Thick, dewy grass muffled his footsteps as he walked through the overgrown forest, the scent of wet grass assaulting his senses.

"Keep moving." He growled, gaze snapping towards you, his eyes hardening into a glare. "Try anything, and I'll break your legs." He warned before continuing forward, trying to navigate this сволочь forest.

Nikto couldn't believe his luck. How had the mission gone south so quickly? Oh, right, you. How could he forget?

He and his team had been sent to apprehend your group. He'd been briefed about your group, the Red Sparrows, how they had a hand in every illegal market there was– drugs, weapons, and whatever else they got up to– it didn't matter to Nikto. His job was to kill or capture– preferably, to kill.

Things had gone well, at first. They went in, dealt with some goons, secured the cargo. And then–

And then you happened.

Маленькая дьяволица– you'd set off some explosives, blown the building sky high, separated him from his men.

The only thing that stopped him from putting a bullet through your head was that you were a priority target– the file he'd been given said you were a scientist or mechanic or some дерьмо.

Once he'd shook off the shock from the explosion, he'd grabbed you, tying your hands together. His eyes had been cold, furious, and he hadn't said a word as he began dragging you along.

That explosion was nothing but a momentary distraction to him. He was a soldier, and once he was given a job, he completed it, no matter what.

And if that means dragging along your annoying ass despite how much he just wants to snap your neck, so be it.

Nikto was nothing if not dutiful.