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"What the fuck?"
The leech's lips, slick with the remnants of Taehyung's skin, pulled away from his jaw as the abrupt shout shattered the quiet. His eyes shot wide open, and his mouth hung ajar in confusion. He was about to lash out, to reprimand his colleague for the interruption, when—before his tongue could even form the words—a sharp, searing pain shot through his skull. It was as though his mind was being cleaved in two, and he slumped against the back of the chair, unconscious before he could even brace himself.
The sound of frantic struggle broke the stillness—his friend, the blond one, squirming violently against his restraints. Taehyung's brow furrowed in annoyance, his pout deepening as he shot an almost sulking glare at Jungkook, standing by the couch, baton in hand.
"Oh, right," Taehyung muttered, a twisted grin forming as he snatched the baton from Jungkook's hand. Without hesitation, he lashed it down hard on the gangster's head. The man crumpled instantly, his body going limp and falling against his unconscious comrade. The gambler's laugh was dark, playful—like a child gleefully breaking his toys. He danced on his feet, striking Jungkook across the back for his trouble.
"Why the hell did you come early?"
From the shadows, Namjoon's figure emerged, his eyes gleaming with something wild and dangerous, a predator's gaze. He strolled into the room with the kind of deliberate, almost mocking swagger only a man in full control could manage.
"He was jealous."
"Seriously?" Seokjin, emerging from behind his hidden spot, shook his head, his frustration evident. "Your jealousy could've cost us the whole mission."
Hoseok, carrying Minjun's fragile form on his back, muttered something under his breath. Minjun clung to him, his grip tightening as the youth's body shivered in the cold air, the desperation in his voice ringing out.
Once Jimin finally stepped out from the changing rooms, the last of the gangsters, the group fell into an uneasy silence. They surveyed the unconscious men sprawled on the sofa. Their mission was simpler than expected. Namjoon chuckled darkly, the sound hollow.
"This is easier than I thought," he muttered, rubbing his chin with amusement. "Jungkook, I'll take one. Jimin, help Hoseok with the kid. Let's get out of here."
The air inside the bar was thick with the acrid stench of sweat and grime, the kind of smell that clung to your skin and pierced through your nostrils like a physical assault. The silence of the central area stood in stark contrast to the chaos outside. The usual caretakers had mysteriously failed to show for their shifts, leaving the bar abandoned, its floors littered with the aftermath of whatever had transpired before.
The men's expressions twisted in revulsion as the smell hit them all at once.
"God," Hoseok muttered under his breath, wrinkling his nose. "That's disgusting."
