51

I think I resurrected a bit when Jungkook appeared.

Needless to say, his face turned white and black so fast that before I knew it, he was already on me. His hands lifted my chin and examined my face. I staggered backwards, my knees hitting the floor. I couldn't tell if it was from fear or relief.

I whimpered softly, trying to hide that I was, in fact, weak for that moment of touch. Pathetic, I know. But fuck me for not wanting to be in flight mode for a few seconds.

I hated this. I wanted to tear my hair out and punish myself for trembling.

I didn't want to be all weak and stupid in front of him. I had to tell him that I did a good job. I locked that bastard in. I did a pretty good job, right?

I raised a trembling thumb, "Ten out of ten. Excellent response time, Mr Jeon." My voice came out shaky and pathetic but I grinned as best as I could.

Jungkook gasped, crouching to my level and holding my face up in his hands, "What happened? What the fuck happened, Haerin?"

I think that was the first time he called me Haerin. It felt nice.

BANG BANG BANG!

"Open the door you bitch!" Taehyung continued behind the door. I huddled closer to Jungkook, flinching. He gathered me. I clenched my eyes shut. Why the hell was I being so fragile?! Get a grip, Haerin!

"What the fuck—what's—" Jungkook tried to ask me but the pounding on the door continued until he didn't know what to say.

I gripped the sleeves of his shirt and pulled his attention back from the door. He looked at me, wide-eyed and increasingly confused.

"I—I mean, Taehyung. I locked him in. He was..."

Jungkook bent lower to hear me better.

I halted for a second and then held on tighter to his musky perfume. "He was chasing me. I...locked him in with your keycard." I showed him the card I had been holding in my hand.

Jungkook's body was shaking. In a bad way. He didn't look like he was crying. It felt more like anger, like restraint shredding.

He opened my palm, hands gliding over the cuts from the sharp edges of the keycard. Quietly, he took the card back and put it in his pocket. He stroked my bare feet, then my tousled hair and then my face, eyes watching my jaw. It was realisation enough that Taehyung's grip was imprinted on my face. Most likely.

His eyes blackened with fury. Of course, he was angry. I wanted him to be angry. But there was something unhinged in that look—like he was bottling it up for the right moment. I couldn't tell why but it felt like I'd be in the way of it, too.

He pulled me in his embrace, rubbing my back. Telling me I was safe. I was safe. I knew that. I was fine. Everything was fine.

I tapped his chest lightly and he pulled back. His brows knotted, curiously peering at me.

"I didn't let him touch me." I proudly tried to smile, my face wobbling a little. Jungkook's grip deepened into my hair and the back of my neck as if he was acknowledging me. I chuckled weakly, avoiding eyes, "And the keycard? Very helpful. Bravo for letting me have it."

He pulled in a deep breath and then breathed out in a raspy "Fuck." His forehead pressed into mine, fingers shivering so hard that they vibrated my face too.

Taehyung's constant cursing at me was only in the background now. I didn't fucking care. I had done enough.

I hissed when he touched somewhere near my jaw. He shuddered and withdrew his hand. "Fuck. Sorry, sorry."

"It's okay, macho man." I nervously chuckled. "I'm fine."

"Of course, you are." His words were kind but his voice was cutting. I couldn't tell if he was angry at me or at himself or at Taehyung or the world. Everything seemed plausible. "Let's get up." He picked me off the floor in the cradle of his arms and nudged me into his chest. "Where are your things?"

"My...my shoes are in the pantry on the sixth floor. And my bag is on the stairway outside." I recalled, clearing my throat when it began locking up. "And...and my phone and baton are in the basement stairway I think. He threw my phone in the stairwell...I don't know where that is."

His breath hitched, fingers tightening for just a second on me before loosening again.

"Let's get your things later. I'll deal with this man now." He said and turned towards the meeting room. "Will you wait here?"

"Heck no. I'm not sitting there. I'll wait outside the door." I commanded, kicking my legs softly to display my denial.

For a moment, he didn't look like he was sure. His mind was probably debating what to do. Whether to let me have my way or do what he thought was right. But thankfully he thought of the best.

He didn't protest. He let me down on my feet, placing me in the corridor and reached for the keycard in his pocket. He looked way too professional when he turned his back to me. As if he was about to burn everything down right there or maybe just sign a document.

I stuck my back to the wall. "Jungkook?"

He turned to me, hands halting from slicing the keycard. "Yes, love?"

"Are you going to hit him?"

He blinked at me and then cracked a sad smirk, "Do you not want me to?"

I shook my head. "You beat him up good. I mean, bad. Fuck him up. Because I was fucking terrified." I pointed at him commandingly, my voice cracking and my eyes stinging a little. I sniffed and sucked the tears back.

Jungkook's jaw shifted and he turned and sliced the card fast. The door unlocked and Taehyung's voice halted. Jungkook pushed the door and there was nothing left to wait for. He grabbed Taehyung by the neck, the keycard dangling in his other hand.

"You dare use this to scare her?!" He screamed and I think that was the loudest I had ever heard him shout.

The entire empty floor rattled. I caved into the wall. Okay, I was a sucker for dominant men, too, but fuck me, hearing that was no joke. My brain was exploding in the wonder that he was capable of that much anger.

He grabbed Taehyung by the throat— keycard still between his fingers like an accusation— and screamed again, "You dare use this to scare her?!"

The floor answered him. Taehyung didn't get a second chance. Jungkook landed blow after blow, driving him back into desks, smashing him down until the man crumpled like bad paper. Once, with a cold, accurate swing, Jungkook drove the toe of his shoe into Taehyung's groin. Taehyung folded. He was a ruined Bloody Mary by the time Jungkook stopped. I didn’t move. I didn't tell him to stop. If the bastard died then and there, I would have called it self-defence.

That's what he deserved for trying to assault me in the name of claiming something. And he didn't look like he had any mercy towards me at all. For someone professing his love, he sure was a lustful man. And that was the scary part.

The first thing I heard after Jungkook dragged Taehyung out of his cabin was his voice, sharp as broken glass.

"Stay there."

It wasn't for me. It was barked at Taehyung, who lay on the floor, wheezing blood through his teeth. But the sound of it still made me freeze where I stood, pressed to the wall.

Jungkook's phone was in his hand a second later, thumb moving like a machine, voice clipped and terrifying. "Send a unit to Neureva Tower. Third floor. Attempted assault." His words were iron. "He's restrained. Yes. I'll wait."

He ended the call before the other side could even finish.

Taehyung groaned. "You're making a mistake—"

The back of Jungkook's shoe slammed into his ribs. "Shut up."

That was it. Nothing else. No yelling. Just that cold, efficient strike that made Taehyung fold like paper.

I thought I'd be the one crying or screaming right now. But no. I couldn't even move. My lungs were stiff as bricks. The only sound was the blood pounding in my ears and Jungkook pacing the room, dragging Taehyung up by the collar like he weighed nothing, tossing him around and kicking him whenever he said anything.

When the police finally arrived, three officers and a security guard trailing behind them, Jungkook shoved Taehyung forward like he was a bag of trash.

"He attacked her. Tried to force himself on her. I locked him down until you got here."

The officer blinked at the understatement. Taehyung looked less like a man and more like a collapsed scarecrow.

One of the cops turned to me. "Miss, do you need a medic? We can call for an—"

"No." The word came out too fast, too sharp. My throat hurt. "I'm fine."

Yes, I ran and had physical exertion but it wasn't something I couldn't handle. I didn't feel any pain that needed a medic. Some rest was going to make it right.

The cop looked like he wanted to press, but Jungkook shifted one step closer, and the man shut his mouth.

Taehyung was hauled up between the officers, still muttering something about 'claiming' and 'she's mine.' The bastard this man was. Jungkook didn’t even look at him again. Just turned his head away, his jaw clenched so tight the muscle ticked.

The second the door slammed behind them, I felt like jumping out of the window myself.

But what in the deaf movie was happening here? We went silent. Too silent.

Jungkook didn't look at me. Didn't speak. Didn't ask if I was sure I was okay. He just…moved.

He picked my bag up from where it had landed on the stairwell floor. Wiped the dust off it with one sharp swipe. Slid the zipper shut.

Then he was gone again. Back up the stairs, down the stairs. Every few minutes he returned with another piece of me—my phone, cracked but intact. My baton, bent and ugly now. Even my heels, which he wrapped in tissue from the pantry like they were made of glass instead of cheap leather.

He never said a word. I didn't know why but this situation was scarier than me trying to accept that this was my fault.

Every step of his boots echoed like thunder in the empty halls. His face was carved stone, unreadable, almost frightening.

And I? I followed him. Like a child trailing her father after breaking a vase, ready to get spanked for even opening my mouth. My fingers fidgeted with the strap of my bag. My throat was tight with things I couldn't say.

Why won't you look at me?

Why aren't you yelling?

I failed to tell him what was going on with Taehyung. He asked several times. I lied. This was all me because he found out too late.

But Jungkook didn't. His silence was worse.

I thought maybe when he finally put everything in order—the bag stuffed, the laptop tucked inside, the baton wedged at the bottom—maybe then he'd look at me and cry out 'Oh Haerin, my girlfriend, are you alright, my dear?'. Some shit like that.

But all he did was hold the bag out to me. His hands were steady, but his eyes never met mine.

"Take it."

That was it. The first word he'd said to me in almost half an hour.

I took it with both hands, my fingers brushing his. They were cold. Too cold.

My stomach twisted.

He walked ahead, down the stairs toward the lobby, not once checking if I was keeping up.

I wanted to scream at him. Shake him. Tell him I'd been so scared my soul left my body through my anus and I still fought, I still locked Taehyung in his stupid cabin like a goddamn hero. I wanted him to say I did good. That he was proud and relieved I was safe. But this motherfucker had stapler pins for the mouth.

Instead, I hugged the bag tighter to my chest and kept my head down. My shoes clacked against the marble, unevenly, because I'd shoved my feet back into them without straps.

By the time we reached the lobby, I was chewing the inside of my cheek bloody.

The glass doors loomed ahead, the streetlights outside were hazy under the rain. Jungkook reached them first. Pulled one open. Waited.

I stopped three steps behind him. My chest felt like it was going to collapse.

"Jungkook." My voice cracked. He didn’t turn. "You're not even…you're not even looking at me."

Nothing.

He just stood there, hand on the glass, rain pouring outside.

The knot in my chest cinched tighter. My stomach hollowed out.

"You're mad at me, aren't you?" The words spilled before I could stop them. I gripped the bag so hard the straps bit into my palms. "I knew it. I knew you'd be mad. Everyone's always mad when I don't...when I don't say things first, when I don’t do it right." My laugh broke into something watery and pathetic. "I thought maybe this time was different, but no. I messed up again."

Still nothing.

My throat burned. The tears came hot and fast now, and I hated it, hated myself for it, but I couldn't stop.

"You're done with me, right?" My chest heaved. "That's why you're quiet. Because I'm too much, or I'm a liability, or whatever excuse people always make before they leave."

That finally made him move. His hand clenched around the glass door, veins stark against his skin. His shoulders rose and fell like he was dragging air in with a fight.

But he didn't turn.

I bit my lip until I tasted copper. My eyes blurred, the lobby spinning around me.

"Fine." My voice wobbled, bratty and broken all at once. "If you won’t talk to me, then I'll just go."

And before I could second-guess it, I pushed past him, out into the sheets of rain.

I didn't have the courage to just wait for him to spout something I would later cry for. I was pathetic. Okay. So what? If he was already overwhelmed with me I didn't care. I DIDN'T CARE. Break up with me you fucker.

I kept walking, eyes blurring in the rain. I couldn't even see clearly but I knew that I had to get out of there before I was humiliated inside out.

Then the sound came.

"Haerin!"

Rough. Commanding. Furious.

I froze in the rain, my heart jumping to my throat.

I turned, my jaw parting, offended.

Why did he yell at me?!

He briskly closed the distance between us, not concerned about the rain either. His perfectly set hair melted into wet locks, plastering his forehead, hands shaking beside him. He didn't even bother with whatever expensive wristwatch he was wearing. Whatever. This bastard could buy more of these. I didn't have to care.

"What?" I shot back, my eyes already stinging. "Are you mad because I didn't give you a chance to yell? Is that it? I'm giving you the pass, and that's my fault, too? I won't feel bad if you let me walk out first so just let it go now."

"Haerin—"

"Don't 'Haerin' me!" I pointed at him and he looked like a defiant student in front of my finger. "You're not even looking at me! It's like I made the mistake of the century! I know I should have told you before and I also know that I shouldn't have made that Pikachu face when you asked me if there was something wrong. And oh yes, fuck me because you offered to stay with me but I refused. There's the gullitone, behead this bitch now!"

His face hardened, hands pulling his wet hair back frustratedly.

But I was giving a lifetime achievement award speech there. I couldn't stop.

"But you know what? I did what I could! And I didn't let him touch me. Isn't that enough for you that I'm not dirty?"

"You're not—" he tried again but I cut him off with a snap.

"I fought, Jungkook. I even used your keycard and stuff." I shakily pointed at his pocket and my bag for the baton. "But I guess that's not what you want. Fine. Next time I'll just sit there and let it—" my words choked and I saw his eyes flash with something hot and unhappy. "—let it kill me! I'll—"

"Stop it! Just stop talking for a damned minute, Haerin!" His shout ripped through the rain. He yelled so hard that my throat closed. He never yelled like that. Not at me. "Do you even fucking understand what happened today, lady? Look at me when I'm talking!"

My eyes jerked back to him, chest caving. I clutched the bag tighter to my chest because what in the abusive romance was going on here?

"Do you know what it feels like realising that I could have fucking lost you? That you could just be gone. Just like that!" He dragged his fingers through his hair again, stepping closer and I shrank back. "I'd die. I'd die if I lost you damn it. You fucking brat. I'd have wanted to kill myself if you were gone. You think I'm mad? You think me going crazy over losing you is being angry at you?"

My mouth opened and then closed and then hot tears began rolling down my wet face. "Then...why are you ignoring me? And why are you getting so close and yelling in my face...?" My voice was pathetic. Pathetic. His voice had taken me by surprise.

He clenched his hair, groaning at the sky and yanked the bag I was holding at my chest. I gasped. He threw it on the pavement.

"Because if I don't ignore you, I'll want to do this." He said and crushed his mouth into mine.

It wasn't soft or tender. It was brutal. I couldn't believe his mouth was in me. I whimpered, but he opened his mouth and swallowed it, sucking my sobs into him. His hand pressed into my body, thrusting it into his as his tongue battled into the entrance of my mouth. He was frustrated, agitated and a lot of things. But he was desperate, longing and passionate and a lot of other things, too. I tried to match his pace, move with his rhythm and show him I wanted it too, but my knees and my height failed me. He didn't let it happen though. He grabbed my thighs, lifting me up swiftly and locking them around his hip.

I whimpered again, moaning when he dragged the length of his tongue over my lip and inside my mouth as if exploring every sensation it could give. It was like a switch had gone off in him. He was feral, biting my lip, angling his jaw to fill me and pushing his mouth into mine for better access. Before I knew it, he had pinned me up against the wall in the premises outside, somewhere where the rain didn't hit us anymore because we had a ceiling.

I tried to breathe, stuttering into his mouth. He lapped it up—oh god—he lapped it up like a dog. The salt I tasted. I couldn't tell if it was from the tears or from the rain anymore. For a moment, he gripped me too hard as if he was scared of letting me go. His arms wound around me, trying to soak my body into his torso but it was physically impossible to do what he wanted.

I tried to adjust myself, feeling my hips slipping as I didn't have the strength anymore. He groaned, biting my lip, and lifted me up again, pressing my back into the wall hard enough to make me dangle there stupidly. I barely had the time to catch my breath like Kelly Clarkson would. He kissed my entire face, my lips, my nose, my cheeks—teething my cheeks a bit—my hair and my neck, making me shiver beneath him.

"J—Jungkook!" I pushed him a bit. He pressed his forehead into mine. His chest heaved, the soaking fabric of his shirt stretching over his torso, making me blush harder than I already was.

"Fuck..." He breathed and gulped, eyes haunted into a look he couldn't chase away. He looked drunk. Not passionate. But as if he didn't know what else to do. As if he was helpless in some sort of way.

Then, in his raw strained voice, he whispered into my parted lips, "You're coming home with me."