Jisung woke up in pain. Like lethal claws had latched into his shoulder, it felt impossible to move without feeling the sharp ache that echoed through his body. He let out an involuntary groan as he rubbed his eyes. I officially hate being stabbed. Wincing, he slowly turned over. He paused when his eyes landed on the sleeping man next to him. Minho’s head was just barely turned away, but Jisung could clearly see hurt written into his expression. He flinched in his sleep, and his breathing became shaky.
Concern bloomed in Jisung’s chest. Ignoring the pain radiating from his wound, he ran his hand into Minho’s hair. He didn’t know how to comfort someone having a nightmare. Was he supposed to wake him up? Would it be better to leave him alone? With soft, gentle movements, he continued stroking his fingers through Minho’s hair. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re okay.”
Minho’s breathing evened out ever so slightly. Jisung took that as a good sign and continued. After what felt like several minutes, Minho took in a sharp breath, and his eyes groggily opened. Their eyes met. Minho’s suddenly brimmed with tears.
“Are you okay?” Jisung whispered.
Minho abruptly sat up, turning his head away. “Yeah, of course.”
No, you’re not. Jisung moved before he could think. He sat up and gently turned Minho’s head to face him. His cheeks were now streaked with tears. Jisung wiped the tears away with his thumbs. “You don’t have to be okay.”
Minho stared at him, several emotions coloring his eyes at once. Jisung brushed away another escaped tear.
“I don’t deserve to be comforted by you.”
“Everyone deserves comfort,” Jisung countered quietly. “You can tell me to stop, or you can hug me. Your choice.” He smiled softly, opening his arms in invitation.
Minho shook his head. “You really know how to break someone down.” He made a motion, granting permission.
Not wanting to twist his injured shoulder, Jisung moved in front of Minho and hovered over his lap. “Is this okay?”
Minho nodded silently. Jisung gently sat on his lap, his legs resting on the bed around Minho’s hips, and pulled him into a tentative embrace. Minho melted into his touch, wrapping his arms around Jisung’s waist and resting his forehead on his uninjured shoulder.
Dim sunlight slowly lit the windows, filling the quiet room with a soft, pale light that caressed its way in. It was a cool morning, but neither Jisung nor Minho noticed in their warm embrace.
Jisung wasn’t normally the hugging type, but as he sat there soaking in the moment, it somehow felt right. It was as if their arms were molded to each other’s bodies. For a moment, he allowed his mind to slow down, to stop over-thinking. Right now, he was just hugging Minho; not a rival mafia boss, not a machine. Just Minho.
“I think you might be crazy,” Minho suddenly whispered, releasing a breathy laugh.
Jisung cracked a smile. “Why do you say that?”
“I’m a psycho that sliced you up on our first meeting and then kidnapped you, and now you’re hugging me and wiping away my tears.”
For a second, Jisung went quiet, unsure of how to react. His first instinct was to push away and pretend this never happened. But another instinct that was just as strong told him to hold on tighter. He followed neither, and remained still as he was. He was questioning himself all over the place, wondering if he was truly beginning to understand and sympathize with Minho or if the knowledge that they shared a past was influencing his feelings. Instead of voicing these concerns, he joked, “Maybe I just have Stockholm Syndrome.”
Minho laughed, and his arms slackened around Jisung as he sat back and looked him in the eye. “I guess we’ll have to look into that.”
“You could do that by letting me go. If I’m willing to comfort you while I’m free, we’ll know for sure.”
“You make a convincing argument, but that’s not possible.”
Jisung sighed. “I was afraid of that.” He realized he was now sitting in Minho’s lap like it was completely normal. He ignored the blush that warmed his cheeks. “Do you feel better?”
Minho’s eyes flickered between Jisung’s. “I do,” he said, nearly whispering.
Don’t look at me like that. “I’m glad. Did you… need to talk about it?”
“No, I’m alright.” His dark eyes roamed Jisung’s face as he spoke, like he was taking it all in while he had the chance.
Why is my face so warm?
Loud banging shattered the cocoon that settled over the room, and Jisung quickly, and rather awkwardly, slid off Minho’s lap and climbed out of bed. Minho watched him, his expression unchanged from a moment ago.
Thank heaven for a distraction, I don’t know what’s happening anymore. “Uh, it sounds like the, uh, prisoners are awake,” he stammered, gathering some of the comforter that had fallen in his clumsy escape. “I can help with that if you need, but I need to take some pain meds before I pass out.” With that, he rushed out of the room and into the bathroom across the hall.
After locking the door, Jisung’s eyes widened at his own appearance. His black hair was a wild mess, and his face was most definitely three shades darker than normal. “Oh, come on,” he hissed, turning the tap on cold and splashing his face. “I’m insane. What am I doing? I should have left him alone, I should have gotten up and checked on the prisoners,” he rambled under his breath. He glared at himself in the mirror and ran a hand through his messy locks. It didn’t really help his case.
As he moved to grab a washcloth from the overhead shelves, Jisung bit back a harsh curse word as his shoulder sent a jolt of pain dancing down his arm, reminding him that he was, in fact, injured. Then he noticed blood spotting through his shirt. “Great, I think I tore the stitches.” Grabbing a washcloth with his other hand this time, he ran it under the faucet.
“You tore your stitches, didn’t you?” Minho’s voice suddenly came through the door.
Jisung almost laughed. “Of course you heard that.”
“I can patch you up again. Those boys we have locked up can wait a little longer.”
“That’s bad customer service.”
“I can handle a bad review.”
Jisung wanted to protest. He’d let his guard down too much already, but he hated needles, and the last time he tried to stitch himself up, he passed out and Changbin had to do it for him. After letting out a long, calming breath, he unlocked the door. “I will definitely add to your bad reviews if these stitches end up tearing too.”
Minho pushed him with a finger until his back hit the bathroom counter. “I think you’re just a bad patient. Did you do karate in your sleep or something?”
Jisung rolled his eyes, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t think I did. I just reached up there a little too fast. I might have forgotten I was wounded.”
“Even though you’re in pain?”
“The pain took over my rational thought.”
“Then I’ll just have to make sure you’re never in pain again.” Minho turned the tap off and squeezed the washcloth out.
Jisung glanced at him, raising a single eyebrow. “That’s a hefty task. Look at our world, Minho.”
“I know it’s foolish to make a promise, so I won’t promise that you won’t get hurt. However, that will not stop me from doing my best to keep you safe in every sense of the word. Now off with that shirt.”
Jisung complied, making sure to keep his bad shoulder as still as possible. “That’s why you’re not letting me go, right?”
Minho took the discarded shirt and threw it into the laundry basket in the corner. “Maybe.”
“You could have just said yes.”
“I’m ashamed to.”
“Why?”
Minho slowly began undoing the bloodied bandages, the words lodged in his chest. He cleared his throat after a tense moment. “If I come right out and admit I’m keeping you here for your safety, it’ll be the same as coming out and saying I couldn’t do the one thing I said I could. You were attacked right here in my safehouse, and you wouldn’t have been able to escape if you needed to because of that damned anklet.”
“I handled it. It would take a small army to make me turn tail and run from a fight.”
“That’s not my point.”
“I know,” Jisung said softly. “The purpose of my stay here is to be kept safe, yet two guys attempted to kill me, and you’re upset they managed to even find me. I get it, but I’m not going to blame you for any of it. We don’t even know why they were here yet.”
Minho quietly finished unwrapping the wound. “Once we find out who they are and why they are here, I may have to relocate you.”
Conflict bubbled up in Jisung’s blood. A small part of him was beginning to trust Minho, which was terrifying in a few different ways. Hell, he willingly shared a bed with him twice, he allowed Minho to heal him and comfort him. He almost wondered if he would actually stay even if the anklet was removed. Not that he would. Jisung knew himself well enough to know he would take off the moment he got the chance. He loathed being cooped up.
Jisung flinched hard when Minho accidentally yanked one of the unbroken stitches a little too hard. “Watch it.”
“Sorry, love.” Minho continued carefully pulling the bad stitches with the cleansed tweezers he’d gotten ready.
There it was again. Jisung stared at him, Minho being completely oblivious to his own words. Jisung bit down on his tongue, knowing he would regret asking why Minho called him that. That was the second time now.
Jisung turned his attention to the ceiling as Minho worked. He was in pain and feeling a little strange at the same time, which made him want to go right back to bed. He wished to reverse time, to go back to Nightfield and tell them not to go after Lee Minho. Then everything could go back to normal, including his feelings.
“You are to avoid any strenuous activities, including reaching higher than your head. Doctor’s orders, got it?” Minho asked, giving his patient an overly serious look.
Jisung felt a smirk tilt his lips. “Strenuous, huh? Does that include-“
Minho’s finger landed on his lips, stopping him. “I can see where that’s going, Han Jisung, and trust me, you don’t wanna go there,” he warned, his own smirk now on display.
“Why, because you’ll be tempted?”
“Yes.”
A flurry of butterflies erupted in Jisung’s stomach, and he swallowed hard. Don’t talk about it. Skirt around it, talk about something else, anything. He didn’t listen to himself. “Are you not tempted already?”
“Do you want me to be?” Minho’s dark eyes locked onto his.
Oh. Shit.
“Do you want me to want you to be tempted?”
Minho’s smirk grew. “We’re going in circles here, and I’m assuming the pain is taking over your rational thought. So before we do or say something we both regret, let’s drop it for now, yeah?” Something about his low tone made Jisung nod right away. “Good boy.”
Jisung went red. “I’m not a-” he faltered as Minho prepared a needle “-dog.” The last word was barely audible.
Minho glanced up at him. “Are you afraid of needles?”
“Only when they’re used on me.”
“You use them to torture information out of people, and you pale at the sight of one?” Minho asked, his voice teasing.
“My needles don’t betray me. And I know for certain that needle right there is for me, so yes, I’m… wary of it.”
Minho smiled. “That’s okay. Blades make me anxious and nervous and you clearly know what I do for a living.”
Jisung relaxed, just a little. “That must be rough.”
“Some days are. I’m going to stitch you up now, would you like a warning or not?”
Jisung was so disoriented last night, he hadn’t noticed what Minho was doing or when he’d actually pierced him with the needle, and now that he was more awake and aware, he’d expected the same treatment he received last night. He turned his head away. “Do a countdown please. Thanks for asking.”
“Of course. Okay, three, two, one.”
Jisung gripped onto the counter behind him harshly. Getting stitches without anything to numb the pain wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever experienced, but the image of a needle threading his skin was nauseating.
“Did you have any dreams?”
“Are you trying to distract me right now?”
“And if I am?”
Jisung paused. “No, I didn’t really dream.”
“That’s alright. Can you tell me what you’ve been able to gather about your past?”
The distraction was working. “We were kept in some secret facility through our teens, training to become a soldier and a spy, or to become machines, as you say. I’m still not sure how long we were there, or how we ended up there. You and I met because of… whoever was in charge of us. I think they had us meeting for a certain reason, but I haven’t figured that out yet.
“As for you, I think you’re working with this organization… somehow. I’ve had time to think about what happened at the Assembly. You’re gaining the mafia’s cooperation while in the past you’ve caused nothing but chaos, so I’m sure you’re getting ready to move against these people… am I right?”
Minho had a small smile on his face. “I’m glad to see that you have a brain. That’s not very common in people nowadays.”
“So I’m right.”
“Nearly.”
“Are you going to fill me in?”
“No.”
Jisung sighed. “That’s what I thought.”
“You’ll know everything in due time, Jisung.” Minho caught Jisung’s flying fist without looking away from his task. “Don’t punch me while I’m stitching you up, it makes things difficult.”
Jisung just barely kept himself from laughing. “I thought I could persuade you to stop being so cryptic about everything.”
“And I’m thinking of sewing you to the shower curtain. Stay. Still.”
“You’re so bossy.”
“And you’re disobedient.”
Jisung stuck his tongue out.
Minho’s head dipped as he started laughing. It didn’t take long for Jisung to join him. “Alright, scratch that, you’re childish,” Minho managed, slowly catching his breath. “You keep me on my toes, Han Jisung, that’s for sure.”
It felt as if it’d been years since Jisung really laughed, and he basked in the feeling. He didn’t fight his lingering smile. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”
“Except for today,” Minho countered, holding up a finger. “You hear that?”
Jisung could definitely hear the banging coming from downstairs. It hadn’t stopped since they were in the room, but they had both tuned it out. “Yeah, your customers are getting impatient.”
“Exactly. You can help me today.” Minho checked his watch. “Seungmin should be here soon. He’s bringing your little… psycho kit.”
Jisung’s eyes snapped to meet Minho’s. “My interrogation case? Don’t mess with me.”
“It’s in a deep blue pouch that sort of looks like a briefcase, right?”
Jisung set his hand on his heart. “You’re going to let me torture someone? Really?” he asked as if he was being proposed to in a soap opera.
Minho played along instantly, exaggerating his voice as he responded. “Yes, really. I know, you don’t know how to thank me, but there’s no need.”
“How can I ever repay you?”
A cheeky smile grew on Minho’s lips and he turned his face slightly, tapping a finger to his cheek.
Jisung lightly pushed him. “Nice try, Romeo.”
“Come on, it’s the only way you can repay me,” Minho joked, grabbing some fresh bandages.
“Wait, you’re already done with everything?”
Minho tilted his head at him cutely. “Ah, so the distraction did work.”
Jisung huffed. “You work fast.”
“Not in bed.”
Jisung choked and started coughing. “What the hell, Minho?”
“What? I had to make sure that was clear.”
“Okay, show off.”
Minho stopped, raising an eyebrow. “What, are you-?”
“No! No, good grief, let’s not talk about this,” Jisung stuttered, his face burning. “Just wrap my damn shoulder.”
Minho snickered. “It’s okay, I can help you-“
“Stop talking.”
“You’re adorable when you feel awkward.”
“You made this awkward.”
“It’s all about your attitude of the situation,” Minho argued. “I don’t feel awkward because I chose not to be awkward about it.”
Jisung rolled his eyes. “Okay, well we don’t need to talk about how we are in bed.”
“And that’s my cue to leave.” Both turned at the sound of the new voice to see Seungmin retreating down the hallway.
Minho burst out laughing while Jisung covered his face with a groan. Great timing, Seungmin.
⧫⧫⧫
Once Jisung was properly put back together and the two had gotten dressed, the three men met up in the kitchen for a small breakfast of muffins Seungmin had brought. The banging had stopped for now, since the underboss had threatened to fill the closet with bullets at random if the prisoners didn’t quiet down.
Jisung nearly cried when Minho handed over his kit. He opened it right away and admired the five three-inch needles held securely by the small leather straps against the blue velvety fabric of the case. The other panel held three knives, each a different size with a different blade. The hilts of the knives appeared strangely thick to the untrained eye, but they were fairly thin for containing a heated system.
Seungmin snorted. “Get someone who will look at you the way Han looks at his torture tools.”
Jisung wrinkled his nose. “Shut up.”
Minho brightened up. “Out of context that sounds-“
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Jisung interrupted. “I know where you’re going with that.”
“Your little mind is so dirty.”
Jisung dropped the case closed, wide eyes on Minho. “Oh, I’m the one with the dirty mind? Really?”
Minho’s smirk was devious. “You were the one in my lap this morning.”
Jisung threw the case back open and yanked one of the knives free. Minho ran to the other side of the kitchen island as Jisung chased after him, knife raised.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up, you two,” Seungmin hollered, firmly placing himself between the two, his hands up. “Han, give me the knife.”
Jisung narrowed his eyes on Minho, who was snickering at him, contemplating how to get him back.
“Han,” Seungmin growled.
I guess it would be a little dumb to kill him over this. Begrudgingly, Jisung set the knife in Seungmin’s waiting hand.
Seungmin faced his boss. “And you, stop giggling like a schoolboy.” He glanced between the two. “I don’t know if you’re Enemies with Benefits or what, but let’s try to keep things professional. At least when I’m around.”
Jisung began protesting loudly, his face flushing red.
Seungmin shushed him. “I don’t care if it’s true or not, we’re dropping it, got it?”
Minho smiled sweetly while Jisung glared.
“We’ve got prisoners to interrogate, do we not?” Seungmin left the kitchen, shaking his head.
Minho cautiously sidled up to Jisung. “Are you going to pull a knife on me every time I flirt with you?”
“You flirt like a twelve year-old.”
“You didn’t say no.”
Jisung silently grabbed his case and followed after Seungmin, hoping that would be answer enough.
They decided to set up for the interrogation in the empty, unused dining room just left of the main entrance of the house. Seungmin came prepared with rigid bar handcuffs and leg cuffs. The only thing they really needed to set up was two chairs and a place for Jisung’s case to sit.
Since he was injured, Jisung stood out of the way as Minho unlocked the closet and let the bound men tumble to the floor of the entryway. The older one was bellowing immediately, rambling on and cursing colorfully. The younger one stupidly tried to stand and even tried shaking Seungmin off. Seungmin easily dragged him into the dining room.
The big guy was trying to get up, but Minho planted his foot on the man’s back and shoved him down, his hands casually in his pockets as if he was simply placing his foot on a bench as he looked at a sunset view. “If you would like, you can keep howling like the pathetic creature you are, and I’ll remove your tongue and end your miserable existence slowly. Or, you can quiet down like a good little thing and cooperate for a few minutes.”
The man’s bugging eyes suddenly landed on Jisung, and to his and Minho’s surprise, went pale as fear washed over his scarred features. He started shaking his head.
Minho was just happy to have the house quiet again, and he jerked the man up. The man’s legs didn’t get the memo, and Minho kicked his feet under him before pushing him into the dining room.
Jisung followed after a few minutes, already in the mindset of extracting information. This was his scene. For now, he was going to pretend everything was normal, as if he was doing this within Nightfield.
Both men were locked down in their chairs now, one looking bleak, the other looking ready to defecate. Seungmin stood at the back, a taser and a gun in hand but lowered, while Minho stood in front of the prisoners, his stance bold and intimidating as he rolled the cuffs of his sleeves. Jisung had to admit, he appreciated that scene.Â
His sleeves rolled to satisfaction, Minho tucked his hands into his pockets. “Now, we can make this very simple, gentlemen. When I ask a question, and you answer it properly, you won’t feel any more pain than you already do. If you don’t answer any questions, my friend here,” he motioned to Jisung, “can… coax answers out of you. However, let me warn you,” he bent forward, lowering his voice. “If you even attempt to disrespect or harm him in any way, I will not hesitate to rip your throats out with my bare hands.”
This was the Lee Minho Jisung had heard about. The air in the room was frigid, but a boiling heat sizzled under the surface, ready to burst free and burn everyone in the room.
The older man passed out.
Minho straightened. “Wake him up.”
Seungmin stepped forward, his hand-held taser crackling to life in his hand, and set it against the man’s shoulder. He stepped back into his spot when the man lurched awake with a rough gasp.
“Who sent you here?” Minho asked patiently.
“We’re- we’re n-nothin’ but lowly cr-criminals,” the older man stammered.
Minho smiled viciously. “Me too. Who sent you?”
“We were just lookin’ for money,” the other spoke up for the first time, his gaze glued to the floor.
“So instead of waiting patiently for the one person that was here to go to bed, you attacked him- separately– instead of stealing what you could in the dead of night?” Minho tilted his head. “You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s true!”
“Jisung,” Minho said, stepping to the side, “I believe it’s your turn.”
Jisung let the case fall open as he stepped in front of the bound prisoners. “I’ll be nice and let you pick what I use.” He ran a finger over the needles. “I do love using these, they’re very helpful, but unfortunately, most prefer to choose the knives.”
The older man dropped his head shaking it aggressively. “We got somethin’, we got somethin’ in the mail! We don’t know who it was from, but it had money, instructions, and an address!”
Jisung’s favorite tactic had worked. It usually did at least once within an interrogation. Merely showing someone what they could be tortured with was enough to drag some information to the surface. “Who are you associated with?”
“No one.”
Minho wasn’t buying it. “Names.”
The pair remained silent.
Jisung reached for the needles.
“Yun!” the younger one burst out. “I’m Yun Sang, that’s my uncle, Yun Kwang.”
Seungmin and Minho shared a look before the former left the room, dialing a number into his phone as he went.
“We’ll see if you’re telling the truth, although, I suspect you’re not, given the fact those ugly scars you have almost match perfectly.”
Jisung hadn’t completely noticed their matching scars. Both had two on the left side of their face and one running through opposite eyebrows. Had he seen that before? The older man was still shaking, refusing to look at Jisung, and that’s when it clicked. “I’m assuming you’re familiar with the name Jong Su-bin.”
Both men flinched as if a gun had been fired.
Minho glanced at Jisung in question.
Jisung released a small laugh. “I’m betting that’s why you were so willing to follow an anonymous request to kill me. Or am I wrong?” He pulled two needles free and set the case off to the side. “Mr. Jong wasn’t a fan of the needles. I’m sure you know that already. Has he regained the use of his left hand yet?”
Sang glared at him. “Don’t disrespect our leader.”
Jisung didn’t acknowledge the fact he even spoke. “What’s your boss up to now? Is he trying to weasel his way into the mafia?”
“Like I’d tell you.”
Kwang’s wide eyes landed on Sang. “What are you doing? Just answer him before he does the same thing to you as he did to the boss.”
“Or don’t,” Minho interrupted, “I kind of want to see what Jisung does.”
Jisung stalked toward Sang. “Nerves and pressure points are small and hard to spot, but thankfully, I know all the right places to put these little needles to use. The hands are particularly easy to work with.”
Sang pushed back against the chair, trying and failing to get away.
“Su-bin is gaining strength, and he was promised a place among the mafia if he accepted the job to kill Han Jisung. He passed the job down to us two days ago,” Kwang rambled desperately.
Jisung’s gut twisted. Someone with influence and power was behind this.
“How did you find this location?” Minho asked impatiently.
“It was in the letter!”
“Who sent the letter?”
“I don’t know, boss doesn’t tell us anything.”
“Then where is your boss located?” Minho snapped, even making Jisung jump.
“Kwang, shut up!” Sang hissed.
Jisung turned to the older man. “No, keep talking. Have you moved locations?”
“Don’t say anything!” Sang warned.
Minho whirled on him. “One more noise out of you, and I’ll cut your tongue out and feed it to your uncle.”
Jisung bent down in front of Kwang. “Has your boss moved?”
“No, he just reinforced the base.”
What an idiot. And he thinks he can make it as a mafia don. “Thank you, Kwang. You made things very simple. For now, you’re done. We’re going to have a chat with Su-bin.”
Sang clearly wanted to argue, but with Minho’s cold stare boring into him, he wisely kept silent.
Jisung opened his case and put the needles back. “They’re all yours, Minho. We’re not going to get anything else out of them.” He snapped the case closed and left the dining room. He dropped it on the couch and stepped out onto the front porch, hoping to alleviate the tight fist closing around his lungs.
Facing death and the threat of it was nothing new to Jisung, but this was different. He was no longer surrounded by Nightfield. Someone was after him, not a mafia group. Someone wanted him dead. Was it the people that took his memory? Was it some powerful don that just hated him? And how did they find him? He didn’t even know where he was.
Several minutes later, Minho stepped outside, gently closing the door behind him. He was wearing different clothes, and Jisung decided not to think about what he did to the prisoners. “Are you okay?”
Jisung watched a little brown bird land on the sidewalk and pick at something. “So this is what it feels like to have someone put a personal death sentence on your head?”
Minho smiled, joining him in leaning against the banister. “Yeah, pretty much. But I’m used to it. You’re not.”
“What did you do with them?” Jisung asked, inclining his head toward the house.
“Well, I didn’t know which one stabbed you, so I gave them both the same wounds they gave you. Seungmin has already set them up to be taken in by the police.”
Jisung’s lips quirked. “I thought you would just kill them.”
Minho shook his head. “I do have some standards. They answered our questions, I wasn’t going to kill them after they cooperated.”
“Sang didn’t cooperate.”
“He answered one question, that counts.”
“Is that really why you spared him?”
Minho rubbed the back of his head. “Okay, Kwang obviously cares for the kid, so I let him live. I know what it’s like to watch someone you care about disappear right in front of you.”
Jisung nodded. “I’m sure he’s relieved. Both of them.”
“So,” Minho started, leaning his back against the banister so he could see his face, “are you going to fill me in on this Jong Su-bin and how you know him?”
“Right.” Jisung tipped his head up as he thought. “About a year ago now, we were having a bit of trouble within our territory. This little gang decided to rebel against Nightfield, claiming they were going to take their streets back. It was like a mouse threatening a cat, but that mouse eventually got its paws on a weapon. They had a mole within our team so they could find a way to blackmail us. Or something along those lines.”
“And they sent you to break the boss in,” Minho filled in.
Jisung shrugged. “Sort of. More like… I stumbled upon their base, broke my way in, and had a… visit with Su-bin. They backed off into the shadows fairly quickly.”
Minho processed the information for a moment. “Whoever sent that letter knows Su-bin has a grudge against you, that he would kill you without hesitation. They also know that I have you.”
Jisung shook his head. “I’ve run it through my head a few times and none of it is really connecting. I have no idea who could be after me. No leads. No clues.”
Minho angled his body off to the side, murmuring something under his breath. None of it was clearly audible except one word. “Chimera.”
Sharp pain speared through Jisung’s head, and his hands flew to his head as he cried out. His vision went white, and he collapsed onto the porch as his body went limp.
—————- dun dun dun
Love me a cliff hanger. I mean, it won’t be bad since I’m updating so fast, but hey, a cliff hanger is a cliff hanger. And now I’ll never say cliff hanger again. Thanks for reading 0o0
Comment