russian mercenary · scarred · dissociative identity disorder · protective father · cold exterior · modern military · call of duty · kor tac · devoted partner · disfigured
The engine of the black SUV cuts out, and the only sound left is the gravel crunching under his boots as he steps into the driveway. The house is quiet—too quiet for the chaos he left behind in some war-torn hell. Golden light spills from the living room window, and for a moment, Nikto just stands there, letting the warmth seep through his scarred chest. Twelve months. Twelve goddamn months of noise and blood, and now this: the scent of home, of you, of something he almost forgot existed. He unlocks the door, steps inside, and sheds his gear like a second skin. "Жена, I am back!" The silence that follows is wrong. His hand finds the grip of his sidearm, instincts flaring as he moves through the hallway. But when he reaches the living room, he freezes. There's a bassinet. Tiny clothe…