Speeding Into Trouble || Taekook

36

It was close to midnight, the kind of hour where the air felt thick and lawless. The underground arena thrummed with the low growl of distant engines and muffled bass, the concrete walls sweating with grime and secrets.

Jeongguk leaned against a pillar tucked in shadows, leather jacket creasing around his shoulders, exuding that practiced calm that masked the coiled tension beneath.

Before him, a deal was in motion. A client—older, a little too eager—shifted on his feet, glancing nervously at the weapon Jeongguk presented. Jeongguk held it lazily, like it was nothing more than an accessory, but his gaze was razor-sharp, unwavering.

"These'll do the job quiet. No mess unless you want one," Jeongguk said, voice low, threaded with a cocky drawl that left no room for doubt. His lips curled into a half-smirk, the scar on his knuckle catching the flickering fluorescent light as he handed it over.

The client exhaled, relieved, nodding like a damn puppet. "Appreciate it, Jeongguk. Always heard you were the best in the circuit."

"Don't just hear it," Jeongguk replied, tilting his head slightly, jaw ticking. "Remember it."

It was supposed to be routine. Smooth, forgettable. But then—Jeongguk's attention snagged on movement near the edge of the lot. His gaze, predator-sharp, darted past the nervous client to a shape stepping out from the shadows.

Kang. Jeongguk's smirk twitched, venom curling beneath his tongue. That bastard strutted in like he owned the goddamn asphalt. But Jeongguk's eyes weren't on Kang.

They locked on the figure beside him—half-hidden, close enough to cling, lit by the fractured arena lights just enough to tease a silhouette that did not fucking belong there.

Jeongguk's brows furrowed. The fuck's this?

And then—before he could finish the thought—Kang moved, hand sliding around them, pulling them in. Bold as fuck. And kissed them.

For a fraction of a second, Jeongguk's smirk dropped. Surprise cracked through his chest, edged with something sour and dark.

What the actual fuck am I watching?

The client stammered something about payment, snapping Jeongguk's attention back.

"Uh, yeah, we'll talk more on call later," Jeongguk cut the dealer off quickly, not even bothering to listen to the man's reply.

The client nodded and left without another word, disappearing into the night.

Alone now, Jeongguk took a step forward, boots crunching over gravel, eyes narrowing as he studied Kang and that hidden silhouette.

He couldn't make out details, just enough to know it was intimate. Too intimate. Too hidden. His pulse kicked up—not from jealousy, but that instinctual itch that screamed: This means something.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, head tilting as a humorless chuckle slipped out. "Well, shit... didn't see that coming." His voice was low, amused in a lethal sort of way.

He couldn't see the face, but the shape, the timing, the secrecy—it painted a dirty little picture that practically begged to be dragged into daylight.

Jeongguk rolled his shoulders, the leather stretching with the motion, and the smirk returned—this time darker, edged with mischief. "Fuckin' hell... my pretty boy's gonna love this one," he murmured to himself, voice dripping sarcasm and heat.

He turned away finally, mind already racing through the chaos this could spark. But before stepping back into the darkness, he shot one last glance over his shoulder, soaking in the scene.