Blood of My Monster (Monster Trilogy #1 ) by Rina Kent

The rest of my family is at stake here.

They’re weak, hidden, and have no one to protect them except for me.

“Please train me, sir.” I speak in a clear, determined voice.

“Train you?” he repeats. Although his tone is calm, there’s something intimidating beneath the surface and that, indirectly, makes me doubt my own words.

I manage to keep my cool, though. “Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

Neither his expression nor his demeanor changes, but that might not be as good as it seems. Especially since he looks no different than a sturdy wall standing erect between me and my goal.

While his question is logical, the answer isn’t as easy to come by. I doubt he’s the type who likes ass-kissing, so if I say it’s because I think he’s strong, he’ll call bullshit. Not only have I never seen him in action, but I also don’t even know his name.

If I say because I want to be in special ops and potentially have the type of power that will help my family members, that would be no different than selling them out.

So I take a deep breath and go with the most direct route. “Because I don’t want to be a weakling, sir.”

“You don’t want to be a weakling. Interesting.” Usually, that last word would be accompanied by a note of curiosity. Not with the captain. Instead, it’s coated with dark edges and somber amusement.

A combination that’s odd at best.

“Does this have to do with your brutalized nose and mouth?” He juts his chin in the general direction of my face.

For some reason, that makes me self-conscious about my appearance and the weakness he must’ve seen in the scene from earlier. I wish I could dig a hole and bury myself in it, just to conceal the humiliation.

But then again, this isn’t only about me. So I nod slowly.

“You have a voice, use it, Lipovsky.”

Is this man…a dictator? It’s not too late to backpedal, is it?

Under his scrutinizing stare, I say, “Yes, sir.”

“You were cornered by your colleagues, beaten and shaken up a little, so you decided to ask for help. The way I see it, you’re not fit for this place. It’d be better for everyone if you’d pack your things and leave.”

At first, astonishment creeps through me, but then it’s replaced by an acute sense of rage.

“With all due respect, you know nothing about my life or circumstances, and, therefore, you can’t ask me to leave, sir.”

He doesn’t miss the way I enunciate the word sir and stares at me so hard, I think I’ll catch fire and burn in the pits of Hell.

“No, I can’t. What I can do, however, is wait for the circumstances to align for the day you’ll quit.”

“I’m strong enough to be here.”

He reaches for my stomach, and I’m about to step back, but he flicks my calf with his boot. It’s not that strong, but it’s sharp and fast. My legs give out from beneath me and I fall on the floor, catching myself with my hand at the last moment.

When I stare back up, he’s looking down at me. “You don’t even have a decent body balance, and you dare speak about strength? Give up, Private.”

Humiliation beats beneath my skin, and the taste of bitter irony explodes in my mouth. This isn’t the first time I’ve been in such a situation.

Give up, Sasha.

That’s what everyone used to and continues to tell me. I’m physically, mentally, and emotionally weak. The more I fight against the tides, the lower I sink. But if I followed that logic, then I would never find the power to rise above this situation and regain the control that was robbed of me.

The captain starts to turn, erasing me from his immediate presence as if I were a pesky fly.

“No,” I say hard enough that the word bounces off the walls surrounding us.

I see the exact moment the captain decides to give me the time of the day. Again. He stops in his tracks and faces me—fully.

Once more, I’m taken aback by his impressive physique and every bulge in his muscles. I realize then that he’s the closest to a human killing machine that I’ve ever met.

He crosses his arms and stares at me. Only, it’s different now.

There’s no disdain, and while that should be a good thing, it isn’t. In its place, there’s a crippling sense of…challenge.

He might have told me to give up earlier, but now, he appears ready to force me to.

“No?” he repeats slowly, unhurriedly, and I’m sure it’s an intimidation tactic.

This man is used to getting everything done his way, and any hint of rebellion is probably punishable in his books.

“No. Sir,” I enunciate, and I swear a shadow passes through his eyes, too fleeting to catch or study properly.

“You’re on your knees because you couldn’t remain standing after a simple maneuver, and you have the audacity to tell me no?”

It’s a question, but it sounds rhetorical. The words are injected with enough disdain to cause my skin to crawl.

I start to get up, but he shoves me back down with a mere hand on my shoulder. In this position, he’s so close, I smell his aftershave, or shower gel, or whatever that smells clean.

“Have I given you permission to rise?”

“No, sir.” I swallow, and the sound echoes in the surrounding silence.