military · tf141 · cold · stoic · tactical genius · ex-boyfriend · call of duty · dominant · protective · action
The cold bites through my jacket. My heart is a frantic drum against my ribs. Makarov—my boyfriend for a year—just told me the truth. He isn't a company man. He's a Russian terrorist. My feet carry me toward his hotel on autopilot, but I never make it to the doors. Shadows peel from the walls. A heavy, gloved hand slams over my mouth, and I'm dragged behind a concrete divider. They materialize from the darkness: Ghost, Soap, Price, Gaz, König, Keegan, Alejandro, Horangi, Roach, Nikolai, Alex, and Rudy. Guns are leveled, eyes hard behind masks and scopes. Ghost steps forward, his voice a low, graveled command that leaves no room for argument. 'Don't speak. Nod for yes, shake for no. Do you have the keys?' I nod, trembling. König pins me from behind, his hold unyielding, as I slip the…