Close Call
You jumped from the bed in a panic. The sound of bullets and screaming escaping from your mind. “Fucking dreams.” You snarled.
Kraven was still beside you, one arm resting over his stomach, but you could tell he wasn’t really asleep.
“Rise and shine asshole,” you muttered, pushing off the bed.
He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face before cracking one eye open. “Didn’t take you for a morning person.”
“I’m not,” you admitted, standing and reaching for your jacket. “But I like staying alive. And that means getting ahead of the day.”
Kraven grumbled something under his breath but sat up, stretching his arms above his head before dragging a hand through his messy hair. “Alright, boss. What’s the plan?”
You glanced toward the crumpled paper on the nightstand—the last name on your list. But not yet. First, you needed supplies. And maybe some air.
____________________________________
Central Park wasn’t part of the plan.
After a quick supply run—burner phones, clean clothes, more medical gear just in case—you had planned to head back, lay low, and start mapping out the final hit. But Kraven had other ideas.
“We’ve been running on nothing but adrenaline for weeks. Take a break.” He nudged your shoulder as you cut through a side street. “Or what, are you scared of a little fresh air?”
You shot him a dry look but didn’t argue when he steered you toward the park.
The morning rush had faded, leaving a quiet hum of dog walkers, joggers, and a few early risers enjoying the crisp air. The two of you walked in step, shoulders brushing every so often.
Kraven kept his hands in his pockets, his eyes always moving, but the tension in his shoulders had eased.
“So,” he started, glancing at you. “You ever gonna tell me how you got into all this?”
You smirked. “You first.”
He scoffed. “No chance.”
“Coward.”
He grinned. “Fine. I’ll make it easier—family?”
You hesitated for only a second. “Dead.”
Something in his expression shifted, just slightly. “All of them?”
“My parents, yeah. The rest are… complicated.”
Kraven nodded like he understood. Maybe he did.
“And before all this?” he asked, gesturing vaguely, meaning before you became a killer.
You huffed a small laugh. “You wouldn’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
“I was a journalist.”
Kraven blinked. “Bullshit.”
You grinned. “Not even lying. Started with small gigs, worked my way up. Got too close to the wrong people.”
Kraven let out a low whistle. “And now you’re the one writing their obituaries.”
“Something like that.”
You walked in silence for a few more minutes before he nudged you again. “What about your love life?”
You shot him a side glance. “Really?”
He smirked. “What, you don’t date in between contract kills?”
You rolled your eyes. “Not exactly easy to have a relationship when you’re always looking over your shoulder.”
“Maybe you just haven’t found the right guy.”
You snorted and turned to him“And what, you think you’re the right guy?”
Kraven shrugged, a playful gleam in his eyes. “I’ve got potential. I mean I think I’m pretty good in bed Дорогой”
You shook your head but didn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible. And don’t call me that!”
He grinned. “Yet you stick around and you are a darling! A dirty and murderous darling .”
The moment was almost nice—until a prickle at the back of your neck pulled you back to reality.
Your steps slowed. Kraven noticed instantly.
“What?”
You didn’t answer, scanning the park. A car had idled too long at the curb. A man three benches down had been pretending to read the same page of a newspaper for the last five minutes.
“We need to go,” you muttered.
Kraven didn’t argue.
⸻
The hotel was supposed to be safe.
But as soon as you stepped inside, the air felt wrong.
Kraven tensed. His hand was already drifting toward his gun when—
The door burst open.
Gunfire split the silence. You threw yourself behind the couch as bullets ripped through the air. Kraven returned fire, cursing under his breath.
“They tracked us,” you hissed, knife sliding into your palm as you rolled behind a chair.
One of them rushed you. You slashed upward, catching him across the throat before twisting the knife into his ribs. He dropped.
Kraven was still firing, taking down one after another, but there were too many.
Then—
A sharp crack.
Heat bloomed across your side.
You barely registered it at first, but then your breath hitched. Your vision blurred for half a second.
Kraven turned just in time to see you stumble. His face darkened.
Something in him snapped.
He moved like a storm, like a force of nature, like something terrifying. The last man standing barely had time to blink before Kraven emptied his clip into him.
And then he was at your side, catching you before you could fall. His hand pressed against your wound, his eyes burning.
“You’re bleeding,” he growled.
“No shit,” you muttered through gritted teeth.
He exhaled sharply, tearing a strip from the bedsheet and pressing it to your side. His hands were firm but gentle, his jaw tight.
Then he stood, grabbed the bag you’d packed earlier, and hooked an arm around your waist.
“We’re leaving.”
“My family’s old house, it’s safe. 568 Makle Lane” you breathed, exhaustion creeping in.
His grip tightened. “Okay. Let’s go.”
You didn’t argue.
There was only one place left to go.
The old house near the water was hidden, surrounded by thick trees, untouched by the city’s chaos. Kraven carried you inside, muttering the entire time about how reckless you were.
You let him.
Once you were patched up, he stood by the window, staring out at the dark woods beyond. His hands were clenched, his jaw set.
“They’ll pay for this, I promise. I saw the Bratva-Wolf signal logo on their jackets ” he muttered.
You watched him.
Kraven wasn’t just angry. He was out for blood.
And you weren’t sure if you wanted to stop him.