“You signed the contract,” Namjoon reminded the woman cringing on the floor before him. “Deliver the shipment at the appropriate time and we won’t need to discuss this further.” A discreet hand signal instructed the men and women flanking him on either side to step forward, seize the woman, and haul her from the room.

 

The door shut with a quiet click, cutting off the sound of muffled sobbing and halfhearted struggling. Namjoon sighed and left from a different door, not bothering to acknowledge the figure that peeled itself from the shadows and fell into step just behind him. “You’re generous.”

 

Namjoon rolled his eyes as he stepped into the elevator. Yoongi pressed the button for the sixth floor. “I don’t want to kill her,” he complained. “I just want my damn shipment. Killing her won’t make that happen.”

 

Yoongi shrugged and followed Namjoon out without saying anything else. They entered a room protected by both a keypad and manual locks. It was small and brightly lit, filled with sleek tables, counting machines, and bags and briefcases of various shapes and sizes.

 

“Hey, boss!” one of the two men inside greeted.

 

“Taehyung,” Namjoon nodded in acknowledgement. “Jungkook.”

 

“Almost done with this batch,” the dark-haired man said, carefully placing a wrapped block of bills into a metal case.

 

Namjoon joined him at the table and hefted the next carefully counted brick of cash. “Looks good. The shipment should come in the day after tomorrow. I’ll be taking the lead and I expect everything will go smoothly. We’ll have Yoongi and Jimin for insurance.”

 

“Great!” Taehyung smiled, sounding relieved. Jimin was second in command and Yoongi was Namjoon’s personal bodyguard and go-to guy for delicate situations that needed taken care of. The fact that Namjoon, Jimin, and Yoongi would be present for one transaction meant that it was extremely important and if anything went wrong, bullets were going to fly.

 

The sudden sound of a ringing phone was loud in the small space. Taehyung and Jungkook hurriedly checked their pockets because phones weren’t allowed in the counting room and the consequences if caught were unpleasant. Yoongi frowned at Namjoon, whose own brows were furrowed. The boss dug a sleek, black phone from his pocket and sure enough, it listed an incoming call from an unknown number.

 

“…sir, that’s your private line.”

 

Namjoon cut Yoongi off with a simple gesture. There was no need to state the obvious. The number to this line was personally handed out to specific people, meaning only a very exclusive group had access to it. He had their numbers as well, so no one would have shown up as an unknown caller. His two employees watched silently as their boss answered the call and slowly raised the phone to his ear.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Hello, this is Nurse Donghae with Southland General Hospital. Your number is listed as the emergency contact for Kim Seokjin, who was just admitted to our hospital via ambulance.”

 

Namjoon narrowed his eyes in guarded surprise. This could be a ruse by one of his rivals. He could have been betrayed or perhaps an ally was taken out and the number stolen. That being said, Namjoon was never one to back down from a challenge. “Of course,” he said. “What happened?”

 

Yoongi’s eyebrows rose even though he couldn’t hear the other half of the conversation. He always had good instincts for when his boss was about to cause trouble.

 

“Mr. Kim was involved in a hit and run. His condition is stable, but he’s currently unconscious. We believe he may have a concussion,” the no-nonsense voice said.

 

“That’s terrible,” Namjoon replied, pitching his voice a bit lower to sound sympathetic. “I’ll be right there.”

 

“Excellent,” the nurse said. “We’ll be expecting you.”

 

“Thank you for letting me know. See you soon.” Namjoon ended the call and looked at his employees, who were all staring at him with mixed expressions.

 

“What did you just do?” Taehyung asked suspiciously. He was always braver than his compatriots when it came to speaking casually to the boss.

 

“Find me everything about a man named Kim Seokjin and get the name of his real emergency contact,” Namjoon ordered instead of answering. “Yoongi, call a car around. We’ve got a patient to visit.” He grinned, the sight of it making Taehyung and Jungkook quickly turn back to their stacks of money. It was always exciting when someone on the scene, new or recently uppity, thought they could take him out. Entertainment like that couldn’t be bought.

 

He exited the room with the ever-faithful Yoongi following at his customary distance.

 

“Who are you, Kim Seokjin?” Namjoon murmured. “And what do you really want?”

 

---

 

When the nondescript black car pulled up to the hospital’s visitor entrance, Namjoon opened the door to slip out, but Yoongi quickly threw himself over his boss’s lap and yanked the door shut.

 

“I’m assuming you have a good reason for that, Yoongi,” Namjoon said, tone measured.

 

The bodyguard wasn’t at all fazed by the glare aimed in his direction. “Glasses and jacket. Lose them.”

 

“You-”

 

“You look like a mob boss,” Yoongi deadpanned.

 

“I am a-”

 

“Lose them.”

 

Namjoon groaned but slipped out of his jacket and reluctantly handed his dark sunglasses over to the patiently waiting Yoongi. He tucked them into an inside pocket, mussed up Namjoon’s hair a little, and leaned over again to open the door.

 

“Do I have your approval, mother?”

 

“I’ll follow,” Yoongi said. “You’ll be informed as soon as our people come up with the information. Try not to get shot or otherwise murdered.”

 

Miffed at being talked to like a child, Namjoon fixed his hair and slid out of the car. “If I get shot, at least I’m already in a hospital.” He smirked and slammed the door on Yoongi’s unimpressed expression.

 

The hospital’s layout was familiar. He spent time there visiting his employees when they were injured in the line of duty or business partners on the mend from some Yoongi or Jimin’s generous encouragement. He smiled charmingly at the young man at the help desk and casually leaned a hip against the edge. “Hi, Nurse Donghae just called me. I’m the emergency contact for Kim Seokjin, who was just admitted. Can you tell me his room number?”

“Of course, sir,” the receptionist said, ducking his head and blushing faintly. “Kim Seokjin…ah! He’s on the third floor, room 314. It says they were taking him for x-rays, but he should be back by the time you get up there. Anything else I can help you with?” He glanced up shyly.

 

As much as it hurt to do so, Namjoon had to reluctantly admit that Yoongi knew what he was doing. When he went around town, people usually avoided eye contact and hurried by, but the just-had- hair and the way the lack of shades and suit jacket softened his appearance apparently made him y and approachable. He actually missed the intimidation a little, not to mention this kid wasn’t his type. It was nice to be appreciated, though.

 

“No, that’s all. Thank you for your help.” He smiled again and made his exit. A sly look back showed the kid peeking from over his shoulder and he actually yelped when their eyes met on accident.

 

Namjoon chuckled the whole way up to the third floor, only stopping when the elevator doors opened and the hospital staff gave him a weird look. Room 314 was easy enough to find. The door was open, so Namjoon poked his head inside. The bed was empty. Either Kim Seokjin never existed and he was walking into a trap or the man hadn’t returned from his x-ray.

 

He didn’t startle when a hand tapped his shoulder; he always knew, somehow, when Yoongi was near. “No information yet. Let me go first,” the silent bodyguard murmured.

 

Namjoon knew better than to argue. Yoongi had a job and he was good at it, the best. He didn’t make it this many years as a crime lord by insisting he check out suspicious situations without proper research and backup. It was always a wonder to watch Yoongi work; he could strip a room in a matter of minutes, finding every bug, camera, and secret hiding place with such ease that it seemed he knew where they were located before he even stepped inside.

 

“Room’s clear.”

 

“I think they’re running x-rays on him,” Namjoon said as he finally entered. “Any word?”

 

“Not yet.” Yoongi’s frown was slight, but thunderous. Namjoon was of the mindset that while he was the boss, pissing Yoongi off was more dangerous by a longshot. He could kill you and have you sectioned into neat, even pieces before you even realized he was coming for you. Thankfully, the bodyguard’s ire wasn’t quite that lethal when aimed at the other employees in their organization or the turnover rate would be…discouraging to new talent, to say the least.

 

They didn’t get a chance to continue to conversation because a couple of chattering nurses wheeled a gurney into the room.

 

“Oh, hello!” they said cheerfully. “We’ll have him transferred to the bed in a second, and he should be waking up soon. You can just have a seat and we’ll be out of your hair.”

 

Namjoon nodded, but couldn’t help himself from peering around the nurse to get a glimpse of the mysterious Kim Seokjin. The man looked younger than Namjoon expected. He was totally unconscious, head bobbing with every move of the gurney. The hospital had him dressed in a plain beige hospital gown with the sheets pulled up to his chest. Bruises were already starting to show on his collarbone, cheek, and forehead. His hair was brown and short, a tangled mess that was still slightly stiff and bloody near a deep scrape on his temple. Despite the raw injuries, Kim Seokjin was surprisingly handsome. His face wasn’t hardened and wary, as was so typical of people who worked in Namjoon’s business, but that would be a perfect reason to use him. It was naïve to make assumptions based on appearances.

 

After a quick and practiced transfer to the hospital bed, the other nurses filed from the room.

 

Namjoon moved to stand by the edge of the bed and carefully rested his hands on the sheet, careful to avoid actually touching the patient. The poor guy was beat to all hell and there was no telling how many scrapes and bruises were hiding beneath the gown and blanket. “The nurse who called said he was involved in a hit and run. Do you know the details?” he asked the remaining nurse. She was entering information into the computer, purposely ignoring them to provide a thin veneer of privacy. This was supposed to be his friend or brother or something, after all.   

 

“Not much more,” she said, voice sympathetic. “What I heard from the paramedics is that he was crossing the street at a crosswalk, but a car blew through a stop sign and hit him. Luckily, he only got clipped by the bumper, but it still did a fair amount of damage. We suspect his leg is broken and we’re hoping for no head injuries worse than the concussion, but we need the CT scans and x-ray results to confirm.”

 

Squeamish is not a word Namjoon would choose to describe himself, but that sounded awful. A couple more feet and this guy would be a pancake. “Wow, that’s horrible.” He didn’t have to fake the slight horror in his voice (something that Yoongi would mock him for. Both of them had purposefully inflicted worse.) “Thank you for telling me.” Namjoon pulled a chair up to the bedside and took a seat.

 

Yoongi was leaning up against the back wall, keeping an eye on the window, door, nurse, and his boss.

 

“Of course.” The nurse logged off the computer and came around the bed. She patted Namjoon on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, your…”

 

“Friend. My best friend.” He honestly had no idea, but it would probably cause less trouble than if he claimed to be a brother that Kim Seokjin didn’t have.

 

“Your friend will heal up. He looks like a tough guy.”

 

The road rash scattered across Seokjin’s face, chest, and arms was livid against the paleness of his skin, but he had to admit that there was something tough about him, even as he lay unconscious. Maybe he really was in the business and was a better actor asleep than some were awake and aware.

 

Lost in his contemplation, Namjoon didn’t even notice when the nurse tiptoed from the room. After a while, the mob boss didn’t hold the man’s hand or anything silly like that, but he planted his elbow on his knee and rested his chin on his hand and just kind of stared. If Seokjin really was a part of some kind of ruse to take him out, it was taking way too long and just overall.

 

Eventually, the battered patient began to stir beneath Namjoon’s intense gaze. He blinked groggily and immediately squinted in the bright light. The room instantly dimmed thanks to a perceptive Yoongi. Seokjin shifted in his bed and grimaced as all of his scrapes and aches began to throb.

 

“You shouldn’t move too much. They think your leg’s broken.”

 

The sound of Namjoon’s voice visibly startled the other man, who immediately stilled and looked toward the source of the words. “Who are you?” he croaked bluntly.

 

Well, tally one into the Not a Trap/Really Good Actor? column. Anyone worth their salt who spent time in the underground knew Namjoon and the upper echelons of his organization on sight. He inspected Seokjin for another for a few seconds before saying, “I’m your emergency contact.”

 

“No, you’re not,” Seokjin replied. “I’ve never seen you before in my life.” His face and body language were at odds with his sure words; he was beginning to sweat from the pain, too many blankets, or both. Namjoon leaned out of his chair and carefully folded the covers down to the man’s knees. He was watched warily, but Seokjin remained thankfully still.

 

“You got hurt and I got the phone call. That makes me your emergency contact, as far as I’m concerned,” Namjoon informed him.

 

Seokjin scowled. “I don’t think it does.”

 

“Sir.”

 

If Namjoon startled the man, then Yoongi’s unexpected addition to the conversation scared the out of him. Seokjin jumped, cried out as he jostled his leg, and pinned shocked glare on the bodyguard, who was half-hidden in the corner. “Who the hell are you people and where do you keep coming from?”

 

“Sir.”

 

“One second,” Namjoon sighed. He vacated the chair and joined Yoongi in the far corner. They turned to face the wall. “What have you got?”

 

“Name is Kim Seokjin. 26 years old, works as a full-time chef at Le Blanc. Parents live out of the country, no siblings. No criminal record, one speeding ticket and three warnings,” Yoongi droned. “He’s lived alone in a single-bedroom apartment in the Helmwood neighborhood for the past two years and seven months. Close associates include Jin Hyosang and Jung Hoseok. No known connections to any rival group. Jung Hoseok, best friend for approximately fifteen years and actual emergency contact, has a phone number that is one digit different than yours.”

 

Namjoon dropped his head into his hand. “So the hospital misdialed or the number in his phone is wrong,” he muttered disbelievingly. “And they didn’t even check my name at the entrance. This hospital’s security protocols are seriously lacking.”

 

“What are you going to do, sir?”

 

That particular “sir” grated on Namjoon nerves. It sounded completely sincere to everyone else, but anyone who knew Yoongi as long as he did would be able to detect the slightest edge of mocking. Yes, the bodyguard loved and respected his boss and best friend, but Namjoon was his junior and each facetious “sir” contained memories of Yoongi saving a young Namjoon from being picked on by the bigger boys on the school playground.

 

Even though every “sir” felt like Namjoon was being mocked, he couldn’t get Yoongi to stop. It wasn’t befitting of a lower ranked employee to address the boss without a respectful title and if he did, it demonstrated a lack of proper control in the organization, which was a sign of weakness (Yoongi’s words).

 

Namjoon heaved a sigh. “What a mess.”

 

“Um, are you talking about me?” Seokjin’s curious voice asked from across the room. “It’s kind of rude when I’m sitting right here.”

 

“Shut up,” Namjoon ordered. Great. This guy may not be a mobster, but he was a smartass. He turned back to Yoongi. “It really doesn’t seem like he knows who we are. We should call his friend and get out of here. The less we’re seen, the better.”

 

“Says the man who was flirting with the receptionist,” Yoongi deadpanned, expression blank.

 

“I did not flirt!” Why, just the implication was completely ridiculous. That kid was so not his type, but a little charm never hurt to grease the wheels, as they say.

 

Seokjin pulled his drooping hospital gown back up his shoulder. “If you two are going to argue, could you take it outside?”

 

They both looked at him. “Shut up.” They turned back.

 

“Okay, jeez,” Seokjin muttered. “It’s not like you’re complete strangers and this is my hospital room or anything. By all means, carry on.”

 

Yoongi pulled out his cell phone. “Sir, there’s no point in being here. There’s no evidence that he’s been in contact with any associates of any known groups. Shall I notify the driver?”

 

“Yeah, let’s get out of here,” Namjoon agreed. “And give me my sunglasses.”

 

The bodyguard rolled his eyes, but pulled Namjoon’s trademark shades from his inside pocket and handed them over.

 

Namjoon gratefully slipped them on. He was aware how ridiculous it looked when he wore them inside, but not only were they a comforting and familiar weight, but sunglasses worked wonders to hide his expression and true feelings while working. It was quite common, almost a necessity, in the underground.

 

He left Yoongi in his corner and returned to Seokjin’s side. “It seems your emergency has ended since you made it to the hospital alive, so I’ll be on my way. We’ll get in touch with Jung Hoseok for you.”

 

Yoongi appeared by the bed with barely a whisper of shoes on the carpet. “The hall is clear the car is waiting. After you, sir.”

 

“See you later, Kim Seokjin. Look both ways before you cross the street.” Namjoon offered him a quick smile and breezed out of the room, Yoongi close on his heels.

 

Seokjin only gaped at their retreating backs for a moment because his doctor and nurse converged on his bed with x-ray and CT results, explaining he’d get a cast on his left leg and the concussion wasn’t as bad as they originally thought.

 

“Where’d your friend go?” the nurse asked, frowning at the thought of him being abandoned in his time of need.

 

“Oh, you know,” Seokjin waved it off. “He wasn’t taking it well. Someone else should be coming in, though.” Someone who didn’t have a ninja butler or whatever he was, and who wasn’t the same muddled mix of vaguely concerned, confused, and intrigued. Someone who wasn’t as mysteriously hot as his “emergency contact.” Whose name, the realization suddenly hit him, he didn’t know.

 

By the time an almost-crying Hoseok half-jogged into the room, Seokjin’s leg was snug in a fresh cast and he was dozing to the tinny sound of the TV. “Oh my god, Seokjin! What the hell happened to you!” Hoseok cried, dropping to his knees by his friend’s bed.

 

“You don’t have to be so dramatic,” Seokjin informed him dryly. Despite his tone, he was glad to see a familiar face.

 

Hoseok got off the floor and took the seat that the mysterious man vacated an hour ago and frowned. “I’ve been worried as hell, you idiot. What happened to you? All I got was this really weird phone call from a guy who said, ‘If you want to see your friend Seokjin again, go to Southland General, room 314.’ It sounded like a ransom call or something. I thought you were dead or held hostage or missing some fingers!”

 

It took real effort to keep from bursting into laughter. Seokjin could just imagine the emergency contact guy standing in the hallway with his sunglasses on, cupping a hand over his mouth as he delivered the information in an inadvertent threat. He’d hang up, tuck the phone away, and swagger out to his ninja butler, who’d roll his eyes and open the car door for him.

 

“You make it sound like The Godfather or something,” Seokjin chuckled. “I’m fine, Hoseok. Well, close to fine. I got hit by a car that ran a stop sign. Just a broken leg, a concussion, and some serious road rash. I should be out of here by the end of today.”

 

“Just a broken leg?” Hoseok squawked. He dropped his head into his hands. “Oh my god. You’re a lunatic. You’re going to die early and leave me to clean up your apartment. I’ll find your weird and be scarred for the rest of my life-”

 

“I don’t have weird , Hoseok.”

 

The muttering continued. “I’m trapped in a movie. Who even called me? Do people really say that? My friend is insane. The world has lost it. Why aren’t you more worried?”

 

Seokjin waited until Hoseok had to take a breath. “Dude, shut up and take me home. I’ll carry the crutches, but you have to push the wheelchair.”

 

---

 

Two weeks later

 

Namjoon heaved a put-upon sigh. “Eunhyuk. You know I love you. We’ve done good business together.” He watched the quivering line of the man’s shoulders. His head was slumped forward and he was breathing heavily. Namjoon dropped a hand on his head, which made him flinch, but he couldn’t leave the chair thanks to some neat rope work by Jimin.

 

He leaned forward so their cheeks were almost touching and whispered into Eunhyuk’s ear. “If it turns out you’ve betrayed me, you may find that my love has rather unexpectedly run out.”

 

The other man jerked his head away and whimpered. “I-I swear, Mr. Kim, I’m telling you the truth. I swear on my mother! Please don’t, please, please!”

 

A red light flashed three times in the corner of the room’s single window. Namjoon straightened and motioned to Jimin, who casually sauntered inside. “You remember my associate, Mr. Park. I have to go, but he’ll keep you company in my stead. He’s a great listener and quite generous, so I hope you’ll be honest with him.”

 

Jimin crouched easily in front of Eunhyuk’s chair. “Hello, Eunhyuk. It’s been a while.” His voice was casual, pleasant even.

 

Namjoon quickly exited and locked the door behind him. “Yoongi? What’s up?”

 

Yoongi was silent for a moment. It looked like he was working up the energy to speak. Finally, he said, “There’s a guest for you.”

 

“Which room? And will I need gloves?”

 

“Not that kind of guest. At the front door. He…rang the doorbell.”

 

In all the time they’d headquartered in this building, Namjoon didn’t think anyone had come to the front door except for an ignorant door to door salesman in the first month or two. They never made a repeat visit.

 

“Uh, okay?” Namjoon straightened his cuffs and dusted the shoulder of his suit jacket. His customary shades were firmly in place. He strode through the building, expression causing employees to practically jump out of his way. Without giving himself time to think (and Yoongi already vetted the visitor, so he didn’t have to worry about being murdered right off the bat), he yanked the front door open.

 

And immediately slammed it shut at the sight of Seokjin’s grinning face.

 

“What.”

 

There was impatient knocking almost immediately, which made it incredibly difficult to pretend the whole situation wasn’t happening.

 

Namjoon took his sunglasses off, put them back on, bit his lip, wiped his hands on his pants, and opened the door again.

 

“Hi!” Seokjin awkwardly waved with one hand, a hard enough task considering he was balancing with crutches and one foot held off the ground.

 

“How. did. you. find. me.” Namjoon was not an easily-findable guy, something he literally paid people for. People who should be expecting a visit from Jimin in the near future.

 

Kim Seokjin just set the heel of his offensively pink cast on the cement and grinned. “The people in the hospital billing department sent me a letter that said everything was paid for. I called to ask them about it, but I got passed to about six different people, the last of which gave me the name of a company and abruptly hung up. I researched the company, but couldn’t find a physical address. I called, but no one ever answered.”

 

Yoongi, who was lurking a little ways down the hall and around the corner, thought but did not say that this was because they knew exactly who was calling.

 

“So,” Seokjin continued, “I asked around the hospital, then the surrounding neighborhoods if they saw a weird guy in half a suit and sunglasses with messy hair who looked like he kicked puppies for fun. No one would answer any of my questions except for this young guy at the reception desk and a couple of people a few blocks over, though they kept crossing themselves and ran off after pointing me in this direction.”

 

Through his justified offense at the implication that he would kick a puppy, Namjoon’s sharp ears caught Yoongi choking on his own laughter. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “What do you want?”

 

“Just to say…thank you.” Finally, the man’s face abandoned the -eating grin and shifted to a sincere expression. “For coming to the hospital even though you didn’t know me. For paying my hospital bills. And for covering my rent and internet until I can go back to work? That was you too, right?”

 

A hot flush burned up Namjoon’s neck and into his cheeks. “No idea what you’re talking about. But, you’re, uh, welcome…?”

 

“Great.” The smile was back. “Now, introduce yourself and get me a damn chair. I’m about to fall over on these crutches.”

 

God damn this guy was mouthy. Namjoon willed his blush away and tried to settle into his business persona, but it didn’t quite click, especially when Seokjin snatched the sunglasses from his face without warning. It left him feeling exposed and uncomfortable, like he was facing the true force of Seokjin’s personality with no armor or backup. “I’m Namjoon…please come in.” It was almost painful to grind out the last part of the sentence. He couldn’t remember if the rooms in the front of the building were suitable for a guest.

 

Thankfully, he heard Yoongi disappear down the hall, voice issuing terse commands into his ear piece. Thank god for Yoongi.

 

“Namjoon what? Park Namjoon? Choi Namjoon?” Seokjin playfully insisted.

 

The boss cut him off, trying to keep the chill from his tone. “Just Namjoon. Please. Come in.”

 

Seokjin’s smile dimmed only for a second and he happily hobbled through the doorway and into the nearest Yoongi-approved room.

 

“You have anything to drink around here?” he asked, dropping into an overstuffed armchair.

 

Namjoon took a fortifying breath, stuck his head into the hallway to bellow an order for tea to be brought up, and sat across from Seokjin. He wondered just what exactly he was getting into. If the hospital and today’s visit were any indication, Seokjin was probably going to get him arrested, killed, or in enough trouble that he would wish for either.

 

At least it would be fun?