Menace's Obsession ∢

chapter 03

FRANCE 📍

Heavy beads of sweat cascade down his furrowed brow, glistening against the dimly lit backdrop of the gym. With a grunt, he hoists the heavy dumbbells from the floor, the strain evident in the sinews of his arms.

He brings the weights closer to his shoulders from his waist causing his forehead to crease with even more tension, his long, dark locks clinging damply to his neck, a testament to the exertion.

The veins on his neck bulge with effort as he persists, lifting and lowering the dumbbells tirelessly, the repetition almost hypnotic. After at least seventy repetitions, he finally releases the heavy metals, the thud echoing through the gym, the impact muffled by the carpet beneath.

Yet, he isn't finished. Not by a long shot. The frustration simmering within him demands release, and this gym, with its gleaming equipment, provides the perfect outlet.

He isn't here out of a love for fitness; he is here because he needs an outlet for his rage. Today, the absence of his usual outlet for violence that he craves gnaws at him, leaving him restless and agitated. He craves the rush of adrenaline, the satisfaction of seeing blood on his hands.

With muscles taut and flexed, he moves towards another equipment, his tank top clinging to his perspiring form. His muscles ripple beneath his skin as he grips the pole, his siren-like eyes fixated on a distant point, lost in a world of violent fantasies.

With practiced ease, he raises his hands up, pulling his body weight effortlessly, the pole supporting his movements as he ascends and descends in a mesmerizing rhythm.

A sudden faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he hears the timid footstep and nervous breathing approaching. His senses sharpen, his ears and nose attuned to the subtle signs of an intruder.

A beta.

His smirk widens into a predatory grin.

With a swift motion, he disengages from the pole and drops to the floor, his hypnotic gaze locking onto the figure standing before him. The person, head bowed deeply in deference, stammers out nervously. "M-Mr. Hoseok i-is here t-to m-meet you," they manage to utter, their voice trembling with apprehension.

The trueblood's grin widens into a chilling smile as he saunters closer, his steps deliberate and calculated. "Ah, perfect timing," he purrs, his voice dripping with menace. "I've been waiting for you." With a predatory glint in his eyes, he advances towards the trembling figure, his mind already concocting gruesome scenarios.

It makes him so excited.

Moments later, the trueblood emerges, his hands dripping with crimson, splatters of blood adorning his face like macabre jewels. Despite the grisly scene, a wide, almost jovial grin stretches across his features.

With a nonchalant flick of his wrist, he tosses the once pristine white towel, now stained with the thick red liquid, towards the worker standing by the door, who has borne witness to the terrifying sounds emanating from within.

The trueblood's grin remains plastered on his face, his demeanor belying the horror he has just inflicted as he strolls into the grand living room, blending seamlessly with the opulent surroundings.

To the casual observer, it would be impossible to discern that this cheerful individual is the same person responsible for the earlier screams of agony.

Impossible. I repeat.

Hoseok, who has been waiting to meet him, rises from his seat with a resigned sigh. As he stands up, the trueblood turns his head, the goofy grin replaced by a look of innocent curiosity, though his hands remain stained with blood.

Hoseok folds his arms over his chest, his sigh echoing with deeper exasperation than before. "At least wash up before you come to meet me," he complains, his voice tinged with irritation as he surveys the trueblood's bloodied hands.

The trueblood's facade of innocence melts away, replaced by a smug smirk as he stuffs his bloodied hands into his pockets. Retrieving a lighter from within, he casually seizes an alcohol bottle from the nearest table, causing Hoseok to stiffen in his place.

"Reviens à la raison, Amarante," Hoseok demands, his tone unwavering as he watches the trueblood approach with calculated ease.

[Come to your senses, Amarante]

In one hand, Amarante holds the expensive bottle of alcohol, while the other twirls the lighter with careless dexterity. With a flick of his wrist, the trueblood ignites the lighter before Hoseok's face, causing him to gulp reflexively as the flame dances before him.

"Amarante," Hoseok's voice is low, laced with a warning as he maintains a steady gaze on the trueblood. A chuckle, deep and husky, escapes Amarante's cold lips as he backs away, taking another swig of alcohol before tossing the bottle aside.

"Scared ya?" he taunts, his voice rising with a hint of mock amusement as Hoseok exhales a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Jeongguk, you fucker, behave at least for once in your life," Hoseok grumbles, sinking onto the couch and rubbing his forehead wearily.

The eerie laughter of the trueblood reverberates through the room, sending a chill down the spine of all within earshot. With a sinister grin etched across his face, he reclines back, effortlessly retrieving a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

Igniting one with practiced precision, he inhales deeply, allowing tendrils of smoke to dance around him in ghostly wisps as he relishes the familiar taste. "Speak," he commands authoritatively, fixing his gaze on Hoseok.

Hoseok hesitates briefly before delivering the unsettling news. "Irene is returning. She wants to reside here, with you," he divulges, his voice trailing off as he gauges Jeongguk's reaction. The trueblood's eyes darken visibly, his jaw clenching & veins pulsing along his neck.

"Prevent her," Jeongguk orders tersely, his tone brooking no dissent. He draws deeply from his cigarette, the air thick with tension as he leans back against the headrest, his expression inscrutable.

"She is stubborn. Talk with her," Hoseok suggests, his own frustration evident as he rises to his feet.

After all, the jeons are stubborn, be it Irene or Jeongguk, they both know no bound on irritating someone.

"I won't meddle in your personal family shit anymore, Jeongguk. Resolve it yourself," he declares before turning to depart, the sudden crack of a gunshot slicing through the silence stopping him in his tracks.

He hisses in pain as the bullet grazes past him, a nearby worker crumpling to the ground with a heavy thud. Casting a defiant glance back at Jeongguk, he extends a middle finger at him with gritted teeth while mouthing "fuck you asshole."

"Clean that traitor's corpse from my estate," Jeongguk orders coldly, gesturing towards the fallen worker. The bodyguards nod curtly, swiftly moving to carry out the grim task.

Disregarding Hoseok's gesture, the trueblood merely smirks, unfazed by his right-hand man's act of defiance.

"Very well, let her come," he declares coolly, a hint of mischief tinging his voice. "I want you to relocate all the bodies from tomorrow's shipment to the mansion's cellar." His commands are delivered with a chilling calmness, causing a shiver to run down Hoseok's spine as he pauses to contemplate the implications.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, the trueblood adds, "Let us see how long your Ms. Irene can endure her stay." His mocking tone drips with sarcasm as he turns away, his indifference palpable as he strides out of the room, leaving Hoseok to grapple with the unsettling directives.

His boss is confusing. Actually, so fucking confusing.

1252 words

5 comments and 12 votes I'll upload the next chapter the second this chapter reach them.