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five | warsaw

five | warsaw

the capital city of Poland; nicknamed the 'Phoenix City' due to the number of times it has been razed and rebuilt throughout history

RAYNA

May 6th, 8:13 (GMT +2)
9 days until it happens

MY THIGHS CRAMP with fatigue as I peer across the courtyard, crouched low, obscured behind a wrought-metal guardrail. It's cool beneath the shade of the balcony I'm squatting on. With my binoculars, I can see right into a window two hundred meters across the sprawling square. Beaming sunlight slants over the charcoal cobblestones below.

The curtains are drawn wide. The glass panes shine crystal-clear. In his hotel room, Jake materializes into view, his broad, golden chest glistening bare from the shower. A strip of black ink swoops along the side of his ribcage, a second small tattoo stamped onto his left shoulder-blade and a third curling across his right bicep. His hair is wet and dark and wild, a pale towel cinched around his tight hips. His stubble is freshly-shaved, shadowing his hard jaw. I watch him lift a cup of coffee to his lips, straining a thick arm over his head to scratch the crown of his spine.

Stupid, fucking, idiotic, bitchy little piece of shit. He's arrogant to the point of carelessness, leaving his drapes open like that, inviting trouble.

Ugh. I wanna sit on that glib, chiselled, gorgeous face til he suffocates. Then I'd neuter him, just for the fun of it.

After he shafted me back in Minsk, something hot and red woke up deep inside my belly, vicious for revenge. He's gonna hate himself. He's gonna rue the first moment he ever heard my name.

Also. How the fuck did he know I'm on my period?

He turns his back to me, the towel falling to the ground. His naked butt is smooth and tan, hips and thighs carved like marble, sculpted finer than Michelangelo could even imagine. A fizzle of traitorous desire hits me in the guts.

Before I can catch a glimpse of what caliber he's packing, he's wandered behind a wall, out of sight, then reappears a couple minutes later fully-clothed in Diesel jeans and a white t-shirt. My inner-voyeur pouts, disappointed. Damn.

My phone chimes with an incoming alert. I click the button on my wireless earpod to accept the call. "Hey, Sam. Got something for me?"

"Mhm. It's juicy. You ready for it?"

"I'm always ready." I keep the lens trained on Jake's window, observing as he sips his coffee and peruses through a hefty stack of loose papers.

Sam clacks away at his keyboard. "It took me some serious coding, alright? I was up all night for you. I hope you appreciate me."

"I will bring you back something very fancy and European."

He purrs, satisfied. "Bujee perfume and some of those French macarons, please. Ooh, or even better, a tall, handsome, tasty European snacc."

I laugh. "I'm not sure uncircumcised dick will make it through customs, but I'll see what I can do."

More typing and clicking. "So, full disclosure. If they find out even half the shady shit I performed to get you this, they'll lock me up for life. And you know what happens to pretty boys like me in prison."

"You're my hero, Masamba Adebayo." Jake is still standing there by his desk, reading through pages and jotting down notes. I drop the binoculars and fish a pocket-sized notebook out of my bag to record anything important Sam has to share.