⊱ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ • 𖥸 • ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⊰
"Mercy?" He repeats. "That's it?"
"Yeah, Mercy," I reply. He takes his phone out of his pocket and unlocks the device, then begins typing.
"I'm texting him. I want to make sure you're not lying. What's your last name?" He asks, keeping his head tilted down and waiting for my response.
"Don't have one," I answer honestly. It causes him to glance from his phone to me, and then he gulps thickly and looks away.
I grew up in an orphanage, and it's not at all what it's made out to be. Some orphanages are good, but the one where I grew up wasn't sunshine and rainbows like some TV shows like to picture them to be. No, it was hell.
The people running the orphanage were abusive and lacked the skills needed to take care of children, much less newborn babies. It was pathetic growing up in that. Luckily, I survived until I was old enough to run.
Once I reached fifteen, myself and a few other kids left. We were never going to be adopted, and we all knew it. We abandoned the place and went out looking for work. That's how I acquired my current job as an assassin in the first place.
I began with simple deliveries involving cash, drugs, guns, and anything else that could be shipped off into a small package-human body parts included.
It soon progressed into dangerous territory. I crashed in dirty, uninhabited apartments, slept on the nasty streets, and even broke into cars to have somewhere to lay my head at night.
Turns out $10 doesn't buy much after doing a delivery. I could barely afford to feed myself, but the idea of having a roof over my head was a joke. I was homeless and nearly broke, but it was still better than being in that orphanage again.
Once I started killing, I could afford to take better care of myself. I was able to rent motel rooms, order takeout, and even almost bought a motorcycle for the hell of it. I was living. For the first time in my life, I truly felt alive, but it had a cost: my humanity.
Time passed and eventually, I met Namjoon one night in a club. One moment led to another, and I ended up finding a place to live at Namjoon's. He
wasn't the first man I ever slept with, but he was the only one that I thought I could rely on."I'm sorry..." He mumbles, pulling me out of my thoughts.
There's no reason to apologize. I'm not weak and don't like pity, but I can tell he's being genuine.
"It's fine, everyone goes through shit." I sigh.
He nods. "Well, anyways I'm Jungkook," he reaches out his hand to shake mine. I glance at his hand, then back up into his brown eyes.
"Uh-huh, you see, Jungkook," I straighten in my seat, not taking his hand. "As much as I enjoyed your performance upstairs, you didn't wash your hands." I fold my arms over my chest, making no movement to shake his hand.
He rolls his eyes, lightly laughing at my hesitation. "I wiped it off-"
"With a tissue," I remind. "My point still stands. I'm not shaking your hand until it's washed."

YOU ARE READING
𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐇𝐘 || 𝐊.𝐓𝐇
FanfictionThey say he's the deadliest man alive, but they've never met her. Kim Taehyung is a mafia leader, residing in Nevada. She's a skillful assassin who suddenly ends up living with him after a not-so-fun-night at a casino. She's an orphan in search of...