It isn't too soon after you start down the dark sidewalk that you notice the footsteps behind you.
At first, you aren't too concerned.
A middle-aged lady with a shopping bag had been headed in the same direction as you earlier. You assume that it's her making the soft clicking sounds on the concrete behind you.
But, you shouldn't have.
The thing that causes you to become alarmed is that when you lengthen your stride and speed up your pace, the footsteps speed up too. And when you begin to speed-walk due to your uneasiness, the footsteps follow.
Your heart jumps in your chest, pounding like a drum being beaten to its physics limit.
You're being followed.
Too scared to turn around because you already know who's behind you, you simply gulp in a huge breath of freezing cold air and push your body into a slight jog.
Home isn't an option. You don't want the man to know where you live, and your roommate probably isn't home. You need a public place, with people. With safety. Your wrack your brain, pushing past the gnawing fear edging through you as you try to think of somewhere nearby.
As you do, you glance hesitantly over your shoulder.
There behind you, mirroring your slow jog, is the man from the corner store. He's not even being subtle now, keeping a small distance between the two of you as he watches with a tiny, terrifying grin.
There's no one around him, or you. The street is completely desolate, devoid of any other life forms in the dim street lights.
You break into a sprint.
You don't know where you're headed to, but you need to get there fast. You're smaller than him; maybe there's a chance you can outrun him and avoid being subject to whatever plans he's made for you.
Just maybe.
Shivering, you refuse to think about what those plans might be.
For the first time, the man speaks.
"You can run, little Y/N," he calls mockingly in a rough, gritty voice that sounds like he's been smoking for a long time. "But you can't hide. Just give up now, sweetheart."
He knows your name.
He knows your name.
You're surprised that your heart is till in your chest at this point as your limbs tremble with overwhelming fear, a thing only intensified by the knowledge that this man was either sent by your family, or an enemy of your father.
Your footsteps pound heavily on the concrete and your legs ache as you run as fast as you can, but the dim concrete street stretches on dismally in front of you.
There's no one here to save you.
No one here to hear you scream.
What are his orders? Take you out, or bring you back alive?
You don't have time to wonder.
Helpmehelpmehelpmehelpme screams inside your head, but on the outside your remain silent, forcing all the physical energy you can muster into your legs.
You take another glance out of your shoulder, and what you see makes a sob explode out of you.
Now there's a second figure, this one hooded and silent, following behind the first man like a terrifying shadow.
There are two of them, and one of you.
You're done for.
Except...
You look over your shoulder again, confused. The first man hasn't even acknowledge his shadow, not once. He's still focused wholly on you.
Why?
You look again, and again, trying to understand what you're seeing.
It looks like your stalker doesn't even know that his partner is there.
Unless...it isn't his partner.
The man sees you gazing at something behind him, and stiffens as he runs. His hand flashes into the pocket of his coat, not pausing in his steps, and you watch in horror as the man pivots swiftly on his toes and lunges at his shadow, something silver and deadly flashing in his palm.
A knife.
So the hooded figure isn't his partner.
Due to the bad lighting and the pitch blackness of the night, you can't see whether the deadly object made its hit into the second figure.
You only hear a grunt, see a fight break out, and take your chance to get out of there.
As you run, there's a soft pop that echoes briefly behind you, followed by the thump of someone's weight hitting the ground.
But you don't look back.
No, you sprint harder than you've ever sprinted before, grateful for the shadow's help but unwilling to stay. You can't be involved in a police report, or be noticed.
You have to lay low.
You just hope your savior comes out with the long end of the stick.
Panting in fear and exertion, you continue to push yourself to your limit, hoping and praying for some blessed, living soul to walk out and rescue you.
Your answer comes not how you expected, in the form of a broad chest that you smash into while checking behind you for pursuers.
"Hey," a rough, familiar voice murmurs. "Are you okay?"
Oh, no.
No.
You prayed for a living soul, but not this one.
It's the man from the tattoo shop that you've spoken to the least, the silver-headed guy with that blindingly rectangular smile. In the dim light, his lip rings glitter dully, sparking a tiny beam onto the cross on his cheek.
You forgot about him. T-something? Taehyung, you think, but you can't fully remember.
But he's one of them.
Now you know what they meant when they said, "Taehyung is working."
"Huh? Yeah, I'm great." You try to brush off your panic, casually drawing away from him and avoiding his concerned gaze as if you don't have a care in the world. But, in reality, your fear has only been heightened. "Sorry to worry you. Have a nice night."
"Hey!" You start to walk away, but he grabs your shoulder. "Are you sure you're okay? Y/N, right? I can walk you home..."
It's deceitful, his voice. It's deep and raspy and beautiful, and there's something in it that tries to coax you to his will.
Let me take you home. You'll be safe with me.
Solidarity with a stalker on the loose, or being escorted by an assassin?
Mhmm, you'll take option number one.
"I'm really fine," you say again, shrugging out of his hold. Well, you would have shrugged out of his hold.
But he doesn't let you.
"Let me walk you home," the silver-haired man says again, but this time his silky, charismatic voice is underlined by steel. His grasp on your shoulder tightens, and he steers you down the street.
In the wrong direction.
"My apartment isn't this way," you say quickly as you try to wiggle out of his hold. There's a thin veil of politeness covering the obvious tension in your conversation. "Let go!"
"Sorry, Y/N, but orders are orders," Taehyung mutters, his large, strong hand grasping your shoulder hard enough to make you yelp.
Spinning around, you try to twist his hand off of you but he simply lets go and then grabs you by the arm, solidifying the strength of his hold.
Up the road, there's a vehicle headed your way.
Flag it down, your mind tells you instantly, but your gut says that you might not want to draw its attention.
Taehyung isn't worried about it; in fact, he's staring at the dull black van as it rolls forward, anticipating its arrival.
Crap. If you get a chance to get away, you have to take it, before you get shoved into the creeper van.
You don't know what the Bangtan Boys want with you, but you're sure that they won't be too kind about getting it. That scares you.
The van finally reaches you, screeching to a stop on the road in front of where you and Taehyung stand.
This might be your only chance, when they're trying to get you in.
You have to try.
But, as the door slides open and reveals the van's interior, your plans of escape go flying out the window.
Inside, there's a man sitting in the floor board.
Long legs clad in black denim are spread open, braced on the floor of the van, and they end in thick black boots.
His hair is glossy black, and his jaw line is strong and square. He's shirtless, sweating; his right shoulder is bleeding profusely, and one of his hand is clasped over the wound in order to help prevent the flow.
The other hand is holding a gun, with its shiny black barrel staring into your face.
"Get in the van, Y/N," says Jeon Jungkook. "If you scream, I'll shoot you. You have some explaining to do."
[A/N]
Unedited
This is my last update before Wattpad does their little thing tonight. Hope you enjoyed!