Summary: Its simple. You train, you plan, you attack, you disarm, and you get out alive… So, if you knew what you were doing, then why was it so hard to get your assassin boyfriend Jungkook to meet your mafia parents- the head of the mafia? Oh right, Rule 1: Never fall in love…especially with another gang member…
When you arrive at the compound to find Jungkook, the place
Not in the sense that it was deserted, but more in the sense
that you felt on edge the minute you stepped onto the soil your father owned- like you were being watched from every side.
Its as you’re walking at the edge of the wooded area that
lined the driveway, that you remember that you weren’t actually allowed to be
at the house, and despite the fact that you had been there the night before,
taking out the men that your father had, no doubt, gone on to find in his
office, he didn’t know that you had been there- at least as far as you knew.
You creep your way to the training room door, keeping a keen
eye on the cctv cameras- having memorized the blueprint map of the house that
showed where each was- before once again making to slip in the back entrance,
getting stopped short once you hear raised voices coming from inside.
‘WHERE THE HELL IS HE?’
‘He-he got taken.’
You can feel your heart racing in your chest with the sound
of your father shouting, although it’s the context of what he’s shouting about
that has fear filling your veins in seconds, the trembling in the other man’s
voice forcing you into the shadows behind the entryway.
The thought of Jungkook being kidnapped, held for ransom,
whilst you were sleeping in your shared bed, with not a care in the world, had
your stomach turning as you try to restrain yourself from looking round the
door frame, instead finding a gap in the hinges and peering inside the gym to
see what was happening.
Your father was stood without a shirt, his abdomen being
bandaged up by one of the gang’s doctors, as he stands behind a chair that had
been tipped over- one of the legs snapped in half, whilst rope friction marks
decorated the wooden back. The blood that littered the floor looked way more
than should have been lost by the average person, and you cant help but feel
panic rise within you at the sight, seeing a number of men dotted around the
room with tables laden with paper, others of which were counting and arranging
weapons, or arranging groups of people.