Adrik leaned against the window frame again, bottle in hand, and whispered to himself: Stay away from Hans.
But he already wanted Hans. And that was the most dangerous thing of all. Hans couldn’t remove the pain of losing Sergei. The hate building up toward his father and brother made him sick. He wanted to erase them both from the face of the earth.
Chapter Six
Hans
The next morning, Hanswoke up feeling lighter than he had in days. Hanging up on Dirk had been the right call—closure long overdue, actually. The ache was still there, but muted, like a bruise finally fading. He made coffee, sat down to write, and tried to lose himself in his mafia novel. But every few sentences, his mind drifted back to Adrik—his smirk, his voice, the way he’d looked at Hans like he was trouble worth chasing.
By noon, Hans gave up pretending he wasn’t distracted. He stared at his laptop, sighed, and finally pushed back from the desk. Screw it. He wasn’t waiting until seven. He wanted to see Adrik now.
He threw on a jacket, stepped outside, and walked the short path to Adrik’s cottage. His heart thudded harder with every step. This was stupid. Brave, maybe, but stupid. What if Adrik didn’t want to see him? What if he’d misread everything? What if Adrik was the kind that left scars?
Still, he knocked.
Nothing.
Hans swallowed, already turning to leave, telling himself this was a sign to back off, to stay safe, to not repeat old mistakes, and then the bright red door creaked open.
Adrik stood there, leaning casually against the frame, wearing jeans and a fitted T-shirt that clung to his chest and arms like it had been tailored for him. His muscles were impossible to ignore, especially his broad shoulders, defined biceps, and the kind of body that made Hans’ thoughts derail instantly. And that grin… wide, warm, and a little dangerous.
“Come in,” Adrik said, still smiling like he’d been expecting him.
Hans stepped inside, pulse racing. The cottage surprised him—warm, cozy, and lived-in. Soft lighting, a worn leather sofa, a few personal touches that didn’t match the tough exterior Adrik carried around. Did Adrik decorate this place alone or did someone help, and who did he know around here to help?
“I suppose you’re here because I left last night,” Adrik said, closing the door behind them.
Hans turned to face him. “I wanted to see you.”
Adrik’s expression softened, just a little. “I don’t know what happened last night. I wanted to take you home with me.”
“You should have,” Hans said, stepping closer. “Now you owe me.”
Adrik raised a brow. “And what is it I owe you?”
“You wore a gold wristband.”
A slow smirk spread across Adrik’s face. “You want me to make good on it?”
“Yes,” Hans said, heat curling low in his stomach. “That’s why I’m here.”
Adrik chuckled, deep and warm. “I can tell we’re going to have to fight to top around here.”
“I don’t mind fighting to top,” Hans said, matching his grin. “But we could take turns.”
“Taking turns?” Adrik scoffed playfully.
“Why not?”
“No, I don’t think so. Let the best fighter top.”
Hans laughed. “I’m not a fighter. Are you?”
“Sometimes.” Adrik stepped closer, his voice dropping.
“Are you busy right now?”
“Not really… but I’m not ready to make good on my word. You know, not prepared for it.”
