Damned Royalty

Chapter 13

You woke up in a pitch-dark room, still covered by the blackness of the night. Your body was sore – an ache between your thighs, your muscles tensed as if you had run a marathon – but the feeling was so satisfying. You remembered immediately where you were – Jimin's bedroom. You must've finally fallen asleep after he made you come for a third time. You rolled over, the silk sheets slippery, fresh and crisp against your skin, but beside you was an empty bed.

You sat upright, pulling the sheets with you to cover your still naked body, squinting through the dark room as your eyes search for him. But he wasn't there.

You listened carefully in the stillness of the night, for any sign that he was somewhere close. The bathroom perhaps? But you didn't hear a thing. What happened? Was he upset? Did he leave?

A knot formed in your stomach as you remembered your last conversation.

"Spend the weekend with me," was what he had asked of you. You remembered the anxiety that bubbled within you as he did. How you instantly wanted to say "yes, of course," but how somewhere in your gut, you still feared him. Feared your feelings for him.

You remembered how he tried not to show he was hurt when you said you'd think about it – and how he tried not to show how elated he was when you said you'd at least spend the night. How he fucked you afterwards, like his cock and his tongue were trying to convince you otherwise. But now he was gone – and you felt a sense of guilt.

You reached over and clicked on the light on the bedside table and scanned the room again – in case he was somewhere watching you from a darkened corner, but he wasn't. You pulled yourself out of the bed, wincing from the shots of pain that ran from your core down your legs. You found his shirt, crumpled on the floor at the base of the bed, right where it had been discarded only a few hours ago. You slipped the cotton over your shoulders and fastened a few of its buttons. You then crept across the floor, through the door and out into the darkened hallway.

You could see a warm light beaming into the hall from the far end of it. If you remembered correctly, it must've been coming from the living area. As you stepped closer, your ears picked up on a low murmur – he was talking to someone.

"Jimin?" you called out softly, but you didn't hear an answer. As you stepped closer, it became clear that there was in fact a second voice in the penthouse. A voice you didn't recognize. You continued your ascent up the hall until they were clear enough for you to pick up words.

"He refuses to talk," said the strange voice.

"Where is he?" you heard Jimin ask.

"In a container down by the shipyard. Picked him up just an hour ago."

"Good. Get it out of him. Do whatever it takes."

"You want him dead or alive?"

"If he doesn't talk by Monday, I'll come see him and decide then. I'll fucking pull the trigger myself."

You covered your chest with your hand, in a poor attempt to muffle the sound of your beating heart. He was talking about killing someone. Torturing someone. And you knew you weren't supposed to overhear it.

You should have returned to Jimin's room. You should have found your clothes – pulled them on you and made your escape from his home – made your escape from him. But something kept pulling you forward, making your feet creep closer to the bloodied conversation. Perhaps your conscience wanted to hear the brutality for itself – create a spark that would convince you that whatever you had been doing this whole time with Park Jimin was wrong. Or, perhaps your heart wanted him to say the right thing, let you believe what you were hearing was nothing but a misunderstanding – let him know what you heard so he could lie to you – tell you otherwise – convince you to stay.