BLOOD MONEY || bts mafia au

twenty eight.

Clouds of hazy smoke swirled in lazy trails in Jimin's wake as he strode down the backlit alley, snapping at his heels with phantom claws as if they loathed to let him go. A sliver of suspense snaked down the center of his spine, but he forced himself to keep walking.

There was no other option.

His footsteps slowing as he reached the corner, Jimin cast a sideways glance down both ends of the street before pressing his back against the brick of the building beside him, feeling around his boot for the knife he'd concealed earlier. Not for the first time, he wished for the familiar weight of his gun resting against his back. But he couldn't afford such luxuries.

He was to enter this arena alone.

And this time it wouldn't be only his own life he was fighting for.

Gathering his resolve, Jimin stepped into the street, Yoongi's words echoed in his head as his footfalls fell into rhythm with his heartbeat.

"There's a club on the border on the edge of my territory. It'll be full of all the worst sorts of people - don't trust anyone."

Jimin flashed the bodyguard placed in front of the entrance a slanted smile, a quicksilver thing that he knew from experience brought men to their knees faster than any weapon. The bodyguard stepped aside to let him pass without hesitation.

"Go to the dancefloor. He'll find you."

The crowd parted easily for him as he strode through the room, gliding gracefully through the cacophony of sin as if he were nothing but an extension of the revelry. The air hung thick with the scent of sex and drugs, the devious deeds hidden beneath the neon lights and loud music.

He could feel the eyes sticking to him as he moved, drawn to the flash of silver hair, the heavy makeup accenting every curve of his features, the way his half-buttoned silk shirt exposed inches of honeyed skin dusted in resplendent glitter.

"He has a weakness for pretty things."

And Jimin looked every bit the part.

Now, all that was left to do was wait. Which he was fairly certain wouldn't be too long.

He smiled to himself as he felt a disturbance in the crowd around him and a man whose attire resembled that of the bodyguard out front appeared before him. "Come with me. Mr. An has asked to speak with you."

Dipping his head politely, every bit the docile pet, Jimin followed the man through the sea of people, anticipation pounding through his veins, a beating wardrum straining against his skin. He could feel the moment closing in, a noose forming around his victim's neck. His fingers itched with the promise of the impending violence.

The man led Jimin through the crowd to a ring of luxurious leather couches placed on a slightly raised platform in the back of the room - the perfect spot to observe the entire floor. Sprawled on the couches was a generous helping of what were clearly the most wealthy patrons in attendance, dressed to the nines in their swathes of rainbow colored silk, gold glittering at their necks and wrists. They lounged gracefully, limbs strewn about without care, as girls dripping in gems catered to their every wish, throwing themselves into the pools of poison that gathered at the folds of their serpentine smiles.

And for a second, every bad memory he'd tried to lock away emerged and Jimin felt like he was going to be sick as soon as his eyes met those of the man seated in the middle of the exhibit of debauchery. Jimin didn't need to be told who this man was. It was quite obvious in the way he was carefully reclined, the crisp folds of his suit, the greed in his gaze as he stared down at him.