❝The tiger never digs a hole in the ground; he waits for the bunny to come up, and then he attacks. Do you understand?❞
Jeon Jungkook, a man most praised by angels, falls for a guy to get his heart stampede one more time.
Or, a criminal mastermind w...
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DAEGU WAS ITS OWN WORLD. Whilst winds blew in the breezy spring of South Korea, heavy rain crashed with sheer force in Daegu, reminding of winter cold and numb feet, flooding the roads — and people's hearts with a sorrowful jazz that awaited a clearer sky and sunnier days.
Or at least the ones with hearts.
Here parties and crime went along. Over chatters of unworthy talks and vodka lurked the dangerous monsters of greed and blood-lust, among innocent and among evils alike. A thrashing beast that corrupted the system of police and government.
Lives were always at risk.
However, illegal money that was made here was much greater than the money made in Seoul in total. Casinos were rolling, deals were made, diamonds like your usual pebbles.
Most of all, the Purple Bar down the maglev train was infamous for convoking confidential 'business' meetings, but never has it been thought of a suspicious haven for thugs or gangsters. No one dared raised a question how the hell this place was so professionally run — they liked their heads at its place, thank you very much.
And then there was this Kim boy.
The insanely wicked owner of the Purple Bar. Foxy and prestigious — and well, he wasn't known among those who shouldn't know him, but only those who wanted their work done, avoiding his own hands to get dirty during the procedure.
Jim Moriarty Junior.
Taehyung did not own just a lanky, old, renewed club; guy ruled Daegu.
His blood pulsed in the veins of his city. Every law-breaker wanted him as an ally. The police force was blotched with his very own men. Serial killing was a day's job.
Yet, rising up was hard for him, people who were once out there mocking him at the age of nine, degrading him of his intellectuality, now came to him to beg for another ounce of service done, another bunch of cash stuffed in their pockets.
And see who's laughing now. Cackling, more like.
The Purple Bar shone in bright neon beside the block of the rail track, glimmering a harsh violet in the starlight, a pack or two of chittering blokes strolling near the entrance, puffing cigarettes or clinking beer bottles among themselves under the shed, away from the heavy precipitation.
A glossy white Lamborghini rolls on the street with black windows and heads turned. It pulls up in front of the Bar's front gate and, with a final purr, cuts its engine. The chauffeur, all in white, steps out of the driver's seat and whisks towards the shotgun door, prying it open with a masterful, sweep motion.
The escort driver chucks out an umbrella from thin air and pops it open, holding it still beside the hood of the car to protect the man emerging out of his car, not bothered by the rain slamming against him.
Kim Taehyung, in his black pant, suit, tie, and delicate features of blankness, rose from his position in a highly sophisticated manner, buttoning one button of his coat and striding to the two large, glass doors that offered ingress to his bar. Assisting along the way, the chauffeur pushes open the door to let his master go through, and with a wave of a hand of the latter's, he is dismissed.
Fourteen years before, this place would have been a competition to a dumpster, with all the rubbish it held in itself. Now since Taehyung took over his uncle's place, this placed transformed wholly.
The Bar directly opened into an eerie hallway with various neon words glistening against the lilac walls with a red carpet leading to the dance floor. R&B boombed in the vast arena Taehyung walked into. Few nutcases were jamming their heart out on the dance floor, but most of all, tables with business-ful dudes occupied the vicinity, some with prominent black leather cases. People acknowledge him with a horrified pallor.
Behind the stretching counter, lines and lines of exotic bottles shimmered in the dark illumination of the bar's lights. Some barmen sat idly, awaiting orders. The fountain in the very middle sparkled with clear water, spraying it to the surroundings.
Taehyung briskly winded his way through the serenity of the atmosphere and led his feet to the unconcealed door beside the polished slab of the bar, wrenching the bolt to reveal a precisely cube-shaped, violet-tiled room with another metallic gate barricaded by a European, buff, and overly gigantic men with a handsome face and uncountable muscles, armed with a LR-300 rifle.
"Greetings, monsieur," says the French guard in English, stepping aside to let Taehyung put in a password in the security gadget.
As of everyday, Taehyung doesn't bother to address the guy with words, but fixates his eyes on the other with an expressionless face. On hearing the short, familiar beep, the watchman hastily drags the heavy door open to allow Taehyung in.
A long corridor brags to the far opposite, man after man of non-Asian roots standing brick still with rifles cladded under each arm in front of several mysterious doors lining the walls on each side. He clip-clops against the glossy flooring towards his office, sliding it opened by the same security tactic.
His lush woodwork of an office welcomes him into his high-fy chair, and he settles in, nailing his mullet down to fix his honey-coloured hair.
The door open, a tall, curvy, straight-backed Korean woman with ebony, wavy bangs enters the room with a clipboard, her face smitten into a cruel, fixed sneer. She informs slyly as Taehyung looks up at her with his hooded eyes, "We are being investigated, sir."
Taehyung waited, saying nothing.
"The Rat Case. It's being investigated, sir." She elaborates frantically, still able to simper in her concern.
"Tip the guy," says Taehyung airily, in his heavy, sexy voice.
Slightly, the lady shakes her head side to side. "It's being investigated in Seoul. By the FIA. Out of our reach, sir—"
"Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa," sings Taehyung, leaning forward on his wooden desk and pushing his cheeks up in a cocky-bastard smile. "Do not fret." He slumps back on his seat's back, inquiring, "Tell me about our lab department? Have they come up with another ingenious, spectacular way for an unidentifiable murder?"
"But sir that is Special Agent Je—"
Taehyung was watching her intently. After a moment of fiery silence, he affirms, sliding a paper towards himself and holding a pen, "The tiger never digs a hole in the ground, he waits for the bunny to come up; and then he attacks. Do you understand, Lisa?"
"Yes, sir." She utters distinctly, regaining her posture of perfection, flipping through her clipboard. "Would you prefer a drink—?"
However, Taehyung had an appointment with another great personality like him, so he doesn't stops himself to say, "Dissmissed." Lisa still looked disheveled but manages to strut back out, muttering indistinctly under her breath.
He needed not to worry about any Speacial fucking Agent.
For him, Never get caught was Kim Taehyung's mantra, but only because he believed no one can ever.
