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Yoongi's hand around the handle of the black case with money, Namjoon had given him to get the tool, clenched. This was the part of his job he did not like, the part he never liked. The blonde was walking down a dark and filthy backstreet, old and dirty cobblestone under his feet. From the corner of his eye, he saw a prostitute with her hook-up. Her skirt did barely cover her ass and the fishnets did not change her appearance to the better. Seductively she leaned against the gray wall and tried to shove her pushed up boobs into his face from what the blonde could see. He felt sick when he looked at them from the corner of his eye.

He was on his way to do the shopping, how he liked to call it. When he had passed some shabby, dark-grey garbage bags, he saw the little familiar door and went over to knock on the rough, timeworn wood, that was bleached from rain and dust. The bumper, a giant with a scarred face and bare skull, had been informed and let him pass. Zico liked to impress. His bodyguards all looked like the man in front of the blonde. Scary but dumb. Watchdogs, that would kill for their owner.

He had found the old business card of his former contact at the bottom of his desk's drawer. Not that he needed it. The phone number and address of the man who owned the biggest underground network in the city were still burned into his mind. The other had been delighted to hear he was back in business. After he had been shot on his last job, Yoongi had decided to quit safecracking. He had enough of incompetent and ruthless people, who worked with their muscles and guns instead of their brain.

The stuffy air inside the room made the barista crunch his nose. It smelled like alcohol and sweat. But how could it not? After all, he was walking straight through a strip club. The barely clothed bodies of the mostly female dancers were wound around the shiny poles, spreading their legs. Yoongi would like to call it seductively, but it was not. Salacious and slutty would be the fitting terms. Well, a shitty strip club was a better hideout than one of the high-class clubs. Who would expect The King to sit behind such an ugly front?

The red and blue neon light hurt the blond man's eyes, and he tried to ignore his surroundings and went straight to the bar. Unfortunately, Zico only was at his office after midnight, for he preferred to reign his empire by checking on everything personally at day-time.

"I've got an appointment. Tell him Suga's here," he growled at the bar tender.

After two seconds of checking him visually, the man went through the black door behind the counter. When he came back, he gestured the blonde to follow him. Yoongi walked behind the bar and pushed through the wing door, entering the storage room. At the back was a simple concrete stair, that lead up to the next floor. He could walk the way in his sleep. In the next room, a plain hallway with black walls and illuminated by white neon lights, he was greeted by two more watchdogs. This time, they wore black suits. One of them had decided to put on black sunglasses. Yoongi had to hold back a snort. Ridiculous.

One of the men took his briefcase and examined the content, the other checked his body on anything that could be used as a weapon. The barista had to restrain the urge to pull back from the touch of the thick hands. Even though there was the fabric of his t-shirt he felt the need to shower after the examination. Last, they made him take off his shoes, a rather pointless action, for he wore sneakers with flat soles and not some leather boots where you could hide something in the heel. However, there was no point in complaining, and he continued his way barefoot.

The black door on the end of the hallway finally led him into the office, he had longed to visit. Zico could have chosen any front for his office, but he had not only decided to take a cheap strip club but the shittiest of all his strip clubs. The barista still thought he did it for the effect. Because what followed next was the opposite of the room beneath.

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