Chapter Twenty
Adrik
Adrik slid onto the barstool beside Hans, the leather squeaking under his weight. The Seebrise was loud tonight—music thumping, glasses clinking, people laughing too hard at things that weren’t funny.
Hans sat stiffly at the bar, shoulders locked tight, eyes fixed on his drink like it was the most fascinating thing in the room. Not a single glance in Adrik’s direction. Not one. Just that rigid posture and the way his jaw kept working, like he was chewing on something he didn’t want to say.
Adrik leaned in a little. “Where’s your wristband?”
Hans shot him a frown, the kind that could curdle milk. “I’m not here to hook up tonight.”
Yeah, right. Adrik could practically feel the tension rolling off him.
He took a sip of his beer, watching Hans over the rim. “When are we leaving for Munich?”
Hans blinked. “What?” He grabbed his drink as if it were a shield.
“You did invite me to meet your parents in Munich,” Adrik said, keeping his tone light, teasing. He wanted to see Hans react and wanted to know if he still cared.
Hans didn’t bite. “Where did you go with that guy?” he asked instead, voice tight.
“What guy?” Adrik asked, letting a slow grin spread across his face. He knew exactly which guy Hans meant. And he knew exactly why Hans was asking.
Hans glared. “The one you were flirting with just a minute ago.”
“Just out front,” Adrik said, shrugging. “He bummed a cigarette from me. That’s all.”
Good. Let him feel it.
A beat passed, then Hans asked, “How are your nipple piercings?”
Adrik raised his eyebrows. “Want to see them?”
For the first time since Adrik sat down, Hans’ mouth twitched into a small, reluctant smile. “Alright. Show me.”
Adrik snorted. “Not here. I’ll show you at my cottage.”
Hans’ smile vanished. “No.”
Adrik leaned back, confused. “Why not?”
Hans shot Adrik a death glare. “Fuck you.”
He stood up so fast his stool scraped across the floor, then stormed out of the bar.
Adrik watched him go, heart thudding, the echo of those two words lingering like smoke.
Great, he thought. Exactly what I wanted and somehow not at all what I wanted.
He stared at the door Hans had disappeared through.
And there it was—that sharp, stupid twist in his chest. He shouldn’t like Hans being angry.
He shouldn’t feel warmed by it. But he did.
God help him, he did. The anger meant Hans still felt something.
Still wanted something. And Adrik didn’t know whether to be thrilled or frightened by how much that mattered to him.
Adrik tossed a few bills onto the bar before Hershel could protest. Paying for both drinks felt like the least he could do after Hans stormed out like that.
He pushed out into the frosty night and spotted Hans already halfway down the street, coat pulled tight, walking fast like he was trying to outrun his own emotions. Adrik jogged to catch up, boots thudding against the pavement.
“Hans,” he shouted, breath puffing in the air. “I want to talk.”
Hans didn’t slow his walking. “About what?”
Adrik moved in front of him, forcing him to stop. “Anything you want to know about me,” he said, hands shoved into his pockets so Hans wouldn’t see them shaking. “As long as it stays between us.”
Hans’ eyes narrowed, suspicion sharp enough to cut. “Are you serious, or is this another con?”
That stung, even if he deserved it. “Please,” Adrik said. “Come to my cottage and we’ll talk.”
Hans stared at Adrik for a long moment, jaw tight, breath visible in the cold. The gears were practically visible turning in his head… the doubt, the anger, the part of him that still cared.
“Okay,” Hans said at last. “But I don’t guarantee I’ll stay.”
“Fair enough.”
They turned around and headed toward Adrik’s cottage. Their footsteps echoed on the empty street, the silence between them thick and heavy. Hans kept his hands in his pockets, shoulders tense. Adrik walked beside him, trying not to overthink every second.
He knew what he would open up, really open up, and it could blow everything apart. Hans could walk out and never look back. But if Adrik wanted even a chance at something real, he had to stop hiding.
He had to trust Hans. And he had to hope Hans wouldn’t walk away once he heard the truth.
Adrik hung his jacket on the hook by the door, hands unsteady in a way he hoped Hans didn’t notice. Hans did the same, but slower, more guarded, like he wasn’t sure he should even be here.
The living room was warm and quiet—the kind of quiet where even the soft sigh of the leather couch seemed loud. A faint scent of smoke drifted in from the porch, settling between them. Every small sound of the distant wind only made the unsaid things louder.
“Do you want a beer?” Adrik asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
Hans nodded and sat at the far end of the couch, not in the middle, and not close like before.
That small distance hit harder than it should have.
Adrik grabbed two beers from the mini-fridge behind the bar and handed Hans a bottle before sitting halfway between Hans and the opposite armrest. Close enough to talk.
Far enough so that Hans wouldn’t feel cornered.
“I’m serious, Hans,” Adrik said. “I want you in my life. Ask me anything.”
Hans took a slow sip, staring at the label on his bottle like it held the answers. Then, he finally looked at Adrik. “Tell me why you moved here.”
Adrik rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh… I got into it with my father. Badly. Words you can’t take back, threats you don’t forget—that kind of bad.”
Hans frowned. “And that meant moving to Germany? Not, I don’t know, Ohio?”
Adrik let out a humorless laugh. “I didn’t want another state. I wanted distance. Like… wipe-the-slate-clean distance. I don’t want anything to do with them anymore.”
Hans studied him, face unreadable. “So… what’s your real name?”
“Adrik.”
“Adrik what?”
A familiar knot tightened in his chest, making it hard to breathe. He looked away. “I can’t give you my last name. Not because I don’t trust you—I just… it’s not safe. For me. Or you.”
Hans stared at him. “Why didn’t you tell me you could speak Russian?”
“Because it connects me to things I’m trying to stay away from,” Adrik said. “Speaking it feels like leaving fingerprints.”
Hans leaned back a little. “And the German? Sometimes you sound like a native, and other times you pretend you barely know it.”
“I don’t like speaking German around you. I don’t want you to look at me like I’m stupid because although I’m fluent, I sound like a foreigner.”
“How do you think you’ll improve if you keep speaking English?”
“Speaking in German makes me homesick too. I was happy you could speak English, and that made me feel okay with living in Germany and not home in New York City.”
“I get that.”
“Ask me something else.”
Hans’ voice barely spoke above a whisper. “Did you… do something that could get you in trouble?”
Adrik’s throat tightened. He stared at the floor. “I can’t answer that.”
Silence stretched between them. Not angry—just heavy.
“What was your family’s business in New York?”
“Property,” Adrik said. “Lots of it.”
“I see.” Hans took another sip, set the bottle down, and then out of nowhere he said, “Show me your nipple piercings.”
Adrik laughed under his breath. “Seriously?”
Hans didn’t smile, but something in his eyes flickered. “Yes. Seriously.”
Adrik smiled and slowly lifted his shirt over his head. A cool breeze swept across his skin. Hans moved closer, just a little, curiosity flickering across his face.
“Do they hurt?” Hans asked.
“Yes,” Adrik admitted. “A little.”
“Why’d you get them pierced?”
“Because I’m free to do what I want now.”
Hans’ gaze lingered on his nipples. “Can I… touch them when they heal?”
A quick, bright flutter went through his chest—the kind that felt almost like catching sight of a light turning on in a room he thought was dark. “Hans,” he said, voice low, “I want you.”
He leaned in before he could lose his nerve. Hans didn’t pull away. Their lips met—slow, hesitant at first, then warmer, deeper, full of everything they hadn’t said. Hans’ hand brushed his shoulder, gentle, careful, like he wasn’t sure he could want this.
Adrik kissed him again, afraid that if he stopped, Hans might change his mind. Afraid that honesty might still drive him away. Afraid of losing him before he ever really had him.
But Hans stayed close.
“Will you stay the night?” Adrik asked, trying to sound casual, but the words came out softer than he meant. Too hopeful.
Hans’ expression tightened, not unkind, just overwhelmed. “I need one night,” he said. “Just to think about everything you sort of told me.” He hesitated, then added, “I’ll meet you tomorrow. Six o’clock. My place.”
The answer wasn’t a no, but it wasn’t the yes Adrik wanted either. Fear flickered through him—sharp, cold, impossible to hide. Before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned in and kissed Hans. Slow. Careful. Like he was afraid Hans might pull away.
When he pulled back, his voice was barely above a whisper. “Does that mean… there’s a chance you won’t want to see me again?”
Hans shook his head immediately. “No. That’s not it.” His voice was steady, even if his eyes were still full of questions. “I want you. I do. I just need a little time to get used to everything.”
A tightness he hadn’t realized he was feeling loosened all at once, leaving his knees a little unsteady, like the floor had shifted half an inch under him. He kissed Hans again—a little firmer this time, a little more certain—wanting him to feel how much he meant it.
Adrik tossed the empty beer bottles into the recycling bin and headed toward the porch for a smoke. His nerves were still buzzing from Hans leaving—the kiss, the hope, the fear he’d messed everything up. He was halfway to the door when someone pounded on it, hard enough to rattle the frame.
He froze for a moment, then a smile broke across his face.
Hans is back. He practically jogged to the door and yanked it open.
The smile died instantly. A stranger stood there—tall, dressed head-to-toe in black, expression unreadable.
Not Hans. Not even close. Adrik’s breath stalled in his chest. His mind went straight to the worst place.
This is it. They found me. Viktor finally sent someone.
“Adrik Marinov?” the man asked in Russian.
Adrik’s mouth went dry. He forced his voice to be steady. “Who wants to know?”
“Your mother.”
Everything inside him stopped. “My mother?”
The man tilted his head. “Is your mother Masha Marinov?”
“Yes,” Adrik said, barely getting the word out. My mother. How the hell did she find him? How did anyone?
“She sent me here to make sure you are safe.”
Adrik blinked, stunned. “I’m standing here so I guess I am. Is my mother okay?”
“She’s in hiding right now. Not with her parents, but she is in Russia. She wanted me to ask if you wanted to stay with her.”
Adrik shook his head immediately. “No. I’m happy here. Tell her to stay safe… and that I love her.”
The man nodded once. “I need to take your picture for her.”
Adrik stepped outside, still dazed. The man snapped a quick photo and then handed him an envelope.
“What’s this?” Adrik asked.
“Your mother’s address and phone number. She’d love to hear from you.”
Adrik swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
“Stay safe, Adrik.”
He hesitated, then asked, “How did you find me?”
“She hired me. I don’t disclose my sources.”
“I see.” Of course not. Professionals never do.
Adrik took a deep breath, allowing the frosty night air to settle heavy in his lungs.
He shouldn’t say it. He knew he shouldn’t.
This man had just shown up out of nowhere, carrying pieces of a past Adrik had moved away from.
But the name burned in his mind, the same way it always did, and the opportunity was right there in front of him.
He exhaled slowly. “I’d like to hire you.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “For what?”
Adrik hesitated with only a heartbeat. Enough to feel the weight of the choice. Enough to know he couldn’t take it back.
“To find Sergei Kozlov.”
The man handed him a card. “Send me the information.”
“How much do you need?”
“Nothing. I’m not sure I’ll take the case.” He paused, eyes narrowing. “And, Adrik—don’t answer the door unless you know who’s there. Install a camera.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Again, stay safe.” He turned and walked off into the dark.
Adrik stood there long after the man disappeared, the envelope warm in his hand, his pulse still racing. His mother had found him. She was away from Viktor and safe. She cared enough to send someone.
He didn’t know whether to feel relieved… or terrified.