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At first, it suited the Bogdanov family. They needed a man who felt no fear or doubt, who would never hesitate before his target. Someone who would never stray from his path, never defy an order.
In the beginning, Zhenya was exactly that. So they allowed him to play.
Wherever he was sent, he left nothing but massacred corpses in his wake.
But when he began killing the very people he was meant to protect, they finally said, Enough.
That was the first time he stood against his own family.
Fear of the beast made them surrender to his will. With Anastasia in his hands, he could destroy them all.
Excitement coursed through him as he tore the mask from the Korean spy’s face.
He wanted to break him, to rip every secret from his body.
The last spy had died too quickly-because of Zhenya’s impatience. But now he had learned. Now he would wait. Now he would savor every moment.
He stared at the broken body sprawled on the frozen ground. Had he really done this? He couldn’t recall the moment he lost control. Only the sound of bones snapping and a single, muffled cry-Taekjoo’s-who, even then, was too proud to beg for his life.
A hand, missing its ring finger, lay open against a bare chest.
Zhenya’s gaze remained fixed on the bluish-purple lips. He waited. He wanted to see the faintest cloud of breath escape them.
Nothing.
He slipped off his coat and placed it over the lifeless body. Then, lifting Taekjoo into his arms, he started toward the estate. Snow crunched beneath his boots. The air was heavy.
This feeling in his chest-he had never felt anything like it before. Not even when his mother died. Back then, all he felt was indifference. But now, something gripped him so tightly he could barely breathe.
The fire crackled in the hearth as Zhenya bent down to add another log. An overwhelming urge to warm the man in his arms took hold of him.
He didn’t want to let go. Not even for a moment.
Two naked bodies lay close together-one holding the other in a firm, unrelenting embrace.
He rolled Anastasia between his fingers. A weapon so powerful it could obliterate Moscow, yet so small.
Something tiny, yet invaluable.
He looked at Taekjoo’s face. The bruises from his own fists had already begun to fade.
There was nothing erotic about this moment.
Zhenya only wanted to warm him.
But he was still so, so cold.
He pressed soft kisses to the unmoving face.
Rigor mortis had already claimed Taekjoo’s features, but Zhenya didn’t care.
He pressed his lips against the stiff ones. He wanted to slip his tongue inside, but the body refused him. Frustrated, he tried using his fingers, but the corpse had grown so rigid he would have to break the jaw to force his way in.
He didn’t want to hurt him anymore.
"You’re still denying me, Taekjoo," he sighed, taking the hand that was missing a finger. "So stubborn."
He looked at Anastasia. Then at the man he had destroyed.
He knew he had killed Taekjoo.
And the only proper thing to do was to ensure that his life was taken by the very man he had stolen it from.
"I’ll let you have your revenge," he murmured with a smile, slipping Anastasia into the stiff fingers and wrapping them around the grip.
He closed his own hand over Taekjoo’s, squeezing so tightly that tiny bones cracked beneath his grip.
He shut his eyes, listening to the soft beeping.
The explosion rocked the entire island, entombing the entwined bodies beneath the rubble.