The motel smelled like hypo, dust and tears. Just like any other unknown, cheap, run-down place where nobody asked where you came from but took the money and shut up. It was exactly what you two needed: a quiet hideout where your names were useless and your faces were nothing more than a shadow on the tiles.

You giggled unstoppably as you jumped on the crappy mattress. The worn bed cracked under your weight and screeched wailfully but it couldn’t hold you back. You laughed wildly with your head thrown back. The joyful melody was contagious but it stuck in your throat when you caught your companion staring, his dark and hungry eyes tracing your features. You looked right back into the black abyss without fear and with a tempting curve on your lips.

Yoongi - known by the world as Suga, a dreaded criminal – didn’t take his eyes off of you as he clicked the old suitcase he had in one hand open. You sat up so you could see it better and gasped delightfully when the case displayed its content full of dirty money: today’s big catch. You looked up adoringly with huge doe eyes while he smelled some bills and threw them into the air casually as if they didn’t mean more to him than a piece of burning paper. He decorated the bed with them carefully like others do with rose petals.

“Lie down.”

It wasn’t a question or request, he demanded authoritatively for you to pose in the middle of his artwork and you gladly did as he asked. How could anyone say no when he looked at you the same way as an aesthete would appreciate a billion-worth masterpiece? Like he wanted to engrave this picture into his memory to never forget it: the sight of a fallen angel in a pool of bloodied money. What would your parents say if they knew that their naive and innocent daughter was gone? That a liar, a thief, a murderer fell in love with her, killed her and fell in love even more, even harder? He tore you down to pieces and built you up once again, creating someone new who people only referred as Sugar Baby.

Newspapers wrote about your pair, called you the Shadow Couple, people whispered dirty things, they knew nothing but they were right about one thing: you were spoiled rotten by Suga, the mastermind behind all of your grandiose plans. He was the executive, the one armed with the weapon and knowledge to get anything you wanted while you were a siren, the best kind of sweet distraction. His one and only partner in crime.

“What do you want, baby? A diamond ring? A vacation to Rome? Just ask, I’ll give it to you.” He crawled above you, caging your fragile figure between his arms and his breath left hot spots on your swan neck as his raspy voice made you shiver. He probably heard you gasping for air even without properly touching you and smirked at his massive effect on you. Still now. Even after playing the same game over and over again, your answer was still the same:

“You. Only you.”

Your cold fingers entangled in his dark locks pulling him closer by the neck until your breaths fanned over each other's face and your dilated pupils bored into one another. Then, it was hungry and desperate and too much spit and teeth but neither of you complained. You both loved just the way you lived: rushed and for the sake of adrenaline but genuinely with all you had.

Do you trust me enough to get killed? Yoongi asked you once out of mere curiosity as he was staring out of the window of another motel in another city with a cigarette in his mouth. You sat up in the bed pulling the blanket tighter around your frame and replied without hesitation: yes.

Yoongi’s life was a dangerous game all the time, every job was a Russian roulette but the ride was much more enjoyable since he had you. From the very first moment he laid his eyes on you, the next rich young girl waiting to be robbed, he just knew that you were different, you were more… something else. But he didn't dare to hope to find another dark soul that identifies his own vicious insides. Yet, under the cover of such pretty facade, you were just as evil and stole his heart mercilessly with no intention of giving back. What could he do? He stole your heart in exchange and painted it black with his own sick desires.

People can get high on so many things: alcohol, smoke, drugs, you… His fingers twitched for a cig and a lighter most of the time except when he couldn't take his hands off of your body. They kept roaming because he could never get enough of your taste. To him, you were just as addictive as the worst kind of psychoactive drugs. You were a bomb ready to explode, a war on the verge of breaking out, a gun waiting to be fired. Still, he made it clear that he was willing to die for you every single night.

“I love you.” you pulled the trigger and he smiled at you wickedly. The words like bullets bit hard into his flesh as the echo of deafening silence surrounded you. He didn’t say anything but used your body as a canvas to write his own confession in love bites all over it. He claimed you, marked his territory like a predator and you had never enjoyed anything more than being his prey.

By the end of the night, the motel smelled like money, smoke and . Just like any other stop on the map of your twisted kind of love story.