Yoongi had an intense love for guns and fire. He couldn’t choose what brought him a greater joy: setting a fire and watching the flames rage fiercely or clicking the safety off of a gun and pulling the thin, metal trigger. They both gave him an indescribable feeling of power that he easily had gotten addicted to, after being deprived of it for so long.

He remembers it so clearly: the first time he ever felt like he was the one who held the power. He was the one in control.

Yoongi recalls, so vividly, the countless, useless phone calls to the nearby police department when he was a little kid. Crying to the dispatcher about how his uncle had tried to drown him in the bathtub after he failed a test to teach him a lesson. Pleading the dispatcher to quickly send an officer to his small home and arrest his uncle who burned him multiple times with his cigarette because Yoongi mistakenly broke a glass. Praying that the neighbors heard the harsh, cruel names and labels his uncle would engrain into his young brain.

Worthless. Ugly. A burden to the world around him. That stuck with Yoongi.

If an officer did arrive, it was two hours later, after Yoongi was done being beaten nearly senseless for calling someone. His uncle would then tell the officer that Yoongi over exaggerated after being disciplined for failing that test. Or that Yoongi must’ve prank called the police department. That’s a complete lie.

The officer would then laugh, not even bothering to even look for Yoongi, and reassure his uncle that ‘kids do it all the time.’

Yoongi would hide under his bed covers and cry until he was on the verge of vomiting about how that was not true either. But he was too afraid to run into the living room, strip himself of his long sleeved shirt, and show the officer all of the bruises on his arms and back from so many beatings and burns.

He even wished that he could somehow show the officer the damage his uncle had done to his brain. To his mind. To his entire mental state. But those emotional scars aren’t something you can just show people. You could only explain them. And Yoongi didn’t have the words to explain the severity of how ed up his mental state was. For he was only a child with a limited vocabulary and even more limited understanding of the situation.

His budding interest with guns began when he was eleven years old. He spent most of his time in the shed in the backyard to stay as far away from his abusive uncle as possible. While playing with his soldier action figures in the shed, he came across a long, narrow box hidden under the workbench. Letting his curiosity get the best of him, Yoongi opened it, revealing a pistol and an assault rifle. Yoongi reacted like most kids would, a deep gasp with wide, bulging eyes as he looked around to see if his uncle was closeby.

But Yoongi wanted to explore. He didn’t know much about guns at the time, but he knew that he should stay away from the trigger.

He fiddled with the pistol first. The cold metal against his tiny, pale fingers made him shiver and smile at the same time. He played with the lever on the side and had gotten the sudden urge to the gun. But he didn’t know how. Out of another sudden burst of curiosity, Yoongi raised the gun and pressed the cold barrel right against the contrasting warm skin of his temple. He closed his eyes and inhaled a sharp, deep breath. Then smiled. It gave Yoongi a pleasant rush of adrenaline to have that gun pressed directly against his cranium. Cold metal on warm soft skin. For the first time, he held something that could give him a choice.

He could have the power.

Opening his eyes again, he placed the pistol onto the ground next to him and grabbed the assault rifle next. It was mostly metal but there was a polished, caramel wood that adorned some parts. Yoongi couldn’t help but marvel at how big the gun was. It scared him to a certain extent, so he put it back in the box.

But the pistol. No. He would hide that somewhere else so his uncle didn’t know where it was. This hidden gun. That was Yoongi’s power. So he picked up his two action figures in one hand and took the gun into his other hand. Taking them all inside and placing them in his toy box of old and broken toys.

On Yoongi’s twelfth birthday, to put it in simplest terms, he had gotten fed up. Ever since he had hidden the pistol, it was as if the firearm was constantly calling out to him, tempting him to end his suffering. He had managed to suppress the urge for months, telling himself that he could endure the beatings, that he was okay. Those thoughts ceased on his birthday.

He didn’t know why it bothered him so, but the fact that his uncle hadn’t even given him a single look that morning seemed to be the reason that Yoongi snapped. Yoongi wanted to be told happy birthday. Wanted to be made breakfast and have a pretty birthday cake with his name on it on the dining table. Why wasn’t he getting that?

And when Yoongi realized that he wouldn’t be getting what he wanted, he gave into his desire. If I have to suffer so will you.

When his uncle had fallen asleep on the couch, head slightly tilted back against the cushions, Yoongi rummaged through his toy box until the freezing metal touched him. Reached out to him, urging him.

He pulled out the gun and cocked it, the way the chubby man in the video he had watched a few weeks ago had demonstrated. He smiled again then slowly walked into the living room. Slowly stepping closer and closer to his uncle. He was getting closer to that metaphorical door that, if he opened, would change his life forever.

He held the gun firmly within both of his tiny hands, his right index finger resting against the trigger. Yoongi wandered over to stand in front of his uncle’s sleeping body. If he were awake, Yoongi would be directly intercepting his uncle’s view of the loud television behind him.

It was as if time had slowed as Yoongi raised the gun, put the barrel as close to his uncle’s forehead as he could get and, without any hesitation, pulled the trigger.

Yoongi will never forget the loud, piercing sound of the gun being fired. The blood splatter from his uncle’s head. The jerk of his uncle’s head and body. The high pitch screech that reached Yoongi’s ears after he pulled the trigger that he, only seconds later, realized was from his on lips.

For several minutes, he stood there, admiring the pretty bullet hole in his uncle’s head. He smiled. He smiled as if someone had just taken off his handcuffs and opened the gates of his jail cell and told him that he could run free. Even if he didn’t know where he would go, all Yoongi knew is that he was finally free.

He looked down at his favorite long sleeved shirt that he had put on for the special occasion of his birthday, and commended the blood splatter there. Yoongi thought that it was so beautiful. A painting worthy of a 100% in his art class.

Wetting his lips, he savored the coppery taste of blood that coincidentally made its way onto his lips. Maybe even some on his face, pants and torso. But to Yoongi, that was okay. There was no remorse. He had become a walking art piece, painted in the blood of his oppressor proving that he, in fact, was useful, beautiful, and worthy.

But he was well aware that he couldn’t just stand there forever. Even more aware of the fact that he had just committed murder. But it didn’t bother him whatsoever because whatever remorse he did have somewhere in his heart was overshadowed by how ing ecstatic he was to get revenge on his uncle. And when the cops got there, they would be able to see the damage that Yoongi had done to his brain.

An eye for an eye right, Uncle. You up my brain, I up yours.

Before Yoongi had left the house, he packed a single bag. But that content smile never left his face once. He took his uncle’s savings from inside his uncle’s pillowcase and stuffed it into his bag with everything else. When he was certain he had everything in the bag, Yoongi did one last job before leaving the miserable house for good.

He staged his own kidnapping. Breaking a few things, even throwing his uncle’s limp body into the coffee table to make it look like the man attempted to fight back at least. And then he was gone.

When darkness had began to fall that night, Yoongi had somehow managed to wander into the city streets of Seoul. He had never been to the city and his attention was immediately grabbed by the amount of lights and things that glowed here at night. He liked it.

He attempted to look as if he knew where he was going and what he was doing that night because adults were bound to ask questions about the pale, little boy strolling the streets of Seoul when it should be his bedtime. When Yoongi had deemed himself completely exhausted, he sat on a bench and closed his eyes for a little while. “I will rest,” he told himself. So he did.

“Excuse me, young man?” The stern voice startled him as he shot up from where he was lying. He hadn’t known he had fallen asleep. He wonders if someone called the police. The idea of the cops finding him was enough to have Yoongi attempting to run off but a boy’s voice stopped him. “Don’t worry, my daddy won’t call anyone. Promise.”

Yoongi had come to learn that that boy’s name was Namjoon. That night was the night Yoongi had met his new father and brothers and was accepted as the middle son of the boss of the 7 Point Syndicate.

 

“Let’s see how you did,” Yoongi sighed as he watched an optimistic grin spread across his younger brother’s face. Jungkook lowered the gun, letting out an unsteady breath, and watched Yoongi take down the target practice paper. The optimistic, proud smirk on his face slowly dropped as Yoongi’s face stayed expressionless as he walked over studying the large paper.

Jungkook could’ve sworn that he did a good job this time. He gnawed on the inside of his cheek to refrain from pouting in disappointment. Yoongi laid the large paper of the target practice torso onto the table behind them.

Yoongi, Jungkook, and Namjoon went to the shooting range whenever they had the time because it was crucial that Jungkook learned how to aim better. He was great at most things, Yoongi would admit, but aiming a gun was at the very bottom of Jungkook’s long list of expertise. The top would be his ability in hand to hand combat. His boyish looks and his ripe age of eighteen did a good job in fooling people into thinking he didn’t know his way around a fist or a knife fight.

“One bullet to the head. Needs to be at least three. Three bullets to the chest. That’s great compared to the zero you had last time. One in the neck. Four to the shoulders. Kook, I know you can do better than this.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes and shifted his weight to his left leg, hating that he was being scolded yet again. He didn’t wanna hear that he could do better. “I will do better. Damn, give a brother a chance.” Jungkook groaned and switched the safety on the gun back on and tossing the gun on the table.

Yoongi huffed in response to his whining, moving to run a hand down Jungkook’s arm in silent comfort. Silently telling him that he knew that he could do it. That he will do it. There was no doubt in Yoongi’s mind that Jungkook couldn’t.

For further reference, Yoongi decided to roll up the target practice paper and place it in the corner. He assumed that allowing Jungkook see his progress from time to time will boost his confidence when handling a gun, so he wouldn’t have to endure those pouts any longer.

A bit more relaxed, Jungkook initially picked up the gun to return it to its casing but Yoongi suddenly grabbed his wrist, twisting it enough to cause him pain.

“What’s your problem, Hyung? I just wanted to put it back,” Jungkook whimpered snatching his hand away. Out of acquired instinct, Jungkook had attempted to swing at Yoongi. Jungkook was fast but Yoongi was knew the boy too well and easily caught his wrist, glaring at Jungkook.

“You know I like to shoot a bit before we leave. Now do me a favor and put up another torso paper.” Yoongi grasped the pistol in his right hand and reloaded the magazine clip quickly. As Jungkook finished, he stepped to the side knowing that this wouldn’t take long at all.

“All done,” Jungkook called.

Yoongi inhaled a deep, refreshing breath and raised his right arm. He no longer needed to hold the gun with two hands like Jungkook had. Like he had when he ended his misery almost ten years ago. All Yoongi needed was one hand to hold a pistol. And he almost never missed his target.

But that was thanks to his uncle. Whatever Yoongi aimed at, his uncle’s face appeared. Everytime he shot a gun, the entire situation replayed in his mind and the imagine of yet another bullet being lodged into his uncle’s head appeared in his mind. It brought a pleasant smile to his lips.

He loved it.

With one arm raised and his other hand pushed within the pocket of his pressed slacks, Yoongi emptied the entire magazine into the paper torso a few feet away. He relished in the loudness of the bullet leaving the gun. The recoil as he pressed onto the trigger again and again until the gun was eliciting only a sharp, empty click, telling him that the magazine clip was empty. . Yoongi’s eyes rolled to the back of his head in satisfaction and he let a pleasured sigh fall from his lips. A reaction that was so similar to the way he reacted when Hoseok bent him over his desk after a long, exhausting day of looking over encrypted files and drove himself into Yoongi, bringing him to fantastic, mind blowing s. Or when it was the other way around and Hoseok was the one whimpering, gasping, and begging as Yoongi brought him up and over the edge. The feeling of power was just that ic.

He tugged his bottom lip between his teeth, opened his eyes, and lowered the gun. He gulped and took a few deep breaths to calm his ragged breathing. “You did amazing, Yoongi-hyung. Look,” Jungkook smiled coming over with the torso paper. “Five headshots, five shots to the chest.”

Yoongi had opened his mouth to respond, but his phone had started ringing from in his pocket. He handed the gun to Jungkook a bit too harshly than he had intended, still overcome with the feeling of power, and slid the phone from his pocket.

“Joonie got food!” Jungkook gasped childishly, rushing over towards the table closest to the entrance where Namjoon was digging through a white paper bag. Yoongi smirked a bit at their oldest brother’s grunt of approval. Glancing over at the two, he noticed that Namjoon had made a quick walk to the nearby fast food place, before he swiped his thumb across the phone screen to answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Where’s Namjoon.” Their father’s voice was laced with irritation. Yoongi sighed and began making his way towards his brothers. Both Yoongi and their father were fully aware that Namjoon hadn’t answered his phone on purpose.

“He’s here. Just came back from buying lunch.” The way Namjoon had stopped unwrapping his burger and huffed in annoyance was enough evidence to confirm Yoongi and his father’s prediction that Namjoon indeed did ignore their father’s call.

“What? Am I not allowed to have some peace while I’m trying to eat?” Namjoon rolled his eyes and fully unwrapped the burger, taking a bite.

“You know I wouldn’t bother-” Yoongi put the phone on speaker as he sat down, pulling his own burger out of the bag. “-to call you if the matter wasn’t important,” his father shot back.

“We know, daddy,” Jungkook answered with a mouth full of lettuce and too much ketchup. Yoongi was sure that Namjoon asked for extra lettuce for Jungkook’s burger. The youngest loved his burger with lots of lettuce and ketchup.

“Well, what is it?” Yoongi inquired, biting into his own cheeseburger. He hadn’t realized he was this hungry.

“Seokjin called me a minute ago in a frenzy.” The mentioning of Seokjin caused Namjoon to completely forget about the burger he had just finished complaining about. “It seems there has been a dilemma or some type of altercation at our casino and he is asking you to get there as soon as possible. He was completely out of breath and was furious. I’ve already sent a car to pick you up from the warehouse. Make sure you are ready to get going when Eun gets there. You know how Seokjin is when he’s upset, the entire block might be in flames if you get there too late.”

Seokjin rarely got angry. He handled things with calmness and thought things through before acting. It’s one of the reasons why Namjoon and Jin understood each other so well. They were two sides to the same coin. But when Jin was angry, it wasn’t exactly something that needed to be taken lightly, for he was out of control when his patience ran too thin. That man taught Jungkook everything he knows about hand to hand combat and, even with Jungkook’s skills, could still kick his in under five minutes.

But it got worse when Namjoon entered the situation. If Jin was mad, then Namjoon was infuriated. That’s why both Yoongi and Jungkook’s face went stone cold when their father said how pissed Seokjin was. He didn’t say Jin was mad or angry. No. He said furious. It made all three of them stop eating, all worried about what could’ve possibly happened.

“Alright, we are gonna lock up here and be outside right away,” Namjoon said, standing. With a one rough grunt, their father ended the call. Yoongi pocketed his phone once again and grabbed his burger following his brothers outside. This was about to be a long afternoon.

 

“Why the hell is this car so cramped,” Jungkook complained. The boy was just in a really bad mood from having to sit in the middle seat because the passenger seat was crowded with bags and files that Eun, their personal driver, had to deliver to their father’s office after this.

Yoongi rolled his eyes at Jungkook’s brattiness. He was pretty sure their dad bought the Mercedes Maybach for the sole fact that Jungkook asked for it. Pouted was a better way to put it. With just a pout, Jungkook got whatever he desired. Their father would always make a lame attempt at denying Jungkook but gave in without a fight.

“I don't like this car. I want a new one.” Jungkook stuffed the rest of his burger into his mouth and sighed dramatically.

“What’s wrong with the car?” Yoongi asked, rubbing his hand across the flawless, tan leather of the armrest as to prove his point that there was absolutely nothing wrong with the car.

“I’m cramped, for one. And two, I’ve been looking at getting a Lamborghini Aventador for a while.” Namjoon’s annoyed sigh caught both of their attention.

“What’s your prob-” Jungkook started but definitely didn’t finish.

“This car is perfectly fine and you’re talking about how you want another one. You’re being a brat and it’s annoying the hell out of me. You’re an adult now, stop being so childish all the time.”

Jungkook didn’t respond. Namjoon was the only one Jungkook couldn’t get through to with that childish pout of his. Hell, even Yoongi would break under the pressure when the youngest frowned in disappointment. But Namjoon didn’t play those games. As the oldest, he was raised and disciplined under the most strict circumstances. He wasn’t too hard on Jungkook, but without Namjoon, Jungkook wouldn’t have been disciplined in the slightest. It didn’t help that Namjoon was also in a bad mood. Everytime Eun stopped for pedestrians or even stopped at a redlight, Namjoon would sigh heavily and tap his feet harder on the car floor.

“Sorry, Joon,” Jungkook muttered. He began to pick and bite at the hangnail on his thumb, visibly shrinking.

Namjoon had just grunted in response and continued staring out of the window. Silence took over the car except for the quiet humming of Eun in the driver’s seat. Yoongi knew what was coming. He could hearing the ticking of the metaphorical timer that was counting down the seconds until Namjoon would, not give in but, construct a compromise.

Then the timer went off.

“You want a Lamborghini Aventador, Kook?” Yoongi smirked at his own vague reflection in the car window when Namjoon’s smooth but deep voice suddenly broke the silence.

“Yeah, Joonie. I really want one.”

“How about this. When you get three headshots and four chest shots at the shooting range, I’ll convince dad to buy it.” Yoongi could hear the smirk on Namjoon’s lips and could almost feel the radiant smile on Jungkook’s face.

“You’re too nice, Joon,” Yoongi commented.

“Might as well do a little something nice because what I’m about to do to whoever hurt Jin is about to beyond just mean, ” Namjoon said as the towering, grandly embroidered building of the The Lucky Seven casino came into view.

 

It was when the three of them entered the casino that they realized that they had no idea where Seokjin exactly was. He could on any of the five floors and the fact that the casino was beyond packed didn’t help. But Namjoon quickly made an assumption that Seokjin was most likely on the top floor in his office. Not wanting to waste any time, Yoongi and Jungkook just followed.

Yoongi knew that Namjoon was right about Jin being on this floor as soon as the steel doors of the elevator opened. The vexxed shouting coming from down the hall was able to be heard clearly from most likely everywhere on that floor, making all employees rather uneasy as they attempted to continue their work.

As soon as Namjoon burst through the door, the yelling came to a complete stop. Seokjin whipped his head around hard enough that Yoongi was surprised he didn’t break or pull something. Jin’s face was color of raging inferno, eyes were a bloodshot red, and the veins in his neck and head were bulging in anger. His usually neatly groomed, designer pinstripe suit was covered in blood and torn in several places. The furniture thrown everywhere and millions of shards of glass scattered on the floor let Yoongi know there was some type of struggle that went down here.  

But that wasn’t what bothered Yoongi. What bothered Yoongi was Jin’s swollen, busted lip, his purple, bruised eye, and the long, nasty cuts on his cheek.

Yoongi let his gaze fall upon four of his father’s men, who were also in a bad shape just similar to Seokjin. All of them had their arms forcibly tied behind their back and they were kneeling on the ground helplessly. He recognized all of their faces from boring meetings that he and Namjoon were forced to go to by their father. If he remembered correctly, they were in charge of the assassinations that the 7 Point Syndicate needed done quietly and quickly.

What the hell were they doing here, all tied up in rope, bleeding, and beaten?

“Princess, what happened here?” Namjoon’s voice was low. Deep. Angry.

“You wouldn’t believe what they tried to do.” Seokjin laughed bitterly, moving in front of the seemingly tall older man that seemed to be in his late thirties and harshly kicking the man in the stomach with all of his strength. The man doubled over and groaned loudly in pain.

“Can you believe that these s tried to and kill me,” Seokjin chuckled maliciously once again before turning to Namjoon who was standing in front of Yoongi and Jungkook stiffly. “They rushed in here, locked that door… and tried to touch me…even held a knife up to my throat and everything!”

Yoongi’s eyes widened. Yeah. He was surprised that anyone would ever target Jin, especially with someone like Namjoon by his side almost every hour of the day. But he was even more baffled by the fact that Jin had been able to defend himself against these four men with just the simple switchblade he carried with him.

Namjoon didn’t respond immediately. He was only ever quiet in these situations under one condition: when he was deep in thought.

“They just burst in here? Without explanation?” Namjoon asked.

“Yeah. Said that… they weren’t gonna do business for a homo who s men,” Jin spat as he angrily ran a hand through his hair at an attempt to brush it back and out of his face.

Yoongi frowned a bit. He wouldn’t exactly say that Namjoon was gay, but he wouldn’t say he was straight either. To Yoongi, it seemed like Namjoon never worried about attraction to anyone. The only person who ever caught Joon’s attention was Seokjin, and Yoongi and Jungkook were sure that Seokjin would be the only person for a long time.

Yoongi looked closely at Jin and noticed that his hands were trembling and, in fact, the man was trembling all over, like he was standing in the middle of a blizzard. While Jin kept his composure, Yoongi knew him well enough to notice just how shaken and possibly scared he was. Yoongi couldn’t blame him either. Jin was amazing in combat, but still lacked weight and intimidation. Being ambushed by four much bigger men must’ve shaken Jin in the worst of ways, and it seemed like Namjoon took notice to that.

“Come here, Jinnie.” It was as if Jin was waiting for those words to leave Namjoon’s mouth. Jin was in his arms in just seconds, clutching Namjoon’s suit jacket to steady and ground himself, breathing in his scent. Namjoon hadn’t had time to comfort Jin, however, because he already knew what he wanted to do to these men. He wanted to see them suffer. See them in pain. So instead of wrapping Jin in his embrace, he pulled his lover with him to stand directly in front of the four men, who were still kneeling quietly, awaiting Namjoon. Already accepting their fates.

“Explain.” The one word left Namjoon’s mouth like a determined last breath. Unlike their father, Namjoon liked to understand a situation before acting, so whenever something went wrong, that one word demand left his lips. And he expected an explanation at that moment. But none of the men spoke up nor raised their gaze from the floor.

“So no one gonna answer me?” Still no answer. The room was silent for a few seconds before Namjoon quickly whipped the pistol from inside of his suit jacket and simply raised it to one of the men’s head. And pulled the trigger. It all happened so fast that Jungkook was looking around for what happened when the gun went off. All he knew is that someone had been killed which was inevitable when the couple was upset.

The man’s body fell limp instantly and he dropped to the floor with a loud echoing thud, blood oozing out of the hole now prettily placed right between his eyes that were wide open but lifeless. Yoongi felt a familiar shock of pleasant electricity rush through his veins and bloodstream. Jungkook just stared.

“Again, Joonie,” Jin whispered, looking down at the dead man. “I want all of them killed for hurting me.”

“Just wait, love.” Namjoon gently laid a kiss on the bloody gash on Jin’s left cheek. “I’m tempted to just end all your lives right here for laying even a finger on Jin. But that wouldn’t be fun would it? I’ll let you all know right now that you will not be getting it as easy as this fatass here. I’m not gonna just shoot you in your head and let you die that easy. Not gonna happen.”

“You know what I think, Joon?” Yoongi spoke up suddenly, leaving his spot next to the door and going to stand at Namjoon’s other side. “I think these men thought that by hurting Jin, they could somehow hold the power that only you have. But look where that got them. Kneeling on the ground at our feet. Their last day on earth. Standing before us waiting for judgment on their judgment day.”

“ I like the way you think, Yoongi, but I still want an explanation from them about why they think it is acceptable for them to hurt Jin and talk bad about me. I'm practically your savior.” Namjoon looked over the men once more. “Still not talking, huh?”

Namjoon laughed. “Okay. You don’t wanna use your tongues when you have it? Fine, I’ll just chop that off along with all of you guys’ fingers and since you don’t know how to keep them to yourselves. I’ll finish by having your throats slit just because that’s what Jin likes.”

The rest of the men had suddenly snapped their attention from on the floor to Namjoon’s condescending smirk. “Namjoon, master-” a much more slender but short man began but instead of listening, Namjoon raised the pistol again and whipped it across the man’s face, sending him flying to the floor from the force.

“I gave you a chance to talk and you didn’t take it. Not my fault.” Namjoon took Jin’s hand and intertwined their fingers.

“Let’s get them to the basement. I want the stench of their blood when we’re through with them to linger down there, reminding any men that think that I’m somehow not worthy that they’d do better keeping their mouths closed.”

 

“Eito, this isn’t a matter of right and wrong but rather a matter of loyalty and disloyalty. Got that?” Jongin and Kyungsoo both circled Eito like he was their prey, waiting for the perfect time to just devour him. Jongin watched the man struggle in the chair helplessly. He commended the way Kyungsoo strategically tied the rough ropes and binds around Eito’s body, admiring the way the ropes criss-crossed and dug into the man’s pale, so easily bruised skin, restricting him of all movement below the neck.

He ran a hand across Eito’s cheek that was painted red from the embarrassment of being and tied down while they were fully clothed. “Lemme ask you a question, Eito,” Jongin whispered in his ear

Eito didn’t respond, only moved his eyes to meet Jongin’s. “Why’d you sell the drugs to those traffickers? Do you support the trafficking of children, is that it?”

“N-no. T-they just offered a good deal. I-I don’t know.”

“Do we not pay you enough, Eito?

“You pay me well, Young Master.”

“You’re pissing me off, Eito. You know that? Because everything that leaves your mouth is contradicting your actions a few days ago.” Jongin pulled back and stood next to Kyungsoo who patiently waited for a command.

“You say you don’t support trafficking yet you give a load of drugs to the traffickers themselves. It makes no sense… I wonder how you would feel if your daughter was in trafficking.” Eito’s eyes widened as his head snapped up to stare at Jongin.

“No,” Eito whispered. “No. No! No! Please! Don’t hurt my daughter!”

“Isn’t she only… thirteen? Would hate to end her childhood and have her forced into slavery, just like my mother. To be extorted everyday. Usedeveryday for ual favors. Maybe even drugged using the same drugs you gave to those trafficking rings. It’ll be all your fault, Eito. You will be the reason for that. Poor girl. I only feel pity for her,” Jongin sighed, mockingly.

Eito was weeping and trembling now as Jongin taunted him, sobs raking through his body as he pleaded loudly. “Don’t hurt her! She did nothing!” Jongin hadn’t noticed that Kyungsoo had walked away until he had come back holding a blue folder: Eito’s files. Kyungsoo opened it, flipped through it until a picture of a little girl came into view.

“Aww, Master, look how pretty she is,” Kyungsoo tilted the folder his way.

“Oh, she is, isn’t she? Oh and she plays sports? Let Eito see his beautiful daughter.” Kyungsoo shoved the files into Eito’s already swollen, tear stricken face on command. The picture of his smiling little girl caused Eito to give a sharp, deafening cry as he fought against the ropes. It was as if Kyungsoo had stabbed a knife right through Eito’s heart.

Kyungsoo smiled and handed the file to Jongin. Kyungsoo kneeled in front of Eito and ran a thumb across his cheeks. Eito tried jerking his face away but Kyungsoo grabbed hold on his jaw, pressing his thumb and index finger hard against his jaw bone.

“You wanna play a game?”

“No,” Eito coughed in between gasps.

“Oh, but I think you do.” Jongin stepped back and allowed Kyungsoo to take control for he enjoyed watching Kyungsoo in control. He allowed his eyes to travel down his lover’s body. The broadness of his shoulders, the curve of his back, the short length of his legs. Jongin sighed as he imagined how pleasing it would be to having Kyungsoo strip for him right here.

“How about this…” Kyungsoo pulled a revolver out of his suit pocket. “There are five bullets in this revolver instead of six, meaning one of the barrels are empty. You’re gonna pick a number, one through six. I’ll then shoot the gun. If there is in fact a bullet in that barrel you picked, your daughter will be put into slavery as early as tomorrow morning. But if there isn’t a bullet that comes out, your daughter is saved.”

Eito opened his mouth once again to scream as loud as he could for someone to help him. They all were aware of how little of a chance Eito had to pick the empty barrel. Approximately 17%. “This is your fault, Eito,” Jongin said loudly, to be heard over his screams, “You shouldn’t have funded those bastards that hurt innocent, precious kids like your daughter!”

Jongin could practically feel the man’s heart break and his mind split open in agony as more tears fell from his face. Jongin could only imagine the headache the man must’ve had. Kyungsoo waved the gun in front of Eito’s face and continued mocking him. “Come on, Eito. You have a chance. If you don’t pick in the next five seconds, there is a 100% chance, your daughter will lose her entire childhood. We are in fact being kind to you. Pick. A. Number.”

“Three!” He yelled, his cries halting for a second. Silence filled the air in anticipation.   Kyungsoo smiled and stepped back, turning the barrel until he had the third slot lined up perfectly. He raised the gun, aiming it directly at Eito. Just for effect. And that’s exactly what he got. Eito’s eyes widened to an impossible width as he winced harshly. At the last second however, Kyungsoo oved the gun and the bullet went directly above Eito’s freshly shaven head.

“Aww. It looks like six was the right answer. Poor thing. I feel so sorry for your little girl.” Eito’s entire body began to shake as he constantly muttered the word ‘No.’ He started rocking himself and the chair he was strapped to, his bloodshot red eyes staring at a single rock on the ground next to Kyungsoo’s shoes. He was slowly going crazy.

“Put him out of his misery. He’s reached his breaking point,” Jongin whispered in Kyungsoo’s ear. With a single nod, Kyungsoo lowered the gun, aiming for his chest and stomach before he pulled the trigger twice, emptying bullets four and five into Eito. The man’s body jerked but that was his last movement.

They stood in silence for about a minute before Jongin spoke up. “You really wanna put the girl into slavery?”

Kyungsoo rolled his eyes and threw the revolver onto the ground in front of Eito’s still bound, bloody, body. “Of course not. She’s done nothing wrong. Plus, hurting innocent children is just disgusting to me. We’ll let her live her life. But… he’ll never know that, will he?” He turned to look at Jongin with a sly grin.

“Well, I already have a physician on the way. Maybe he’ll survive, who knows.” Jongin moved closer to Kyungsoo and placed his hands on his ironically thin waist and hips and burying his face in his neck.

“If he doesn’t, then oh well. But if he does survive, well at least he gets to go home and see his daughter, and he’ll know not to ing mess with the Lotus anymore. Might have some PTSD but he’ll be alright.”

Jongin smirked and grabbed Kyungsoo by the nape of his neck and pulled him in for a smoldering kiss filled with pride and passion. The coldness of Kyungsoo’s tongue was most satisfying, juxtaposing the heat that was engulfing Jongin’s body.. “You did so well,” Jongin whispered against his full, plump lips. Kyungsoo could only smile into the kiss.

Little did the two of them know, that outside of the door stood a trembling Jimin who had overheard the entire game the two played with Eito while patiently waiting for Baekhyun and Chanyeol to pick him up. Jimin knew that he was in fact not ready to be the son of mafia bosses. The youngest son cried behind the confines of his full face gas mask at the idea of disappointing his family.