Prologue
You groaned, trying to shake off the pesky drunk that was clinging onto your arm. He had been trying to chat you up all night and you were slowly losing your patience with him.
“Come on, baby~... let me take ya home... I’ll treat ya good...” he slurred.
“I’d rather not, thanks. I’m working.” You rejected him.
“I can wait ’til ya get off, honey.”
“Don’t wait. I won’t be joining you.” You pulled yourself away from him, grabbing a rag from beneath the bar and began to wipe down the dingy surface.
“Oh, you will, princess.”
“No, she won’t. Get out.” A voice came from behind you and you sighed in relief.
“Make me.”
“Alright.” The other bar tender turned, grabbing the phone behind her and speed dialled a number, “drunk customer... harassing [First]... thanks.”
Not even a minute later, a man appeared, clad in a suit which looked expensive. If you looked close enough, you could see the Gucci logo on the bottom corner on the left side of the jacket. He approached the man who was still trying to get you to go home with him and placed his thick hand on his shoulder.
“Yah!” The man spun around, going to punch the other who grabbed his fist in return.
“Get out.” The man growled.
“Man, fuck you-”
“This is my bar. Get out.”
“Y-you’re...”
“GET OUT!”
The bellow of the man seemed to scare the drunk into being sober and he fell of the bar stool. You watched as he pulled himself up, scrambling out of the bar in terror. The other bar tender looked at him.
“Thanks.” She smiled, going back to what she was doing before the commotion.
“I don’t know how you ladies handle it.” He stated, picking his nail and sitting on the empty bar stool in front of him.
“Neither do we.” You mumbled, turning away from him to dry a wet glass.
“Get me a whiskey.” He commanded you, “and pour yourself whatever you want.”
“Oh, I won’t be drinking on the job, but thanks.”
“You’re not on the job, you’re dismissed for the night for dealing with that asshole.”
“It happens every night, sir. I wouldn’t worry about it. Besides, I have university early tomorrow.”
“Your choice.”
You poured his drink, sliding it over to him before untying your apron from around your waist and shoving it under the bar. His eyes lingered on you as you disappeared into the staff room, and returned moments later with your coat.
“Night, Luna.” You called to the woman still working.
“Night, [First], get home safely.”
“Always do.”
With that, you left the bar, the man still watching, taking a sip of his whiskey and raising an eyebrow.
When you left, the cold air hit your bare legs immediately. It was almost winter, so wearing a skirt without tights was risky, but your job at the bar demanded it. They always had heating on anyway for the exotic dancers. Too deep in thought, you didn’t realise someone was calling you until a hand locked around your wrist. You spun around, coming face-to-face with the drunk man from earlier. Clearly, his terror had gone.
“How about I take ya home now?” He slurred.
“Please let go of me.”
“Come on, baby, let me take care of ya...”
“I-I said let go!”
“No! You’re coming with me!”
“Help!” You cried as he began to pull you backwards.
Suddenly, a dark figure appeared before you.
“Let her go.” A deep voice growled and your eyes widened. You knew who it was and you were terrified.
“Fuck you, man, she’s mine.”
“I won’t tell you again. Let her go.”
“Nah, man, she’s mine.” You were suddenly pulled back into his chest, and felt something cold pressed against your neck. Your eyes widened in terror. A knife.
“Go ahead. Cut her throat. She’s just a waitress. She means nothing to me.” Your heart pounded in your chest. He wouldn’t let this happen would he?
“Then why did you want me to let her go?”
His breath was hot against your ear.
“Because it’s not chivalrous to force a lady to do intimate things.” You watched as the figure emerged from the shadows.
He was the epitome of beautiful. His hair was blonde, an undercut shown by the style of his hair (which was pulled back in a straight line due to a shit ton of gel). His body was clearly more than healthy, skinny and tall, muscles slightly stretching the fabric of his striped navy suit. His face... Jesus, his face was beautiful. You’d never know how pure evil this man was if you’d never met him before. Gorgeous doe eyes, almost coal black, that pierced through any soul; a chiselled jawline and matching cheeks, and beautiful, dark, plump lips that spilled only the foulest of language.
His name?
Kim Namjoon.
