Chapter 23 – Jennie
I stand on the balcony, arms folded on the cool iron rail, eyes tracing the horizon even though I’m not really seeing anything.
The morning breeze is soft, but I can still feel the phantom sting on my cheek—the place where Yegor’s ring had struck me.
It doesn’t hurt anymore. Not physically. Not after Adrian.
Adrian.
I close my eyes and inhale, tugging the oversized shirt tighter around me. His shirt. His scent. Spicy, bold, and somehow grounding. It smells like safety.
And danger.
I saw him kill Yegor. One shot. No hesitation. His eyes didn’t flicker. His hands didn’t shake. He just…ended him.
Because of me.
Because I was hurt. Because someone laid a hand on me. Because he loves me.
That thought settles low in my belly like warm thunder.
I know it now. I can’t pretend I don’t. I’m in love with Adrian Rusnak.
And it’s not the slow, easy kind of love they write poems about.
It’s messy and reckless and terrifying. But it’s real.
It’s rooted in blood and tears and desperate, gasping moments of truth.
He didn’t just save me from Yegor. He reminded me of who I am.
Strong. Alive. Capable.
He gave me back my power. Not because I needed a savior, but because he looked at me like I was the fire, not something that needed rescuing from it.
I breathe him in again, smile against the collar of his shirt, and tilt my head to the sky. I don’t know what’s coming next. But I know one thing with complete, terrifying certainty:
I am his.
And he is mine.
The door opens, and I feel him before I hear him.
That familiar pull in the air. The way my skin tingles, like my body knows he’s close before my mind catches up. I turn slowly, and there he is—standing just inside the doorway, his hands shoved into his pockets, his face unreadable.
But I know him now. I know what guarded looks like on Adrian Rusnak.
He thinks I’ll pull away. That I’ve had time to think, and I’ll come to my senses and run like hell from this world of blood and shadows and stolen kisses.
He’s waiting for the rejection.
But I don’t give it.
I motion for him to come to me. He sighs and approaches slowly, until he’s standing right in front of me, his expression still muted. His jaw flexes, like he’s preparing himself for impact. And maybe it is an impact—just not the one he’s expecting.
I reach up, take his face in my hands, and pull his mouth to mine.
His lips are tense at first, surprised. Then he melts into me—hungry, aching, desperate. His arms come around me like he’s starving and I’m the only thing that can keep him alive.
I kiss him until I can’t breathe, and even then I don’t stop. When I finally pull away, I keep my forehead pressed to his and whisper the words that have been building inside me for days.
“I’m not running anymore, Adrian. I’m choosing you. All of it. The chaos. The darkness. The life you live. I’m choosing you.”
He stills. I feel the breath leave his body like I just knocked it out of him. When he pulls back, his eyes are wide—searching mine, as if he’s trying to find the lie in them.
But there isn’t one.
He laughs, soft and disbelieving, before grabbing me tighter. “You have no idea what that does to me.”
“Try me.”
His hand tangles in my hair, pulling me close again, kissing me like I just saved his life.
“I’ve never felt this happy in my entire fucking life,” he says against my lips. “Never. You don’t even know what you’ve just done to me.”
I do. Because I feel it too.
He attempts to lift me into his arms, but I shrug out of his arms and guide him toward the lounge chair. His eyes flare with confusion as I push him onto it.
“Jennie….”
“Shh….” I touch a finger to my lip and slowly step out of my clothes, standing naked before him.
“Fuck.” He tries to stand again, but I press him back onto the chair and slowly lower onto my knees. He spreads his legs and runs his tongue across his bottom lip, his eyes smoldering.
I look confident on the outside as I pull down his pants and briefs, but inside, I’m a mess. I’ve only done this a few times, and each time was really short because the men were young and impatient.
Adrian is by no means inexperienced, and he’s a real man. Surely, he’ll get turned off if I simply slobber on his dick without an idea of what I’m doing.
But I don’t back down. I feel powerful, and I’m ready to step into that power.
Adrian doesn’t let me worry too much. As soon as I touch my tongue to the tip of his bulbous erection, he growls like a wild beast and fists his hand into my hair, holding me in place.
His volatile reaction empowers me, and I sink him down my throat, holding him there until I gag and spit.
“Fuck, Jennie.” He throws his head back, eyes tight shut. “Oh, fuck. Please….”
Oh yes. This is exactly where I want him.
He gets rough, wrapping my hair around his fist and pinning me in place as he fucks my face. My eyes water, and my throat stretches to accommodate him, but I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
“Take it,” he growls, stuffing my mouth. “Don’t stop. Fuck. Don’t stop. Yes. Jennie….”
Just when I think I’ll suffocate from the lack of air, he pulls out of me and picks me up in one fluid motion, planting me on the lounge chair on all fours. He’s mindless, animalistic, and it’s exhilarating that it’s me who drives him to this point.
With no warning, he slams into me, driving me into the chair. I hold on for support, lost in the pleasure barreling through me at back-breaking speed.
“Fuck,” he growls again, leaning into my back to wrap his arms around me and tweak my nipple. I bite back a whimper, his name falling out of my lips like a prayer.
“Adrian….”
“Yes…I’m here.” His other hand slides down and squeezes my clit. “I’m here.”
I scream as an orgasm slams into me like an avalanche. I’m falling, but Adrian holds me upright, slamming into me a few more times before he grunts and crashes against me, getting lost in his wave of passion.
For a moment, neither of us moves. We’re stuck in a boneless heap, trying to catch our breath.
Then, he gathers me into his arms like I’m something precious, something fragile.
Like he can’t believe I’m real and here and his.
His large hands trace slow, calming circles over my bare back as he pulls me down with him onto the chair again.
I end up sprawled on top of him, my cheek resting over his heart, our skin damp and warm, our breaths still a little uneven.
The silence wraps around us like a second blanket.
His heartbeat thuds steadily beneath my ear. I close my eyes and breathe him in—his skin, his scent, the faint trace of cologne clinging to his chest. He smells like safety now. Like mine.
His fingers tangle lazily in my hair, and I can feel how relaxed he is under me. It’s the kind of peace I didn’t think we could have. Not him. Not me. Not us.
And yet here we are.
I shift slightly, trying to get more comfortable, and he tightens his hold around me like he doesn’t want me to move.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I murmur against his skin.
“Good,” he says, voice gravelly. “Because I’d go fucking insane.”
I smile. He makes it so easy now—to smile, to breathe, to feel like this kind of happiness is allowed.
I press a soft kiss to his chest, right over his heart, and whisper, “You’re stuck with me now.”
His laugh is soft. Barely there. But it’s real.
“Best fucking decision I’ve ever made,” he says.
I curl tighter into him, letting the rhythm of his breath lull me.
For once, the world outside this room doesn’t matter. We stay there for a while. Me on top of him. His hands still moving slowly up and down my spine like he’s memorizing me. Like he’s making sure I don’t disappear.
Eventually, he speaks. His voice is low, serious. A bit heavier than before.
“This life isn’t easy, Jennie,” he says. “It’s not romantic all the time. It’s bloody. Ruthless. You’ve already seen the beginning of it.”
I lift my head, resting my chin on his chest so I can see his face. His eyes are stormy. Haunted. A part of him thinks I’ll pull away again.
But I don’t.
“I have you,” I tell him softly. “Nothing can go wrong if I have you.”
His jaw clenches like that both comforts and terrifies him.
“I’m not trying to scare you. But people will come for you again. Because of me. Because of my name.” He swallows. “That means you can’t just be mine. You have to be dangerous too.”
He reaches toward the floor, finds his discarded trousers, and pulls something from the pocket.
A knife.
He opens the blade, then presses the handle into my palm.
“From now on,” he says, looking me dead in the eye, “you never walk this house unarmed.”
I stare at it. It’s sleek, heavier than I expect. My fingers curl around the handle.
“You think I can handle this?” I ask.
“I think you’re stronger than you know.”
“I’m your wife,” I say, sitting up straighter. “I can handle anything.”
His mouth twitches into a smile. “That’s my girl.”
I lean down and kiss him, slow and certain. It’s not rushed or desperate. Just…solid. The kind of kiss that seals something in place.
When we part, his eyes are brighter, and I marvel at how happy I make him.