One Month before… 

Sooyoung looked up from the dashboard to the street, then down to her hands before letting her gaze wander to the street again.  

Maybe it would all work out. Maybe this was the way to do things. Maybe she should— 

One more drink. One more drink and she would stop stalling. 

The gin was cheap, burned something terrible going down, and she coughed in her hand, swallowed, before taking several more shots. It was some convenience store booze she’d purchased with the few dollars she had left, more alcohol than taste. Jinki had frozen her bank accounts, so she had relied on Ducky to loan her some money until she could get back on her feet. And getting back on her feet required her to get out of this damn car. 

She was alive, though—she shouldn’t be—and that’s what counted. Mostly, anyways.  

Hastily, she yanked the keys out of the ignition, pushed open the door, and stood, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress. Her wig itched—surprising because it wasn’t cheap, not like the liquor. It was nerves. Which, honestly, was ridiculous. She’d done this a hundred times. She could do it again. 

Across the street was Troy Han, Utada’s pimp. He stared at her as she crossed, recognition hitting immediately, even if he accessed her with the cool calculating gaze of someone trained to be untrustworthy. He wasn’t usually out here—the girls were supposed to report their earning to him nightly at his home. Still, it was his corner. He had the right. 

“Hey Troy,” she said breezily, stepping up to the sidewalk.  

He tilted his head, inhaling deep from his cigarette, the tip burning red. “Hey, Soo.” Exhale, grey smoke in the air. “What brings you?” 

For that she gave him a pointed frown. He knew. The whole syndicate knew. “You know why I’m here.” 

Troy chuckled, flicked some of the ashes away. “Around the corner. You want her for the whole night?”  

“Yes.” Sooyoung nodded and withdrew the money Jinki had given her for this. “Until the morning, she is mine. Don’t bother us.” 

Troy shrugged, took another drag. “Whatever. She’s around the corner.”  

Sooyoung nodded again, slapped the money directly into Troy’s palm and began heading in the direction he’d indicated.  

“Aye, Soo. Wait.”  

She froze, willed the tension off her face, and spun around.  

“I don’t know who you’re ing with outside of her but…you can come to me if they lay their hands on you again.” 

She almost laughed. She’d nursed enough of Utada’s wounds after Troy was done with her to find his statement ridiculous. Black and blue reminders of ownership and expectations. Plus, it wasn’t like she could admit that her own syndicate had done this to her. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

They usually stood outside of their hotel room for long moments before going in. A sort of breakstop—inside reminded them of what Utada did, regardless of the company. Utada liked looking up at the sky, told her it was a different sky than the one she was under every night at work. “It’s not that bad,” she murmured as Sooyoung laid her chin on her shoulder. “I mean, if I could keep the money it wouldn’t be so terrible.” 

“If this world were how it was supposed to be, I would let you do whatever you wanted. You could walk the streets for all I cared. each and every last one of them dry–bankrupt them. Call their wives and let them know what they’ve been doing. Extort them. Own Seoul.” 

Utada leaned back to stare at her. “You’ve been thinking a lot about this.” 

“Not really my idea,” she muttered, before taking Utada’s hand and leading her towards the door. “But…but what if it were a possibility? What if we could run the streets like that? Collecting collateral and using it however we want? Would you do that?” 

“Maybe.” Utada shrugged. “If I had the power, maybe.” 

Sooyoung nodded. That’s all she needed to hear.  

She slid a hand around Utada’s waist, to secure her, then unlocked the hotel room door and let it swing back, bang against the wall.  

Utada was silent for a moment, brown eyes accessing the scene like a practiced detective. Then she laughed, a sharp, bitter one. “I have never betrayed you, Sooyoung. Even when I could.” 

Again, Sooyoung nodded. Sitting on their bed was her cousin Lee Taemin and Kim Kibu Jinki’s underboss for the western territories—also a cousin if you paid really close attention to family trees. She briefly wondered were Jonghyun was, but knowing him, he was on the roof, cigar hanging from his mouth, moon at his back, making sure no one interrupted them despite Troy’s drone reassuranes. 

“Hiya, Utada.” Taemin said. He’d actually dressed like he had sense this time, a burnt yellow double ed suit and a teal turtleneck. “I’m—” 

Utada shook Sooyoung free and walked into the room. She threw open the mini-fridge and withdrew one of those useless small bottles of water that cost a million bucks per sip. “I know who you are,” she said, once she was done.  

“Good.” Taemin’s smile didn’t wither but it still held an eerily blunt edge to it, like it was being held in place by thumbtacks. “We have a proposition for you.” 

“Do you?” She placed on foot on the bed, tanned skin against white sheets, her gold slinky dress falling away from her thigh at the split. “For the both of you, it’ll be triple the cost. Someone gave Troy all of her money, so I need to get compensated for the extra somehow.” Taemin looked at Kibum and Kibum looed at her. “Don’t look so nervous. I can multitask.” 

Sooyoung wanted to put her head through the television. 

Kibum held up a hand. “Not…not that kind of proposition,” he said frowning. “We,” and he paused to nod towards Taemin, then Sooyoung, “we want to utilize your talents to take down your grandfather.” 

Utada sniffed. “That’s brave. Lee Jinki gets the upper hand and he wants to topple dynasties now.” She laughed, lowered her leg, and leaned against the dresser. “I’m sorry. Sooyoung tried to help me because of a damn black eye and it almost got her killed. I’m not about to throw my life away, or hers, to stop my grandfather from being an unrepentant devil. I can’t even imagine what kind of scheme you’ve cocked up.” She turned to Sooyoung. “You are a fool.” 

Sooyoung rolled her eyes. “Listen for once, would you?” She waved at Key and Taemin. “Tell her.” 

“We’ve talked to some of the girls,” Taemin confessed. “The same way we are talking to you. We know that you, as Han’s granddaughter, have the most power. That you stick up for the girls, protect them. We’re asking that you protect them again.” 

Utada raised a brow. “Go on.” 

“They said they are willing to work under you, no matter what.” 

Utada frowned. “Doing what? I can’t,” and she waved around wildly, “usurp Troy on his own ing block. I’d be dead before the day was out. My father can’t protect me.” 

“No. Build a grapevine,” Kibum said. “Collect information on all of those who threaten Jinki. His enemies. Gather that—which is power—and we will help you use that to gain freedom, influence, agency. This could change your life.” 

“How can I trust you?” She sniffed and reached into the fridge for another water. “This could be one big, elaborate ploy.” 

“Could be.” Taemin shrugged. “But do you trust, Sooyoung?”  

Sooyoung froze as Utada swung towards her, slowly. They locked eyes, Utada’s gaze drifting towards Sooyoung’s swollen lip, then to her eyes. “We could have more?” 

“I told you. I would give you whatever you want. But I need your help getting the power. Raze the earth with me—” 

Utada’s stony exterior cracked with that, and she gave a small smile. She raised her hand, and flicked her thumb, like she was flicking a lighter. Their sign. “—And give them all the hell they deserve.”  

One week before… 

Every time Minho kissed him, Jinki felt like he would combust. Not only out of his sheer want for the man, but because Minho kissed Jinki like he needed to be kissed.  

Sometimes the kisses are chaste and sweet. Minho would lean over from the laptop Jinki bought him and just kiss him, like they were a normal couple doing normal things, disconnected from the dark of this life. He’d do it when Jinki cooked for him, walking behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist, large hands tight splayed against his belly. Jinki would tip his head back, surprised, and Minho would answer with only his lips.  

Sometimes, though, the kisses weren’t sweet. Sometimes they were wet and hurried and hungry as Minho shrugged out of whatever suit Jinki had bought him and pressed up against him—his long, lean, hard body against his. 

He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve Minho, but Jinki was a selfish man, maybe the most selfish man in Seoul, and he would have this for as long as he could. 

By God, how so much had changed in the last few weeks. It could have been because Minho really thought Jinki could have died from a measly gunshot wound and this was his gift, affection in place of the power Minho didn’t think he had.  

Or it could be because Minho liked him. Wanted him.  

Or all of the above. Didn’t matter much to Jinki, not when Minho was warm and under him, letting Jinki hover above him, letting Jinki shelter Minho from whatever he could.  

The first time they’d done this was four days after Sunny, just recently returned from Jeju, inspected Jink’s wound, grimacing over Yeri’s hasty work. Still, she’d swiped a cool, sterilized pad over his shoulder, stitches dissolved, wound closed and shrugged.  

“Good as new, old man.” 

Minho had been so elated, so tickled that he’d kissed Jinki in front of everyone. Seconds later, Jinki was ordering everyone one out, and had Minho crowded up against his—their—bedroom door, tongue in his mouth, hands palming his . 

“I really should get shot more often,” he’d muttered into Minho’s mouth. Which earned him a swat on the shoulder. In retaliation, he’d mouthed at Minho’s collarbone, half expecting the man to push him away. A noise came from the back of Minho’s throat and his hands tightened where they were clutching Jinki’s back and Jinki just had to. He had to get this man out of these clothes.  

Minho had helped, and clothes ended up in a pile at their feet as Jinki kissed down Minho’s body, over the ing moon that he was allowing this. He watched him, as he pinned Minho’s hips to the door with a hand and took him in his mouth. Watched his mouth open, watched his bottom lip tremble, watched him bang his head back. 

All incentives to hallow his cheeks and inhale him.  

He didn’t stop, not even when Minho begged him to finish somewhere else, tugged at his hair to the point of pain, hands shaking along his scalp. He didn’t stop until Minho parted his lips and said Jinki’s name as he emptied into his mouth.  

Jinki loved being with Minho, inside of him, next to him. It wasn’t love, it couldn’t be, but there had to someone, somewhere, who knew how lackluster and ordinal his life was beforehand. That Jinki was getting use to his life—that he needed something to shake it up. 

Enter Minho.  

Or maybe it was. Love, that is.  

Jinki blew air across Minho’s chest, one to watch him squirm, and two, to aid in cooling down. Minho was like a furnace after , like all of his emotions were locked under his skin, that his physical release was just half of the game. 

And Minho needed this, needed an emotional release as well.  

A third attempt had been made on Minho’s life. Just this morning. The delivery man, lips posed to blow some kind of powder in Minho’s face, was dead before he could inhale. Jinki had emptied the clip into him.  

The rage he felt wasn’t hot, burning, lashing out. It was a cold, nefarious feeling. A decisive one.  

The was supposed to be a distraction.  

But not even that could divert his thoughts from keeping Minho safe.  

“I—it’s not final yet but—there is a meeting. Next week. With all the syndicate heads.” 

Minho head craned down. He looked at Jinki, lips pressed together. “I don’t want to argue with you.” 

Jinki rolled his eyes, pressed the side of his face against Minho’s chest, reveled in how there wasn’t much give, but it was still so soft. “Then let’s not argue.” Jinki inhaled, then decided that, no, they were going to argue. “I’m not even asking you to give me complete control. I asking you to retain it, and stay with me.” 

“It doesn’t work that way. You’ll always have to have it. You’ll always have to demonstrate that you have access to it. Because the minute you don’t, they will come after you. It’ll never be completely yours, Jinki.” 

That was Minho’s argument. That it would have to be an everlasting leash to keep control over the other syndicates. He didn’t see the problem with that. What he did find a problem with was… 

“Are you talking about CRUISE,” he looked up, found Minho’s gaze, held it. “Or are you talking about yourself?” 

Minho growled and pushed him away. He sat up and snatched his sleeping pants off the ground, shimmying them up his hips as he stomped to the bathroom. Or tried. Jinki was up and out of the bed, standing in front of it before he could get his fingers around the handle.   

“Tell me.” 

“Exactly how long do you think we are going to last?” 

Jinki didn’t hesitate. “Forever or until someone kills me.” He didn’t mean to phrase it like that but if they were going to have this argument, they needed to have it, have it.  

“And I’m telling you if you keep this up, that’ll be until your ing meeting next week.”  

“And?”  

“And if you die, I die.”  

Jinki almost snorted because if Minho trusted him, he would know there was no way in hell that was happening. “So,” and he paused to slide in front of the door because Minho felt like testing his damn patience by trying to run away from this talk. “What if it works? What if I survive? Then—” he nodded between the two of them. “Where does that leave us.” 

“You’re——why are you so worried about that right now? You’re about to—we do not matter right now! You do! And if I have to be the one to worry about your dumb and your dumb life, then so be it. I’m not,” and he took a step forward, looming over Jinki, “giving you control over CRUISE. If it wasn’t my life insurance against the Lee Syndicate, I’d destroy whatever access we have now.” 

Jinki punched the door. Once, twice, nostils flaring in anger. “That’s what I’m talking about! You think I’d kill you over that?” 

“You almost killed your own cousin. It’s not that far fetched of an idea.”  

“ you,” Jinki seethed. “ you. I will do whatever the hell I want, when I want to.” 

Minho shrugged. “Fine. I’ll speak at your funeral. I’ll say the nice words that your family won’t say. Here lies Lee Jinki. Love of my life. Eternal ing idiot. But don’t think I’m going to just rejoice in this. You want me to accept that you could die. That it’s a part of the business. I did not ask to be a part of your business. You made me a part of your business.” 

“I made you apart of my life.” 

“If you did care about me, you’d understand why it was unacceptable in the first place.” Minho his heels, marched around the bed, and out the door, slamming it.  

Two days before… 

“Take him to Atlanta.” 

Taemin looked up from a thick digest he was running through in their mad rush to get ready for the Syndicate Meeting in two days. Because of that, he wasn’t quite sure if he’d heard his cousin correctly. “Take who to—why Atlanta?”  

They only had one safe house in Atlanta. Not really in Atlanta. About an hour or two north, in Augusta, one of the most boring cities he’d ever been to in his life. But everything down there was called Atlanta— Sandy Springs, Alpharetta, —so for busines matters, it was Atlanta. It was the safest safehouse they had.  

“Minho. Take him to Atlanta. Have someone you trust—no.” His cousin stood, shaking his head back and forth, pacing. “I should do it myself. I could get him there and be back before the meeting.” 

“It’s in two days,” Taemin balked. “I think you’re over evaluating the efficiency of Hartsfield–Jackson airport.” Taemin grabbed his phone to contact Daesung, who would contact Jung, who would contact Rasheeda, their stateside associate. “Question. Why now? Did you guys have a fight or something? Are you,” and Taemin snickered, “punishing him?” 

Jinki punched his shoulder really, really hard.  

“What the , man. Alright! ! I’ll make sure he gets to Atlanta. Damn.” He rubbed his shoulder, grimacing. “Well, does he at least know or am I going to have to knock him out and stuff him in a suitcase to get him on the plane?” 

“He doesn’t know,” Jinki murmured. “He isn’t…talking to me.”  

Taemin almost leaned back to look at Jinki’s bedroom door, but they were in his penthouse office, Jinki’s condo separated by a thick steel safe door. “So, you did fight?” 

Jinki ran a hand over his face and plopped down in his office chair. “He’s afraid I’ll die. And if I die, he’ll die.” 

Taemin shrugged. “A likely possibility,” he said, without thinking. Which, considering how emotionally…fragile his cousin looked right now, maybe he should have kept that one in the holster. But honestly, honestly—“It is a possibility, Jinki,” he said, his mouth pulling down into a frown. “You can’t blame him for being upset about that.” 

“No. I’m upset because he has wrapped up his own survival in mine. Like I would let anything happen to him.” 

Taemin snorted. “Most people would take that as a compliment. He is literally saying he won’t live without you.” 

Jinki opened his mouth, an abortive motion before he snatched a pen out of a coffee mug that said “Does It Look Like I Rise And Shine?” Funny because he did wake up at the crack of dawn. “How is it going with Sooyoung.” 

“Good. Better than good. I’m thinking we should have thought of this a long time ago.” 

“It’s because of Minho,” Jinki muttered, clicking the pen over and over again. 

“Minho came up with the idea to utilize a network best honed by workers to gather intelligence that could take down your biggest enemy?” Taemin drawled, incredulous. 

“No. He…made me think. Forced me to think around what I usually do.” Jinki turned to Taemin, and the look on Taemin’s face was far more serious than Taemin was prepared for. “Am I…good at what I do?” 

“You’re the best, Jinks,” Taemin said, no hesitation. 

“No,” Jinki paused to scrubb his hands through his hair. “Am I good to you guys? Not because I’m your cousin, but…as your boss? Am I…good to you?” 

“You’re…” Taemin tapped his fingers across his laptop. “You’re strict. You don’t take . You can be…unfeeling at times.” 

Jinki cleared his throat. “Right.” 

“But…you treat us as…equals. Like…like we can make a difference and it isn’t that mob bull speak to manipulate us into doing what you want. You…value us? , I don’t know, this sounds goopy to me.” 

“Goopy.” 

“Yeah, goofy and sappy. Goopy.” Taemin tried to return to his work but he could still see Jinki moping out of the corner of his eye. “Look. It’s not like I had a real clear choice. I didn’t chose this lifestyle. It chose me. My dad chose it for me. Your dad chose it for me. Yet, I don’t feel like something has been stolen from me. I feel like—okay, I could have been born to any of the other clans but I was born into this one, under you, my own blood and—the Hans are , Jinks, you know that. You’re doing the right thing. You’re doing a good job.” 

Jinki grunted.  

“You’re going to rule the world, Lee Jinki. And we are all going to help you.” Taemin finally turned back to his spreadsheet and began reorganizing what he’d ed up talking to Jinki. Everything needed to be perfect. Had to be.  

“And not because you told us to. But because you deserve it.”  

Jinki nodded. Sat back. Shoulders almost relaxed.  

“And I’ll make sure Minho gets to Atlanta. I’ll make sure that he is safe.” 

“Because I told you so?” 

“No,” Taemin laughed. “Because when you get blue balls you turn into a jerk.”