't have a care in the world. I gave them some slack and then started after them. I was here to represent Balalaika, after all.

The Cambodian leader, a greasy looking dude in his fifties, nodded as I stepped up next to Dutch, who handed over the bag.

"Everything in order?" I asked, scanning their faces… I didn't like it; they looked twitchy.

One of them was on a knee in a flash, pawing through the bag.

I drummed my fingers on the handguard of the AK, waiting for something to go wrong, my muscles thrumming, waiting…

He nodded up at his boss with a smile.

The boss smiled at me in turn, "Please send our regards to your boss; always a pleasure doing business with Hotel Moscow."

His surprisingly clear English surprised me.

I nodded, "I will, a pleasure gentlemen, you'll understand if we wait for you to leave?"

He nodded, "Smart man, sail safely."

"Likewise." Dutch rumbled.

They backed off and moved to their vehicles, disappearing into the jungle.

I let out a breath.

"That'll wake you up in the morning."

Revy yawned.

"Keep it to yourself."

I flipped her off, and she chuckled as we headed back for the boat. I had two whole days to think about just what the hell I was going to do with this fire in my chest.

Two days wasn't nearly enough; I hopped off the boat, catching the line Rock threw me and tying it off.

"One secured!"

Revy was doing the same just down the way from me.

"Two done!"

Dutch killed the motor; a moment later, he walked off the bridge, Benny following on his heels.

"Ah, good to be back." Benny ground out as he stretched.

"Another one in the bag, drinks?" Dutch asked.

Revy whooped a little, Rock smiled at her, and I felt it.

The dude's playing with fire, and it's awesome.

I shook my head, "Love to, D, but I've gotta get back to the Hotel, let Balalaika know the deal went down smooth-like. I'll give you a buzz later on. Later, guys."

A chorus of goodbyes, a pointed nod, and a small smirk from Revy, and I was heading down the dock to my thankfully unmolested Beemer.

I slid into the driver's seat, firing her up and lighting a smoke. I rubbed my hand over the steering wheel.

"Missed you, baby. Let's go see the competition, huh?"

I keyed up some music, something that thumped in time with my nerves as I wheeled back toward the main drag. I drummed on the steering wheel, singing my heart out in the evening traffic, anything to keep my head on straight.

I had to tell her, somehow, someway, I was going to have to spill my guts to Balalaika. How would something like that go? she wasn't so much a woman as she was a force of nature; trying to lock that down would be like trying to lasso a fucking tornado. She was the furthest thing from the white picket fence type as you could get.

The thing was, I didn't want that either; I'd seen too much, done too much. You don't go back after shit like that; the only way was forward. I spun it like a Rubik's cube as I got closer to the Hotel.

I was a mile away when they came for me.

A stroller rolled into the street, and I jammed on the brakes, and my window shattered, bits of flying glass slicing into my face before someone pulled me through the opening; I felt a hand rip my gun from my holster and toss it into the road, another set of hands tried to get my hands behind my back, I rolled into it and threw an elbow into the masked attacker's face breaking his nose, he reeled back, but before I could get the party going, someone slammed the butt of an AK across my face, and I was out cold.

Wake him up.

A bucket of icy water brought me out of it; I came to in all kinds of pain, trying to move away from the stinging deluge only to find that I was tied down.

The room slowly resolved as my head pounded, stars shooting across my vision. I was somewhere musty and dark, old warehouse by the looks of it; the smell of saltwater was strong.

The Docks.

Colombian territory.

Abrego… you motherfucker.

Someone hit me, a body shot that made me retch, a fist cracked off my jaw and did nothing for my pounding head.

Another hit.

This was easy, but it sucked; they just wanted to hurt me as much as they could, no questions.

Fear burned through me, but I growled as they kept working on me, dudes in masks took turns, each of them hitting like Mack trucks. Blood ran into my eyes, trailing down my face, the coppery taste reminding me that I was still alive as they worked me over.

After what felt like hours, an opening door stopped the beating; footsteps closed in.

The devil himself got right in my face, "Hello Mr. Briggs," He smiled, and his one gold tooth glinted dimly, "Did you think our business was concluded? My benefactor wants you and all your filthy Russian friends dead; the fact that you caused me to lose a lot of money, attracted attention to my business that I did not need, this is just icing on the cake."

I coughed and spat blood on his shoes, "I've got nothing for you, you fucking wimp, you might kill me, but Balalaika's gonna cut you into little hunks of meat while you're still breathing and wherever I am? I'm gonna be laughing my country ass off. Happy trails, shithead."

Abrego smiled, addressing one of the guys over his shoulder.

"Mátalo …Haz que dure."

"Si Jefe."

The group of them pulled machetes with a whisper of metal on cloth. I smiled despite the fear that threatened to tear my soul out; I wouldn't give it to them, no matter what they did.

"C'mon boys; I don't have all day."

Breaking glass caught my ear as they advanced; they didn't seem to hear it.

But they sure as shit heard the nine banger as it exploded in a cacophony of white light and thunderous noise.

I reflexively closed my eyes at the first blast; the remaining eight robbed me of my hearing, muffled thumps of suppressed gunfire and dull screaming got through. I opened my eyes, blinking away the haze to see one of my would-be killers laying in the dirt with three holes in his off-white shirt, blood slowly staining the whole thing red.

Masked wraiths Aussie-rappelled from the ceiling, dropping targets as the small force tried to run. Bullets pinged off the concrete, blood sprayed, and boots hit the ground. Someone cut me loose, and I spun out of the chair; the masked figure handed me a pistol and nodded; I caught sight of an HM brand on their wrist as their uniform rode up.

I smiled, and the figure nodded again.

They'd come for me.

The far doors crashed open, and the soldier slung me behind some crates, sliding in next to me as the counterattack started. Bullets tore chunks out of our concealment, the wood providing almost no cover. I reached over to my savior, ripping a grenade off their vest, pulling the pin, and letting the spoon fly free.

One…

Two…

"FRAG OUT!"

I stood and hurled the grenade at the muzzle flashes, ducking down, but not fast enough as a round grazed my shoulder, spinning me to the floor.

"MotherFUCKER!" I snarled.

A deafening boom followed by the whizzing of shrapnel robbed me of my hearing for a second. But the fire only slackened for a second before returning with full force. I leaned out of cover and fired a string of rounds, trying to keep their heads down.

"MOVE! PEEL RIGHT! LAST MAN!" My buddy yelled in a voice that I recognized immediately.

She came for me…

"MOVING!"

Balalaika popped out to the side and sprayed the far end of the room with a blistering amount of fire as I ran, legs pumping, sliding into cover behind a shipping container.

"SET!" I yelled.

"MOVING!" She called out.

I popped out and hosed the Colombians until the slide locked; she came in hot, slamming into cover behind me.

"I'M DRY!"

She pulled a pistol mag from her vest and passed it to me; I slammed it home and sent the slide forward as she stepped around me and fired into the fray. After a moment, I heard her gun run dry, and she knocked the empty mag out with a fresh one in one smooth motion that bordered on beautiful, sending the bolt home and spraying another burst.

When she stepped back in, she reached up, pulled her mask down and the watch cap off her head, shaking her braid free. When she spoke, it was with a laugh that bordered on manic with glee.

"THEY BROUGHT MORE MEN THAN WE EXPECTED!"

I caught the bloodlust thrumming in my voice as I responded.

"WE'LL JUST HAVE TO KILL THEM ALL THEN!"

I took a knee and fired around the corner, hearing a scream of pain that fired something deadly in my blood.

When I looked up at her, my breath caught in my throat.

Her face was wild, eyes blazing, chest heaving, carbon speckled around her nose and forehead from firing inside.

A flash of movement behind her caught my eye, and I stuck an arm out, pushing her against and pinning her to the container, firing a string of rounds, walking them up the Colombian's chest and into his face, he pitched backward in a spray of blood.

We locked eyes; for a moment, nothing else existed.

She brought it all pouring out, and for the first time… I welcomed it with open arms.

"THREE-TWO!" I shouted, grinning like a madman.

Understanding washed over her beautiful face as she nodded, returning my grin.

If I died right then, it would've been alright.

I crossed over her, and she took my place; I snatched up the M4 and the bandoleer of mags from the bloody corpse, booting him in the head for good measure.

Fucker.

"WE HAVE TO MOVE!" She yelled,

I nodded, "GRENADE."

She nodded back, pulling one from her vest, priming and hurling it into the blackness.

"GRENADE OUT!"

Rounds skipped and whined off the floor; I heard a voice that sounded like Alex call out that he was changing mags right before another teeth-rattling BOOM.

"IF WE DIE, YOU SHOULD KNOW SOMETHING!"

She stared at the wall behind us; that wild smile never left her beautiful face.

I leaned around her and sprayed rounds at the silhouettes, running dry with a deafening Click!

I hooked back in and changing mags in a flash, still smiling evilly at the carnage, "LOADING! I'M ALL EARS, CAPTAIN!"

She replaced me, firing around the corner, rotating mags when she slid back in; once she was done, her hand shot out. She grabbed a handful of my shirt and pulled me in close; her breath washed across my face, and all I could smell was cordite and perfume.

"You talk in your sleep."

Her lips crashed into mine with a force that almost took me off my feet. She dominated the exchange, her tongue invaded my mouth, and those surprisingly soft lips robbed me of every bit of sense I had left. When she broke the kiss, she left me panting, dying for more. She grinned wickedly into my shocked face, letting my shirt go.

"COVERING FIRE!"

My head spun as I stacked up behind her, laying a hand on her shoulder; she shot a glance back at me that was all bloodlust and something else.

"COVERING!" Someone called back

I nodded and squeezed her shoulder; the tightening of my fingers into her skin made me shiver a little bit.

We pushed out as one.

"GOING RIGHT!" I shouted, stepping off and firing as fast as I could at the shadows that darted around and fired back. I gunned one to the ground, Balalaika ran parallel, hitting them as they appeared. They broke and ran under our combined fires.

"GRENADE OUT!" Someone yelled. I hooked into cover as the small dark object went hurtling past my head.

She took cover across the gap from me and flashed me a grin.

The grenade detonated, a secondary explosion lighting up the interior of the building a hellish orange.

Nothing moved, and nobody breathed for a long moment.

"CLEAR!" Alex shouted.

"ALL CLEAR" Someone called back.

I slung my AK and advanced toward her; she likewise stepped off, striding at me like someone on a mission.

I grabbed the front of her vest and dragged her into my arms; her nails raked my shoulders, traveling up the back of my neck, biting deep…

And in front of the roaring blaze wrought by the exploding grenade…

Surrounded by the bodies of the men that dared oppose Hotel Moscow…

We kissed until neither of us had breath left in our lungs.

A/N: Whoo! That chapter had me a little heated, ten chapters of hinting, dancing around it, all for the kind of reveal that I felt would fit Balalaika best.

So spicy!

Truth be told, if I had a woman who covered my back in a gunfight, I'd go to Jared…Gonna have to talk to my shrink about that one…

I hope you all enjoyed it so far; we're not done by a damn sight. Fasten your seatbelts, guys and gals; it's about to get real funky!

Oh, and if you want some ambiance, I wrote the last half of this chapter to Armin Van Buuren's "Turn It Up" on repeat.