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Back when I used to live in Daejeon, each biker had a certain area of expertise.
For some, it was handling a gun. Or a knife. Or just a bike. Yes, the motorcycle part had been a given for all of us, but some of us specialized in it. Some were better at problem solving, some were physically more powerful, some had tongues stamped with silver.
I had been assigned to a relatively simpler job, because my inclinations didn't align with the others'—I was a racer. I always had been.
Kang Yeosang, in turn, was a killer.
His stature was smaller than some of the others I had known in the bikers, but I knew the power he packed in his slender physique. A few strands of golden-blonde hair brushed his forehead, and he had a deceptively easy smile on his face, the same smile that had probably been the last thing his victims had seen.
"Yeosang." My voice was even, much to my surprise, as he calmly stroked the barrel of his gun.
There was no haste in his movements. He, like me, didn't expect anyone to show up. The door was still open, but he kicked it shut with one swift, almost soundless motion, effectively cutting us off from the rest of the floor. Privacy, in its darkest form.
The level of fear I felt had skyrocketed, accentuated by the fact that I had no way to defend myself. This situation was the very thing I had been the most afraid of—facing my past. Although I had expected someone more experienced to be sent to exterminate me, like Jaebum or Yukhei, I knew that Yeosang was his own level of dangerous.
I had never had a chance to work closely with him, but I knew that he enjoyed toying with his targets. Breaking them emotionally before he went in for the kill. This was the worst way to go, I realized, and I couldn't possibly go through a more excruciating process. This was the worst situation, the one alternative I had been the most terrified of, and strangely, accepting the thought made me feel more at ease.
His lopsided grin widened, and he stretched his arms behind his head, catlike. The movement was unbalanced, making him seem undefended, but his stance was perfect. If I went in now, I would be getting my neck snapped.
"How's racing been for you?" He asked conversationally. My pulse, which had earlier reached the peak of its speed limit, began to slow down. It was as if my mind had broken under the strain of all the fear I'd felt, and a strange calmness spread through me like a shot of tranquilizers.
"Good enough," I replied just as casually, but my mind was racing, trying to figure out the best way to get me out of this room alive. This wasn't about winning the fight anymore, it was about survival. All of a sudden, Baekhyun's words made sense. "Doesn't murder get boring?"
