Cat's Cradle

III: A Series of Car Rides

The other driver was dead. Jungkook cursed under his breath, unable to recognize our attacker. He dealt with the police as soon as they arrived, leaving Jimin and I to sit on the curb.

"Kang-yeol's the son of the old right-hand, Yoongi's dad's," Jimin explained. "So far his attacks have been mild—tampering with minor weapon holds, backing competitors in both our legitimate and illegitimate endeavors, etc."

I nodded. My head pounded, from both the impact and the realization that we had been deliberately attacked. In my line of work, there was always the fear of arrest or a particularly vengeful CEO, but never people who actively wanted me dead.

Jimin smiled gently, nudging my shoulder. "Taehyung's on his way to take us to Yoongi."

"Ugh, seriously?" Grimacing, I glanced up at him. "I need a nap, not him on my back."

"Don't worry. Your name's all cleared—no offense, but you're just the police's convenient desperation card, not some end all pawn of Kang-yeol's."

"As long as the hot boss man isn't trying to kill me," I said with a shrug.

Jungkook approached us, his hands shoved into his pockets. "They said we can get compensation for the car." He took a seat beside Jimin, throwing an arm around his waist. "And I got a name, so we know which glorified plug to kill."

Jimin leaned happily into his arms. "Tae's on his way. How's Thai sound for dinner?"

I couldn't understand Jimin's blunt unaffected attitude. His boyfriend had nearly avoided death, yet he was more worried about dinner and future filming then his mortality. 

Taehyung's car perfectly matched the prototype in my head—a black Mercedes S-Class with a black interior. Jimin sat beside me in the back, and I briefly entertained the thought of Mercedes being a proud Min family sponsor.

"We're having Thai for dinner," Jimin leaned forward, draping his arms around Jungkook's seat. "Want to join us, Tae Tae?"

He shook his head. "Yoongi's probably going to send us after the jackass who arranged the whole shit show."

"Damn, I forgot about that," Jimin muttered under his breath. "But before you have to do that?"

Taehyung shrugged. "We probably won't have time, between debriefing and whatnot."

Jimin slouched back into his seat, crossing his arms with a huff. "Fine. I'll make sure there's no leftovers for you, and then you're going to be sad and eat soggy, instant rice because Yoongi's not gonna get up and cook for you."

Snorting, Taehyung rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the well wishes, Jiminie."

"You're not going out with them?" I asked, turning to Jimin.

"Do you really think I'm a fighter, when I have skin this flawless?" He stared at me, brow raised incredulously. "I spend my time around porn stars, not violent—" He paused, searching for the right word before starting over with another angry huff. "I mean, I'm a porn director, not some burly gang dude."

"Eloquently said, Chimmy." Taehyung smirked at him through the rear view, laughing when Jimin flipped him off. His speech was rather ironic, given that both his friend and boyfriend were "burly gang dudes."

"Well, anyways." Jimin smoothly returned the conversation back to dinner. "Ha-eun and Jungkook and I will have Thai without you."

Minutes later, we reached the garage of some ostentatious Gangnam-gu complex, owned by Yoongi, according to Jimin. Taehyung punched the button for the topmost floor, because where else would a mafia boss live besides the penthouse of a building located in Seoul's wealthiest district?