Jungkook's back slammed against the cold marble wall of the penthouse, wrists trapped above his head by Taehyung's iron grip. His breath stuttered, chest heaving, eyes wide with both fury and fear.
"L-let me go," Jungkook hissed, voice trembling but...
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The night was thick with rain. The safehouse smelled of damp leather and smoke as Han Joon-seok called Taehyung inside.
The boy—now sixteen, sharp-jawed, cold-eyed—stood straight. But inside, his chest thundered.
Joon-seok’s gaze was heavy. “It’s time,” he said simply. “For what?”Taehyung asked, though he already knew.
The mafia boss slid a pistol across the table. “For you to prove you are one of us.”
*
**
The Target
In the corner of the room knelt a man, hands tied, mouth gagged. He was bloodied, beaten, his eyes wide with terror.
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“This rat betrayed us.Sold information to the police,” Joon-seok explained, lighting a cigarette.
He blew smoke lazily. “You want to be my right hand? Then kill him.”
Taehyung’s throat went dry. He picked up the pistol, the metal cold in his hand. The man struggled, muffled cries spilling past the gag.
Tae’s fingers trembled. The weight of the gun felt heavier than ever. He remembered the nights he cried into his pillow, the training, the knife that made him shiver. He remembered his mother’s weak smile.
