Kill Me Or Kiss Me? (JenKook)

14

Jennie

"So, Finnegan's going to be here in three days?"

Jungkook nods. "Yeah, him and half an army of IRA guys."

The car winds through the streets of the city and the sun is just starting to drop below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of pink and purple.

"Bernardo and Gabrielle aren't in the city for another two weeks." I murmur.

"Okay, so we hit O'Hara, then Marco, and wait for Bernardo and Gabrielle."

"Oh, it's 'we' now?"

"It's always been 'we'." He remarks quietly while turning the car at a junction. "You aren't doing this for me, jugeum. You're helping me, so I help you. Remember that."

He's a bastard, he really is.

His phone rings, the sound blasting from the car speakers loudly. He clicks a button on the steering wheel. "Yeah?"

"Boss, I have a gentleman here who wants to talk to you. Seems the Los Carlos think they're getting an unfair deal." I think it's Namjoon, and even I can hear the amusement in his voice. He's the only one of the three whose voice I'm not very familiar with, and only one of the three would be calling Jungkook direct.

"Where?" Jungkook asks.

"The club."

"On my way." The line goes dead and he turns the steering wheel hard, sending the car screeching down a side road.

His body bristles with tension, and I'm guessing this isn't good.

"Trouble in paradise?" I drawl.

He looks at me and holds my gaze far longer than he should considering he's driving.

"Par for the course, jugeum." The car jerks violently and I throw my arm out against the door to catch myself.

The Los Carlos are a smaller gang here in the city, heavily involved in drugs and seemingly supplied by Jungkook. The Italians have always run the cocaine trade in New York and they probably always will. If there's dissension amongst the dealers on the streets then it filters up, hitting everyone's pocket.

Eventually, he pulls the car up outside of a dirty looking little club in Hunts Point, South Bronx. A couple of guys in suits linger just outside the door, guns in hand and eyes shifty. When Jungkook gets out of the car they relax slightly and start talking to him in quick-fire Italian.

This isn't my business and has nothing to do with why I'm here. I should stay out of it, and yet I find myself opening the door. Morbid curiosity has me climbing out of the car. I place my cap on my head as I follow Jungkook to the door. He makes no move to stop me.

Inside, it's just as much of a shithole. The floors are sticky and the walls and ceiling are so tarnished with nicotine they're stained a dull brown. Smoke seems to hang in the air as if it's a permanent feature. An old jukebox in the corner is playing some soul music quietly, and in front of us, sprawled across the black and white tile floor are two bodies. Both are Latino, and neither of them can be older than twenty.

Namjoon stands with his back to us, toe to toe with another kid. This one is maybe twenty at a push. He squares up to Namjoon, gun in hand as he clenches his jaw and gets in Namjoon's personal space. Ten other guys are fanned out behind him, standing amongst the scattered tables and chairs that fill the bar.

Jesus, it looks like the scene of some cliché gangster film.

Jungkook pulls a chair out and takes a seat, bracing one arm on the scarred wooden tabletop beside him. Slowly reaching inside his jacket pocket, he takes out a packet of cigarettes, sliding one out.