Chapter 39: CRIMSON OBSESSION
The Unfolding Betrayal
The pain hit Taehyung like a wave crashing into the shore.
It was a deep, agonizing throb that echoed in his skull, every movement sending
pulses of burning fire through his body. His vision swam in and out of focus as
he knelt on the cold, unforgiving concrete floor of the warehouse. The metallic
scent of blood mingled with the sterile stench of the place, but it was the
blood from his own wound that dominated his senses. A deep gash across his
temple bled steadily, dripping in slow, deliberate patterns onto the grimy
floor beneath him. His arms were bound tightly behind his back, the ropes
digging into his skin, but it was the sheer weight of the moment that was the
heaviest burden.
Despite the situation, Taehyung couldn’t help the eerie
smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips. It was as if a flicker of
amusement was the only thing that could still survive in the middle of this
storm. There was a strange, quiet triumph in his expression that unsettled the
men surrounding him. It wasn’t the defiance of a man who thought he could still
escape—it was the smirk of a man who knew something they didn’t.
“Boss,” one of the men murmured, unease creeping into his
voice as he shifted his stance. “He’s… not reacting. Look at him.”
Minhyuk, the one who had orchestrated this entire scheme,
stepped forward, his boots echoing ominously against the concrete. He was a
tall man with cold eyes, a ruthless ambition, and a thirst for power that had
led him to betray the very man who had once considered him an ally. Now,
standing above Taehyung, he grinned darkly, the gun in his hand trained
directly on Taehyung’s head.
“I have to admit, Boss,” Minhyuk sneered, his voice dripping
with venom, “I always wondered what it would be like to see you on your knees.”
Taehyung’s gaze remained steady, unwavering despite the
blood dripping from his temple and the ropes that bound him. He let out a
breathless laugh, the sound ragged but filled with an edge of amusement. Blood
stained his teeth as he spoke, the words laced with defiance.
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” he muttered, his voice low,
almost mocking.
Minhyuk’s grin faltered for just a fraction of a second, his
gaze flickering over Taehyung’s battered form. But his confidence soon
returned, and he scoffed dismissively. “You don’t get it, do you? It’s over.
Your men are either dead or bought. Your empire is crumbling. You lost.”
For a moment, the room fell into a thick silence, broken
only by the occasional, rhythmic drip of blood from Taehyung’s head. Minhyuk’s
words hung in the air like a heavy fog, but the man he had once feared was not
giving him the satisfaction of fear. Taehyung simply stared at him, his dark
eyes never leaving Minhyuk’s face. There was no panic, no tremor of defeat in
his gaze.
Minhyuk clenched his jaw, irritated by the lack of reaction.
He pressed the barrel of the gun harder against Taehyung’s forehead, the cold
metal an undeniable reminder of how close Taehyung was to death. “What the fuck
are you smiling at?” he demanded.
Taehyung’s head tilted ever so slightly, his gaze still
unyielding. “You talk too much,” he replied, his voice dripping with a
dangerous calm that sent a chill through the room.
As soon as the words left his lips, the lights in the
warehouse flickered violently, casting the entire space in an eerie, stuttering
half-light. For a moment, everything was still—frozen in time. Then, with a
violent hiss, the entire place was plunged into complete darkness.
A surge of confusion rippled through the room. Shouts broke
out, voices trembling with panic as the sudden darkness disoriented them. In
that instant, Taehyung’s elite guards, who had been lying in wait, struck like
shadows. Gunfire echoed in the void, sharp and deafening, followed by the
sickening sounds of blades slicing through flesh, tearing through muscle and
bone with terrifying precision.
In the chaos, screams filled the air, rising and falling in
rapid succession as Minhyuk’s men were slaughtered one by one. The noise was
cacophonous, but through it all, there was a single voice—smooth, lethal, and
filled with unmistakable power—that rose above the madness.
“You made a mistake, Minhyuk.”
Minhyuk froze, his body rigid with fear. The voice was
familiar, but it was laced with danger and a hint of something far darker. His
head whipped around wildly, trying to pinpoint the source of the words, but the
darkness betrayed him. He couldn’t see a thing—couldn’t hear anything except
the panic of his men and the sound of their bodies hitting the floor.
And then, as if stepping out from the very shadows
themselves, a figure emerged.
Dressed in black, with a presence that seemed to consume the
space around him, Jeon Jungkook appeared, his eyes glowing with an unbridled
fury. He was a storm given human form—silent, swift, and deadly. Before Minhyuk
could even raise his gun, Jungkook was on him, moving with such speed that it
seemed as though he had never been standing still.
A blade sank into Minhyuk’s shoulder, pinning him to a
wooden crate with a sickening, wet thud. Minhyuk howled in pain, his hand
instinctively reaching for the wound, but Jungkook showed no mercy. Without
hesitation, he delivered a powerful knee to Minhyuk’s gut, knocking the breath
from his lungs.
“Did you really think you could take him from me?”
Jungkook’s voice was low and dripping with venom as he leaned in, his grip
tightening around Minhyuk’s throat. There was no mercy in his touch—just raw,
unbridled rage.
Minhyuk gasped, struggling beneath Jungkook’s iron grip, but
his body was failing him. His mind raced, thoughts disjointed as he tried to
comprehend what was happening.
Behind them, the emergency lights flickered back to life,
casting the entire warehouse in a harsh, fluorescent glow. The carnage was
revealed in full, and the sight was nothing short of horrific. Minhyuk’s men
were scattered across the floor, their bodies lifeless, their blood staining
the concrete in dark pools. And standing victorious over them, their weapons
drawn, were Taehyung’s loyal guards—each one as cold and calculating as their
leader.
Still bound, still bleeding, Taehyung lifted his head. His
eyes scanned the room, and for a brief moment, amusement flickered in his gaze.
The battle had been won, but the war was far from over.
“Took you long enough, baby boy,” he called out, the words
dripping with the same dark humor he had always carried, even in the face of
death.
Jungkook turned, his sharp eyes locking onto Taehyung’s
battered form. His gaze darkened with something primal, possessive. He crouched
in front of Taehyung, his fingers reaching out, brushing gently over the cut on
Taehyung’s jawline as if examining his wounds with a detached, calculating eye.
“I should let you suffer for getting caught like this,”
Jungkook murmured, his voice deceptively soft as he leaned in closer.
Taehyung let out a low chuckle, his body aching with every
movement, but he couldn’t hide the satisfaction that flared within him. “But
you won’t,” he replied, the words a challenge.
Jungkook smirked, the glint of amusement briefly flickering
in his eyes. He pulled a knife from his belt with a swift motion and, without
hesitation, cut through the ropes binding Taehyung’s wrists. The moment the
ropes loosened, Taehyung’s body slumped forward slightly, his head spinning
from the blood loss and the lingering effects of the blow to his temple.
“You’re mine,” Jungkook whispered against Taehyung’s ear,
his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down Taehyung’s spine. “No one touches
what’s mine.”
Taehyung grinned through the pain, his voice filled with
wicked amusement. “And if I like being touched?” he teased, his words laced
with a dangerous promise.
Jungkook’s grip tightened on his wrist, and his voice
dropped to a deadly whisper. “Then I’ll remind you who owns you.”
Minhyuk, barely conscious and struggling to stay alive,
coughed violently on the floor, his body trembling from blood loss. His eyes
were wide with disbelief, his breath ragged as he gazed at the two men before
him. “This… wasn’t supposed to happen…” he muttered, his voice breaking.
Taehyung’s gaze turned cold as he slowly straightened,
despite the blood dripping from his head and the pain coursing through his
body. His elegance, usually flawless, was marred by the brutal reality of the
situation. But even in his battered state, he moved with a quiet, dangerous
grace.
He walked toward Minhyuk, pulling the knife from Jungkook’s
shoulder with deliberate slowness, savoring the screams that followed. He
leaned down, his face inches from Minhyuk’s, his voice a whisper of death
itself.
“You were never meant to win,” Taehyung said, his words a
death sentence.
With a final, merciless thrust, the knife found Minhyuk’s
heart. His body went limp in an instant, collapsing to the floor with a final,
sickening thud.
Jungkook turned to Taehyung, his expression dark but filled
with a certain satisfaction. He reached out, tilting Taehyung’s chin up, his
gaze scanning the injuries with a deep frown.
“You need stitches,” he muttered, his voice laced with
concern, but the hardness in his eyes never wavered.
Taehyung hummed in acknowledgment, leaning into Jungkook’s
touch as his hand hovered over his ribcage, the pain still gnawing at him. “And
a drink,” he said, his voice rough.
Jungkook smirked, his gaze flickering with a dangerous
gleam. “We’ll see about that.”
As the last of the blood cooled on the floor, the two men
stood side by side—one a king reclaiming his throne, the other his relentless
shadow. Together, they had weathered the storm. Together, they would continue
to rewrite the rules of their world.
And in the end, the only thing more dangerous than their
enemies was each other.
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