This is a gay love story between an angel and a demon. Viktor—a former boxer, underground fighter, and completely unhinged lone wolf. He never knew what defeat was. And once, one of his opponents nearly paid for that with his life.
After that, Viktor vanished into the shadows. Until, one day, he accidentally ran into an angel.
A strange guy from the north… The only person who ever felt sorry for Viktor. Just a smile. A few kind words.
That was all it took. But for a broken fighter like Viktor, it was enough to blow his mind—and his heart.
And the angel?
He had to run.
Kristof – 24 years old, Swedish, did aikido, now an advertising specialist at Blackburger.
Viktor – 28 years old, former boxer, probably Norwegian, now the head of a Blackburger branch somewhere in the Baltic province.
Warning: All names are fictitious. Any similarities with real life are accidental.
Warning: the book contains 18+ content
Chapter 1
I’d heard that sound before.
The rhythmic clatter of train wheels—just like the ones that had carried me into this godforsaken town. Management had sent me here on an important business trip. A mission of support, supposedly, as a young and promising specialist sent to help out the guys in the provincial branch office.
Yes, I’d heard that sound before.
But now it wasn’t wheels rumbling. It was the frantic pounding of my own heart. Loud and relentless, because just a second ago, I stepped into the conference room…
And among the murmurs, the casual banter, I recognized a voice.
A voice I knew all too well—though the face was hidden under the black hood of an oversized sweatshirt. I couldn’t see him, but I knew it was him.
Last summer.
We met last summer—by pure accident, at a villa in the countryside. Friends of my mother were hosting a gathering.
He was gifted, charismatic, and completely unscrupulous. I disliked him instantly.
Maybe because I couldn’t stop looking at him.
I thought… I hoped… he wouldn’t notice.
But he did. And everything went sideways.
“Well, well. So the big-city hotshot has finally graced us with his presence?”
Thank God for those years spent studying Aikido—I managed to dodge, and fairly professionally, the object the insane branch manager had just hurled at my head!
“Fascinating,” the lunatic muttered, yanking back the hood from his massive head and leaning lazily into his chair.
“And tell me, what exactly is this urban genius going to teach us poor, ignorant country folk?”
The guys from HQ had warned me—this place would be no picnic.
But I thrive on challenges. I like trials.
Just… not like this.
To help you understand the full absurdity of this situation, let me back up a bit.
My name is Kristof Lennart Jansson. Unusual name for some countries, I know. But I have a good excuse. My father’s Swedish. My mother’s Estonian.
Their marriage lasted exactly four years. Then they divorced.
Dad took me—three years old at the time—back to his hometown: Stockholm.
Mom stayed behind, near the border between the two countries.
I grew up in Sweden. Went to school there. Dad’s fairly well-off—he inherited a sizable fortune early in life and has lived off the investment income ever since.
He raised me alone, but he always made sure I got to see Mom often—during holidays, vacations, here in the Baltics.
When I turned twenty-three, I decided to move in with her for a while.
I had my degree, spoke several languages fluently (nearly accent-free), and had always dreamed of spending more time with my mother.
So, why not?
I’m twenty-four now.
Working at BlackBurger is my second job here, in Mom’s home country.
I’m a marketing specialist by trade.
After I’d moved back to the Baltics, I helped a couple of Mom’s friends by writing and producing a viral commercial that racked up more than a million views in under a week. Off that momentum I landed a seat in the marketing department of BlackBurger, the biggest burger chain in Europe. HQ is in Tallinn.
I spent a few months there, crushed my KPIs, and thought things were finally on track—until management decided to ship me out to a provincial branch “to boost sales.” My mission: turn the locals into champions. I didn’t exactly want to move out of Mom’s place, but after a long talk I admitted I should chase my career while I’m still young.
So I went.
I ignored every warning from colleagues that the branch was run by a genuine psycho. And if only I’d known that I already knew that psycho—under far from pleasant circumstances.
The meeting room is all windows, with one long table in the middle. A dozen people line both sides. And the unhinged “manager,” whatever throne he thinks he’s on, has just hurled his massive leather notebook right at my head. Perfect greeting.
“Viktor,” says the slim girl to his right, jumping to my defense. “Kristof is a very talented young specialist… studied in Stockholm…”
“So what?” the director sneers. “A degree isn’t everything.”
“Yes, but—” She tucks a loose blond strand behind her ear; her hand is visibly shaking. Terror or infatuation—or both. “Kristof has already created more than five campaigns for BlackBurger. Every single one went viral and multiplied sales many times over—and that’s in just a few months.”
Let me fill in the blanks. BlackBurger’s been around five years. It has an owner, but nobody knows who he is. No one’s ever seen his face. Rumor says the investor owns half the continent and barely glances at this side project. The chain has 273 outlets across Europe; one of them sits in this run-down town of one hundred thousand souls.
HQ in Tallinn sent me here to drag profit percentages up to capital-level numbers. Technically I’m the one who should be grinning and throwing things.
But I’m not. Because I remember my last encounter with this man far too well.
“What’s your name?”
The boss spat the question at me as if I were the last beggar on the street.
“Kristof. Kristof Lennart Jansson.”
“So, a stranger in town?” he grunted, folding his arms across his chest.
“Swedish.” I nodded, playing along. Looks like I’m the only one who remembers that meeting. If… if that’s the case, I’ll be overjoyed. Otherwise the notebook to the head is just the prologue—and the kindest blow I’ll get.
“Then why do you speak without an accent?” the furious director kept up his public interrogation.
“My mother was born and raised here,” I said—short and sweet. Please don’t dissect every line of my CV in front of the whole room. There’s nothing classified in it, of course, but still…
“Good reflexes,” the hulking figure lounging in his chair suddenly praised. “What sport?”
“Is… is that really crucial right now?” I hit him point-blank.
“Crucial,” he snorted, no room for argument.
“Aikidō. Brown belt, second kyū,” I ground out through my teeth. There—choke on it and back off.
I don’t like him. Huge, reckless, no brakes. The friends whose villa hosted my first encounter with White swore he’d been a pro boxer. A boxer that tall—just under one-ninety, easy. Next to him I must look pocket-sized: one-seventy-three, wiry rather than broad. Aikidō is a subtle art; it doesn’t pile on bulk. Unlike this battering ram.
And I’m light—everywhere. White hair, pale brows, fair skin. White’s the inverse: black-haired and dark-skinned—sun-baked or naturally olive, who can tell. No idea why I’m comparing us right now. I should be working out how to dodge whatever he throws next…
“Kristof,” the brute rumbled at last. “Fine, sit down for now. Come to my office after the meeting. I trust you’ve got your résumé? I want to know who thinks he’s here to teach me.”
I slipped into the nearest empty chair and let out a noiseless breath. Looked like, for now at least, the storm had passed me by.
Chapter 2
“Catch.”
And just like that, I nearly got clocked again—this time with a heavy ring of keys instead of a notebook. White was a brute, no doubt about it. Of course, I caught the damn keys.
“Go wait in my office. Résumé ready. Maria, show him the way.”
Orders, one after the other.
The girl—his assistant, I assumed—didn’t argue. She simply got up from the table and headed toward me.
“Follow me, I’ll take you there.”
Pretty thing. I stood up too, pushed my chair in, and followed her down the hallway.
“He didn’t like you,” she said in a low, sympathetic tone the second we stepped out of the meeting room and into the bright, narrow corridor that led to the director’s office. “I feel sorry for you.”
“How old is he?” I replied, brushing off the comment. Who cares if he liked me or not? What matters is that we’ll be working under the same roof for a while—which means we’ll have to figure out how to coexist.
“Viktor?” she said without turning around. “He turned twenty-eight this January. The eighteenth. We had a party—it was wild. How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Twenty-four,” I said automatically, realizing Vait looked pretty much his age. Solid. Rough around the edges.
“We’re here, Kristof,” she snapped me out of my thoughts. “You’ve got the keys. Think you can manage?”
Was that a hint of sarcasm in her voice?
Maybe. Wouldn’t surprise me. Newcomers always get the side-eye—especially ones parachuted in from HQ to a backwater branch. Capital’s hand, as they like to say. Big city snobs sent to “fix” the countryside.
“I’ll manage,” I said with calm confidence. “Thanks.”
She nodded, and almost giggled before vanishing down the endless hallway.
Whatever.
I slid the key into the lock and stepped inside.
An office. Just an office. Nothing more, nothing less.
Except maybe the chair. That chair was expensive—probably the most luxurious office chair I’d ever seen. Not one of those gamer things. Real leather. Serious. The desk was solid oak. Two guest chairs. A high-end couch in the corner. A few cabinets.
Right. So this guy’s blowing the company budget on pimping out his personal fortress? Hasn’t even pulled the branch out of the red yet—and already acts like he’s on top of the world. Still in the gutter, but already picking fights with the capital.
Unbelievable.
I was still scanning the room when suddenly the door behind me flew open—and slammed shut with a deafening bang.
“Coward!”
That was the first thing hurled straight at my back.
“Maybe now you’ll finally have the guts to say why you ran away from me!”
So much for hoping he’d forgotten our first encounter. That hope shattered instantly—my back went ice cold.
I ran away…?
“I didn’t run. I went home,” I muttered through clenched teeth, keeping my voice as calm as I could.
“You ran!” he roared back—and in one brutal motion, the lunatic grabbed my shoulder with his massive paw and spun me around to face him.
Next second, that same hand slammed into my chest in a violent shove.
“I didn’t run,” I repeated stubbornly, jaw tight, doing everything I could not to wince from the pain.
“Have the guts to admit it!” White loomed over me. No, he wasn’t just crazy—he was completely unhinged. What the hell did he even want from me?
“Think what you want,” I shot back, cool as ice. I even shrugged, just to show how little I cared. “Doesn’t matter to me.”
“Doesn’t matter?!”
He was now this close to my face. Practically breathing me in.
And then—
Then I didn’t understand. I genuinely didn’t understand why his black eyes were suddenly locked on my mouth like he was starving.
But a second later… even a dumbass like me figured it out.
Because the moment his mouth crushed against mine in a hard, hungry kiss, and that arrogant bastard’s tongue tried to force its way in—
Boom.
Memories detonated in my head like a volcano. Blazing hot and impossible to stop.
Last summer…
Last summer I was twenty-three.
I’d just arrived to stay with my mom. Everything felt new, exciting. Her friends, who I’d already briefly met, invited us both to their lakeside villa. For a weekend of grilling and fresh air.
A weekend getaway.
My mom couldn’t go—so she sent me on my own.
The villa was massive. Twenty rooms. Right by the lake. Sauna. Indoor pool. The whole luxury setup.
And the moment I arrived, they called me in for lunch. Everyone was already there.
Including him.
Viktor White.
A solid guy. Grim, brooding—a walking thundercloud, despite the beautiful weather. He was a bit of an outcast at that party. Didn’t talk to anyone at all.
Sometimes he glanced around from under his brows like he hated everyone in sight.
Maybe it was because he was new to that crowd. Just like me.
I didn’t know anyone there either—but unlike him, I tried to behave like a decent guest.
Somehow we ended up running into each other out on the veranda. It was evening, the rest of the guests were laughing and drinking by the bonfire.
“Not from around here?” — I can still hear his heavy tone.
“No.”
“Me neither,” he nodded.
“Go join the others,” the sullen loner added after a short pause.
I actually felt sorry for him in that moment. It was obvious—he was just an introvert. Not a people person. I figured someone probably talked him into coming here, same as me.
He looked a bit older, but not by much—maybe a couple of years.
Definitely an athlete. Even if he’d given up boxing, sports were still in his blood. And I’ve always respected athletes—even the ones with unbearable tempers.
So, like a dumbass, I felt bad for him.
And I decided to keep him company. Just… be nearby.
“Not a fan of crowds,” I threw out casually—just to keep him from realizing why I was staying.
He wouldn’t have appreciated pity or sympathy, that much was clear.
I sat down on one of the wooden benches.
White gave me a strange look, like he didn’t quite get what I was doing. I don’t think he was used to people showing him empathy. And now I know why.
“Get the fuck away from me!!!”
My furious shout yanked me back to reality.
And forgetting everything I learned in Aikido—I punched him.
Right in his unshaven jaw.
Or, at least I meant to. My fist slipped and caught him in the lip instead.
To my surprise, the bastard actually backed off.
He took one step back, shook his big head, then touched a finger to his bleeding lip and muttered:
“Still haven’t learned to fight, I see.”
It wasn’t a question.
It was a reminder. A smug one.
A jab at something I’d clearly forgotten—until now.
That night at the villa…
We’d barely spoken out on that veranda. Just a few words. Mostly, we sat at opposite ends, each lost in our own world.
I remember looking up—mesmerized by the stars.
Back in the city, in the Baltics, I’d never really seen the sky like that.
But out in the countryside—it was different. Stunning.
Just as I was about to call it a night and head to my room, the weirdo made a casual offer:
“Wanna take the boat out tomorrow morning? It’s boring alone. The lake’s really something.”
I didn’t see anything weird or threatening in the offer.
A boat, a lake—sounded chill.
The weather was warm. I loved swimming. Seemed like a good way to relax. And I really did enjoy nature.
Yeah, he was odd—but not dangerous.
Reserved, sure—but he was just a guest like me.
“Sure,” I agreed.
And only after I said it… did I notice something strange in his eyes.
Or maybe it was his expression?
Something I didn’t quite get back then.
The next morning, he knocked on my door. At six freaking a.m.
Six!
And when I didn’t answer, the bastard just barged in.
Didn’t even hesitate.
Room was hot, so I’d slept naked—like I always did.
Didn’t phase him at all. He just smacked me on the shoulder and growled right in my half-asleep ear:
“Get up! Lake. Boat. You done sleeping yet?!”
“What time is it?” I asked in Swedish, still half-asleep—
But then I remembered where I was, and repeated the question in a language that dumbass White could actually understand:
“What time is it?”
“Too damn late! Six in the morning!” he growled, stubbornly standing by my bed and eyeing me in a way that sent a chill down my spine.
He was fully dressed—tight shorts, a snug tank top, and flip-flops. Looked like he was planning to swim, too.
But me? I was still under the blanket. Just the blanket.
I’m not ashamed of my body. I’m wiry. Grew up with my dad, just the two of us, real masculine household—no drama, no boundaries crossed.
No one ever barged into my room.
Personal space meant something.
But White was clearly not me.
And that dragon tattoo running down his arm—from neck to wrist—yeah, it looked badass on him. Would look ridiculous on me. My arms are way too skinny.
I forced myself to get out of bed and walked across the room stark naked, grabbed my swim briefs from the suitcase, and pulled them on.
That idiot kept staring.
What the hell is his problem?
Maybe I’ll be like that too in a couple of years—angry for no reason.
Just in case, I threw on a tank top. Slipping it over my head somehow made me feel less vulnerable in the presence of… this guest.
“Is it cold outside?” I asked him, keeping my tone neutral.
“No,” he grumbled, a little less harsh. “You can go like that. It’s hot.”
I shrugged, found my flip-flops, and walked out into the hallway first—
He actually stepped aside and even shoved me gently in the back, like I needed help figuring out which direction to go.
Unnecessary. We were on vacation, not heading to war.
We didn’t see anyone on the way to the lake.
He kept silent the whole time.
I didn’t say anything either. My mood was ruined from the second I opened my eyes.
Why the hell did I even agree to this trip?
Did I really need this?
“I wasn’t planning to fight you back then!” I blurted out—
Now back in my new boss’s office, face to face with him again.
“You started it!”
The guy stood there silently, stared at me for a second…
Then, with complete seriousness—and a heavy dose of actual wounded pride—he said:
“You shouldn’t have seduced me.”
Chapter 3
“Here’s my resume,” I said, handing White the paper, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction.
I get it—he’s pissed. Probably made up some crap in his head, twisted it into a story that never happened.
But work is work.
By the end of the day, the head office in the capital will expect a report on my first day here. And I need to deliver it.
Victor yanked the document out of my hand with a frown and threw me a look full of barely contained irritation.
Without a word, he walked over to his chair, dropped into it, and sprawled out like he owned the world. Typical.
I shook my head inwardly. Just a local branch manager, and already the ego’s bigger than the lake outside.
“Kristof…” he muttered, eyeing the paper.
“Your last name sucks. Impossible to pronounce,” the jerk blurted out.
“It is what it is. You said it yourself—I’m not from around here,” I shot back, stupidly rising to his bait.
“So… you do remember?”
He snapped his eyes to me so suddenly I felt heat rush to my face.
Of course I remembered. How could I forget?
We were in a boat, far from shore. No one around. The sun was blazing. Total silence.
The height of summer. The mountain lake shimmered like a dream.
Neither of us spoke. White sat at the oars, and I… had nothing to do.
I was tired of the silence. So I made a dumb decision—pulled off my tank top and laid out on the stern to sunbathe.
I didn’t care what he thought of me.
My pale skin soaked in the sun, I closed my eyes. It felt… damn good.
Until his usual bark shattered the peace.
“Think you could take a turn at the oars?!”
I opened my eyes, squinting against the sunlight, but couldn’t focus on him.
So I got up and moved toward him.
“Fine. I’ll take over,” I told that psycho.
I bent down and reached for the oars. But he didn’t let go.
“If you didn’t want to give them up, why call me over?” I asked, annoyed.
“I wanted to see if you had a conscience,” he growled through clenched teeth.
“You’re a damn idiot,” I snapped.
I didn’t argue further—just jumped to the back of the boat and dove into the water.
A dip in the cold lake on a hot day? Perfect.
I wasn’t worried he’d row off. I’ve always been a strong swimmer—catching up would be easy.
And worst-case? I’d make it to shore on my own. No big deal.
Cold water didn’t scare me. In Sweden, we wear jackets in the summer and swim in icy lakes—it’s just how it is.
Cold feels normal. It’s the heat that kills me. Like I’m a snowman slowly melting in the sun.
But I miscalculated.
I didn’t even make it to the surface before White’s dumb ass jumped in after me!
And then—
He swam right up to me, shoved me against the side of the boat, grabbed the edge with both hands, and—
kissed me.
No warning. No hesitation. Just lips on mine. Rough, hungry, unapologetic.
That was the first time.
The first time it happened.
A wave of shock, outrage, and… something else—something I couldn’t name—slammed into me.
Before I even knew what I felt, I slipped under the surface and swam away, surfacing several meters out.
Then I swam fast, heading for the shore, hoping he’d stay the hell back.
But when I reached the empty beach and glanced behind me—
That giant White was already climbing out of the water after me.
And then I ran.
Through the forest, like a madman. I didn’t know what to expect from him.
I didn’t know why he was doing this or what he wanted from me.
I knew nothing.
And—I was scared.
For the first time, I was truly afraid.
Afraid of those forbidden feelings that had awakened the moment he touched me.
I ran blindly, but he caught up.
Right as I tripped over a root and crashed forward, landing hard on my stomach.
I rolled onto my back to jump up—ready to fight him off if I had to—but I didn’t get the chance.
The second I was on my back, White pounced, slamming me down again, pinning me to the ground.
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