Page 20 of Mariposa
“It’s not a fucking honor, Slaughter,” I snap.
Grim tilts his head, watching me intently. Kane flinches.
“We lost a good man tonight.”
“You knew him?” Kane asks softly.
“Damon Hawke used to be one of my students. He was supposed to return to the course in about six months to become one of us. A special operator—a Green Beret, and now? I get to attend his funeral. If you’ll do me a fucking favor and wipe that naive grin off your face because there’s nothing to smileabout right now.” I point to the burning building behind me. I clench my jaw tight, and all three of us watch Damon’s dead body being escorted by a group of soldiers. They’re in charge of taking his body back home to be reunited with his family.
Grim straightens his posture, as do I. I roll my neck, causing it to pop several times as the two men look at each other like they’re estranged.
“Yes, sir,” Kane nods his head at me.
He hides his dark blue eyes like he’s ashamed. He kicks a rock with his boot before he turns. “I didn’t know he was one of your students,” he concedes.
“Well, now you do.” A sting hits my eye, but I blink it away before I can feel. In a split second, the pain is gone, and the numbness I’ve taught myself to become addicted to returns.
Whenever I’m in this state of mind, I don’t feel. It’s a shield I wear so perfectly now. It’s the reason why everyone fears me and the reason why everyone calls me Operator Beast.
Everyone says I don’t have a heart, and I believe it myself at this point. When was the last time I could smile without having this anchor of dread weigh me down? I don’t know what it’s like to feel happy anymore, but I’m proud of that. It’s what makes me strong. Because if I can’t feel happy, I can’t feel pain, either. Numb is the way I live, and I thrive like that. It’s what helps me survive the wars I fight and what helps me win the battles I endure in my head.
Helicopter blades whip the air in the distance just as mics start to go off in our ears, and we all start to disperse because it’s time for the next mission.
“Excuse me. I’m heading back to base,” I snap. Kane steps back from me just as Grim runs a hand through his beard. Bane and Grim look at each other and then back at me, nodding.
I stalk toward the parked Black Hawk helicopter, already preparing for the next mission instead of trying to grieveDamon’s loss. I won’t let myself feel it. It’ll hurt too much, and I’m not that type of man.
I’m a monster.
10
VIOLET
THREE MONTHS UNTIL GRADUATION
Elastic Heart by SIA
As someone who grew up in mixed martial arts since she could walk, combative training excites me.
Willis stands before me with a chip on his shoulder and an overconfident grin reaching his brown eyes.
“Come on, hit me right here.” He taps his jaw with his gloved hand, prompting me to take the bait.
“Antagonizing her isn’t a good idea,” Preston warns him from behind the cage. I look over Willis’s shoulder and meet Preston’s death glare. He’s still upset about what transpired five minutes ago. I barely put any pressure on his elbow before he tapped incredibly fast.
No one has beaten me yet, and I’m having too much fun to stop.
“Come on, I bet those little arms don’t have reach. That’s why you haven’t thrown a punch yet. I bet you?—”
Before he can get another word out, I strike fast. My fist connects with the end of his chin, sending him to the ground with only the whites of his eyes showing. His limp body landswith a loud thud on his back, the rest of him facing the dim ceiling. My arm retracts, and I scoff, satisfied.
Everyone outside of the cage shouts excitedly and rattles the metal with their hands, like we’re at a Sunday football game and someone scored a touchdown.
I can feel Beast’s eyes on me. He stands beside the other instructors, arms crossed over his chest. His tatted arms are perfectly contoured with muscles. He flexes them each time another man goes down. It’s eating away at Beast to see every man go down.
Willis comes to consciousness seconds later. He walks out with Sergeant Slater, who asks him question after question to clear him of needing medical attention. With my hand on my hip, I’m sucking in breath after breath, pacing up and down as I wait for the next one. My sore knuckles brush my upper lip, clearing the built-up perspiration.
“Roberts!” Sergeant Booker calls out another soldier. Roberts runs inside, but then his pace morphs into a walk when he heads straight for me. He nudges my arm with his elbow softly and leans into my ear.
