BLOOD MONEY || bts mafia au

sixteen.

But there was something in the way Jungkook spoke about his father. A hidden storm of darkness that lay beneath his careful words, a festering crave to lash out simply to put his emotions to somewhere, a tightly-packed blow of vehemence waiting to be unleashed. And although the younger boy had never offered an explanation into his twisted relationship with his family, Yoongi believed him when he said he wanted nothing to do with them.

The icy anger that emanated from his every action was one born from a place of hurt so deep that you didn't even know how to begin to explain it.

Growing up with a dad who skipped out before he even had the chance to know him and an absent drunk for a mom, Yoongi knew a lot about hurt.

And he found his mirror half in Jungkook.

"Call me if you need an escape," Yoongi said, only half joking as he watched Jungkook stash his gun in a hidden crook, discarding his weapons to conceal just what, exactly, he did away from home from his father.

Jungkook tried for a smile as he dropped his switchblade with a clatter. "I can handle one dinner of playacting, hyung. How about this? I'll call you when I'm free and we can get so wasted that you'll hardly remember I was even gone."

Yoongi nodded, forcing a smile onto his face that he didn't feel. "Okay."

Keeping the small knife he kept tucked into his boot, Jungkook waved goodbye to Yoongi and ducked through the shattered door that was the back entrance to their warehouse, his footsteps echoing in the alley. The second he left the elder boy's presence, he felt his easy swagger fading, growing more and more distant with every step.

But still he forced himself to walk.

Walk away from his adopted home into the nightmare he could never seem to wake up from.

"Ah, Jungkook," his father said as soon as he spotted him slumping up the stairs from where he was seated in his study. "You're home. Come here."

Halting in his path toward his room, Jungkook tentatively stepped inside the spacious room, lowering his head to the floor. "Yes, sir?"

His father swung his feet up onto his expansive desk, his polished black shoes finding a home among the various documents and other assorted papers. Scanning his son's grimy, worn attire, the councilman frowned. "Why you insist on wearing such clothes, I don't know. Just make sure you're dressed in something suitable when the mayor is here." Waving his hand in a dismissive gesture, his father sighed and placed his feet back on the floor.

Letting go of a small breath, Jungkook bowed and hurriedly exited the study.

But the worst was far from over.

"Jungkook," called a shrill voice over his shoulder, causing his blood to freeze in his veins. He would know that voice anywhere.

His stepmother offered him a cold, ruby-red smile as she came to a stop in front of him, assessing him with her sharp gaze. Her thin lips twisted as she noticed the filth clinging to his worn boots.

"I see we've been hanging out with the riffraff again," she mused darkly, her eyes snapping back up to his. Jungkook bristled. He longed to defend his best friend and the new life he'd built himself, but the words caught in his throat. "I've set out the clothes you'll be wearing for dinner," she continued, pinning him in place with her piercing stare. The corner of her cruel mouth quirked upwards as she took a step closer, smirking when Jungkook automatically took one back.

"This is a big night for your father," she said in a low voice, sending ice-cold shudders down his spine. "So remember to keep your mouth shut. You will not speak unless spoken to. Do we understand each other?"