Long, elegant fingers delicately coated with a musky, redolent of spring scented gel smoothed ebony soft hair to the side, parting them like the leaping water of a fountain cleaving in the air.

Those sleek fingers belonged to a slim but muscular body, tall, refined legs with juicy, mouthwatering buttocks, and a slender waist that supported a load-bearing chest with broad shapely shoulders. It lacked well-formed abs and a V line he so much desired — maybe because he relished seeing them on others and investing abundant time to feel the solid, oblong-shaped muscles and the hard lines, licking, biting, devouring them — but that was his charm.

His sooty chocolate eyes pursued his mild ministrations until his hair stood at the sides in two poofy, rakishly messy curves that embraced his temples from close range, unveiling an invitingly wide, unlined forehead.

Highly gratified by the result his dexterous hands brought him, his dark orbs descended the porcelain, glowing skin of his marvelously symmetrical face through the mirror and struck on his attire for a last inspection. A pair of black slacks enfolded his stalky legs in a loose set around his fleshy, sinewy thighs and a mite snugger one towards his ankles. It was combined with a black dress shirt patterned with oversubtle vertical stripes tucked into his slacks.

He went for an all black outfit, although he preferred having some color on him since his life didn’t have any. But the occasion didn’t allow him to be himself, anyway; he had to forget his real identity and immerse himself in an illusory one.

He was inured to transitioning between identities as if he had an imaginary switch he could flip on and off any time he wanted or had to. He was hardened to fear, pain, life itself. He was still alive because he had a purpose — he wrestled with unimaginable, sinister beasts disguised as people and harrowing situations to stay alive because of that purpose.

And his vast necessity to achieve it would keep him alive. It had to.

It was the sole reason he kept living in a world so rotten and vile, so wrongful and ruthless. But despite the veil of darkness clasping his heart, a glimmer — maybe two — of light always managed to slash through the veil and wrench the pathetic remains of his kindness out of him. That damn glimmer compelled him to always help those in need, even when he had nothing to give. He always thought it was a relic of the past, of his blissful childhood that ended at the tender age of eight when his parents were murdered in front of him.

But on the other hand, maybe he had just brought this veil himself to shroud his heart for the brute requirements to reach his purpose — to find the reason his parents had to die and who was trying to kill him even to this day — and that glimmer was his true self.

He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. Not anymore, at least.

His life was all about partying, good friends, and great sex. The comfort and bliss of mind-blowing sex were so massive they almost made him feel thankful for being alive.

But all that was within his work; he rarely had time for himself. Meeting different “targets” on the same day, getting to know them, warming them to him to extract as much information as possible, keeping contact with them. It was a lot, and the day only had twenty-four hours. He had to sleep a little, too.

Most of them were easy; they couldn’t resist his deep, alluring voice, his sultry, hole-drilling eyes, and his dazzling beauty. He didn’t have to sleep with them, but he did periodically with the ones that caught his eye, sparked something inside him, and especially if they had well-built muscles he could drool over, suck, bite, guzzle. He was addicted, and he didn’t mind one bit.

Things also grew violent sometimes. He despised his “targets” or anyone, really, forcing themselves on him in a way that made him uncomfortable or simply feel like an object. Using violence to stop them would divulge his cover, since the role of an ordinary guy he often played couldn’t have such skills. It would raise too many questions if he did.

In those times, the “helpers” came to the rescue. His plain, purple ring had a tiny button on the underside he could press to alert them that something was wrong. He preferred handling everything himself and not asking for help, but at times, their assistance was very much needed. It even saved his life a couple of times.

He was intelligent, wily, artful — the list could go on and on about his traits regarding his work — but he was reckless, too. Numerous times, he went on missions without the “helpers” on standby because of the immense faith he had in himself that everything would pan out as he had planned.

His recklessness on that matter inflicted him a stab wound in his stomach the first time, and a torturous beating the next. It also brought him a ferocious scolding by his two best friends, and a praise from his boss for not exposing his cover despite the torment.

He was an exceptional fighter who could slither out of almost any dangerous situation with his crafty hidden tactics, but he had a deficit of physical power when he battled against bigger people. He wasn’t a fan of violence, anyway; he always chose to avoid a fight if possible and escape.

A string of knocks disrupted the scrutiny of his outfit and sucked his eyes in the door's direction. “Who?”

“It’s me.”

Recognizing the voice of his best friend Jimin, his stiff posture mellowed and his eyes slid back to the mirror. “Come in.”

Jimin entered and closed the door behind him, his jaw going slack upon analyzing his appearance. “How can you look so hot?”

The corner of Taehyung's lips pulled up into an awry smile with the sharp snort that tumbled out of him. “I’m sure you’re not here to compliment me.”

“No, but since I’m here,” he trailed off, lifting an idle shoulder. “Are you ready?”

Taehyung reached for his black coat and drew it on, checking his finalized look in the mirror. “Now I am.”

“Great! Yoongi will be on—”

“Don’t need him.”

Jimin stared with an ever-growing fragment of condemnation swirling in his gaze and spreading on his features, and his open mouth pinched shut with a nasal sigh. “Tae, come on. It hasn’t even been a month since your last beating. Do you really want to risk it again?”

“It’s just another meeting to help Jay. You know he’s been having trouble getting information from Jong Hoon. And the boss asked Jay to call me. I’ll drink with them, flirt a little with Jong Hoon, and leave.”

“He’s been working for him undercover for months. Why hasn’t he learned anything yet? And why do you have to do this too? Why do you have to do everything?” Jimin’s discontent was well defined in the worry lines adorning his forehead and tugging at his eyes.

“He’s a difficult man. And I’m Jin Mo’s best, you know that. Jong Hoon is planning something big, and our boss is a little anxious about it. He needs results fast.”

“Right. But Jay doesn’t have helpers on guard. What if something happens?”

His friend’s concern, although highly appreciated and heartwarming, often flared Taehyung up, rendering him unable to constrict an eye roll. “Nothing will happen. We’ll just drink and talk, get to know each other better.”

“Can I at least listen to your conversation—”

“No. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Tae,” he sighed. “It’s for your protection.”

“I like danger, Chim. It’s what makes me feel the most alive.”

Jimin knew it. He knew everything about that man. How much he had suffered in the past, how desperate he was to find answers and achieve his purpose, how much he struggled internally every day but didn’t let anyone see it. He was aware of the incalculable thrill danger gave Taehyung and how precious it was for him — what a necessity it was for him to feel alive. That was why Jimin sometimes succumbed to his request of going on a mission without help at the ready. But that didn’t mean he endorsed his actions.

“Fine. If something indeed happens, we’ll be on standby somewhere close since you don't want us to monitor you, so press the button right away if you sense something is off.”

Taehyung broke into a smile, patting his shoulder. “Okay.”

“Where will you meet them?”

“They’re at a bar at Guri-si.”

“Will you take your motorcycle?”

“Of course not. I won’t ruin my perfect hair.”

“I can put someone to drive you.”

“I have a driver ready to take me downtown. Then I’ll just take a taxi.”

“How will you escape if something goes wrong? You always have to have an escape plan.”

“Please, not again. For the last time, nothing will go wrong. And I’ll just hide and call you if it does.”

“I won’t come save you. You’re so stubborn and reckless,” Jimin murmured, folding his arms over his chest to deepen his decisiveness, although his first remark held no sincerity.

“I am, but if something happens to me, of course you’ll come help me. You love~ me.” Taehyung pasted his cutest smile on his face and tilted his head to the side, his eyes squinting with a shroud of teasing.

Jimin snorted, giving his shoulder a jaunty push. “I do love you. And yes, of course I’ll come. But please be careful.”

“Don’t worry.” With a goodbye pat on his head, Taehyung headed out of the room and walked what always seemed like an endless path until he finally reached the exit of the mansion.

The said mansion was in a solitary location, buried in the mountains, and the ride to civilization was fifty-minutes long.

It was late in the evening and the already bustling streets of Seoul were more packed than ever. He struggled to hail a taxi when he arrived because of the high demand for transportation at this hour and location, but he succeeded a couple of minutes later.

With another fifteen-minute ride, he reached his final destination and stood still as his taxi left, eyes scanning the unknown place. It was quieter compared to the teeming streets of the city center. Only three bars were distinguishable within his range of vision and a widespread plot was behind the bar where his meeting would take place that was used as a parking lot.

Remote place, zero methods or routes of escaping. This will be fun.

A smirk bloomed on his lips at his thoughts, and he advanced towards the bar, buzzing with zest and aplomb.

He pushed the wooden door open and let his eyes wander, observe, scrutinize as they had learned to do. The subtle lighting gave the place a sophisticated image that suited his taste, and the delicate jazz music and the discreet paintings adorning well-calculated parts of the walls only amplified his delight.

Next, he absorbed the several customers while he shuffled towards the back as Jay had instructed him; he could descry most of them as married couples, and a few sets of friends enjoying their drinks quietly.

“Jay,” he called upon seeing him, and quickened his pace to engulf him into his hug, beaming.

“Hey.” The said man caressed his back and returned the smile as they broke apart. “You remember my boss, Mr. Jong Hoon.”

“Of course I do,” Taehyung purred as he locked his attention on him, a flare of blazing interest glistening in his eyes. He stretched a hand out, smiling coyly. “Hello, sir.”

“Please, call me Jong Hoon. I’m not as old as I look.” He clasped his hand with connotative pressure and held it longer than a regular handshake, maintaining the sparking eye contact all the while.

“You look young, Jong Hoon-ssi.” Keeping their hands tangled since Jong Hoon didn’t seem amenable to release him — and Taehyung didn’t complain since it only assisted his purpose — he slid into the chair next to him and let their hands rest on his thigh. “If I had to guess, I’d say you’re thirty years old.”

A flattered smirk painted over his traits with a scintilla of brashness, an ecstatic glint fueling his eyes. “I wish. But I’m thirty-seven years old.”

“You’re young! It’s a great age.” Taehyung giggled shyly and squeezed his hand before he released it for good. He perceived how Jong Hoon’s hand lingered on his thigh and noted it as another small victory. “Men your age are full of energy and zest. They’re mature, refined. They know how to treat people and even spoil their loved ones.”

“How do you know?” He slipped his chair closer to him, fusing them, and crossed his right leg over the other, accidentally touching Taehyung’s calf.

“I have the image of my father as a model. Silly me.” Taehyung used Jong Hoon’s thigh as a brace to lean on while a sweet giggle pushed out of his mouth. “That doesn’t mean all people are like him. I’m sorry. I forget about that sometimes. But something about you tells me you’re similar to him.” His tone dropped significantly, not even trying to hide the innuendos lacing his words.

“Excuse me,” the server uttered as he stood by their table. “Would you like to drink something?”

“Hmm—”

“Get him the most expensive and finest drink you have.” Jong Hoon’s full-throated, peremptory voice terminated Taehyung's remark before it even started.

Despite Jong Hoon being a target he had to seduce, he was handsome and charming to his eyes, and his eagerness to treat him, spoil him, give him everything he had, enchanted Taehyung more. “You heard the gorgeous man. I want the most expensive and finest drink you have, please.”

“Yes, sir.” The server bowed and headed off.

“Thank you, Jong Hoon-ssi,” he vocalized his name in an undertone, deep and raspy, knowing the significant sway his naturally low-pitched, guttural voice held on others.

“Don’t thank me, pretty. It’s my pleasure.” He sneaked a hand over his shoulders for a brief hug, a silent way of saying ‘don’t worry about it’, although Taehyung was seasoned enough to conceive that he plainly sought any minor excuse for physical contact.

Ah, he could read him like an open book! It was enthralling. He wasn’t just looking at him — he was peering into him, gouging out his thoughts, desires, needs, and lapping them up until he left him drained and vacant.

A foxy smile framed Taehyung's mouth as his eyes swung to the corners of his orbits, side-looking at the robust arm over his shoulders. He sensed it creep away, and he leaped at the chance to gawk at it; his well-shaped muscles were voluptuously distinct under the binding fit of his burgundy dress shirt, solid veins poking the fabric, ready to shred it.

His lecherous examination ghosted to his slightly exposed chest with two buttons unfixed and sloped to his long, slim neck with sexy cords adorning it. It assimilated his sharp jawline, stroking his parted, seemingly plush lips and concluded its journey with enmeshing with the impaling, painstakingly bewitched gaze of the handsome man.

He had Jong Hoon hooked, under his spell, poised to obey to anything his mind could craft and request. His eyes screamed anticipation, thrill, eagerness for him to say something, to do anything.

And Taehyung did. His smile grew an inch wider, causing his eyelids to drop and cover his eyes in half. Any semblance of seducement dissolved into simpering innocence with his smiley look, and he steered his regard towards Jay as if nothing happened.

The specific tactic was simple; give your full attention, devour them with your eyes, and ignore them. It always delivered in ways that had the targets more intrigued and eager to receive even a grain of attention again.

He conversed with Jay without sparing a glance to the side where the wealthy drug dealer was seated, but he made sure to “accidentally” caress his thigh when he dusted his slacks for no reason, or touch his foot with his own when he crossed his legs.

The most expensive and finest drink they had in store came as well — it was a glass of vodka called ‘Billionaire Vodka’ that a single bottle costed about nine million won.

“Cheers,” Taehyung uttered as he lifted his glass to clink it with the others’, and he held eye contact with Jong Hoon as he took a sip. “It’s amazing. And strong.”

“I’m glad you like it. You deserve this drink and more.”

He tittered upon studying his zeal for attention and nipped at his drink once more. A contented exhalation burst out of his mouth as he set the glass down, and he fanned his mildly heated face, shifting in his seat. “It warmed my blood,” he muttered on purpose, wanting Jong Hoon to strain to hear him, and he certainly did; he craned forward and focused all out on him.

Taehyung’s fingers worked on the buttons of his dress shirt, undoing two of them, and he tucked the collar to each side, ensuring that his collarbones were on full display. He flapped his hand to cool his face again and allowed his eyes to fleetingly pass over his target to ascertain that he was already gaping at him. He smirked mentally, but managed an insouciant expression and let him leer at his neck all he wanted.

“How’s work, Tae?”

“Good. Exhausting at times. I wish I had more free time.”

“What do you do for a living, Taehyung?” Jong Hoon questioned in a gravelly voice — a low tone he hadn’t heard him using before.

“I’m working at a cafe. Pretty boring, and it doesn’t even pay well. Or the problem is just my expensive taste.” Taehyung drew a kittenish shoulder up as he flashed him another one of his usual coy smiles.

His words combined with his mannerism had the tip of Jong Hoon's mouth twitching into his cheek. “You like expensive things?”

“I like high quality... things.”

“Hmm. I happen to have a lot of high quality things.”

“Then...” Taehyung decreased the gap between them, slithering into his personal space, and flicked imaginary lint off his dress shirt right below his collarbone. “I think we’ll have so much fun together.” His sultry gaze shifted to lock with his, and his smile spread to a slinkier one when he detected Jong Hoon’s deep inhalation, dragging on his rose-scented fragrance that was musky with the right dose of spiciness.

It was truly so deep and Jong Hoon seemed to bask in it so much Taehyung felt like he was a drag of the strongest and highest quality cocaine.

Taehyung dragged his lip between his teeth, gently sucking it, as he batted his eyelashes and tipped his head to the side a dot. “Do I smell nice?”

“I could get drunk on your scent, angel,” Jong Hoon said, breathy and guttural. He held his cheek in a surprisingly tender palm and smoothed his thumb over it as he leaned in.

“Jay is here, Jong Hoon-ssi,” he whispered, turning away in pretended timidity.

“We can fix that.”

“We will. I would like a taste of your high-quality things first if you don’t mind. I’m curious”—he wrapped an assertive hand around his nape and bent closer—“and I enjoy making out while I’m high,” he rasped in his ear, his lips not so accidentally brushing against his skin.

As shocking as it might sound to some given his profession, Taehyung hadn’t sniffed even a grain of cocaine before. He always produced an excuse at the right time to depart and requested to keep the pack of cocaine to taste it at home. And because of his bewitching, simpering ways, they couldn’t resist him anything. It was a lie, though, like everything that spewed from his mouth. He instead passed it to his boss for testing as he was instructed. Jin Mo always checked his rivals’ stuff.

Jong Hoon patently shivered and released a breath that sounded close to a stifled moan. “Let’s go then.” He searched for the server to pay their drinks, but his phone beeping stole his attention.

Taehyung’s victorious smile congealed while he monitored Jong Hoon’s face to convert into a steely one as he read the text, and it evaporated by the time he slipped his phone back into his pocket. He’s tense. Angry. Unsure about what to do.

“Everything okay?” Taehyung asked to disperse the presentiment weighing down upon his shoulders and nudging him to press the button on his ring.

The hard look he received alarmed him, but it transformed to a softer one so fast he almost dismissed it throughout.

“Yes, of course. Just business things. Don’t worry about it.” Jong Hoon called the server then and settled their bill.

Taehyung could sense a grim aura exude from Jong Hoon as they trod towards his car despite his reassuring words, and the closer they got to their destination, the more his disquiet amped up.

“Oh! Jong Hoon-ssi. I forgot I can’t stay out late tonight. My grandmother needs care and I have to give her medication. Unfortunately, our lovely night has to end here.”

“It’s okay, Taehyungie. Since we’re almost there, I’ll give you a pack to enjoy it at home. Consider it as a present.”

Taehyung investigated the saccharine smile dancing on his lips and squeezed his fist, pressing the tiny button on his ring. He cast a glance at Jay, his brows set in a hard line, creased, and lifted his hands tenuously to create an X — a signal denoting that something was surely off.

But it was too late for them to do anything. Jong Hoon was already in front of the trunk of his car and reaching inside. Then, he whirled to face them and aimed his Sig Sauer P365 pistol at Jay. “Who the fuck are you?”

Jay’s eyes enlarged in terror, his heartbeat skyrocketed, and he raised his hands slowly, his bottom lip quivering as he tried to speak. “What? Boss—”

The thunderous pop of the gun strangled his words, and a bullet pierced through his thigh, leading him to shrill and crash down the gravel-filled ground.

Taehyung flickered an eyelid at the noise, contracting his muscles so he wouldn't flinch.

“You fucking piece of shit. You think you can fool me? Who uses his regular phone to text someone about a secret mission? You thought you had gained my trust so much I wouldn’t put my men to check your phone anymore?”

“Boss, p-please,” he choked out, hissing in excruciating pain and clasping his ravaged thigh. “It’s a misunderstanding.”

“There’s only one place for snitches. And that’s hell.” He leveled at his head and pulled the trigger.

Taehyung jumped to the side of the car at once and did a forward roll, landing on a kneeled position. Flaring adrenaline thrummed through his system, choking off the stinging pain of his hands and back when they came in contact with the gravel ground.

“Your tricks won’t get you anywhere, fucker.”

Knowing what was coming, he tumbled under the car just in time before two more shots were fired. He reached the other side of the car and his eyes zoned in on a passerby who was gaping at the scene at a standstill. “Hide!” he vociferated and twirled around in his squat to locate the shooter.

“Shit,” Jong Hoon murmured when he heard the stranger talking to the police and scampered around the car.

Taehyung’s vigilant mode attributed to cotton on to the situation, and he kicked his legs back to straighten his body over the ground and roll under the car once again, hearing two more shots just a second later.

Suddenly, everything seemed as if it stilled and a taut silence fell upon them — such silence he could hear the banging of his heart growling in his ears. His head seesawed left and right with a two-second pause each time until he caught the gun protruding over the trunk.

In one fell swoop, he kicked the gun out of his hand and lunged at him, driving his fist into his face. And the moment he threw that punch, he knew he couldn’t overpower him and only managed to hit him because he caught him off guard.

Jong Hoon’s head flung to the side, but it stabilized again just as fast, and he delivered end-to-end blows on his face to the point blood spouted from his nose. His arm swung back, preparing for a roundhouse punch, but the sound of police sirens paralyzed him. “I’ll come for you, bitch.” He tossed him to the side and sprinted to the driver’s seat.

Taehyung dashed against the ground with a choked groan, staying frozen stiff for a stretch. He fenced in any pain no matter how penetrating and struggled to his feet, cogitating his options.

The comprehension that he could only wait for Jimin to come help him didn’t take long to settle in, but for his good luck, a familiar black van pulled up next to his limping body and two turbulent but rather comforting hands yanked him inside.

“Are you okay? Where does it hurt?” Jimin asked, frantic, as he laid him on the seat.

“Jimin,” he croaked out, a tiny smile forming on his bloody lips. “My angel, who always saves me.”

“Yah! Focus. Where does it hurt?” Jimin slid to the side to give room to the doctor to check his injuries.

“I’m okay. My face just hurts.”

“What happened?”

“Jay is dead.”

“What?” Jimin asked in shock, blinking on repeat as the appalling news flatly refused to sink in.

“Jay is fucking dead. That dumbass apparently texted me from his phone about our mission and Jong Hoon found out. And now he’s dead. He’s fucking dead.” The heaviness of the events slowly and achingly nested inside his heart, clenching and twisting it so much his bloated eyes overflowed with tears.

“His body... We should have taken his body.”

“The police were close. We wouldn’t have time, anyway.”

“This will hurt. You know the drill,” the doctor, Sengu, said as he held a cotton smeared with iodine to disinfect the nasty cuts on his lips and cheeks.

“Who called the police?”

Taehyung waited, unflinching, as the doctor dabbed the cotton at his lips and moved to his cheeks. “Someone saw what happened. He saw my face, and I even yelled at him to hide. I don’t know why the fuck I did that. And my blood is at the fucking crime scene. Again.”

“Don’t worry about that. You know they won’t find any information about you.”

“Are you sure? Are you sure it worked properly back then?”

Jimin faltered, eyes waltzing away from him as he cleared the hesitation from his throat with a cough. “Ye—yeah. Even if it didn't, I set up a trap, so you're safe either way.”

───⭒───༺🌑༻───⭒───

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