A Kiss For A Kiss

06

"Little bitch!" I shriek, my voice rising in frustration as I miss the target for what feels like the millionth time. The target is a massive manikin, but I can't seem to hit its heart. "Ugh!"

"I'm disappointed," the jackass beside me says, his voice calm but loaded with condescension as he watches me mentally struggle to not tear out my hair.

"And I give a flying fuck," I spit, grinding my teeth together in frustration.

"Keep running your mouth like that, and I'll have to make a couple of things straight," he drawls, a vein popping on his forehead. I have to stifle a snort at his poorly veiled threat.

"I don't know your name," I suddenly say, eyeing him closely. His sinfully handsome face remains impassive, not a single crease betraying his thoughts.

"You didn't ask."

I groan, rolling my eyes. "So, what's your name, then?"

"Jeon," he responds, his voice even, yet watchful. "Jeon Jungkook."

I'm bewildered. Flustered, even, because the only thing running through my mind is how his name would sound if I screamed it out loud. Jeon Jungkook. A rare yet strangely addictive name, easy to say, and probably even easier to moan.

Whoa. What the hell is wrong with me?

Shaking my head, I glance at my bruised hands. Blisters scatter across my palms, courtesy of four straight hours of shooting practice. I've only just managed to hit the target consistently—if the distance is less than ten meters. Meanwhile, Jeon Jungkook, with his infuriating perfection, could probably hit a target a kilometer away without even looking. It's enough to make me curse whatever gods decided to create such a flawless human being. Even if he looks like Lucifer incarnate, it doesn't change the fact that I need to get my act together.

Ironically, we're at a McDonald's now, and I'm waiting for Jungkook to return with my happy meal. He's been waiting in line for half an hour, and from the looks of it, people are speeding up their orders to escape the feral look on his face. It's the first time I've seen any real emotion from him, and of course, it's impatience. The customers may fear him, but I also notice a different emotion on the faces of many women—and a few men: desire. Lust. Pure attraction. They crave him.

Not surprising. At all.

I'd be lying if I said Jeon Jungkook wasn't something to behold. The muscular frame, tattoos, piercings, and that "loved criminal" look—he's a living, breathing fantasy.

Just not mine. Not even close.

Ten minutes later, Jungkook slams my tray of food in front of me with zero ceremony.

"Finally!" I squeal, eagerly unwrapping my cheeseburger. "Mmhmm."

"Some might think you're eating steak instead of artificial junk," he rasps, downing his soda like it's the last drink he'll ever have.

"I become an animal when I'm hungry," I state matter-of-factly.

"Do you know when I become an animal?" he asks slowly, one eyebrow arching mischievously.

I tense at his unexpected question but decide to play along. "When?"

"When I fuck." His smirk deepens as his tongue toys with his lower lip piercing.

Suddenly, it feels like my entire body is on fire. My skin tingles, and sweat breaks out across my flesh. Unwanted images of his toned body over mine flash through my mind, of him growling like the beast he claims to be.

Stop, I command myself. The last thing I need is to start lusting after my enemy.

"You're disgusting," I snap, glaring anywhere but at him.

"And you're a liar."

I freeze mid-chew. "How so?"

"Because you won't admit how badly you want me to fuck you." He smirks again, his face still maddeningly unreadable. It infuriates me, how I can't get a read on him. I've always been good at figuring out what people are thinking, but with Jungkook? It's impossible.

"You're wrong," I spit, my face burning like it's been dipped in molten iron. Unable to bear looking at him any longer, I stand abruptly and head outside.

It's been an hour since I returned home, calling an Uber to take me back to my apartment. Lisa is out on a date with her girlfriend, so I'm left alone with my swirling thoughts.

Lying on my bed, I stretch out, feeling the ache in my shoulders build. God, I could use a massage. Being a restaurant manager means long hours hunched over emails, requests, and schedules—no wonder my back feels like a field of knives.

Then my thoughts drift, as they often do lately, back to Jimin and the mess I've been dragged into. When I went to my sister's house after Jimin sent me that photo of her tied to a chair, I saw a man get shot. When I later asked Jimin about it, he casually said he shot the guy because he didn't like wasting time. I've decided not to fully believe him—but I also can't dismiss it. Either possibility shakes me to my core.

Sometimes, ignorance truly is bliss.

"We're here!" Lisa's voice echoes through the apartment, startling me from my thoughts.

"Hey," I croak weakly, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over me. I cough as Lisa and Jennie make their way into my room.

"Chae," Jennie gasps, her face worried. "Are you okay?"

Guilt stabs me over how I treated her earlier. I smile weakly, trying to reassure her. "Don't worry. I'm fine."

"Babe!" Jennie calls out to Lisa. "Get me some painkillers and a wet towel!"

I groan. "I told you, I'm okay."

"Mmhmm," Jennie hums dismissively, ignoring me as she shoves a thermometer in my mouth. "God, you're burning up. Maybe we should see a doctor."

"No," I say firmly, shaking my head. "I don't want to."

"You're so stubborn," Jennie scolds. "I don't want you to be sick when we leave tomorrow."

"Huh?" I frown. "Where are you going?"

"Lisa didn't tell you?" Jennie looks genuinely confused. "We're traveling to Thailand. She wants to visit some friends, and her mom's coming too."

"Oh," I manage to smile, pushing down the pang of envy. "Have fun."

"Thanks. You too," Jennie says, pressing a cool towel to my forehead. "You'll have the apartment all to yourself for over a week."

"Cool," I mumble, though my fake enthusiasm doesn't fool anyone. I'm such a terrible liar.

Sitting at a new Chinese restaurant with Jennie and Lisa, I stare blankly at my veggie noodles. I feel nauseous, my appetite gone. Not that the food isn't good—it looks great. But when you feel like death warmed over, nothing seems appetizing.

"Roseanne," Lisa snaps, irritated. "Stop glaring at your food and eat."

"I don't want to."

"Why not?" She rolls her eyes.

"Whatever," I mutter, blinking back tears. I feel awful. "I'll find my own way home."

Before they can protest, I walk out into the cold night. The wind bites at my skin as I leave the warmth of the restaurant, my breathing growing shallow. Something's wrong.

Just as my apartment building comes into view, a hand clamps around my throat, and a bag is yanked over my head. Darkness engulfs me as I collapse into my captor's arms.