C36 - Soul-ed MATE

Someone moves past me.

My father hobbles closer, an expression of deep fury on his face. “What the hell is that?”

I can’t doubt the sincerity of his outrage, but it doesn’t help to know my father wasn’t involved. Someone had a front-row seat to my room—when I believed I was alone, when I changed my clothes.

When I touched myself in bed at night. This is what my mother sensed, the darkness closing in around her. And now it’s around me, strangling me where I stand.

My stomach flips over, the champagne roiling like lava inside. Dad leans against the wall, staring into the gaping hole.

“She was telling the truth,” he whispers, regret ripping through his voice. Then it’s too much to hold back.

I turn to the marble fireplace, wretching. I haven’t eaten enough to fully vomit, but that only makes it worse, my stomach heaving against nothing.

“Who did this?” The question is quiet, but the entire room turns toward the authority in Yoongi’s tone. There’s no doubt that the guilty party will suffer under his hand. His glittering gaze scans the room, falling from my father to Jiwoo to Uncle Yunhyuk.

They stare back at him, a mix of guilt and condemnation.

“All of them loved my mother,” I say, falling against the cool stone, pressing my cheek to it.

Yoongi shakes his head slowly. “All of them failed her.”

Instead I hear in his voice, ‘all of them failed you.’ And the way he looks at me, his jaw tight, his body thrumming with barely leashed violence, he thinks he failed me, too.

“It might not be someone in this room,” Taehyung says, dark with meaning. My father trembling with the effort to remain upright, even with the cane to lean on.

Jiwoo, eyes filled with tears.

Uncle Yunhyuk, inexpressible sorrow.

I shake my head. “Who else could it be?”

Taehyung says nothing, his expression as hostile as I’ve ever seen him. Gone is the good humor that accompanies his every sly request, the cheerfulness that infused even his most serious demand. This is the dark side of him, the one that makes him feared in the city.

“These people might have loved her,” Yoongi says. “But she loved someone else.”

“Kim Yongdae,” I say, gasping.

And that’s the fatal flaw in my deductions, the missing piece of logic from my strategy, an overlooked piece in my chess set. So many people loved my mother. And when she finally fell in love, I thought it would be reciprocated.

Except what if it wasn’t? What if she fell in love with someone who had dangerous intent?

Someone willing to play games with her mind—with her life?

Jiwoo coughs, shaking her large frame. The sound tears at my insides. It’s hard to believe she can make that and not rip apart her lungs.

Uncle Yunhyuk tilts his head, expression bemused. “Do you smell that?”

I close my eyes with chagrin. “I kind of threw up.”

He shakes his head. “Not that, little one. It smells almost like—”

“Smoke,” I say, voice high with panic. The sound of shouts drifts upstairs, along with panicked shrieks and feminine screams.

“Get everyone out of the house,” Yoongi says to Taehyung, who nods.

Taehyung looks around before narrowing his gaze on Uncle Yunhyuk. “You. You’re going to help me clear this place. If even one person burns, you’re going to pay, understand?”

Uncle Yunhyuk looks affronted. “I didn’t start the fire.”

“I don’t care,” Taehyung says, leaving the room with a determined stride. After a brief, panicked look at my father, Uncle Yunhyuk follows him quickly, apparently taking the threat seriously.

Between the two of them I hope that they can get the downstairs empty. Uncle Yunhyuk knows the layout of the place as well as anyone, and Kim Taehyung has an authority that won’t be questioned.

My father stumbles, a hoarse cry of grief coming from him. I run to his side. Even with the weight he’s been losing, it’s more than I can support on my own.

“Help me,” I beg Yoongi.

He glances at Hyejin. “Can you take care of your mother?”

Jiwoo coughs, struggling to speak. My legs shake under the weight of my father, ready to crumple. Hyejin waves us away, looking calm and composed except for the glint of worry in her dark eyes. “Take care of him. I can help her downstairs.”

Yoongi pauses, clearly torn. In the end he gives me a terse nod. “Let’s go.”

We make our way downstairs, navigating the stairs with stark efficiency as the heavy smoke increases around us. My father begins coughing, and I realize Jiwoo’s cough will only get worse.

Hyejin said she could get her downstairs, but she isn’t used to dealing with smoke.

I glance back, but the landing is still empty.

Where are they?

“I’ll go back for them,” Yoongi says, following my line of worry. Fear nips at my ankles as we hobble outside, struggling to carry my father through the heavy flow of panicked people in tuxes and gowns.

Discordant strains of music rise over the sounds of hysteria. The harsh whir and crank of strings in distress. The musicians running for their lives? The instruments trampled in the rush?

It matches the frantic melody of our escape. With a low growl, Yoongi hauls my father over his shoulder and carries him from the house. I trail after them, worried that the position will hurt my father worse. It’s with surprising carefulness that Yoongi deposits Dad on the grass a few yards from the house.

“Stay with him,” he orders before disappearing into the house again. I check on my father, who’s coughing even more, unable to speak. After a moment, flames leak out of the roof, breaking through the high shingles.

Smoke pours out of the top as if the house expels a deep breath. The flow of people out the door slows to a trickle.

Uncle Yunhyuk bursts from the house, helping a white-haired woman to the grass, before joining us. “I think we got everyone.”

Taehyung appears, looking haggard. “Where is he?”

“Yoongi?”

“My father.”

The sea of people mill around the lawn, looking frightened, pale with shock. A few are clearly excited, their cell phones out to snap pictures and post them online.

This is the most excitement Daegu society has seen in years. “I haven’t seen him.”

Taehyung curses under his breath before charging into the crowd, clearly determined. Except that I know everyone isn’t out. Hyejin and her daughter aren’t anywhere to be seen.

I turn to Uncle Yunhyuk. “Yoongi is still upstairs.”

He shrugs. “He’s stronger than me. If he can’t get down, then I can’t help him.”

Fury washes through me. “Fine.” Then I’m back through the door, Uncle Yunhyuk’s shout of protest trailing after me. I make it halfway up the stairs before I pass Hyejin.

Jiwoo leans against the wall, almost falling down the stairs while Hyejin tries to support her.

“She’s having some kind of attack,” Hyejin says, fighting tears.

I help them down the last few steps. “Where’s Yoongi?”

“He came back for her, but the fire moved so fast. Maybe it was the open walls, I don’t know. But the ceiling started coming down on us. He pushed Mom out into the hallway before a flame blew through the room.”

My heart stops. “Oh my God.”

Any trace of the cool, calm businesswomen has been replaced by a heartbroken one. “I tried to get him out, but he yelled at me to go. I’m so sorry.”

I take the steps two at a time, faster than I’ve ever moved through the house. I see what Hyejin meant, the cascade of flames that have consumed the wall.

Is he already dead inside?

Already burned?

“YOONGI,” I shout.

I don’t hear anything, but there’s not a chance in hell I’m leaving him here. With a deep breath, as if I’m about to plunge into dark water, I jump over the flames—praying that the floor isn’t weak enough to send me crashing down to the first floor.

I stumble and fall, a large gash on my forearm making me cry out.

And then I see him.

Yoongi, held down by a beam across his chest, fighting to push it off. His eyes widen. “What the fcuk are you doing here?”

“Saving you.”

“Get out of here, Park Jimin. Right now.”

“I’m not leaving without you.” But the beam is too heavy for me to lift— clearly, because he would have been able to remove it himself. “On the count of three.”

Even though he looks furious with me, he says, “Three.”

I force all my weight into it, all the grief and rage and love I have for Yoongi. He struggles too, his breath coming harder as the beam pushes down on him.

Are his ribs broken?

My arms quiver with the force I’m using, but the beam barely budges. Smoke swirls around us, filling my lungs. I cough, shoving uselessly against the beam.

Yoongi manages to grasp my arm. “Jimin, listen to me. It’s too late. Go outside. Wait for the fire department.”

I shake my head, eyes stinging with smoke and tears. There hadn’t been any sirens outside.

“After the looks we got at the courthouse from the cops? With my family’s reputation in this city? I don’t think they’ll be rushing to my address anytime soon.”

“I don’t give a fcuk,” Yoongi says furiously. “You need to go.”

And like the fire brought down the walls around us, like the marble chess piece smashed into the Sheetrock, I can see right through to the heart of him. To his doubt and his power. His love, the kind that makes him do terrible things.

“I’m not leaving you.”

He must see the determination in my eyes because something like panic crosses his. “You once told me that if I care about you at all, to tell you the truth. And I did, Jimin. I did it, even knowing it would bring us here. It would endanger you.”

My heart clenches. “Yes.”

“And now I need something from you. If you care about me at all, leave. Now.”

I kneel at his side, placing a kiss on his cheek. “I care about you, Yoongi. And that’s why I can’t leave you here.” Then I pick up the small table, knocking the chess pieces to the ground.

I shove the circular edge under the end of the beam, creating a lever. The wood in the table cracks but the marble chess base holds steady, lifting the wide beam by an inch.

Yoongi grunts, his expression impassive, but I know the pain must be intense. It will only hurt him worse as I push the beam farther. It’s the only way to save him.

Using the carved base of the table, I deepen the angle beneath the beam. I push down with all my strength, able to use my weight pressing down on the lever.

The beam shifts with a creak while Yoongi swears profusely, sweat slicking his skin. The beam slants more sideways, but Yoongi looks deathly white, unable to slide the rest of the way out.

And even if he were able to move to the side, the beam would follow him down to the floor.

A pop from above is the only warning before the ceiling rains down on us. I throw myself over Yoongi’s face, shielding him.

“It’s too heavy,” he says, teeth gritted. “Go. Now.”

My mother risked everything for a man who played her. I should be wary of sacrifice by now, but this is one I have to make. “No.”

“Jimin,” he says, words coming slurred, shorter. He can’t breathe well. “If you don’t leave now, I’ll never forgive you. I swear to God, I’ll never speak to you again.”

“But you’ll be alive,” I say, moving beneath the beam’s end. It’s higher now, after the table did its work. “Isn’t that what you told me? The ultimate victory? I’m not going to let you be the martyr, Yoongi.”

It isn’t martyrdom I’m worried about and we both know it. It’s him— Min Yoongi in all his wild, fierce glory. Maybe my mother and I are fated to fall in love with dangerous men.

I just hope that mine won’t destroy me, too. I shove against the beam with all my might, panting at the effort. Someone appears at the door, cursing at the lick of flames.

Namjoon.

Yoongi speaks through obvious pain, the evenness of his voice forced. “Get. Him. Out.”

!!~~~~!!!!~~~~!!