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1:47 AM.

In case of lending a 'hand', I'll help you visualize the fucking situation I am in currently. Not for some self pity. Just to let you know how shitty things can turn out when you are about to get blood on your hands.

I sat in the car waiting outside the brothel for the man that once went inside. His car still parked, men in suits smoking cigarettes. Probably annoyed the same as me.

Takami Sota.

Wanted for countless murders and kidnappings of girls; they might be over age, but he definitely took advantage of the alcohol. From the total missing reports made of 13 people, they found only two bodies, cut up nicely and wrapped in a garbage bag. I wonder what happened to the rest?

I shifted in my seat for the 50th time, annoyed to the point I might walk in there and drag that son of a bitch out by the collar. Yet, of course, doing that would increase my chances of getting caught.  

At exact 2:00 AM, I stepped out my vehicle. Fixing my neck tie. It was about time to check if the client had ditched. Was I fooled? No way. I crossed the deserted road, down the stairs to the heaven for monters feeding on sexual desires.

Loud music blasted, sweaty bodies; rubbing and grinned. Lips, mouths, tongue and hip dancing in the dark room lit by the neon lights. I swam through the sea of people to the stairs led to the lower floor. It was far bigger than it seemed from outside. Walking down this ever familiar hall way, at the end I came across another open room, however, quiet.

Those who actually came here for just a drink sat in silence drowning there worries with alcohol. Not to seem suspicious, I glanced the room once and sat in the corner.

My target laid unconscious on the sofa. I should've followed him in here from the very beginning.

I sighed underbreath and ordered myself a drink as well. Just a shot was what I promised myself; I didn't liked to drink during work hours. However, it had been a while since I last tasted such bitter flavour that I had lost control.

The blade can slip if the mind is hazy.

I stood infront of the bathroom mirror. My reflection showed everything clearly. Each and every drop of blood that covered my body. I turned the faucet wiping the blood clean from my hand, between my fingers. Ignoring the blood that had dried up in my finger nails. I slid my suit jacket and shirt to the tiled floor. Wiping the blood that dripped down my neck and chest, a knock on the front door interrupted my little cleaning session. Who could it be at this hour? I turned around carefully stepping in the hallway. My eyes glanced at the clock above the landline table.

3:23 AM.

Trying my best not to make any unnecessary sounds, I pulled out my gun from waist of my pants at the back.

Bare back against the door, I parted my lips to ask who it was, however, the statement after the second knock had me sighing heavily.

'Mr. Lee, open the door,'

This voice.

I swinged open the door a little too fast. Hiding gun in my right hand behind the door.

I raised a brow at the soul standing in my door way in a familiar hoodie. Clearly stolen from my wardrobe. The smile that made its way on his lips when our eyes met, I forgot I was supposed to be angry at him showing up at this hour.

'Oh la la,' he muttered in a joyful manner watching me shirtless. Taking advantage of my speechless figure the boy skipped pass me inside. I closed the door behind.

The Last Mission | MarkhyuckWhere stories live. Discover now