Chapter 4: The Taste of Power
The first thing that registered was the absence of her warmth.
Leonid's hand swept across the mattress, finding nothing but cool, rumpled fabric where Jennie had been. His eyes snapped open, heart lurching into his throat before his gaze found her—a silhouette against the pale gray light seeping through the container's rusted gaps, crouched over a small collection of supplies.
She was wearing his shirt. The worn grey cotton hung off her shoulder, slipping down one arm as she rummaged through a battered duffel bag. Her hair was a tangled mess, falling in dark waves around her face. She looked like something feral and beautiful, a creature of the wild who'd deigned to let him share her den.
"You should be resting," she said without turning around, as though she'd felt his eyes on her.
"I woke up and you weren't there." His voice came out rough, cracked from sleep and fever and the raw edges of everything they'd said and done in the night. "I got scared."
Jennie paused, her hands stilling over the contents of the bag. Then she turned, and there was something soft in her expression—something vulnerable that she quickly masked with a smirk.
"Scared of what? That I'd run off and leave you in this rusted coffin?" She stood, holding a dented can of beans and a plastic-wrapped loaf of bread that looked like it had seen better days. "I told you I wasn't going anywhere. I meant it."
"Where did you get that?" Leonid asked, nodding at the supplies.
"Raided a gas station three days ago. The canned goods were still intact. The bread was, too—just a little stale." She wrinkled her nose. "Don't expect gourmet. I'm not exactly running a five-star kitchen here."
She set the supplies down near the small fire pit she'd clearly been preparing—a ring of stones with charred wood and crumpled paper inside. Leonid watched as she knelt, pulling a battered lighter from her pocket and flicking it to life. The flame caught, dancing along the edges of the paper before spreading to the kindling.
"You know how to build a fire," he observed.
"Learned a lot of things in the past year." She didn't elaborate, and he didn't push.
The fire crackled to life, casting warm light across her face. She set the can of beans near the flames, using a piece of twisted wire to hold it in place. Then she tore open the bread, revealing a loaf that was only slightly moldy on one end. She cut the bad part off with a knife she pulled from her boot, tossing it into the fire without ceremony.
Leonid pushed himself up, grimacing at the ache in his muscles. His wounds throbbed—a dull, persistent pain that reminded him he was alive. The fever had broken, but his body was still fighting off the infection, still healing.
"You should stay down," Jennie said, not looking at him. "You're not recovered."
"Can't just lie here while you take care of everything," he said, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress. The world tilted for a moment, and he gripped the edge of the crate to steady himself.
Jennie glanced at him, her dark eyes assessing. She didn't argue, but she didn't offer help either. She just watched him, waiting to see if he'd prove her concerns right or wrong.
He managed to stand, his legs shaky but functional. He took a careful step toward her, then another, until he was close enough to feel the heat of the fire against his skin.
"Smells good," he said, looking down at the can of beans.
"It's canned beans," she said flatly. "It smells like salt and regret."
He laughed—a genuine sound that surprised them both. "You always had a way with words."
"I've had a lot of time to practice being bitter." She poked at the beans with a stick, stirring them. "Being alone does that to a person."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Leonid opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a voice called out from beyond the container's walls.
"Jennie! Hey, Jennie! You in there?"
Her expression shifted instantly—the softness evaporating, replaced by something hard and cold. She didn't turn toward the voice, didn't acknowledge it at all. She just kept stirring the beans, her jaw tightening.
"Jennie, come on. I know you're in there. I saw the smoke from the fire." The voice was male, insistent, with an edge of entitlement that made Leonid's hackles rise. "Vargas wants a meeting. We need to talk about the food situation."
Still, Jennie didn't respond. She reached for the bread, tearing off a piece and handing it to Leonid. "Here. Eat."
He took it, but his eyes were fixed on the container's door. "Who is that?"
"Nobody." She said it with such finality that Leonid almost believed her. "Kai. He's just some guy from the camp who thinks he's more important than he is."
"Kai Kim?" Leonid's voice sharpened. "The guy who tried to run that shady import business before the outbreak? The one who owes half the city money?"
Jennie's lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close. "You remember him."
"I remember you mentioning him at that charity gala two years ago. Said he was a 'pompous blowhard with the moral compass of a sewer rat.'" Leonid paused. "Your words, not mine."
A real smile crossed her face then, quick and bright, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. "I did say that, didn't I?"
"Word for word."
The voice called out again, more insistent this time. "Jennie! I know you can hear me! This is important!"
She rolled her eyes, a gesture so familiar it made Leonid's chest ache. "He's been sniffing around since I got here. Thinks I'm going to fall for his 'I'm a strong survivor, I can protect you' routine." She made air quotes with her fingers. "He doesn't realize I've survived more in the past year than he has in his entire pathetic life."
"Have you told him that?"
"I've shown him." She pulled the can of beans from the fire, using a strip of cloth to protect her hands from the heat. "He just doesn't seem to learn."
She set the can down, steam rising from its contents. The beans were bubbling, slightly burnt on the edges, but they smelled edible—better than edible in the context of the apocalypse. She tore off another piece of bread, this one softer than the first, and dipped it into the beans.
"Here," she said, holding it out to Leonid. "Eat."
He took it from her, their fingers brushing. The contact was brief, but it sent a jolt through him—a reminder of everything they'd shared in the night, of the rawness and vulnerability they'd exposed to each other.
"Thanks," he said softly.
She nodded, not meeting his eyes. Instead, she picked up the can herself and took a bite directly from it, not bothering with the bread. She ate like she was fueling a machine, efficient and unceremonious.
Outside, Kai's voice had gone quiet. For a moment, there was only the crackle of the fire and the distant sound of insects.
Then—footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, approaching the container.
Jennie's eyes snapped up, her body going rigid. She set the can down, wiping her hands on her pants, and reached for the rifle leaning against the wall.
"Stay here," she said, her voice low and dangerous.
"Jennie—"
"I said stay."
She moved toward the door, her steps silent, predatory. She didn't open it—not fully. Just cracked it enough to peer through the gap, her finger already on the trigger guard.
"What do you want, Kai?" Her voice was flat, devoid of warmth.
"Finally." The relief in his voice was almost laughable. "I've been calling for ages. Thought something had happened to you."
"Something did happen. I was busy." She didn't elaborate, and she didn't invite him in.
"Busy doing what? Hiding in that rusted box?" Kai's voice dripped with false concern. "You know, you don't have to stay in here. Vargas cleared out that cabin near the east gate. It's got a real bed, a fireplace. Much better than this... whatever this is."
"I like it here."
"It's a shipping container, Jennie. It's basically a coffin."
"Good thing I'm not dead then, isn't it?"
Leonid could hear the edge in her voice, the impatience barely concealed beneath a veneer of polite disinterest. He recognized it—the way she spoke to people she considered beneath her, people who wasted her time with their insipid concerns.
He also recognized Kai's voice, though it had been years since he'd heard it. Kai Kim had been a fixture in the business world before the collapse—a man with more ambition than sense, always chasing deals that were just out of reach, always trying to climb a ladder that wasn't there. He'd been desperate, back then, on the verge of losing everything.
When the outbreak had hit, that desperation had apparently morphed into something else. Something that made him think he had a chance with a woman like Jennie.
"Look," Kai said, his tone shifting to something more wheedling, "I came to check on you. That's all. We've all been worried—you disappeared after that run yesterday, and when you didn't come back to the camp, I thought—"
"You thought what? That I'd gotten myself killed?" Jennie's laugh was sharp, brittle. "I've been surviving longer than most people in that camp, Kai. I don't need you to check on me."
"I know. I know you're capable. That's not—" He paused, and Leonid could practically hear him scrambling for the right words. "That's not why I'm here. I'm here because I care about you. I've always cared about you, Jennie. Even before all this."
"For God's sake." The words came out through gritted teeth. "Not this again."
"I'm serious. I know you don't believe me, but I am. When the world went to hell, my first thought was you. I spent weeks looking for you, trying to find out if you'd made it. And when you showed up at this camp, I—" His voice caught, almost believable in its intensity. "I felt like I'd been given a second chance."
"A second chance to what? Annoy me into submission?"
"No. A second chance to prove myself to you. To show you that I can be the man you need."
Leonid had heard enough.
He pushed himself off the crate, ignoring the protest of his injured body, and crossed to the door. Jennie glanced at him, her eyes widening slightly—a warning in them—but he didn't stop. He reached past her, pulling the door open wider, and stepped out into the pale morning light.
Kai stood a few feet away, his mouth still open mid-plea. He was a tall man, handsome in a forgettable way, with dark hair and a weak jaw that he tried to compensate for with an overgrown beard. He was wearing a leather jacket that looked like it cost more than most people's rent, and he had a pistol holstered at his hip.
When he saw Leonid, his entire expression shifted. The rehearsed charm melted away, replaced by something ugly and jealous.
"Who the hell is this?" he demanded, looking past Leonid to Jennie. "You've been hiding someone in there?"
Leonid leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. He was shirtless, his torso a canvas of bandages and bruises and the fresh marks Jennie had left on him the night before. He knew what he looked like—disheveled, clearly half-dead, but just as clearly marked.
A claim staked.
"I'm Leonid," he said, his voice pleasant, conversational. "Jennie's boyfriend."
Kai's eyes bugged out. "Boyfriend? You never mentioned a boyfriend."
"I didn't think I needed to," Jennie said, stepping out to stand beside Leonid. She was still wearing his shirt, her bare legs visible beneath the hem. "It's not exactly camp business."
Kai's gaze flicked between them, taking in the shirt, the marks, the easy intimacy of their proximity. His jaw worked, a muscle ticking in his cheek.
"Leonid," he repeated, as if tasting the name. "Leonid Manoban? The model?"
"You've heard of me."
"I've heard of you." Kai's voice was cold now, all pretense of charm gone. "You're the one who broke her heart. The one who walked out on her two years ago like she meant nothing."
Leonid felt the words like a punch to the gut. He didn't flinch, didn't look away, but he felt Jennie tense beside him.
"That was between me and Jennie," he said quietly.
"It was between you and me, actually," Kai shot back. "Because I was the one who had to pick up the pieces after you left. I was the one who was there for her when she was falling apart, when she couldn't sleep, when she was drowning in her own head." He took a step forward, his hands clenched into fists. "I was the one who stayed. And you? You were off living your perfect little life, posing for cameras and fucking your way through every fashion week like she never existed."
"That's enough." Jennie's voice cut through the air like a blade. She stepped between them, her eyes blazing. "You don't get to speak for me, Kai. You don't get to act like you know what I went through, or what I wanted, or what I needed. You were a convenience, at best. Someone to pass the time with when I was too broken to be alone. But you never meant anything to me."
The words hit Kai like a physical blow. His face crumpled, then hardened into something ugly.
"After everything I did for you—"
"Everything you did for me?" Jennie laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "What did you do, Kai? You hovered. You pouted. You made me feel like I was a charity case you were trying to save, when all you really wanted was to get in my pants. Don't pretend you were some knight in shining armor. You were just a vulture waiting for me to die so you could pick at the bones."
"Jennie—"
"No." She held up a hand, silencing him. "I'm done talking to you. Go back to the camp. Tell Vargas I'll be in later to discuss the food situation. But this conversation is over."
Kai stared at her, his chest heaving with barely contained rage. For a moment, Leonid thought he might lash out, might try to force his way past Jennie or say something even stupider.
But then something shifted in his eyes. He looked at Leonid, then back at Jennie, and a slow, bitter smile spread across his face.
"Fine," he said, his voice clipped. "Keep your little toy. But when he leaves you again—and he will leave you again, Jennie—don't come crawling back to me. I won't be there."
He turned and stalked off, disappearing into the treeline without looking back.
The silence that followed was thick, heavy with the weight of everything that had just been said. Leonid stood frozen, his heart pounding in his chest, watching Jennie's back as she stared at the spot where Kai had disappeared.
"Jennie," he started, but she cut him off.
"Don't." Her voice was shaky, vulnerable in a way he hadn't heard since the night before. "Don't say anything. Just—let me have a minute."
She walked back into the container, her steps slow and heavy. Leonid followed, uncertain, watching as she sank down onto the mattress and buried her face in her hands.
He didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to bridge the gap between them, to ease the pain that was radiating off her in waves. So he did the only thing he could think of.
He knelt in front of her, gently pulling her hands away from her face. Her eyes were wet, tears spilling down her cheeks. She looked broken, fragile, nothing like the fierce survivor who had faced down the walkers the night before.
"Jennie," he said softly, cupping her face in his hands. "Look at me."
She did, her dark eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
"I'm not going to leave you," he said, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. "I know I did before. I know I broke your trust, broke your heart. But I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere. Whatever it takes, however long it takes—I'm staying."
She stared at him, searching his face for the lie she clearly expected to find. When she didn't find it, a sob escaped her, raw and broken.
"I can't do this again," she whispered. "I can't lose you again, Leonid. I can't survive it a second time."
He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight against his chest. She buried her face in his neck, her body shaking with silent sobs.
"You won't," he murmured into her hair. "You won't lose me. I promise. I'm here. I'm not leaving you again, Jennie. Never again."
She clung to him, her fingers digging into his back, and for a long moment, neither of them moved. The fire crackled beside them, casting dancing shadows across the rusted walls.
Outside, the world kept turning. The dead kept walking. And somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of Kai's footsteps faded into the forest.
But here, in this rusted container, two broken people held each other in the ruins of everything they'd lost—and everything they'd found again.
Eventually, Jennie's sobs quieted to hiccups, then to trembling breaths. She pulled back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, and offered him a watery smile.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to fall apart like that."
"Don't apologize," Leonid said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You've been holding it together for so long. You're allowed to break sometimes."
She laughed, a sad, hollow sound. "That's what you used to say to me. When we were together. When you'd hold me during my episodes and tell me it was okay to fall apart."
"And it was true then," he said, "and it's true now."
She looked at him, her eyes searching. "Why did you come back, Leonid? Really? After everything—after the way I treated you, the way I pushed you away—why did you come looking for me?"
He was quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then he spoke, his voice low and earnest.
"Because I never stopped loving you. Even when I tried to convince myself I had. Even when I threw myself into work, into other people, into anything that would distract me from the hole you'd left in my chest." He paused, swallowing hard. "When the world went to hell, everything else fell away. The fame, the money, the expectations—none of it mattered anymore. All that mattered was finding you. Making sure you were alive. Making sure I got the chance to tell you—"
He stopped, his voice catching.
"Tell me what?" she whispered.
"Tell you that I was sorry," he said, his own eyes burning now. "Sorry for leaving. Sorry for giving up on us. Sorry for every moment I spent not being by your side, when all I wanted was to be there with you."
Jennie's tears started again, silent this time, streaming down her cheeks. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his.
"I've missed you," she said, her voice barely audible. "I've missed you so much it's like a physical ache. There were days when I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but curl up and wish I could turn back time to when we were happy."
"I'm here now," he said, echoing her words from the night before. "I'm here, Jennie."
She pulled back, looking at him with an intensity that made his heart stutter in his chest.
"Then don't waste another second," she said, reaching up to tangle her fingers in his curls. "Show me you're here. Show me you're not going anywhere."
He didn't need to be asked twice.
He kissed her, deep and desperate, pouring into it every ounce of fear and longing and love that had been building in him since the moment he'd first seen her at that forest camp. She responded in kind, her hands pulling him closer, her body arching into his.
The fire crackled beside them, casting their shadows across the walls. Outside, the world continued to burn.
But inside this rusted container, they held onto each other—two broken pieces that somehow fit together, forming a whole that nothing could break.