young spy | jjk

01

Jeongguk struggled to keep his eyes open. His body was hurt, sore, and just overall tired, his hands no longer straining against the strong zip ties used to bind them behind his back. He'd been scared, no, terrified, but he didn't have the energy for that anymore.

He was going to die. In just a few minutes, five at most, he would take his very last breath.

What a fool he had been. Truly, what a fucking fool. Just because he was used to always getting away, always getting out alive, didn't mean that he was invincible by any means. Not only had he gotten caught this time, but he'd also dragged his best friends—his brothers—down with him.

Something more than exhaustion prevented him from glancing towards Jimin and Namjoon, who he knew must've felt equally as scared and worried as he had. Maybe they could've found some solace in each other's eyes. If only he wasn't being eaten from the inside.

He couldn't decide if he was relieved or even glad that he would be the first one out of the three to go. Of course, the one at the very back of the line stood the best chance of surviving, but out there, in the middle of the goddamn forest, nothing was going to stop the way too smug executioners from doing their job. They were going to die, but at least he wouldn't have to see his brothers go. He'd already be gone by the time it would be their turn.

Out in that eerie forest, the three of them were far from alone. After that failure of a mission—Jeongguk's very first failed one—they had practically been driven straight to that spot. The others must have been kept somewhere else before they ended up there.

Those others all had a few years on Jeongguk, Jimin, and Namjoon, making Jeongguk the youngest out of everyone present. Even the men whose hands—instead of being tied behind their backs—carried guns, were quite a bit older.

With the deep hole in the ground now finished, more dirt staining Jeongguk's damp skin than anyone else's, it was time.

---

You cursed at the fact that these things always occurred late at night when there was no other light source than what was reflected by the moon and the headlights of your car. The light bounced between the trees as you drove past them, the thin dirt road unknown to anyone except you, your uncle, and his men.

When a deafening sound was heard, causing the tops of the trees around you to shake as birds chose to flee them, you sped up. An uneasy feeling enveloped you and made your stomach its home. They had already begun.

A total of three gunshots had gone off as your car finally entered the tiny clearing, catching everyone already there by surprise and halting the bullets. Clearly, you weren't expected. You took a deep breath, collecting yourself before opening the car door and stepping out. There were a lot of people there, and you were outraged.

"Y/n, I thought you'd be out of town?" A masculine voice asked with what sounded like both caution and shock.

It was Marcus, your uncle's right-hand man. Or at least he thought he was his right-hand man, but truth be told, he was more of a butler. An idiot in charge of the other idiots.

"Doesn't fucking matter, does it? You know damn well you're supposed to call me," you glared at the man. There were around twelve men there, your uncle's included. Twelve men and you. Their big, black cars stood parked in a wide circle, the sharp headlights lighting up the private gathering. You directed your gaze towards the deep hole in the ground.

"How many?"

"Three."

With determined footsteps, you started walking closer to it, feeling the weight of so many eyes on your form as you did. Well there, you peered down and once again tried to keep your cool. Three gunshots, three bodies. One young looking one.

Your observation only lasted a second, longer than that would be pointless. Your eyes found the line of men waiting to follow the first three, to get a bullet embedded between the eyes and fall into what would become a mass grave.

One by one, you inspected them. You saw some plead through their eyes as their mouths had been taped shut before you returned your gaze towards the one who was next in line. Two men were holding onto his bound arms to prevent him from escaping, but you doubted he'd attempt anything like that.

He didn't look at you. He didn't look at anything, his eyes closed and head tilted back. Even though he had been hauled to stand closer to the grave as it would be his turn, he didn't show any signs of fear.

When you'd let your eyes travel over all the captives, only two others appeared to be around his age. Both of them, number two and three in line, had tape across their mouths, and they both sported those pleading eyes. As you had appeared, they seemed to flicker upset gazes between each other, you, and the brown-haired man in front of the grave. They belonged together.

A few slow steps later, and you stood in front of him. Up close, you could see that his eyes were open, but only by a sliver. If he had opened them just recently, or if you simply hadn't noticed, you didn't know.

For some reason, all the other men seemed to be in much better shape than him. They were anxious and stressed, sure, but they didn't look like they were about to pass out with dark dirt covering their skin.

"What's up with this one?" You asked bluntly, never averting your inspecting gaze from the young man.

"What do you mean?"

"Why is he so much dirtier than the rest? Not to mention, he can barely stand up," there was nothing but silence as you spoke.

Honestly, you had a pretty good guess as to what had happened, but you wanted it confirmed.

"He is by far the prettiest one here. You know I'm allowed to take whoever I want, right? And I'm definitely interested in this one, so I want to know what happened to him."

Your hands placed themselves on the man, one on his left shoulder and the other on his right cheek as you started a brief physical inspection of him. Even though he hadn't had his mouth taped shut like some of the others, he didn't say anything. You figured that he simply didn't see the point in fighting you. After all, there was nothing he could do, so he allowed you to trail your hands over him, watching you with tired, barely open eyes from above.

In what could've been deemed an affectionate gesture if not for the circumstances, your thumb came up to stroke over his cheekbone, clearing some dirt from it and making him look at you. Then, your hand graduated to his forehead, pushing away his long, dark strands as to get a proper look at his face.

He was handsome. No point in denying that. Yet, the look on your face remained stoic as you took in the sight of him. The dirt still covering parts of his skin didn't conceal any of his beauty, his strong, yet soft features. He'd been blessed with everything from a sharp jawline, prominent cheekbones, a nose with a slight hook to it, to soft-looking, inviting lips, and dark eyes. The epitome of masculine beauty, really.

In an ideal world, you would've gladly kept staring; the vision of the man in front of you making you feel so many different emotions. Who was he? Who could he have become?

As you were forced to continue to not cause unnecessary suspicion, the hand on his face came to join the other but at the opposite shoulder. It was relatively mild out, not too cold for the black, pretty tight t-shirt he was wearing. It showed off his slim waist and ended at his hips, where his black cargo pants started. Your hands traveled from his shoulders, down his firm arms and up again. Then they made contact with his chest, and once again, you could feel just how well built he was.

You wondered how they had managed to capture him. Marcus, finally deciding to answer you, seemed to also have read your mind.

"We had him dig the hole. He and the other two young ones work for the government. We caught them spying, and this one, in particular, had a real bratty attitude!"

You weren't going to say anything to that, just roll your eyes, but as your hands reached the man's abdomen, he flinched. Immediately, your eyes turned to his face, just in time to witness it contort with pain.

Determined yet softly, you grasped the hem of his shirt and lifted it up over his stomach, your blood starting to boil.

"Marcus!" you spat. "Tell me, why does he have fucking whip marks?!"