C39 - Soul-ed MATE

Min Yoongi

I deal with dangerous men every day.

Criminals.

Lowlifes lurking in the darkest corners of the city, without ever flinching.

Bruised knuckles.

That’s what I know.

It’s this gilt and glamour that makes me itch.

Men in tuxes. Women in glossy gowns. An enemy who greets me with a handshake.

Hair on the back of my neck rises.

Park Sejin is a businessman with a lot of influence in Daegu. He has a reputation for being honest, despite his family legacy.

Generous, despite his wealth.

The skin around his eyes wrinkles as he smiles.

“Yoongi. Or do you still go by Agust D?”

“Yoongi will be fine,” I say smoothly.

“Of course.” A jovial laugh.

Does he practice that? “I wouldn’t want to call you Mr. Min. That’s more your father’s thing. The formality.”

Formality.

That’s one word to describe my father’s penchant for violence. In contrast to this glittering estate, we lived in a goddamn hovel. Such very different social spheres. So very similar, once you get beneath the surface.

The Park family fortune was built on the backs of whores and drug addicts. That part is common knowledge if you’re connected to the Daegu underworld.

What isn’t common knowledge is that his construction company is a front for the Italian mafia.

“My father is no longer”—I pause, savoring the words—“in business.”

For a brief moment Park appears nervous, his wide forehead slick with sweat. He pulls a handkerchief from his jacket, wiping hastily.

I do him the favor of averting my eyes.

I have no plans to break him.

Not tonight.

Normally I don’t enjoy the pretense of fancy things—diamonds and gold. Pretty wrapping on dark cruelty. Though I have to admit this estate is tastefully done, the lawns a demure rolling green, the front of the house in an old manor style.

A rich moss scent saturates the night air. Fireflies dance in the distance. The wide front door opens, revealing yellow light and sparkling laughter.

“Built it for my wife,” he says, gesturing to the house with his damp handkerchief.

I vaguely recall that he’s widowed. “My condolences.”

“A long time ago now but thank you. It’s just me and my little boy these days.”

As we watch, a Bentley pulls up into the curved drive. A young valet sprints around the car to catch keys worth more than he’ll make in a lifetime. Another glittering old couple ascends the staircase.

A young boy steps onto the front portico to greet them, his smile bright enough to light the entire mansion. His pale white dress shirt ruffles in the summer breeze.

In a world of falsehoods, he looks completely genuine as he greets the newcomers, giving them warm hugs. Even from ten yards away I can tell he squeezes them.

What would it feel like to be held in his slender arms, his body lithe and pale beneath that floaty fabric?

It would tear beneath my hands.

The dress.

His skin.

I would ruin him. The couple and the boy go inside, leaving me to catch my breath.

I manage to look sideways and catch the glint of pride on Sejin’s face.

Good Lord, that’s his little boy?

He would probably have a stroke if he knew all the ways I want to defile the omega.

“It’s his graduation party,” he says.

Then he’s eighteen years old.

Legal.

I should probably be ashamed for thinking of him in sexual terms, but shame was beaten out of me years ago. “Give him my congratulations.”

“Of course,” he says, lying through his teeth.

The boy will never know I was here. Never know my name at all.

“Shall we go inside? I keep the good brandy in my study.”

“Let’s go.”

What we have to discuss is best done in private anyway. Wouldn’t want to spoil the party by talking about dirty money. Wouldn’t want to ruin little Mr. Park junior’s celebration by exposing his father for a fraud.

I’m sure he worked very hard at his expensive prep school, wearing dark pants and dark green cardigans. At least that’s how he looks in my imagination.

Park isn’t lying about the brandy.

A thousand dollars a bottle, I think, breathing in the cherry notes. I take a sip and amend my evaluation. Two thousand, at least. Delicious, I’ll give him that. If only he had spent that money on his debts instead of fine liquor.

He settles across from a chess set, and I wonder whether he actually uses it. It doesn’t look dusty, but good housekeepers can fix that.

I pick up a wooden pawn, running my thumb over the ridges. The beige wood doesn’t have a single visible knot, every imperfection whittled away before being allowed in a place like this. His gaze tracks my movements, clearly displeased.

I guess he knows I’ve seen the books. He’s at a disadvantage, enough to let me do what I want. With this chess set, at least.

With his son?

That would take more work.

I sit down on the white side, making myself comfortable.

“I’ve been looking over the records,” I say because we’ve done enough pretending. Enough gold. Enough diamonds. “My father’s records. A lot of it’s missing. A lot of blank pages.”

He looks relieved, so I set the pawn on the board—not in its starting position.

I set it down two spaces forward. An opening move. He needs to understand that we’re playing. And that I play to win.

He meets my gaze, his dark eyes wary. “Much of our negotiations were verbal, you understand. Agreements between gentlemen.”

I once saw my father piss on a darkmoon omega’s back because she had cried too much when a customer whipped her.

Gentleman? Hardly.

“Although, the numbers I do have don’t add up.”

“Well, like I said. Verbal agreements. I can’t control what your father wrote down. Can’t control what kind of records he kept. But I can assure you that our dealings were always the utmost above-board.” He’s talking too fast, nervous and revealing.

“You traded on flesh and weapons,” I say, unable to hold back the venom in my voice. Not because I’m above them. No, I’m taking over the family business like a good son, the monster my father raised me to be. But I won’t pretend to be something else, won’t smile as a photographer from the up society section flashes his camera.

His expression hardens. This is the face of a man that buys and sells omegas of his son’s age without remorse.

“Whatever your father told you, I never cheated him. We were even at the time of his…disappearance.”

“Interesting that you think he told me anything about you. At the time of his disappearance, as you put it, he had more pressing matters to consider.”

Like my knife at his throat, my knee on his back. I’ve committed many sins in my life, but my father’s was the first life I took.

It saved the life of an omega, but I can’t claim any noble purpose. His death was long deserved. And extremely profitable for me.

I’ve spent the past two weeks taking over every arm of his business.

Park sputters, heat rising to his ruddy cheeks. “This is a rough business. I’m sure you know that. No matter how much I want to give the benefit of the doubt, I have to protect my interests.”

“I’ve found it’s the dishonest who are most paranoid about other people lying.”

He stands abruptly. “How dare you accuse me of stealing from your father.”

I follow more leisurely, standing and straightening my suit jacket. The truth is, the penguin suit is growing on me. As is the velvet brandy on my tongue. As is the pretty omega I saw outside. All the money in the world doesn’t matter if you don’t have anything to buy.

Cars. Drugs. Money. None of it interests me, but suddenly I know exactly what I want—everything this man has.

“Stealing?” I say, tasting the word. “I didn’t say anything about stealing. Is that what you did?”

Park takes a step forward, apparently trying to be menacing. His physical body doesn’t offer any threat to me.

I managed angry customers twice as strong when I was half as old.

“Look here,” he says, almost snarling. “How dare you come into my house, throwing around accusations. That’s not the way business is done, and if you want to challenge me, go right ahead. You’ll find I have a lot of friends in this city.”

“Friends can be bought, the same way you acquired them.”

“You don’t know anything about me, boy.”

Boy.

It’s meant as an insult, but it amuses me. It’s been a long time since I felt young or innocent. Actually, I’ve never felt that way. Thirty years is long enough to see every form of depravity in this city, most more than once.

“Relax, old man. I have no issue with you or whatever deals you made with my father. You have a clean slate with me.”

Relief wars with anger on his puffy face. He wants to stay pissed at me for my insinuations, for the old man comment. But he owes too much money to my father not to take the gift.

“Of course,” he finally manages. “Naturally that’s the state of things. Good to hear you agree. Then we can complete the final shipment as planned.”

I give him a hard smile. “I look forward to doing business with you.”

And I won’t accept any underhanded bullshit. That’s the point of this little visit. Except I can see by the glimmer of greed in his eyes that he doesn’t accept the warning.

God. It’s a miracle he’s stayed alive this long. Paying off the right people can do wonders. That’s the lesson I’m taking away from this.

I should steer clear of him.

After this last deal, no more. No more opportunities for him to steal. Except for the boy with his white dress shirt, black pants and bright smile. He’s a fcuking god, aphrodisiac, all of Daegu society at his feet. So pure and shining.

I want to drag him into my lair, to fcuk him so hard he begs for mercy. I want to make him cry. All the people here celebrate his bright future. I want that for him, too. As long as I can drag him back into the dark every night.

Park manages a stern expression. “No hard feelings,” he says gruffly. “Look forward to doing business.”

He has no goddamn clue, but that works in my favour. Then again maybe I should leave well enough alone. He does have quite a few friends, bought or otherwise. Quite a few resources.

I could use him as an ally, never breaking him. Never breaking his son. Eighteen is still so young, so innocent. The kind I’ve never been.

That omega would be better off with some rich alpha, one who will insist on plastic surgery even while he fcuks around with the nanny. That’s the life he was born for. Not for the likes of me.

I work the question in my mind like my thumb against the ridges of the pawn, feeling it out, testing as I leave the room. The hallway is full of antique vases and plush rugs.

Is this what prep school omegas like?

Of course, it is. If an alpha does something foolish and ridiculously expensive, it’s probably for an omega.

Would the young Mr. Park want a house of his own like this? It’s like my mind conjures him from thought alone. When I turn the corner, he’s there, his hazel eyes wide, his body leaning back in surprise—back toward the open staircase.

I catch his arms, the sudden lurch in my heart more than shock, more than relief. It’s the feel of his soft skin beneath my hands, the knowledge that I’ll leave finger-shaped bruises on her flesh. He smells like fcuking blueberries.

I want to slam him against the wall, to growl at him about the risks of being so damn edible around alphas who like to eat pretty omegas for dinner. But his father is in the study behind me, only a few yards away.

An entire crowd of people mill around downstairs, their jewellery sparkling from the chandeliers. This isn’t the place. This isn’t the time.

In that second, staring into his wide eyes, looking at his pink lips, I know there will be a place.

A time.

I won’t be able to leave him alone, not now that I’ve seen him, touched him. He’s going to be mine. No matter how many antique vases I need. I’ll buy the entire city to own this omega.

I settle him firmly on the landing, making sure he’s sturdy before moving down the staircase. I catch glimpses of worried looks from the partygoers.

Even in this goddamn suit they can tell I don’t belong.

Too dangerous.

Too cold.

They aren’t as safe as they think. Half the men in this room are my customers now. The other half wish they were rich enough to be.

By the time I’m done with this city, I’ll own every goddamn neck in the room.

Every wrist.

Every sunshine smiles.

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