When Wu Yi Fan had called him to secure the perimeter at the ball he was organizing, Jongin definitely hadn’t thought he would have to keep him away from Hella.

 

But when that same man actually trusted her, whom he’d met, like, five seconds ago, over him, who was a member of the respected police crew, and when the security guards threw him out of the place, he could not believe what was happening.

 

They hadn’t even given him a chance to prove that he was a cop. And yes, though Yifan didn’t know the way he looked, he knew that the whole place was full of cops, and he should’ve just let him finish the freaking sentence!

 

But instead he’d wound his hand in Hella’s hair - his insides were boiling from the very thought - and only raised his eyebrows, knowing the guards were watching.

 

“Yifan, my name is detective Kim Jong In” he had tried to say.

 

And then Yifan punched him straight in the face.

 

“For you, it’s Mr. Yifan, you scum,” he spat at him. Jongin had seen stars and he was unable to understand what was happening.

 

He remembered her eyes well, though. Her parted lips, her seemingly shocked expression, all of it.

 

Guess she didn’t mind the hand on her bottom that much, though, didn’t she?

 

All women were the same.

 

And as he tried to dry the blood that was still flowing from his nose, his whole attire ruined, he found himself wondering why had he thought for a moment that this criminal was any different.

 

Why was she here in the first place? He’d thought she would lay low for some time, especially after that nasty wound from the dog. When the police department assigned him to come and guard Yifan, he’d thought it would be long before she surfaced again.

 

But she was working again so soon, and he found it strange. And going to such extents… This was not her normal behavior. Something was up.

 

Why was it bothering him in the first place? He found himself walking along the shore, the water murky and dark, just like his insides felt. He kicked a rock and it made a hollow sound as it fell into the water, his thoughts still all over the place.

 

He could not help but feel cold. She was so warm and radiant, and so breathtakingly beautiful that for a moment, he’d actually forgotten who she was - who they both were. But thankfully, he’d sorted it all out in time, but obviously not early enough to be able to arrest her before she made a mess.

 

And now he could do nothing but wait.

 

What would she do now? Would she go as far as to really poison him, just like he’d so bravely proposed? She’d seemed shocked, as if he’d seen right through her, so Yifan must’ve been her newest target.

 

And that crazy old man was going to fall for her charms and get himself killed in the process.

 

He sighed. Why was it that the one thing that bothered him the most was that Yifan was probably touching her right now?

 

That guy, Shepherd, was a surprise himself - when he’d seen the two of them on the security cameras, he thought he’d gone crazy and was imagining things. But when he found the black dress and the curves his hands remembered all too well…

 

When he found a glimpse of silver in all that blackness, with the blonde curls finally tamed and making her face open and vulnerable…

 

He knew what lay behind that mask. It was his only power over her, the only thing that was giving him an advantage.

 

Yet when he’d felt her fear, it left him feeling hurt. She was supposed to be afraid of him. He was the man who was going to lock her up forever and laugh when she was sentenced to life without the possibility of parole.

 

But he knew her well enough to know she was never afraid of anything. Not even dance floors.

 

He stood there above the shore for what appeared to be an eternity, glancing at the theatre every once in a while, waiting for screams and shouts and, if he was lucky, even a glimpse of silver and utter darkness that he’d run after and not stop until she was in his arms.

 

What he’d do then, he didn’t know, but he needed her away from Yifan as soon as possible. To save his life, of course…

 

And to calm down the storm that was raging inside of him, constantly making him rewind and remember where the filthy hands of that maniac found themselves before he’d been hauled away.

 

Oh, he would pay him back - for that and the punch in the nose, Yifan could be sure of that.

 

But that all depended on whether Hella would manage to poison him or not. And no matter how hard he’d tried to reassure the security guards - guards whom he’d met just a morning earlier - that it was all a big misunderstanding, they just told him that Yifan had banned him and that he would have to sit the ball out.

 

So in the end he gave up on thinking about the whole matter, instead walking along the shore until he was far away from everyone. The bay was calm, and the tide was rising while the moonlight shone over the seemingly endless sea. Had he not been so stressed out, he would’ve thought the place was beautiful.

 

He settled himself in a secluded place, underneath a palm tree, and though he was wondering why he wasn’t going back to his hotel room, he found that he didn’t care much. He only needed a little peace. He was tired from the whole trying-to-live-a-normal-thing, having accepted that he was obsessed with Hella since a long time ago.

 

She’d slipped underneath his fingertips again.

 

He’d failed again, unable to steel himself and become immune to her charms. This time, he was so sure he would be able not to react… But her fear, her awkwardness, they had seemed so real that it had gotten the best of him.

 

What had changed?

 

He wondered for a while, and then he closed his eyes and dreamed of red hair far away in front of him and him screaming for her to stop, tell me why you did it, I have to know why you did it.

 

“Brother,” he said, squinting in the sunlight. “Why are we here?”

 

Taemin smiled at him in affection. He was so much older than him, though the fifteen years of difference disappeared whenever they started playing. Nowadays, it seemed as if his brother was starting to see him as more than a mere child, for which Jongin was very thankful, because he didn’t like being called Baby Brother anymore.

 

Taemin knew all of it, and ruffled his hair while he explained what was going on.

 

“Today, I am going to teach you how to shoot,” he said calmly, as if he was informing him of what was for dinner. He pointed out a bottle far away in the distance - he could barely see it. “And that is our first target for the day.”

 

“You mean, like from a gun?” Jongin asked in disbelief, because this couldn’t be happening. “Tae, if mom finds out, she will kill us-”

 

Taemin shushed him, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about mom. This will be our little secret and nobody will know.”

 

“But where will you keep the gun?” Jongin continued, unable to shake off his fears and worries. “What if they find it? They will immediately know what we’ve been doing and-”

 

“Jongin,” he said warningly, making him bite his lip, though he couldn’t stop it from quivering. “If you want to be treated like a man, then act like one, for God’s sake! If you keep constantly worrying about what mom and dad would allow, then you may as well go back and play with your toys or whatever.”

 

Or whatever.

 

Jongin wanted to point out that just a couple of days ago, he, too, had been playing with those same toys, but he kept his mouth shut, because Tae was right. Mom would never let him do anything like this. And he did wanted to learn how to shoot, so so bad.

 

“That’s more like it,” Tae said, patting him on the back. “Now let’s get going, pal.”

 

He’d always wondered where his brother had gotten that gun or why he had it.

 

He’d always wondered how he was such a good shooter, hitting a bottle even from insane distances.

 

But he’d never gotten the chance to ask him.

 

“Brother,” he asked now, searching for him but finding nothing but shattered glass and a bloody gun. “Brother, where are you?”

 

He heard a familiar voice behind himself, sounding disgusted and angry. “You should be avenging me, Jongin.

 

You should be avenging me, not falling in love with the enemy.

 

I am disappointed in you.”

 

“No,” he started to say frantically, turning around but finding nothing but air. “I will avenge you, brother, I swear-”

 

He opened his eyes.

 

The first thing he realized as he blinked to orient himself, the clutches of the dream leaving him be for another day, was that he was still near the shore in San Francisco.

 

Then he realized the Sun hadn’t risen yet, which meant that he’d gotten only a few hours of sleep at best.

 

Then soft cries reached his ears, and he frowned. What was that noise?

 

He didn’t dare move as his eyes, already accustomed to the darkness, landed on the form that was sitting on the shore. The moonlight was gone, so he couldn’t really distinguish who it was, except that it was a woman. And she was crying, apparently, though it sounded a bit weird and angry.

 

“Hell,” the woman said angrily, her voice eerily familiar, “To hell with all of this. To hell with the money, with the poison, with Shepherd, with everything!”

 

Money? Poison? Shepherd?

 

The blood in his veins froze for the second time that evening.

 

This couldn’t be happening.

 

Good fortune was giving him another chance - he could catch her, he could end this whole suffering, he could do what his brother was telling him to do and maybe stop being haunted by the damned nightmare already.

 

But she was crying, and she was angry, and she was throwing rocks into the water as if she was imagining she was killing someone with them, and he knew that she most likely was.

 

He took his shoes off in order not to be heard, even though his brain told all his muscles not to move an inch from his hiding place. They would only move to grab the phone and text the cops.

 

Instead, he got up and started making his way to her as silently as possible. He would imprison her, the cuffs were in the back pocket of his ruined suit, and he would stop making the same mistakes. He wouldn’t let her run away, wouldn’t give her space to do something irrational that would make her slip out of his reach again, wouldn’t turn a blind eye just because she looked beautiful.

 

This time, she would end up in jail.

 

Yet as he stood above her and she continued crying, he didn’t let a single thought enter his mind.

 

Not a single one. His hands squeezed and unsqueezed, wanting to land on her hips. Where they belonged.

 

He wanted to ask her why she was crying. The most wanted criminal in the world. As if she was a lab rat he was watching and feeling sorry about, one that was doomed but whom he couldn’t help but get attached to anyway.

 

He did not open his mouth to speak.

 

She did not flinch when his fingertips touched her bare shoulder.

 

She did not turn when they started dancing along her back.

 

She only started sobbing instead.

 

He did not turn her around, though his hands remained on her body. Instead they moved along with him, and though her feet were in the water and he was inevitably going to get soaked, too, he moved in front of her to look at her face.

 

He could not see anything. The night was dark and they were away from the city lights, in this small secluded space so close to the theatre, where all the commotion was at.

 

Had she killed Yifan? Was she regretting it now, or feeling some remorse because of it?

 

No. He knew she wasn’t that kind of person. This was something different… Something he couldn’t decipher, no matter how hard he tried.

 

His hands ended up landing in her own, so much smaller and colder - colder than they were even when she’d lost all that blood and nearly died in that safe house. Had someone attacked her? Was it the wound from the dog that was giving her trouble?

 

His brain screamed at him to stop worrying about her, who was a cold-blooded murderer, and just call the police already or at least cuff her.

 

“Hella,” he whispered, utterly afraid of something.

 

Then the moonlight appeared again, shining onto her and making him see for the first time.

 

Her face was full of scratches, all bloody and messed up. A black eye was forming, making her pale skin look angelic in comparison to the purple mark on her face.

 

But that was not the worst of it.

 

Her dress was torn, not completely but it gave him a very good idea about what had happened. He saw bruises all over her arms, together with little prickles that seemed like needle tracks. He would’ve suspected it was from drugs, but he remembered her flawless skin from a little more than a week ago.

 

And when he saw the purple mark on the inner side of her elbow, he knew it was from a medical treatment, not heroine.

 

Her cheeks were stained by tears mixed with blood, but the thing that horrified him the most was the smudged mascara that seemed to be marking all the paths of the tears that had left her eyes. She looked out of place, such a contrast to the beautiful goddess of war that had entered that ballroom and that wasn’t missing sleeves and parts of the dress and whose legs weren’t uncovered because someone had-

 

“Hella,” he repeated. She had gone silent the moment the moonlight appeared, nothing but a quiver of her lips and her fast-rising chest indicating that she was affected by all of this.

 

Then she started falling apart again, and he could do nothing but instinctively hug her to himself, her head in the hollow of his shoulder while he tried to embrace as much of her body as he could. His hands were roaming down her back again, but this time to protect her, not follow a trail of some unknown desire that was threatening to make him burn out.

 

“Hella,” he kept repeating, because he couldn’t find any other words. He couldn’t say I’m sorry or It’ll be okay. He didn’t think it would even help, so he let her grieve in peace, only his body offering comfort because she was just another human being, just another woman who had been taken advantage of, not a cold-blooded assassin-

 

“Who was it?” he whispered, because she wasn’t sobbing anymore, just shaking with her hands clutching his bloody shirt. “Was it Shepherd?”

 

A poisonous feeling appeared somewhere deep inside of him, and he clutched her more tightly, determined to find out who was the sick man who had tried, perhaps even managed to-

 

“Let me go, detective,” she whispered weakly, trying to push him away. “This is none of your business.”

 

He raised both eyebrows, annoyed with her behavior. She had to tell him; there would be no running from this matter.

 

“I said, Who was it?” he said in a louder voice, even as he loosened his embrace just to see her turn her head from him. “I need to know, Hella.”

 

She took in a sharp breath, and turned back to look at him defiantly. “And I said that’s none of your business. So stop butting in as if you know anything about this.”

 

He wanted to roughly take her wrists in his hands and shake her until she told him, but he realized that then he would be no better than any of those freaks who’d attacked her. Had they…

 

He snapped.

 

“Just ing tell me who it is already!” he shouted, and she flinched. “And tell me what they did to you so that I can go and decapitate them!”

 

“Wu Yi Fan!” she shouted back at him, hitting into his chest with her fists. “It was freaking Wu Yi Fan, you sadist! Are you content now?”

 

She wasn’t crying anymore, but she couldn’t seem to stop hitting him, and since she seemed to be weak - still stronger than a normal woman, but not strong enough to do any real damage - he just let her be because it was apparently helping her.

 

“Did he-” he started with caution.

 

“No!” she shouted again and attempted another hit in the chest. He caught her wrist with his hand, and she tried to take it away, but when his grip didn’t budge, she just remained like that, sitting in the sand with her clothes all torn up staring at the fist that could do nothing, couldn’t prevent him from doing whatever he wanted.

 

He realized what it must’ve meant to her.

 

He released her wrist immediately.

 

“I’m sorry-” he started to say, genuinely apologizing for being as pushy as the messed-up 40-year-old who had tried to take advantage of her.

 

It was not words that cut him off, though.

 

It was the most intense, pushy kiss she’d given him yet, though they’d shared many kisses.

 

He did not respond, did not let himself enjoy it in any way, even though he was slowly falling apart. The water he was now completely sitting in - the tide had risen further, it seemed - seemed to be pulling him in, and was sure to make him drown before the night was over.

 

She put her hands in his hair and pushed so strong that it hurt. “Kiss me, detective,” she breathed.

 

He let go of everything inside of him that was telling him what they were doing was wrong.

 

He couldn’t let go of the part of his brain that didn’t want to take advantage of her, too, because she was vulnerable and cold and insanely attracted to him and she couldn’t deduce right from wrong. Even as he kissed her, he did it as gently as if it was her first kiss ever, and he didn’t increase the intensity even as she started to push at his hair frantically, whining like a lost child.

 

He couldn’t help but start panting the moment their lips parted, though. He had no idea what was happening, but it was getting very hard for him to remember that this was Hella, that he loathed her and that he wanted to see her dead as soon as possible.

 

He opened his hooded eyes to see a young woman straddling him, afraid and vulnerable and so filled with so many emotions that he found himself completely unable to breathe.

 

“Beautiful,” he couldn’t help but whisper, hoping she couldn’t hear. But as her own eyes opened to look at him, he knew that he was busted, and that he was going to pay for complimenting her like that.

 

“Careful, detective,” she purred, her hands dropping to his shirt and slowly beginning to it. “If you keep acting like that, I might start thinking that you have a crush on me, and we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?”

 

Before he had a chance to take a breath, shift focus from the hands that have already reached the fourth button and were grazing the top of his stomach, and make the first move, she pushed at his chest with both of his hands and his back landed in the water.

 

The water was cold and salty, but the blood in his veins was the warmest poison in the world, and as her expert hands took off his wet shirt and started roaming down his chest, exploring the newfound territory to conquer, he realized that he was doomed.

 

Screw the cops.

 

Screw logic.

 

Screw everything.

 

He made a sudden move, pushing her onto him and finally stopping the game of being gentle and letting her take the lead. She knew he was nothing like Yifan, and that was the only thing that mattered.

 

“You shouldn’t have worn that dress,” he growled, pushing her upwards until his face reached her own and he could kiss her with all the force he wanted.

 

She did not stay motionless, instead grazing her nails down his arms, making him produce sounds that would’ve been embarrassing had they not been clouded by the splashes of water all around them.

 

He took off on his feet, moving them deeper into the water until they were standing upright, his feet barely touching the bottom. She immediately entangled her legs with his own, too short to be able to touch the bottom herself.

 

It did things to him, the height difference. Made him lose his mind, like everything she did or said or her very existence implied.

 

And she had nearly gotten herself into a situation that would make him kill that man in cold blood.

 

“This is the tamest dress I have,” she said to him, her mind still following the conversation he’d forgotten the moment her body pressed against his own bare chest, making his blood pressure rise above the roof.

 

She kissed the spot below his ear, once again making him fall weak in the knees. For a second, their heads disappeared below the surface, and she used that opportunity to bite his earlobe.

 

“Did you not like my dress, detective?” she said suggestively, her hands moving down his back and making him start spasming. He would not be able to control himself for a lot longer. He would lose himself very soon, and God help them live with the consequences if that happened.

 

He hummed, taking a deep breath and diving under the surface again to be able to reach her neck and start planting kisses on it. She just pulled at his hair, and even though he could not hear her , he knew that she was making all those sounds, and he wanted to steal them all right off her lips.

 

When his head resurfaced, he said, “I just like you better without it.”

 

She raised her eyebrows, leading his hands to her and making them trail lower and lower until they settled on the zipper he had no idea even existed.

 

“Then take it off,” she whispered, kissing his chin while her hands settled on the waistband of his suit pants, “Detective Kim.”

 

He slowly, slowly tugged the zipper down, unable to focus because she was everywhere around him, and it was getting hard to breathe though the water was so cold.

 

The dress was off her in a second, and he remembered where Yifan’s hands had been. He growled, capturing her lips in another kiss and wanting to whisper, Mine.

 

He was not thinking clearly. In fact, he wasn’t thinking at all because he took her deeper into the water, diving under the surface again and kissing her breath away, not giving up until they were both suffocating.

 

She wrapped her legs around his hips and nudged him closer. His hands could not settle on a single place on her body, but he wanted to worship it, to show her that she was beautiful and worth so much more than those guys had to offer, and at that point he didn’t even care whether she’d poisoned Yifan or not.

 

In fact, he wished she had; the maniac had certainly deserved it.

 

After they got tired from all the kissing and touching, he slowly took them back until her back was in the sand and he was kissing her again, this time slowly and sloppily because he had no strength left in him to chase the fire.

 

“You aren’t that bad, detective,” she breathed when he got too tired to do anything anymore and just lay down next to her. The sky was clearer now, and he knew the sun would rise soon.

 

But they would have a little bit of time for some peace, before they went back to being enemies.

 

Her thoughts seemed to be mirroring his, or she was that good at reading people. “What do you say we call it a truce, huh?”

 

“Just for tonight,” he said sternly, his hand settling on her stomach. She started playing with it, pulling his fingers as if she was a little child.

 

He observed her peaceful, smiling face with the scratch marks - the water had thankfully washed away the blood and the tears - and thought once again how she was beautiful.

 

“What’s your full name, detective Kim?” she asked after a while, her head settled between his neck and shoulder, huffs of hot air hitting his skin while she breathed.

 

“Kim Jong In,” he said without thinking. “The best detective in the whole world.”

 

She laughed sheepishly, and he once again couldn’t connect her behavior with the file he’d been filling with information about murdered people for seven years.

 

He traced the black blade that was secured on the belt around her hips, remembering how no matter how things seemed, she was the person he’d been chasing for such a long time.

 

He wanted to ask her.

 

But for a little longer, just a little bit longer… He wanted to pretend.

 

“Well, detective,” she answered him with an innocent face, “What do you say we do a little bit more of all that, while we still have time?”

 

All thought left his brain while he leaned in to kiss her again.