Chapter 15 – Jennie
I wake up with a gasp, heart pounding before my eyes even open fully. The room is still and quiet—too quiet. I sit up fast, scanning the space.
Adrian is gone.
I’m alone in the panic room, the last few hours rushing back to me in fragments. The explosion. The blood on my lip. Adrian holding me. Kissing me. Whispering promises.
And now…nothing.
My skin is bare. I yank the blanket up, covering myself as the air chills my shoulders. My heart stutters as I look around for something—anything—to wear. That’s when I spot it: Adrian’s black T-shirt, tossed carelessly on the floor near the foot of the bed.
I grab it, slipping it over my head. It smells like him—clean linen, leather, and something darker. Familiar now.
The shirt swallows me whole, hanging past my thighs. I gather my breath, push my hair out of my face, and stand up.
The panic room is luxurious. Too luxurious for what it’s meant to be. Sleek floors, paneled walls, a minimalist bed with expensive linens, a stocked bookshelf I never noticed until now, and warm lighting that doesn’t flicker even once.
But none of it comforts me. I feel trapped again.
Where the hell is he?
I start moving slowly around the room, checking corners, scanning the walls. I walk toward the desk at the far end of the room. It’s the only part of the panic room that looks even slightly used—everything else feels untouched, clinical. The chair is slightly askew, like someone sat here recently.
A notebook catches my eye. Plain, black cover. No label, no title. But something about it pulls me in.
I pick it up and flip it open—and my breath catches the second I recognize the handwriting.
Adrian’s.
Slanted, sharp, and neat. Too neat. I turn the pages slowly. Most of them are filled with strange notes. Symbols. Names I don’t recognize. Coded language, maybe. Some entries are just single lines. Dates. Coordinates. Phrases like:
“Transfer complete—neutralized at 03:10.”
“Payment confirmed. Silent.”
“Avoid Moscow until it’s clear.”
I keep flipping.
And then I get to the back.
My hands go cold.
It’s a list.
A long one.
Names. Locations. Some are crossed out. Some have tiny Xs beside them. Some have circles. Others…nothing at all.
My eyes scan downward. My mouth goes dry. A few names have notes beside them. “Confirmed dead.” “No loose ends.” “Executed—personal.”
My heart starts pounding.
This is a kill ledger.
Adrian’s kill ledger.
I clutch the notebook tighter, my palms suddenly slick. My eyes keep moving down the list, even though every instinct in me is screaming to stop.
Enemies. Traitors. Informants.
Gone.
My throat tightens as I reach the bottom of the page.
And that’s when I see it.
Logan.
My brother’s name.
Not crossed out. Circled. In red ink. My heart skips.
Underneath his name, written in Adrian’s sharp, unmistakable handwriting, are three sentences:
Frame. Confirmed by Kaz. Protect for Jennie.
My legs nearly give out. I grip the edge of the desk, my fingers digging into the wood.
The tears start before I even realize what’s happening.
Soft. Quiet. Burning hot as they roll down my cheeks.
I sink into the chair near the desk, the notebook still clutched in my hands like a lifeline. Or maybe a weapon. I don’t even know which anymore.
Adrian didn’t just spare Logan.
He’s been protecting him.
And apparently, he’s been trying to clear his name. I should ask him about that.
My heart twists painfully.
Why didn’t he tell me?
Why would he let me suffer, let me believe that my brother’s life was still dangling by a thread when he’s been doing everything he can to fix it?
He didn’t have to do that. Not for Logan. Not even for me.
And yet, he did.
Even when I screamed at him.
Even when I told him I hated him.
Even when I tried to run.
He didn’t stop.
He never stopped protecting me.
My fingers tremble over Logan’s name, the red ink like blood against the page.
Frame. Confirmed by Kaz. Protect for Jennie.
It hits me like a punch in the chest—he could’ve had Logan killed. He had every reason to. Every justification. But he didn’t.
Because of me.
Because something in Adrian Rusnak—this brutal, violent man feared by everyone—loves me enough to do the one thing no one else in my life has ever done.
Keep me safe.
Even if I never thanked him for it.
Even if I never knew.
Even if I hated him for it.
I cover my face with my hands and sob harder, the sound muffled but raw, my chest heaving with the weight of everything I’ve just discovered.
I don’t know what to do with this.
I don’t know how to face him.
But one thing is very clear now.
Adrian didn’t trap me in this life.
He chose me.
And despite everything…he’s been trying to prove himself to me all along.
Just then, the door creaks open.
I flinch, startled, and look up—my breath catching when I see him.
Adrian.
He steps inside the panic room, calm and unreadable, but the second his eyes land on me, something shifts in them. A flicker of awareness. Of knowing.
He walks toward me slowly, his gaze dropping to the open notebook in my lap.
Without a word, he takes it from my trembling hands and shuts it with a soft thud.
His voice is low. Controlled. “Why are you going through my things, zayka?”
I try to speak, but my throat closes up.
All the anger I thought I’d feel is gone. All the confusion, all the questions—drowned beneath the wave of something so much deeper.
My chest caves in as I look at him.
And then I do the only thing I can think to do.
I stand up and throw my arms around him, pressing my face to his chest as the sobs tear out of me again.
He stiffens in surprise.
Then, slowly, his arms wrap around me.
Tight. Protective. Warm.
I cry into his shirt, gripping him like I’ll fall apart if I let go. I don’t know how to explain what I’m feeling. I don’t even know what it is, exactly.
All I know is that he’s here.
That he didn’t leave.
That he didn’t lie—not really.
He just kept everything inside. For me. For Logan.
And suddenly, it’s too much.
He doesn’t say a word, just holds me. One of his hands slides up into my hair, cradling my head, the other firm around my back.
I pull back just enough to look at him. My face is still damp with tears. My voice shakes as I ask, “Why didn’t you tell me? About Logan. About everything you’ve been doing to protect him?”
His jaw tightens. For a moment, he doesn’t answer. Then, finally, his voice drops low and steady. “Because you weren’t supposed to know.”
My chest squeezes. “Why? It could have made me hate you a little less.”
He exhales, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. “Because it doesn’t matter if you hate me,” he says quietly. “As long as you’re alive. As long as you’re safe. That’s all I care about.”
His words punch through my heart like a blade. I blink at him.
“You think keeping me in the dark keeps me safe?” I whisper.
“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “Keeping you close—keeping you right where I can see you—is the only way I know you’re not in someone else’s sights. That you won’t vanish like a ghost the second I turn my back.”
His gaze hardens, but there’s something raw in his eyes. Something I’ve never seen before. “I’d rather have your hatred than your funeral, Jennie.”
I stare at him, breath caught in my throat. He means it. Every word. He would burn the world down, shoulder every ounce of my rage, just to make sure I keep breathing.
And that terrifies me.
But it also moves something deep inside me. Something I don’t have a name for yet.
“Adrian….” My voice comes out softer than I expect. “Please. Just let it go. All of it. Don’t go down that road again. Don’t…don’t become a killer again.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink.
Instead, he stares down at me with those dark eyes—so full of storm and steel. “Jennie,” he says, voice low. “I never stopped being a killer.”
I shake my head. “You don’t have to keep doing this. You don’t have to—”
“I do.” His hands come up to cup my face, and his tone hardens—not cruel, but final. “To protect what’s mine, I have to be exactly what I am. I don’t get to walk away from this world. Not anymore.”
I search his face, looking for some crack, some softness that might change his mind. But it’s not there.
“Then what am I supposed to do?” I whisper.
“You’re supposed to trust me,” he says.
His thumb brushes my cheek, and something about the way he says it—so sure, so ruthless—makes my stomach twist. I hate this life. But I can’t deny that with him, even in the fire, I feel protected.
“There’s something else….”
He sighs and tries to pull away. “What is it, kroshka?”
I look up at him, my voice shaky. “Was Logan…framed?”
Adrian exhales, slow and heavy, and I feel the weight of it ripple through his body. “We’re still investigating,” he says, eyes locked on mine. “But yes. I strongly believe he was.”
A strange kind of relief flutters in my chest, but it’s tangled with anxiety. “Will he be okay?”
He brushes a hand down my cheek again, anchoring me. “I already promised you, didn’t I?” His voice is quiet but firm. “I’ll protect him. No matter what.”
I study his face—his jaw tight with the burden of everything he’s carrying. “Thank you, Adrian.”
He’s about to respond when there's a knock at the door. He turns his head sharply.
“It’s Zalar,” a voice calls through the thick door. “Kaz is here.”
Adrian lets out a long sigh, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. I see it immediately—something’s wrong. His posture shifts, his entire body tense, like he’s bracing for something.
“Why is Kaz here?” I ask gently, stepping toward him.
He doesn’t meet my eyes. “Stop asking me questions and just relax, Jennie.” His tone is clipped, but not cruel. Just…distant. Guarded.
“Adrian—”
“I’ll be back soon,” he cuts in, already moving toward the door. “Stay here.”
It’s already evening. Shadows spill across the floor as he steps out, and I wrap my arms around myself, watching his back as he disappears down the hallway.
Something’s bothering him—deeply.
And for the first time today, I’m not afraid of what he’s hiding. I’m afraid of what it’s doing to him.