Chapter 11.2

There was another power outage that night. Tommy boldly lit a candle, took out his fork, and used the candle to melt several American coins, welding Mo Zimu’s small box cutter to the fork handle.

Tom cursed, “Isn’t this supposed to be made of silver?”

“It hasn’t been for a while now. It is now a silver-copper-nickel welded composite material. You should thank the depreciation of American currency,” Tommy sneered.

Tommy examined the small fork-cutter in his hand and handed it to Tom. “Keep it safe. It should serve well.”

Tom laughed, “Just watch me dig all the way to China!”

The next morning, during yard time, Ivan was frowning and whispering something to his confidant Sticks. He looked as though something had happened in A Block.

He noticed Mo Zimu and lazily hooked his finger at him. Normally, Mo Zimu would pretend not to see, but now he had no choice but to walk over.

Tom and Tommy, who had been leaning on the library door, seized the opportunity to slip inside.

“Feeling better, baby?” Ivan pulled Mo Zimu close, rubbing his short black hair.

“Much better,” Mo Zimu replied and glanced toward the library door.

Ivan smiled and told the others, “Whatever it is, it can wait!” Amidst the snickers of the crowd, he walked Mo Zimu toward the library.

Before reaching the door, Tommy came out, glanced at them, and quickly walked away.

“What was Tommy doing in the library?” Ivan asked with a smile.

“I don’t know, just heard he’s been looking for a book,” Mo Zimu answered.

Ivan smiled again and didn’t inquire further.

He led Mo Zimu into the library and effortlessly lifted him onto a computer desk. Standing between Mo Zimu’s legs, he looked at him with piercing intensity. His deep-set eyes, cold grey with a hint of light coffee, held a clarity that made it impossible to look away. Every detail stood out, sharp and vivid, demanding attention whether one wanted to give it or not.

Ivan wasn’t conventionally handsome, but his rugged features held a raw appeal. There was something about his gaze, an unspoken command that made it hard for most people to look away.

Unfortunately, Mo Zimu never wanted to see them. He always avoided Ivan’s gaze, refusing to get caught in that pull. Ivan didn’t mind. He just rubbed his slightly rough, stubbled cheek against Mo Zimu’s face and smiled, his voice low and teasing, “Want to make love, hmm?”

Mo Zimu blushed, replying, “Don’t you want to?”

Ivan raised his hand, carefully removing Mo Zimu’s glasses. One hand cradled the back of his neck while the other wrapped around his waist, pulling him close. Ivan leaned in slowly, their lips brushing lightly before pressing harder, sucking on Mo Zimu’s lips.

Mo Zimu trembled slightly, his body reacting instinctively as he clung to Ivan. He was kissed until his breath was nearly stolen away. Just when he thought he might drown in the sensation, Ivan finally pulled back, “Young man, don’t be so eager,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over Mo Zimu’s swollen lips. “You’ve just recovered. Rest for a couple of days, okay?”

Mo Zimu, irritated by his taunting, couldn’t believe this lecher was lecturing him about not being too desperate when suddenly a slight noise came from the ceiling.

Though the sound was faint, it was enough to draw attention in the silent library.

Knowing Ivan to be a man who was rough on the outside but extremely shrewd inside, Mo Zimu didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms tightly around Ivan’s neck and pressed his lips on his.

Ivan was momentarily taken aback by his passion.

But only for a heartbeat. He quickly pulled Mo Zimu closer, savoring his ardor while expertly guiding his trembling hands, placing them exactly where he wanted them.

He guided Mo Zimu’s hand to unzip his pants, then smoothly turned them around. As he sat down on the chair, he pulled Mo Zimu closer and whispered, “Baby, sit down on your own.”

Mo Zimu looked at Ivan’s aroused form, his face flushed red. He wanted to pull away, but the damning rustling noise came again from the ceiling.

Gritting his teeth, Mo Zimu moved closer but was unsure how to sit.

Ivan swiftly undressed himself, steadying Mo Zimu’s waist, and instructed, “Spread your legs, wider, baby, slowly… slowly… sit down.”

Mo Zimu spread his legs, his face flushing with embarrassment, but he had no choice but to comply. His fingers tightened around Ivan’s shoulders, his nails digging into the back of his neck hard enough to nearly break the skin.

Yet Ivan didn’t so much as twitch an eyebrow. He calmly guiding him through the motions of making love while on top.

He caressed Mo Zimu’s slender waist, guiding his long legs to tighten around his hips. Mo Zimu finally sat down, and the feeling of being connected sent a shiver through him. It was strangely wonderful, an overwhelming sensation that took his breath away.

Even though he didn’t like this man, at this moment, they were sharing the most intimate act, and he couldn’t deny the pleasure it brought.

“Don’t get distracted!” Ivan chuckled. “Baby, move, put some effort into it, this is what you wanted!”

Mo Zimu truly felt like biting him in that moment, but instead, he kept his hands on Ivan’s shoulders and moved up and down.

Each time he thrust down, Ivan flicked his tongue over his nipple, sending a jolt through him. Mo Zimu wanted to curse him, to call him a bastard, but the words melted into moans.

As reason gave way to raw sensation, they reached their peak together. Mo Zimu collapsed against Ivan’s shoulder, his body trembling with exhaustion. Ivan wrapped an arm around his waist, holding him close as he whispered, “Have you thought about where you want to go once you’re out?”

His words snapped the exhausted Mo Zimu back to alertness. “Maybe I’ll go back to Austria,” he replied.

Ivan seemed about to say something but instead just tightened his embrace and said, “Austria is nice. I think I have a property there. You can stay there when you go back.”

Mo Zimu gave a cold, unnoticed chuckle, then stepped out of Ivan’s warm and solid embrace. Standing up, he picked up his clothes, “It’s time to go.”

“Baby, you really know how to burn bridges,” Ivan said with a smile, lazily zipping up his pants and standing up.

He slightly bowed his head to look at Mo Zimu. Even though he was tall, Ivan was still half a head taller, his gaze falling just right to see his short black hair.

Unlike Ivan, who only had to zip up, Mo Zimu deftly put on his pants and tucked in his shirt.

Seeing that Mo Zimu was almost dressed, Ivan reached out to hold his hand, carefully observing the beautiful hand with its long fingers, full nails, and somewhat frail wrists. This combination of features did not make the hand seem feminine, the calluses hidden in the palm silently told the observer that this was a person with a difficult past.

Ivan knew that anyone with such a past possessed great strength. This hand he held in his palm, though only about two-thirds the size of his own, was powerful in its own way.

He took Mo Zimu’s index finger into his mouth, licking the fingertip before saying, “Baby, don’t be so proud. Let yourself rely on me.”

Mo Zimu pulled his hand back and wiped the saliva on his sleeve. His eyelids lowered slightly, laced with disdain, as he said, “Thanks, but I’m used to handling things myself.”

Rather than getting annoyed at his stubbornness, Ivan laughed heartily.

In his eyes, Mo Zimu was like an exotic plant. If he were too easy-going, he would probably have been plucked and put in a vase long ago.

He loved him, not just for his beauty, but also for the wildness hidden within, like a grass that, once it starts to grow wild, spreads everywhere unchecked.

Moreover, Mo Zimu was too clever. If not for his pride and strong sense of right and wrong, if he were more tactful and adept at reading situations, he would be nearly impossible to control. Ivan appreciated these flaws in him, deliberately nurturing and preserving them, waiting for the right moments to reinforce them.

There was something between them that Mo Zimu had struggled to define for a long time, but Ivan had understood it from the moment he first laid eyes on him.

Their relationship was like a war between hunter and prey.

Raised in completely different worlds, the difference between them was clear at a glance. Every move Mo Zimu made was refined and graceful, reflecting his well-educated background.

No matter how much Ivan tried to disguise it, he always exuded a fierce aura. Even when he smiled, his deep-set, cold grey eyes held a chill that could freeze anyone who came too close.

While Mo Zimu learned to play the violin, Ivan had already become a rising star in New York’s underworld, notorious for his ruthlessness. Mo Zimu’s talent was in music, while Ivan’s was in assassination and crime.

Although Mo Zimu was an illegitimate child, he came from one of Britain’s oldest noble lineages. In contrast, Ivan’s mother was a prostitute who had drifted from Russia to America, never quite deciding what surname her son should bear.

They were not the same kind, like a lion drawn to a deer. The lion could devour the deer but would never know how to make it love him.

Mo Zimu’s presence was a fleeting intersection of two lines that were meant to run parallel, never meant to meet.

But Ivan seized this moment, and once he had it, he refused to let go. He was a skilled hunter, patient and strategic, always knowing the right methods to capture his prey.

He cleverly navigated around Mo Zimu’s clear-cut, stubborn nature and managed to possess him without crossing his boundaries.

Looking at the young man who seemed to wear a halo, Ivan thought the nun was only half right. Indeed, everyone has an angel in their heart, but it only stays permanently once you possess it.

Seeing Ivan’s half-smiling gaze, Mo Zimu frowned slightly and turned away, “If you’re not leaving… then I will…”

Ivan smiled faintly and stood up lazily, “I’ll come with you!”

Mo Zimu didn’t know what this former underworld boss was thinking. Ivan was an enigma, rough and thuggish on the surface, yet his thoughts were impossible to read.

He had never seen Ivan angry. The man always seemed to be smiling, but even the fiercest inmates in the prison feared him.

Mo Zimu had heard Ivan fluently speaking German and Spanish with different people. He could even speak Mandarin and recite sonnets in perfect Oxford English with his deep, magnetic voice: “From every beautiful thing, we demand more longing, so that the rose of beauty never withers…”

Mo Zimu would be startled, his eyes drooping to listen, but the sonnet was soon turned into something lewd: “But the blossomed flower must wilt in time, so leave the memory to sturdy Dick…”

At such moments, Mo Zimu had to take a deep breath and quickly walk away, while Ivan smiled behind him.

He never planned to entangle with Ivan for long. To him, Ivan was just a contingency plan after a mistake.

Though Ivan caused him an inescapable anxiety, overall, he did not fit into his life plans.

He never imagined his life would be so entwined with this man. Clearly, in terms of foresight, Ivan was far superior to him.

Mo Zimu and Ivan left the library as the yard time bell rang.

He walked quickly toward the main building, with Ivan following at a leisurely pace. Despite his rapid departure, for various reasons like the menacing glances from inmates and Ivan’s long strides, Mo Zimu remained uncomfortably close to Ivan.

As he climbed the stairs, he spotted Tom near the back of the crowd, looking slightly panicked. His clothes were streaked with grime from the ventilation ducts, and his face was no exception.

At the door, Berrick stood gripping a baton. His large, bulging eyes sweeping over the prisoners before locking onto Tom, whose uneasy behavior made him stand out.