It was evening time. I hadn't tried to leave the bedroom all day so I wasn't even sure I was locked in there like I was supposed to be. 

I stared down at my bandaged hands. After taking a cold shower that morning after Sehun had left, I had bandaged all my cuts and changed into the loosest shirt provided and into a fresh pair of jeans. I'd been lying on my stomach across the bed all day, wishing I could go back to sleep but the adrenaline still in my system preventing it.

I was going to die soon. I couldn't stop, I couldn't put it off any longer. After one minor phone call confirming everything in order with the bank, Sehun was going to shoot me in the face. Just like he did my uncle.

I'd fought it all this time. I'd cried only hours earlier right to Sehun himself, practically begging him not to kill me. Now, I just wanted it to be over with. I was living in a sort of limbo, nothing ahead of me but darkness but nothing behind me either. I hadn't lived and I never would.

I had nightmares when I finally fell asleep, face pressed into a feather pillow more luxurious than I'd ever seen in my life. I woke with a start at 1AM. I'd barely been asleep three hours. I could hear bustling from the living room and stiffly moved to check it out. 

"Well, how am I supposed to know?" Chanyeol was giving someone on the phone an angry groan. "Am I Oh Sehun?"

Jongin was rifling through one of two briefcases on the kitchen table. I watched them both from the doorway of the bedroom. 

Chanyeol angrily paced behind the couch. "All he said was that he wanted the records, hell if I know what for, we've never even see the woman before."

"I have," Jongin piped up, ripping up several papers. "I followed her for several weeks for Boss."

"Look, just get me the hospital records and the CCTV footage, that's all he asked for and you shouldn't be asking questions!" Then Chanyeol spun and found me listening and hung up the phone. I felt myself blanch.

"Is it done?" I asked hoarsely. Jongin glanced up briefly, just realizing I was in the room. 

Chanyeol pocketed his phone and adjusted his coat. "Is what done?" he asked, turning his back and going to join Jongin.

I followed. "The money—the bank account, did the paperwork go through?"

Chanyeol sat down at the table, watching Jongin put several sheets of finely printed papers in envelopes and then stuff them inside the open briefcase. The closed one sat untouched. 

"Uh, no." Chanyeol ruffled his long hair. "It hasn't. The call should come soon though."

How comforting. I still felt the tension in my gut loosen a bit though. Then I felt dreadful. Just that much longer for me to sit in limbo.

"How's your hands?" Chanyeol gestured to my bandages. Jongin and I exchanged uneasy glances. I nodded in response, tucking my arms around myself. Then I caught Chanyeol fidget and glance at the closed briefcase. 

I frowned. "What's all this for?"

He noticed my stare and nudged the case aside. "Private business. Wrap it up, Jongin," he said. He scratched at his ear, looking away. His leg bounced up and down the longer I stared at him.

"What's in the other case?"

"Paper."

They both pulled a gun on me when I went for the case but neither even clicked the safety off when I opened it. 

Technically, Chanyeol wasn't lying. It was paper. It was perfectly stacked, crisp American dollars. 100s to be exact. The briefcase was filled to the top. I took it all in, more money than I would've ever seen in my could've-been life. Then I closed the case and turned to Jongin and Chanyeol. They stashed their guns away.

"Why isn't he here?" I asked. "Shouldn't he be putting a bullet in my face?"

Jongin side-glanced at Chanyeol. Fidgetted away. 

"What's going on? Where is he?" I pressed. "How long has this money been here?" 

"Since you tried to kill me," Jongin mumbled. 

"What?" My neck snapped in his direction, as did Chanyeol's.

"They called after you went into the bedroom. That morning."

"You er," Chanyeol mumbled, "he's going to put a bullet in you."

I waved him silent. I took a slow, deep breath, trying to process all of this. They'd called after I'd threatened Jongin with his own gun, after I'd ran into the bedroom to get away from Sehun, after I'd cried for most of the night and . . . 

My eyes shot to Chanyeol. He avoided my eyes.

"Was this before or after he came in there?" I asked. He hadn't been present but I doubted Sehun did much without Chanyeol knowing. He wasn't head of security for nothing. He refused to answer though, his teeth clenched tight, so I averted my stern gaze to Jongin. "Was this before or after, Jongin? When did they call? When did you get the money?" 

Silence.

"Tell me, dammit!"

"It was before," Chanyeol snapped, jaw tense. "It was before. They called right after the sun came up, as soon as the office passed the notice through."

I scratched roughly at my scalp, drawing blood with my nails. "So why am I still here?" I looked at them both. "He said I was dead as soon as it all finalized. So why am I still breathing? Is he playing with me?"

The sympathetic look in both men's eyes sent me off the edge. "Where is he?"

"He's downstairs, but Sorin—"

I stormed for the door, not even finding shoes to put on before I barreled down the hall and into an elevator. Chanyeol was on my heels. 

"Don't piss him off or you will be dead!" he said, avoiding the doors slamming on him. He punched the floor button. "He wouldn't even tell me."

"I'm supposed to be dead," I murmured. My hands trembled. "Why is he doing this?" Chanyeol didn't reply to any of my ramblings and silently led me through the hotel. We ended up in the casino. I nearly scoffed.

"Names," a buff guy said in a strong accent when we approached velvet ropes near the back of the place. Chanyeol rolled his eyes and flashed a tattoo on his inner wrist. We were let in immediately. I could see the orange hair shining from a poker table full of drunk men and money-hungry women. 

"I'd like to keep my head, so help yourself. I'll wait here," Chanyeol said, hanging back. I charged on without him.

Sehun was throwing out chips like they were confetti. I watched for a moment, simmering. Like the night I'd first seen him, a cigarette dangled from the corner of his lip and he was wearing a god-awful hawaiin print shirt. He took the cigarette out long enough to gulp down the rest of his whiskey then he took a drag, told the croupier something in French. Then he released all the smoke from his lungs in a silent exhale. 

He lost all his bettings. He cussed loudly, took another drag. With the cigarette perched between his forefinger and middle, he tossed a ton more chips in. The Mary around his neck trembled like she was nervous