Fight For Peace

I －P E R I L ( M )

You scanned your surroundings, the worn out warehouse reeked of dead mice and gunpowder. Men, you thought, rolling your eyes at your rival's incompetence. You made your way further into the infested building, turning around every second to check if your fellow gang members followed you, keeping a crouched stance. You maintained your low profile, covering your mouth with a red bandanna. You reached the end of the corridor, placing yourself in front of a barn door; tracing your hand on the wooden carvings of gang member names. Your men crowding around you, scratching against their palms in anticipation. Reaching for the door handle, the cold metal sending chills down your spine, gripping it tightly and pushing down slowly; a gunshot sounded through the corridor, stirring your men from their gaze.

"Shit," you whispered, letting go of the door handle to whip your pistol out of your back pocket, pointing it in the general direction of the shot. Hyojong, your right hand man, gripped his arm while containing a scream as blood gushed out of the deep wound. You sacrificed your bandanna, tying up his arm and signaling your other men to keep him to the side. You lifted yourself off the ground, shaking your head as you pointed the gun back in the direction of the previous gunshot. You fired your own shot, waiting for some response. Wooseok stood next to you, pointing his gun in the direction you were, his face adorned a snarl. His finger trembled at the trigger, eager to go. Another shot fired from the other side, this time, your men dodged bullets; all pointing their guns. You watched as a shower of bombs and bullets whizzed towards you and your men, skillfully maneuvering your way around. You caught sight of the other gang, their shadowy figures loomed through the fumes, coming towards you. Their leader stepped through the ashes, his dark hair ruffled in sweat and grim. He stalked towards you, his combat boots clapped against the concrete ground; his dark eyes boring into yours. You raised an intimidating eyebrow at him, crossing your arms in front of your chest, watching him as he placed himself in front of you. You squint your eyes, lip curling at him.

"Jaehyun," you spoke up, lifted  your chin to meet his eyes. You scanned him head-to-toe, smirking as your eyes spotted the a scar on his upper lip, memories of your first knife fight coming to mind. You noticed the limp on his right leg, resisting the urge to shoot the spot again.

"You..." Jaehyun snarled, his nose turning up in disgust. He pointed his gun at your temple, snarling as his finger trembled at the trigger. You rolled your eyes, boredom laced your sigh. You pushed his hand away, watching the gun clatter on the concrete floor. In a rush, his hand lifted up to your neck, cutting blood circulation to your brain. Your men rushed forward, not before Jaehyun's men subdued them.

A shootout began, both sides rolling away from bombs and bullets. Jaehyun pushed your body against, his face millimeters away from yours. You knew there always was sexual tension between you, you silently smirked to yourself at the thought of you rolling in the sheets with your biggest rival. You felt his breath against your face, your body temperature rising with every second passing.

"Open the door, bitch," He sneered, his teeth gritting as he pushed his hips against yours. Your hands fumbled with the handle, eager to get where he was going. You knew he wanted to do something about the said tension, his eyes desperate to get that release. Jaehyun's shallow breathing hit your neck as his teeth sunk into the skin, littering marks with hues of purples and blues, a slight blush appeared as blood rushed to your face. You grunted as you finally got the door open, Jaehyun pushing you into the cold room ahead. Your teeth clattered against the chill, your leather jacket doing absolutely nothing to keep you warm; you knew your future activities would ignite heat. Feeling your back hit something rather soft, taking in the interior of where you were taken. The room resembled an office, ones you imagined CEOs would have. You realized your back was against a leather sofa, the smell of alcohol and meth wafted from the material, though you ignored it.