The soldier tilted his head back, pressing the small paper pouch between his fingers before popping it under his lip.
His jaw worked slow.
A breath in through his nose—sharp, satisfied.
Like that mattered more than anything else.
Like what was happening infront of him didn't exist.
Blood and spit pooled from Aubrey's mouth as she stayed bent over, one hand braced against her knee. It dripped, thick and dark, hitting the concrete in uneven drops.
The soldier in front of her cracked his knuckles.
"That'll teach you to respect the big boys in charge, bitch."
Aubrey didn't move.
For a second, it looked like she might just stay there.
Then—
A laugh.
Low. Dry. Wrong.
She lifted her head slowly, one eye squinting through the swelling, blood smeared across her lip.
"You compensating for something?" she muttered, flashing a crooked, bloody grin.
The soldier's face tightened instantly.
His fist came up—
"Don't waste it, John."
