♟️𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐♟️

♟️𝚅𝚘𝚝𝚎&𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝♟️

♟️𝙴𝙽𝙹𝙾𝚈♟️

🗝️  ∞  🗝️  ∞  🗝️

“One of the things about powerful people is they have the ability to make it look easy.”

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[Narrator's POV]

Black leather hugs the woman's polished body like a second skin, hardly covering anything. She moves around the pole like a snake summoned by a flute. Her hips move delicately to the rhythm of the sensual music that blares from the speakers as she shows off her well-shaped, full breasts to the roaring, turned-on audience.

She exotically twirls around the pole, uncaring of her skirt riding up with every move she makes. She demonstrates the little curves of her body that should be forbidden for all eyes. Yet every pair of them are on her now, gazing her up and down lustfully. The neon red and white lights fall on her spotless skin, enlightening the parts, every man in that strip club desires to caress.

He is among them.

He stares at the stripper indifferently, while she makes a show of sliding her skirt down. The audience roars and whistles in approval as the rain of cash falls on her head, but he? He is bored.

With one swift movement of his fingers, he gestures for the girl to approach him. She obeys momentarily. 

Easy. Boring. 

Rolling his eyes the man leans back on his booth, both elbows resting on the back of it, legs spread widely as if he is the owner of the place, and everything and everyone is at his disposal. The stripper approaches him, involuntarily scanning his posture. 

The black tie hangs around his neck. Some buttons of his black shirt are unbuttoned, showing off the milky skin of his throat and chest, while the black shirt does little to cover the well-built muscles underneath.

"What can I do for you, sir?" She purrs in a mellow tone, flashing him her full breasts. 

The man lifts his head. 

Her breath gets stuck in her throat. Unable to avert her eyes from him, she gulps. 

Because this guy is a sight to be seen. His muscular build is nothing compared to the handsome face that will put any Olympus God in shame. The blond hair, sexily damp and messy from running his hands through them, shines under the illumination of the dancing lights. The small nose hangs above his full, kissable lips. His sharp jawline chiseled to perfection is covered with a neat, blonde beard. Tender lines of his features, drawn by an artist determined to create a sophisticated masterpiece, complete the face that would make any man question his sexuality. 

This man literally and figuratively is the true epitome of sex.

But his eyes, they're different. She's never seen eyes like that. Even under the poor illumination of the club, the color is vividly visible. Green like the verdant glimmer of an emerald diamond. Eyes so hypnotizing, alluring, and mesmerizing that she can’t help but stare like a hungry dog with her tongue wagging out.

The man is perfection from head to toe. The true definition of a desirable candy bar, yet something about him intimidates her. Something about his stance warns her not to get tricked by his beautiful, unlined features.

Something tells her to run for her life away from the seemingly unharmful man. But she knows better than to disobey anyone in a place littered with criminals and gangsters. But what is about him that doesn't let her relax?

Is it his nonchalant expression and the intrusive gaze that brings a painful heat to her face, joined by a dull ringing? Or the unspeakable amount of confidence matched to the Silver Foxes of the criminal underworld with the surety of life experience behind them?

She has no clue.

Little does she know that the man in front of him has the swagger of someone no one even wants to lock eyes with, let alone cross. He is way more than any Silver Fox of this century can ever be. He's someone that has a persona as fierce as the Godfather. Someone who can make his enemies vomit with fear just at the sound of his name. A name that is familiar to everyone in this country.

"Dance for me," the man commands, apathy engraved on his face. He looks like a bored child looking for some kind of satisfaction, or in his case, looking for destruction from the troublesome thoughts. 

The stripper obeys without any second thought. Whirling around, she starts swaying her hips at a slow pace, dancing between his spread legs to the rhythm of the heavy music. He watches the girl with complete serenity, not moving a muscle, his eyes following the neon lights that fall on all the right places. But suddenly the dancer freezes in her place as if stunned by a spell.

"You can leave now, sweetie!" 

At the sound of the monotone voice, the reason behind the dancer's abrupt letup becomes transparent to him. His full lips twitch up, soon transforming into a sultry smirk. The stripper peeks back at him. Receiving a small, affirmative nod, she leaves.

His eyes land on a woman in black. Black hair pulled up into her signature ponytail as the long eyelashes frame her dark eyes, making them look even sharper than they are. And maybe the woman could look somehow intimidating if it wasn’t for her purple lipstick and neon shoelaces. There's just one word with which the man would describe his right hand. Vixen: sexy, sassy, fancy. 

She sits down next to him, without glancing at the still smirking man. "Such a joy killer, Nicolia," the man whines at his henchwoman, reaching for his glass of whiskey. 

"Didn't look like you were having much fun," she sneers, dragging her sharp eyes to his face, "Mackenzie." The name slips from her purple lips like a dagger determined to pierce through his head. And in a way she succeeds, because this man hates to be addressed by his name.

"For fuck's sake, do not use the freaking name in public," he spits out grinding his jaw.

Although for her the word public is a luxury for this place. A flock of smelly goats suits better.

"How many times should I say for your dumb ass to comprehend that? The surname will do just fine, Nicolia!" 

She cocks her head, flashing him a sarcastic smile. "Looks like I'm not the only mentally fragrant one here. How many times should I tell you to quit calling me Nicolia? It's Nicole for you, Lim." 

"Whatever," Lim chuckles at his childhood friend's cockiness. Bringing the glass to his moist lips, he guzzles the robust delight, not even flinching when the strong alcohol burns down his throat.

No one in the right state of their mind would ever dare to speak to him like that. Not if they don't want to meet their ancestors sooner than necessary. Perhaps he misses being treated like a normal human being and not a rabid dog but he, Lim Mackenzie, the only power player of the town, can’t possibly equalize himself with rustic folks. That would be nothing less than totally ridiculous. 

"I recall you saying you don't like places like this," he gestures to the poorly enlightened club, where smoke hangs in the air like a thick fog in the dark alley. "So what brought you here, Nicole?"

Nicole's eyes glare through the misted air, focusing on the stage where another dancer is performing now.

The red and white lights reflect in her pitch-black orbs, while the smell of gun smoke, tinged with cigarettes and mixed with the bitter tang of alcohol makes her eyes burn from within. It's a pungent odor, overlaid by the softer notes of female perfume that makes her gag from disgust.

"Report," Nicole replies unenthusiastically, schooling her expression into a blank face. "I'm going to be absent for a couple of days. One of the barkeepers in the underbelly of Yongsan Gu wants more from the money-laundering operation than his fair share. The punk even has the nerve to refuse to pay us the full price." She breaths the half-truth out of her purple-painted lips, without even a drop of remorse, "I think I'm going to have a little chat with him." 

An arrogant chuckle comes deep from Lim's chest, as a small, devilish smile lingers on his lips before he lets his head shake in utter disapproval. "Nicole, Nicole, Nicole," he drawls lazily, taking his time to take a relaxed pose before bringing his beady eyes to his longtime friend. "You never learn, do you?"

With a heavy sigh, Mackenzie grabs the newly re-filled whiskey glass, revolving it with the delicate movement of his wrist, and watching closely how the ember liquid whirls in the glass, creating a small whirlwind. "It's very simple, my dear friend. If someone refuses to pay us," he sips from the glass, hissing at the stinging aftertaste that remains on his taste buds as his virid eyes scan the area of the crowded place. "Then we pay for their funerals. And let me remind you, in funerals, there's no chattering involved."

He gives Nicole a skeptical look, letting his usual charm drop. "Are you telling me that taking out one beekeeper will take you a couple of days?" 

A glimpse of Lim’s smileless face is enough for Nicole to know that she should pick her next words very carefully if she likes breathing without a respirator. She doesn't have to worry much though. If the one thing she's good at it's creating legends. It's a simple trick learned from Y/N from the times they were still kids: start with the truth, add a pinch of lie with every sentence, and there, you have a believable fairy tale. 

“Remember prosecutor Cha Seungwon?”

The corners of Mackenzie’s lips tug upwards, creating a sinister smirk that will cast a spell of lust to the eyes that dare to look his way. “The son of a bitch with a superiority complex who never pays the dues on time,” he sneers, “and hopes to be at the top of the Blue House hierarchy?”

“That,” Nicole nods, enunciating the ‘t’ in a delightfully succinct smack of her tongue against her teeth, “son of a breach. He doesn’t seem to be able to keep his gob shut lately.”

Mackenzie shrugs, taking a sip from the member liquid. “He has a son,” he states as if it's the most logical answer, “teach him a lesson.”

"You mean…." Nicole’s pointed gaze slowly comes to her friend's face, contemplating whether or not the nonchalant words hold any real meaning. “T-That’s not right.”

Lim’s hand freezes midair, as he lets his tongue slide across his teeth. He lapses into an eerie silence, choosing to stare at Nicole. His verdant eyes are piercing and Nicole can’t help but shift uncomfortably in her seat. The unexplainable feeling of dismay strikes her being as she feels the blood run cold in her veins, face gradually losing color, heart pounding in her ears.

“Nicole,” he starts slowly, letting out an exasperated puff of air. “That guy,” his tone of voice is serene and pitch low, yet there’s a roar of anger hidden beneath that calmness.“Is an important pawn on the board. This kind tends to be rebellious. And when they uprise, the noose around their neck needs to be tightened, not to choke but to remind that they're nothing but a leashed dog, and the command of fetching the bone hasn't been given yet. Take good care of him because I don't need the repetition of that General.” 

Her eyebrows knit, mind trying to recall any familiar incidents with the mysterious General but the memory of it maintains unforthcoming. “General?”

Mackenize casts her a quick look. “Right, you were a kid back then,” he licks his lips, letting his eyes travel to the stage. “Just another one of the figures on the board who thought he’s more than just a pawn. Anything else?”

"Uh...yeah...There's an informant chasing one of our crack dens in the north end. Someone needs to destroy his collection of hard drives before..."

Lim's attention sways off from Nicole. 

He doesn't catch the rest of her answer as his eyes spot something -no- someone in the crowd, right next to the bar. A figure of a woman, a familiar one. 

His heart skips a beat.

The woman with glazing green eyes glares at him from afar, making shivers run down his spine.

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Hey Angel!

I know it was a bit boring, next one will reveal more details about this fiasco.

Don't forget to voteت︎

Till the next time. Purple yaa...🧸