Blood and Gasoline

Prologue

Wild and restless nights were not uncommon in the whirlwind of a reckless and impulsive lifestyle. Filled to the brim with drugs and alcohol, the club Viper was an all-night-long party. Scantily clad women would dance to their hearts' delight on the circular stage in the centre of the room, surrounded by onlookers of awestruck men and jealous women, both equally as drunk and flustered as the other. A dimly lit booth giving the perfect view of both the dancers and the rest of the club was situated on a platform away from the general public and directly opposite the bar. Usually home to a group of six men – all of them equally dangerous and handsome – and whichever lucky few women had been chosen for the night, the booth was where everyone wanted to be. Just to the right of the booth was a large wooden door which nobody, except those who were honoured enough to be sitting in the booth, knew what was behind. Many thought it was the cellar, where they kept barrels of booze. Others secretly believed that it kept something a lot more sinister hidden. Little did they know, they were right.

Viper was not only the most prestigious club in the city but was also the hub of all things dark and violent. Its owner more reckless than what was probably humanly sane and its' consumers unknowing to what they pay for, or rather who. Nobody outside of his blood-coated bubble knew what he was really capable of. To any regular onlooker or party goer he was just like any other charismatic and mysterious club owner – comfortably drunk, very flirty but has high standards and an arse to put it lightly. However, being lethal with a knife and fuelled by pyromania, to those that knew him he was much, much worse. This cold-blooded killer knows not of love, only of lust and hate – the fuel to the fire which makes him unstoppable. Never before has he failed in devouring his prey, much to the world's unfortunate fate. Many have tried to turn him away from his life of crime but none have lived long enough to succeed.

Yet life as a mafia boss wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. Yes, he had innumerable wealth and more girls aching for his attention than he cared for but he was haunted. Haunted by those he had killed. Those he had was cared for. Those he hated. Those he knew nothing about. Those that were mere collateral damage. It didn't matter. He would always be consumed by what he had done. But it was too late to go back now. With every person he killed, he fell deeper into Wonderland - a twisted Wonderland aglow with flames and doused in blood. Constantly having a target on your back causes a state of paranoia that many mistake for insanity. Min Yoongi was many things: a pyromaniac, a murder, a snake, but insane was not one of them.

His men were loyal, probably out of fear but none of that mattered. All that did matter was making sure his empire was strong. And strong it was. With a seemingly impenetrable wall of armed men by his side, none of them afraid of putting a bullet between someone's eyes when necessary, how could it not be? All of their attacks and deals were carefully calculated and had yet to go wrong. Of course, he had his enemies that had tried to take his crown of knives - too many to count - but who doesn't?

He lived a less than perfect life, but he was rich and feared so he was happy. Well, as happy as a man in his profession could be. Not living a "normal" life had never bothered him before. To be completely honest he hadn't thought about it at all. Why would he? He was basically royalty in his own right - a king without a queen ruling over a twisted kingdom with a sadistic love of chaos and destruction. Would his murderous ways that he had held onto for so long eventually cause his own downfall? Probably. Would it stop him from falling in love? Maybe. Would it stop him from truly living? Never.