𝓟𝓼𝔂𝓬𝓱𝓸 (Psycho) || •PJM• ✔️

𝓜𝓻. 𝓜𝓲𝓷

God fucking dammit!

You kick the trash can over, digging your nails into your palms. The anger blurs your vision, everything turning to red. 

This bitch. 

Jimin works for Mr. Kim? The owner of the damn city? Maybe even the state? 

That makes everything twenty times harder.

With a huff, you bring your phone to your ear, letting it ring a few times. "Yes?" Mr. Min's voice says.

"Were you ever going to tell me that my target is on Mr. Kim's good side? Or was that all part of the plan? Make me the scapegoat?"

"Mr. Kim and I go way, way back. I already informed him I have someone going after Mr. Park." 

"You should've told me," you reply, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. Why are you getting so emotional over this? This doesn't make any sense to you.

"I didn't see it as necessary information. I didn't think Mr. Park would tell you about his affiliation with Mr. Kim." 

"Wasn't the whole point to earn his trust?" you ask, trying your best to hide the desperation in your tone. You go still, feeling eyes on the back of your head. 

Shit. You're being followed.

"And I'm very pleased you've done your task well, but keep in mind that I wouldn't have sent you in if I thought you were in danger. You're my most valuable asset. You have my word I'd never put you in a place to be my scapegoat. Mr. Kim is fine with it, okay? He'll get another assassin. Let's just say he owes me one."

You clench your jaw, moving further down the alley to gain some distance from your 'friends' that are stalking you from the shadows. "Fine, but I want another job. Something to occupy me since Mr. Park is taking a little too long. He'll be a difficult one to crack." 

"I'd say you're doing well so far, but if you insist. I have one more target. I'll send you the details. Take him out tonight. I had another on the case but I'll transfer it."

"What did the target do?" you ask. 

"Steal from us. He thought it'd go unnoticed. Do whatever you want with the body." 

"Yes, sir. Am I dismissed?" 

"You're dismissed. Goodnight." 

You suck in a breath. "Goodnight." 

As soon as the phone call ends, you throw the device in your pocket and draw your knife, the thing hiding in the waistband of your tight leather pants. You whip around, holding the weapon close to you as you peer down the alley. A second ticks by while you listen closely, eyes wide as you observe. 

"I'm no idiot. Come out and show yourselves."

Almost instantly, two male figures step out from the shadows, wearing all black, as expected.

"Let me guess: Mr. Jeon sent you?" you ask. 

Mr. Jeon is one of the more popular mob bosses out there. You lied to Jimin when he asked who you worked for. You had an inkling he might be onto you, and if you told him you worked for Mr. Min, he might've figured it out.

Neither of the men reply, so, you make the first move. You throw your knife, the thing landing right in the chest of one of them. The other stares in shock at your bold move, but you don't give him time to process what the hell just happened. You run up to him, the man raising his fists and preparing to fight.

Due to your agility and stamina you've built over the years, you're able to slide on the ground, right through his open legs just before he punches. He gasps as you hop to your feet, punching him right as he whips around to face you. Your fist makes contact with his jaw, the blow landing hard and burning your fist. You have to shake it off and curse, blowing on the bruised knuckles as if that'll do anything.

The man staggers back, and you kneel and take the knife out of the other man's chest as he bleeds out.

You grimace and avert your eyes from the sight. Not that you have time to focus on the atrocity; there's more danger in the area. He charges at you, and he's able to knock you off your feet due to his natural strength.

When fighting men, intelligence and agility are the two traits on your side. They have the biological advantage, not to mention it hurts like hell when you punch them. Sometimes, or maybe most times, you wonder what life would be like if you didn't have to do this. If you could get away from all the horrors of the underworld. The horrors that have destroyed everything they've ever touched.

You do your best to elbow his back to get him off you. All you can do to retaliate is throw the gravel on the ground into his eyes, and that distracts him long enough for you to grab your knife—which dropped by your waist—and stab him.

The body falls on you, and you wince and groan from the dead weight. The scent and stickiness of the crimson substance oozing out of the man has you whimpering and squirming your way out from him. It takes a full minute of squirming due to the man's size and weight, but you manage to heave, gag, and escape.

You allow yourself the moment to sit against the brick wall of the alleyway and hyperventilate. It's not like you to be so weak, but you're tired. You're tired of all of this. Of every body that falls and every blood drop.

When will it ever end?