Burning Rose

5. House Of Cards

Dread surged through me as my mind came up with a number of possibilities.

"What do you want from me?" My mouth barely moved as I mumbled.

The man's lips curled in a sly manner. "First of all . . . answers."

I blinked. It helped with the prickle in my eyes, but that was the last thing on my mind. Didn't he already have all the answers? What more did he want? It wasn't as if I was carrying a very valuable piece of information with me. Or was I? But that just increased the chances of them wanting me dead, which was both frightening and puzzling, in different ways. If they needed to get rid of me, what were they waiting for? Not that I wanted to die, though. It was just that I didn't fancy living in the constant fear of being murdered anytime and anywhere.

"But . . . your boss just . . ." I couldn't figure out how to phrase it.

His eyes narrowed menacingly. "How do you even know I have a boss?"

I opened my mouth to say something, but I didn't know what to say. What did he mean? Of course I knew he had a boss, the said boss kidnapped me and my friend less than a couple hours ago, insulted her and traumatized us before dropping us at some random metro station that I didn't even know existed.

"I . . . Because . . ."

The man crossed his arms, lifting a demanding eyebrow.

". . . Didn't your boss send you after me?"

"No," he said dryly, facial expression unmoving. "I sent me after you."

My forehead creased into a small frown. Taeyong didn't send him? Why did he come after me without orders? Was he a rogue? Or on a personal agenda? And even if he was . . .

How could I help him?

"I've already told your boss everything I know," I murmured, sincerely wishing that my words didn't anger, offend, or vex him in any way.

Unexpectedly, the questioning look on his face faded away. For a moment, I thought I even saw his guard slip off, but it was back again so quickly that I wondered if it was gone at all.

"How did you even meet my boss?" he asked in a guttural voice.

What . . . ?

"He . . ." By now I was sure that we weren't on the same page, but I didn't know what to say. I barely knew what was going on in my life since the past couple of hours. ". . . wasn't he . . . the boss?"

His intimidating, wolf-like eyes constricted. "Who?"

"H-him. . . ." I stuttered. "The one who was giving the orders . . . ?"

He stared at me for a moment. "Who the fuck are you talking about?"

My heart thumped harder. He was losing his patience.

"Th-the . . . burgundy-haired man. . . ."

His eyes narrowed even further, if actually possible. "My boss doesn't have burgundy hair."

I had no words to prove myself truthful, and I knew he was going to assume I was making up stuff and then get pissed off and then kill me and then-

"Unless he dyed his hair within the last twenty-four hours," the brunet murmured as he scratched his chin thoughtfully, gaze floating toward the floor of the train.

Something permanent, I thought. Tell him something permanent and distinctive.

"He, uh . . ."

The man looked up at me, arching one of his well-defined brows once again. I felt like shrinking into myself, but somehow managed to speak.

"He . . . h-had a . . . tooth of gold."