Hans’ stomach sank, a cold, heavy feeling. “Bruno Greco?” He didn’t need this information. Bruno had once been his friend with benefits after Dirk vanished, before Bruno left for Italy.
“Yes. I thought we could have a drink to talk things over.”
Hans didn’t answer. He ended the call and blocked the number, his hand trembling as he set the phone down. The silence afterward was deafening.
The pain was unbearable. After five years, Dirk had returned only to hurt him deeper, to strip away what little respect Hans had left for Dirk and maybe for himself. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the half-written scene on his laptop. The fictional mobster got the guy. Hans, meanwhile, was left with ghosts, regrets, and the bitter taste of beer.
Then his thoughts drifted back to Adrik. The smirk, the way his eyes had lingered, the subtle brush of his shoulder. Hans felt the pull again, that dangerous magnetism. He wanted to lean into it, to see where it led. But the memory of Dirk’s voice still echoed in his chest, reminding him of how bad things could break.
Walk away, his rational side whispered.Protect yourself.
But another voice, quieter and more reckless, whispered back:Maybe this time will be different. Maybe this time, trouble is exactly what you need.
Hans closed his laptop, drained the last of his beer, and sat in the dim light of his office, caught between the ache of the past and the lure of something new
Hans couldn’t sit in that office anymore. The walls felt too close, the silence too heavy. He grabbed his jacket, shoved his hands into the pockets, and stepped out into the chilly night air. The sea wasn’t far—just a short walk through the cobblestone streets of Warnemünde—and he needed the salt wind, the crash of waves, something bigger than the mess in his chest.
The October air bit his skin, sharp and bracing, but he welcomed it. His boots crunched against the frozen sand as he made his way down to the shoreline. The sea stretched out in front of him, dark and endless, the moonlight breaking across the waves like shards of glass.
Dirk’s voice still echoed in his head, every word reopening old wounds. Five years had passed, Hans clenched his fists in his pockets, anger mixing with grief. He hated that Dirk could still reach him, still stir up pain he thought he’d buried.
But then Adrik’s face rose in his mind again—the smirk, the steady gaze, the way his shoulder had brushed his like it meant something. Trouble, yes. Big trouble. But trouble that felt alive, magnetic, dangerous in a way that made Hans’ pulse quicken instead of ache.
He stood at the edge of the water; the waves lapping close to his boots, and let the wind whip through his hair. He thought about what it would mean to lean into Adrik, to risk it. To let himself want again. Was he strong enough to survive another disappointment? Or was he already too far gone, already hooked by the possibility of something new?
The sea roared back at him, indifferent, eternal. Hans exhaled, a shaky laugh escaping his throat. He wasn’t committing—not yet. But he wasn’t walking away either.
For now, he let the Baltic carry his thoughts, the cold air numbing the pain, the horizon reminding him that there was still something ahead. Somewhere between Dirk’s betrayal andAdrik’s dangerous allure, Hans stood at a crossroads, the waves crashing like a dare.
Chapter Five
Adrik
When Hans answered thephone call, Adrik left the bar. Probably his boyfriend or girlfriend, he thought bitterly. Who knows? He didn’t even know why the hell he’d been flirting with Hans, especially when he was on the run. And yet, fuck, there was something about Hans that pulled at him. Something that made him want, made him imagine things he shouldn’t. He thought about Hans: his wavy, brownish-gold hair, his hazel eyes, and the tidy beard that made him seem like a professor.
Hell, he’d even thought about bottoming for the man, which was insane. He never bottomed. He spent most of his time with girls, and when hooking up with men, he was always on top. But Hans wore that black wristband. He was a top.
He’d needed Hans tonight. That was dangerous. And now Adrik had probably ruined visiting the neighborhood gay bar for himself. If he ran into Hans again, then what? Pretend it was nothing? Mess around and walk away? He told himself that itwas a smart move. But deep down, he wanted Hans longer than one night.
Back at his cottage, Adrik poured himself a double vodka and stood by the window. The place was small, tucked into the edge of town, with creaky wooden floors and walls that smelled faintly of pine. Nothing like New York—no skyline, no noise, no chaos. Just the sound of waves. He stepped out onto the back patio, lit a cigarette, and let the smoke curl into the chilly night air. Since leaving New York, he’d purchased a carton, his anxiety growing with each moment of living here. His new place felt more like an exile than peace.
He missed his apartment, his car, and the constant hum of the city. Most of all, he missed Sergei. They should have been in California right now, camping under the stars, not separated by oceans and secrets. Instead, he was living in Warnemünde alone, staring out at a foreign sky.
Back inside, the silence of the room was shattered by the sharp, intrusive ring of his phone. Adrik’s heart didn’t just beat; it raced. Only one man possessed this number, a lifeline kept for the shadows. His private contact who had helped him move here.
“Yakov,” Adrik said out loud before he picked it up, his voice already thick with a dread he couldn’t name. He answered, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry to wake you, Adrik,” Yakov’s voice was uncharacteristically hollow, stripped of its usual professional grit. “But you need to know.”
Adrik leaned against the wall, his knees weak. “Don’t fuck with me, Yakov. Tell me why the hell you’re calling at this hour. Is Sergei okay?”
“It’s about Viktor… your father,” Yakov said, the name hitting Adrik like a physical blow. “He found out—you warned Sergei.”
Adrik’s mind raced, grasping at straws, desperate for a version where Sergei was okay. “What did he expect I’d do? So how is Sergei?”
“I don’t know. But he has a hit out on both of you.” Yakov took a shaky breath.
A broken sound escaped Adrik’s throat with a sob he tried to swallow and failed. “Do you know where Sergei is?”
