Then what she says clicks. Him. Not a member of my team, which leaves every male kid here and …
Harris, the man sporting a swollen eye.
"Let's pretend I'm not an idiot for a minute." She's getting pissed at me. "Some men don't like being showed up by a girl. It makes them more aggressive, especially if they're prone to being abusive already. I read about it in my classes. So, I took care of the issue. He won't bother me again, but I'm not about to make things worse by being around him."
I'm trying to digest her reasoning, because where I come from, it makes no sense whatsoever. Fighting with Brianna is one thing. With Harris, it's a complete no-go. I'm old-fashioned when it comes to women. I don't kill them in battle unless they're holding a weapon, firing at me, and I don't tolerate anyone hurting them outside of war.
"I give as good as I get. Maybe better," she adds sweetly. "You wouldn't know, though, would you?" She pulls at her wrist.
I tighten my grip without looking away. My goal isn't to stare her down, but I'm struggling to maintain my precious self-control, especially knowing Harris is all of twenty feet from me. I can't recall being this furious at anything in recent history.
"You're freaking me out," she says a little less confidently, searching my face.
My body is tense enough to hurt at the idea of someone hitting Katya. Taking a deep breath, I glance down at her wrist. "Where does it hurt?"
She shows me. The outside of her wrist is tender and a little swollen. "I'll get a wrap," I say and release her. "You can ice it when we get back this evening. Wait here."
Ducking into the tent, I release a long, slow breath, my insides twisting. Why didn't she come to me? I shouldn't be angry with her, but I can't help thinking that she's surrounded by four members of the Special Forces - and she didn't tell anyone, even her brother, or Harris would probably be dead. It's beyond absurd. Not only does she have no sense, she's absolutely, completely the most frustrating, difficult, stubborn, sweet, sexiest …
Stop. Breathe, think, let it go. I want to give her a piece of my mind about not telling anyone she had that big of a problem with Harris.
The urge to protect her is stronger, to fold her into my arms and drag her back to the safety of the sleeping bag, where we can both let down our guards again.
After I kill Harris. "This isn't helping," I tell myself. She's not mine. She wouldn't want to be. I don't need someone like her in my life. I have a feeling Petr won't be happy, if I handle this on my own. Out of respect for him, I should let him deal with Harris.