"How do you raise a house full of psychopaths, Dr. Choi?" she asked, looking back through the glass at the small boy.
"Very carefully, Dr. Min. Very carefully."
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Jun's lip curled as he heaved the bloody corpse towards the drain in the middle of the floor. He'd thought he was in really good shape before he'd had to haul his brother's latest victim—a six foot four, three hundred pound rapist—from said victim's car to the center of the abandoned slaughterhouse. While Jun was fit, his brother...wasn't.
Seungcheol was tall and fair with a gym body and dark hair. He looked like a druggie and a tax attorney had a baby with shitty eyesight. Even now, while they were attempting to dispose of his brother's fuckup, he was wearing a pair of seersucker pants and a white button down shirt, though both were covered in blood.
"Seriously, dude? Wet work is not my thing. How could shit go this completely sideways? And what the fuck are you wearing?" Jun finally asked after they got the man where they wanted him.
Seungcheol gave him a pissy look, using the back of his hand to push his glasses up his nose. "I had a work thing."
"A work thing?"
"Yeah, you know work? That shit you do and they pay you for it? Oh, wait. No, you still live on Dad's dime."
Jun snickered. "You need to let that go. You might have a medical degree, but you work in the sciences. Dad pays your bills, too. You can't afford that luxury mom car you drive playing mad scientist at the research center."
"Fuck you," Seungcheol said, voice testy.
After a minute, Jun sighed. "What was your work thing?"
Seungcheol brightened a bit. "The research center threw me a party because I scored a grant that will fund our program for the next five years."
"Congrats. But don't forget our real job."
Seungcheol bristled. "This isn't our job."
"What would you consider it then? A passion project? Community service?" Jun placed his foot on the dead man's chest, grabbing the handle of the blade, which was embedded in the man's head, pulling with all his might. "What the fuck is this thing? Excalibur?" Jun grunted, starting to sweat through his now ruined Armani t-shirt. He gave his brother a disgusted look. "Seriously, man. How did you fuck up this bad?"
Seungcheol's eyes bulged behind his glasses, his face contorting. "My fucking gun jammed. I had to improvise."
Jun gaped at him. "And your first thought was a hatchet?"
Seungcheol snorted, his voice full of derision when he said, "It's a meat cleaver, you miscreant. We were in his kitchen. It was that or a butcher knife, and when you have three hundred pounds barreling towards you, you make a decision and you let it play out."
"Well, now, it's two in the morning and we're stuck here, in Satan's tiled asshole, trying to pry a cleaver out of this fucker's skull."
"I'm sorry to pull you away from the coke you were probably snorting off some rent boy's ass."
