the shape of my hands,
the shape of a gun

Back when I used to live in Daejeon, each biker had a certain area of expertise.

For some, it was handling a gun. Or a knife. Or just a bike. Yes, the motorcycle part had been a given for all of us, but some of us specialized in it. Some were better at problem solving, some were physically more powerful, some had tongues stamped with silver.

I had been assigned to a relatively simpler job, because my inclinations didn't align with the others'—I was a racer. I always had been.

Kang Yeosang, in turn, was a killer.

His stature was smaller than some of the others I had known in the bikers, but I knew the power he packed in his slender physique. A few strands of golden-blonde hair brushed his forehead, and he had a deceptively easy smile on his face, the same smile that had probably been the last thing his victims had seen.

"Yeosang." My voice was even, much to my surprise, as he calmly stroked the barrel of his gun.

There was no haste in his movements. He, like me, didn't expect anyone to show up. The door was still open, but he kicked it shut with one swift, almost soundless motion, effectively cutting us off from the rest of the floor. Privacy, in its darkest form.

The level of fear I felt had skyrocketed, accentuated by the fact that I had no way to defend myself. This situation was the very thing I had been the most afraid of—facing my past. Although I had expected someone more experienced to be sent to exterminate me, like Jaebum or Yukhei, I knew that Yeosang was his own level of dangerous.

I had never had a chance to work closely with him, but I knew that he enjoyed toying with his targets. Breaking them emotionally before he went in for the kill. This was the worst way to go, I realized, and I couldn't possibly go through a more excruciating process. This was the worst situation, the one alternative I had been the most terrified of, and strangely, accepting the thought made me feel more at ease.

His lopsided grin widened, and he stretched his arms behind his head, catlike. The movement was unbalanced, making him seem undefended, but his stance was perfect. If I went in now, I would be getting my neck snapped.

"How's racing been for you?" He asked conversationally. My pulse, which had earlier reached the peak of its speed limit, began to slow down. It was as if my mind had broken under the strain of all the fear I'd felt, and a strange calmness spread through me like a shot of tranquilizers.

"Good enough," I replied just as casually, but my mind was racing, trying to figure out the best way to get me out of this room alive. This wasn't about winning the fight anymore, it was about survival. All of a sudden, Baekhyun's words made sense. "Doesn't murder get boring?"

"Oh, I don't know." The corner of his lips quirked upwards. "It has its own variety."

The gun was the asset tipping advantage heavily in his favor, which meant that the first thing I had to do was get rid of it. Baby steps. Then I could try to get away from him. Emphasis on try.

"Let's not waste time in chit-chat," I murmured.

Yeosang smirked, his icy eyes narrowing like a hunter's when it closed in on its prey. "Let's not."

I lunged at him first, as long as I had the element of surprise—which didn't help much. My shoulder connected with his torso, but he had enough balance to allow both of us to stay upright. He raised his gun, aiming straight for my chest to allow him the best angle, but I jerked my knee into his abdomen, making him stumble backwards.

He hit the wall with his back to it, and I launched myself onto him, intending to get an elbow to his neck. Yeosang's eyes darkened, but he didn't let go of the gun as he blocked my arm from coming anywhere close to himself. I pushed back, distancing myself from him by about three feet as he straightened and chuckled.

"You can't win this one," he said.

I wasn't trying to.

He was obviously the one with the physical advantage, but I was faster than him. If he wanted, he could kill me easily, but the fact that he underestimated me put the odds in my favor, since it meant that he was going to try and overpower me before using his gun.

I breathed through my teeth before positioning legs in a supportive stance, placing most of my weight on my front leg so my back leg could have more weight when I kicked. He saw it coming, though, as I had expected him to, and his wrist dug into my shin as he intercepted the kick, making me curse aloud.

The only furniture in the room was an old wooden chair, which I could have used as a weapon, but lifting it would have slowed me down, hence taking away my only pro. Still, it provided for support as I grabbed its back as Yeosang swung his fist towards my face.

I dodged the first one, but the second punch caught me in the jaw. The force of it was enough to send me toppling backwards, my back hitting the ground like a punch hard enough to knock the wind out of me. For a moment, I lay there, gasping and trying to get my breath back. Stars exploded in my vision, a shock spreading through my head, everything fading in and out of darkness.

Yeosang, still breathing hard, stood over me, looking down at me with a sort of satisfied smirk.

"Good game," he said breathlessly.

My fingers brushed the leg of the chair as he pointed the mouth of his gun at me, and I threw myself to the side, rolling halfway to be able to reach out with both of my arms. My fists wrapped around the hind legs of the chair, and I dragged it backwards with all the strength I had, crashing the back of it into Yeosang's legs.

The chair, being old and brittle, exploded into bits of wood, some splinters getting lodged into his pants, probably cutting into his skin. I didn't need to touch the back of my head to know it was bleeding. I could tell by how wet it felt, matting my hair to my skin. My only concern was the severity of it, but it wasn't like I had any choice except to keep going.

I scrambled to my feet as he fell, finally losing his grip on the gun. I didn't hesitate before kicking the weapon away from him, choosing not to pick it up. Shooting someone was an action I couldn't bear to execute.

Instead, I dug out the pocketknife from my side pocket, sliding out the blade and holding it so that the tip pointed downwards.

Despite the force of a wooden chair breaking against his legs, Yeosang was relentless, dragging me down with him so he was on top of me, my shoulder blades connecting with the floor. His face was close enough to mine for me to feel his deep, harsh breaths hot against my face, his eyes smoldering.

My hands fisted into the front of his jacket, pushing back his shoulders and propping myself up on my elbows. Another push launched us into a sitting position, and I pressed him up against the wall, one of my forearms pressing against his neck, cutting off his wind supply.

"I don't want to hurt you," I whispered as I loosened the pressure against his windpipe, and his Adam's apple dipped as he swallowed thickly.

"Neither do I," he whispered back.

His hands latched onto my neck, gripping the hair at the back of my head and pulling it back. I winced, but still held on, knowing that he was just as weak as I was. Blood trickled from his nose from the force of my elbow hitting it, but it didn't look broken.

His thighs were on either side of me, pinned down by my knees resting on them. The position we were in was complicated, leaving both of us in a situation that neither of us could extract ourselves from without leaving some part of us vulnerable.

Yeosang was an experienced killer, but the one thing he had lacked was the ability to confront someone without judgement. Most of his victims had been defenceless, untrained and inexperienced, and he had probably counted on me being the same way.

It was hard with the resisting force of Yeosang's hands trying to push me away from him, but I raised the knife. His pupils dilated as he took in the thin, short blade, swallowing his brown irises until there was nothing left of them but a narrow ring of darkened hazel.

Fear. There was fear in his eyes, which made me feel a sick sort of satisfaction. For a fleeting moment, I could see the desire that led so many people to make a living out of this.

The contentment of making your attacker regret, respect you. Fear you.

I stabbed into his thigh, the blade cutting into the leather easily, seeming like it missed the bone by the ease with which it sank into his flesh. He gritted his teeth, holding in a scream, but the effect was as I had wanted—his grip on my throat loosened, letting me take in a much-needed breath of air. I tipped my head back, ignoring the sting at the back of it as I did.

"Lay," he breathed out, eyes hooded. I pulled my knife out of his thigh, making him painfully suck in air through his teeth. "Find...find him."

I pulled back in surprise, confusion hitting me like a truck as I heard his words. A gunshot sounded through the room, and I flinched before realizing that I hadn't been the victim of it—Yeosang made a choking noise, and hot, sticky blood spattered itself over me, making me recoil in disgust and horror.

The front of his shirt was torn, red beginning to seep out from the bullet wound. My hands, slick with blood, shook as I backed away, horror flooding my senses. His blood was still warm on where it speckled my skin, making me feel sick to my stomach.

I got to my feet, still trembling, eyes wide as I took in Yeosang's dying body lying before me. The sight was grotesque, reminding me of the pictures of Yoongi's mangled form from the crash, and I stepped backwards, my back hitting a warm chest as soon as I did.

What had he meant by find Lay?

His attitude had been ambiguous, like the sharp and blunt sides of a knife. At the beginning, he had seemed almost excited about hurting me, but then he had said he didn't want to hurt me...what was that about? What did he mean by that? What were his intentions?

"Thank goodness you're safe," Vernon's voice was low and worried in my ear, his hand just brushing the back of my elbow. "There's a cut at the back of your head, but it's very shallow and is probably not serious." He sounded plenty serious. "Anyway, come with me."

Being grateful for the opportunity to look away from Yeosang's bloody self, I turned and walked behind him, wincing a little at the pain in my side. Vernon's hand was a comforting ring of warmth around my wrist, but I couldn't help but shudder when I saw the gun in his free hand. Had he hesitated before shooting at Yeosang? Was I thankful for it?

"Where will you be taking me?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. Jinyoung had told me that I was to be taken to the safe house, but I already knew where I was supposed to be going after that—the airport. And if Vernon was going to drop me to the house, then I had a serious problem on my hands.

"I won't be taking you, Jimin will," he answered, cutting a look across the hall before hurrying down the stairs. "We'll do a relay so none of the bikers can track you, and you'll be safe in the...well, the safe house."

So Park Jimin. If he was going to drop me off at another car, then the second driver couldn't be anyone who was already at the shoot-out, or at least, that was the most probable option.

And if my theory turned out to be true, then Vernon was delivering me right into the hands of Taeyong.

──────

YO ATEEZ ANNOUNCED THEIR COMEBACK LITERALLY MOMENTS AFTER I FINISHED WRITING THIS CHAPTER I—