RDM | MW [✔]

03. Mingyu/Wonwoo

Mingyu

He'd gotten under my skin.

I didn't fucking mind.

My kitten could tear me open with his claws and slip beneath my bones if that's where he felt safest.

The fascination I had with him began as nothing more than mere intrigue. A boy who loved murder. The sheer thought of his existence was enough to make my pulse quicken, but the second I'd seen those big baby boy eyes, fascination had burned into something much darker—something more intense, more feral.

I was no longer just curious about his past. My questions demanded answers and discovering what had broken him had become my new top priority.

But... Christ.

I didn't think I could handle the answer without burning down a small town.

The body below me had four holes in it—that was three times the amount they usually did, and the blood that pooled around my feet indicated my newfound aggression. One bullet ripping through his flesh just wasn't enough, and fuck, it might never be again.

Sliding my gun into its holster, I cast another glance at the corpse. He'd already begun to pale, the color slipping from his skin as quickly as his soul slipped from his chest. Fear was forever imprinted across his expression, laced throughout his lifeless eyes and unhinged jaw. He was painted in his own blood, and eventually, he'd be burned alongside it too.

I crossed the room with careful steps, but somehow I'd managed to drown the bottoms of my boots in a mixture of this guy's blood and piss. There was a hose in the corner of the room for this type of predicament but I rarely had to use it. I was a one-shot kind of man.

Until last night.

All remaining shreds of my sanity had fucking snapped.

Anybody who'd found themselves on the wrong side of my gun served as a proxy for a man whose soul I'd stolen two years ago.

I didn't have a name, but I'd spent all fucking afternoon thumbing through files of all the bodies I'd dropped, memorizing each and every one, so when Wonwoo finally looked up at me with those big eyes and uttered a name, I'd know.

The faucet squealed when I cranked the handle, and after a second, I heard it chug and water came pouring out of the end of the hose. I took my time rinsing my boots, sending any remaining traces of Parker Kelly down a small, rusted drain.

Passionate, messy kills weren't my trademark, and the clean-up crew would likely be high levels of miffed.

I just couldn't find any fucks to give.

Flipping my hood over my head, I stepped out into the night, pulling bouts of air into my lungs. They'd been tight since last night, and it wasn't a feeling I fucking enjoyed. My shoulders ached with tension, and even as I tried to roll them out, they still felt like stone beneath my sweatshirt.

The sound of my stilted breathing was buried under the subtle noise of gravel crunching beneath my boots. My car was only a dozen steps away from Seungcheol's murder house, and the second I tore open the door, my phone buzzed against my thigh. I pulled it from my pocket and dropped into the driver's seat.

Unknown caller.

I connected the call. "This is Kim."

"Uhm, hi. Mingyu?"

That voice.

It was my new favorite sound—every infliction and hitch of breath. Wonwoo's voice was soft, and so fucking sweet, I was convinced his lips tasted like sugar.