J͟͟͟͞͞͞e͟͟͟͞͞͞n͟͟͟͞͞͞n͟͟͟͞͞͞i͟͟͟͞͞͞e͟͟͟͞͞͞.
To many, I am a myth.
The 'Kiss of Death', a hired killer, revered by some of the greatest criminal organisations in the world. Trained by the bratva themselves, without conscience, without mercy.
The per...
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Her nightdress ^
The lights from the city below illuminate the room in a soft light. Jungkook always tells me to close the blinds, but I like it. The light reminds me that I'm free, that I'm not in that bunker, buried feet below the earth in the snowy deserted woodland of Russia. It makes me feel safe and where the sheer amount of people in the city daunted me, it now makes me comfortable.
If I were to die here in New York, there would be someone to miss me, people to witness it at the very least. If I were to die in Russia I would just be another pawn, toppled in a larger game.
I never thought anything of it before, never feared death, but I'm starting to think that a person's legacy has meaning. The people we leave behind, if any that matters. And of course, I'm thinking about this because I'm thinking of Nicholai.
I'm thinking of my death.
The bedroom door opens silently, casting light from the hallway across the carpet. I watch Jungkook's silhouette as he undresses, puts on sweatpants then throws his clothes on the chair in the corner before he gets into bed.
He's been working late again, and I know he feels it just as keenly as I do. The seconds counting down, ticking away.
I roll over, reaching for him, needing to touch him. Funny that his touch grounds me where all others incite me to kill.
He turns on his side and rests his hand over my stomach, stroking his thumb in circles over my skin. Leaning in, he kisses my forehead, allowing his lips to linger for a beat and then he pulls me close, tucking my face against his broad chest.
I can feel it in the air, bouncing between us: fear.
And Jungkook and I, this is a place where fear has never existed.
"It's been too quiet." I say against his skin. My fingers trail up his back, feeling over the hard muscles.
He says nothing for long moments. "He's just bidding his time, probably waiting to see what we'll do."
I know better.
I know Nicholai.
He waits for nothing, and he always has a plan. He attacks his opponent's weakness, goes for the jugular. Its the intelligent strategy with the least amount of hassle.
The simple fact is, if you hold a knife to someone's throat they'll do what you want. He doesn't want to kill me, so he'll try to maneuver me, corral me like a wild horse, backing me into a corner until he has me trapped.
"No, something is coming."
I can't shake the feeling that we haven't covered all the bases, that we've missed something glaringly obvious.
