BLOOD MONEY || bts mafia au

twenty four.

Sorry these haven't been very consistent. I promise I'm still writing it! Thanks to everyone who's still reading <3

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Jungkook couldn't take it anymore.

He had been trapped in this room for god knows how long, staring at the four walls that made up his makeshift prison, counting the grooves nicked into the smooth stone of the ceiling as a way of passing the time.

Every day was more of the same. He woke up, tugged at his arms to discover that he was still handcuffed to his bed as a means of forcing him to rest, and waited until Beomgyu, who'd he'd discovered was the Anarchists' resident medic, would arrive to tend to his injuries and offer him food and water and, every few hours, a bathroom break. Since he could barely stand to walk on his wounds, Beomgyu had to help him hobble to the toilet, quietly standing outside the door to wait for him to knock on it to let him know he was done.

Jungkook hated every second of it.

Even if he could have been able to gather enough strength to shove aside Beomgyu, the Viper insisted on being present for every time Jungkook's handcuffs were removed, a silent warning drifting along behind him, watching for any attempt he might make to escape.

Not that he was dumb enough to try.

After the initial adrenaline and paranoia of waking up in an unfamiliar place had worn off, once the pain had settled in, he'd finally gotten a good look at the damage done to him.

A broken bone in his right leg earned from when the catwalk had buckled beneath him that sent laces of sharp, undiluted agony coursing through his body every time he allowed weight to settle on it. A long, thin cut that sliced through the left side of his face.

But worst of all were the burns.

A deep, crimson red even after a couple of days, they danced across his right forearm, leaving splashes of raised skin in their wake, trailing all the way up and over his bicep to slash through the leftover scars littered on his back. Every little movement, every scratch of his shirt against his aggravated skin, sent a new wave of pain shooting through his scorched nerves until he felt like he was drowning in it.

Beomgyu did his best to alleviate the torment, but he wasn't magic. The cool compresses he pressed against the burns could only do so much. The rest would have to be left up to time. Time he didn't have.

He couldn't stop himself from thinking of his gang. Were they okay? Had they made it out? If anything had happened to them, to Taehyung, he was going to tear Yoongi apart limb from limb, dragging it out until he was begging for the sweet release of death. He was going to make him wish he hadn't ever thought he could betray them and get away with it.

Jungkook's head lifted up at the sound of the door being unlocked.

Like every time before this, he gave an experimental pull at the cuffs, hoping they'd give, but they held firm. There was no hope of escape. Not until whoever their stupid boss was decided that he'd had enough of charity and let him go.

Jungkook rested his head back down against the pillow they'd at least had the decency to give him as Beomgyu poked his head inside the door, lugging his bag of medical supplies in behind him.

A scowl tugged at the edges of Jungkook's mouth as he spotted a glimpse of familiar red hair lingering in the hallway. "Doesn't he have anything better to do?" he grumbled.

Beomgyu followed his gaze to the boy hovering outside of the door as he shifted forward to remove the used compresses from Jungkook's burns. "If it makes you feel any better," the other boy muttered as he leaned forward to inspect the wounds' progress, "I believe he's following me, not you."