Neon Lies

I drove towards the building where the middle sister was being held, using the car Baek had provided. The journey took about half an hour. The streets were as chaotic as ever—people running, chasing each other, looting stores. A man in a torn suit stood in the middle of the road, screaming at nothing. A few blocks away, a woman laughed hysterically as she spray-painted something on a burning car. This city had long lost its mind.

When I arrived at the address, I expected some run-down warehouse or an abandoned building. Instead, I was staring at what looked like the entrance to a high-end nightclub. The neon lights flickered above the doorway, buzzing like a dying insect. A thick, muffled bassline seeped through the walls, shaking the ground beneath my feet.

I parked the car a safe distance away, scanning the area. That's when I noticed them—four security cameras positioned above the entrance, blinking red like mechanical eyes. The real security wasn't outside. It was inside.

As I approached, two massive men stood at the door, their arms crossed like statues. They looked more like executioners than bouncers—thick necks, shaved heads, and the kind of dead eyes that suggested they'd done unspeakable things in the past.

Just as I was about to take a step forward, one of them moved, blocking my path with his broad chest.

"No entry without a security check," he said in a voice so deep it practically vibrated through my ribs.

His partner took a step closer, giving me a slow once-over. "Got any weapons on you?"

I let out a slow breath, already expecting this. Without hesitation, I reached inside my jacket and pulled out my handgun, holding it by the barrel. I smirked slightly.

"I'm guessing it's smarter to just hand this over rather than make things difficult for both of us, huh?"

The first guard let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Well, look at that. A guy with some common sense." He took the gun from my hand, inspecting it before tucking it away under his jacket.

I rolled my shoulders. "Yeah, yeah, no need to get too friendly. That's the only weapon I have. Now, can I go in?"

The other guard smirked before stepping aside. "Go ahead. Enjoy the booze and the women."

I stepped inside.

And that's when I realized—this place wasn't just a nightclub.

The interior was massive, far larger than the building's exterior suggested. Dark velvet curtains lined the walls, swallowing the dim, red-tinged lights. A thick haze of cigar smoke clung to the ceiling like a storm cloud. The air smelled of whiskey, sweat, and something metallic.

The "club" had the layout of a restaurant, but instead of food, alcohol was the main course—and instead of dessert, well… the women were being served.

Girls in tight dresses and dead eyes moved between tables, pouring drinks, whispering in men's ears, their smiles just a little too forced. At one table, a man in a pinstripe suit laughed with his arm around a woman who didn't look like she wanted to be there. At another, a group of men watched something on a phone, grinning like wolves. The music throbbed in the background, slow and hypnotic, almost like a heartbeat.

And then I saw it.

Near the bar, a man was slumped forward in his seat, motionless. No one paid him any attention. Not even the staff. But from where I stood, I could see it clearly—the unnatural way his head hung, the slight tilt of his glass, the dark stain spreading beneath his chair.

He wasn't drunk. He was dead.

And yet, the party continued like nothing had happened.

I clenched my jaw and walked toward a corner table, keeping my head low. I wasn't here to drink. I wasn't here to have fun.

I was here to hunt.

And like any good hunter, all I had to do was wait for my prey to show up.

I leaned back in my seat, scanning the room while pretending to sip my drink. The club's atmosphere was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, sweat, and cheap cologne. Laughter and murmured conversations blended with the slow, hypnotic bass of the music. Some men drank in silence, others whispered things into the ears of the women sitting on their laps.

Then, as if scripted, she appeared.

A woman approached my table with a bottle of whiskey cradled in one arm and two glasses in her hand. She was blonde, her hair cascading over her shoulders in soft waves. She had an elegant posture, the kind that was practiced rather than natural. Her dress was black, tight, and deliberately revealing—though not in a way that felt cheap. No, this was controlled, calculated.

She smiled as she set the glasses down, her eyes scanning me with curiosity. "You look a little out of place here, handsome. First time?"

I smirked, tilting my head slightly. "Do I look like someone who doesn't belong?"

She poured the whiskey, her movements slow and deliberate. "Maybe. Or maybe you just don't seem like the type who enjoys drinking alone."

I picked up my glass but didn't take a sip. "Wouldn't it be a little sad to drink alone in a place like this?"

Her lips curved into a small smile. She picked up the bottle again, refilling my glass before even waiting for me to take a sip. "I like your way of thinking."

She slid into the seat next to me, crossing her legs gracefully. As she did, her perfume—subtle, but intoxicating—washed over me. It was the kind of scent that lingered, the kind that was meant to be remembered.

"So tell me," she said, turning slightly toward me, "what brings you here? Just looking for a good time?"

I let out a quiet chuckle, swirling the whiskey in my glass. "Would you believe me if I said I just enjoy the atmosphere?"

"No." Her response was immediate, accompanied by a knowing smirk. "Guys who enjoy the atmosphere usually sit at the bar. You… You're watching. Waiting."

I raised an eyebrow. "That obvious?"

"To most people? No." She leaned in slightly, resting her elbow on the table. "But I've seen enough men come and go to know when someone isn't just here for the alcohol."

There it was. That hint of something deeper. She wasn't just a girl serving drinks—she was fishing, looking for something.

I played along. "And what do you think I'm here for?"

She tapped a finger against her glass, pretending to think. "A few options, really. Maybe you're here to gamble, maybe you're looking for something a little more… exclusive." Her gaze flickered toward a staircase in the back of the club, barely noticeable behind the thick velvet curtains. "Or maybe, just maybe, you're looking for someone."

I exhaled through my nose, amused. "And if I was?"

She studied me for a moment before taking a slow sip of her drink. Then, as if deciding something, she leaned in closer, lowering her voice. "You've got interesting eyes."

I gave her a blank look. "That so?"

"Mm." She tilted her head slightly. "They catch the light in a strange way. Like they're too sharp, too alive."

I sighed, resting my chin on my hand. "Talking about my eyes and your past in the same breath… This is starting to sound like a first date."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "Well, it's not every day I run into someone who doesn't try to impress me. Most guys start bragging about their money, their cars, their power."

I smirked, taking the first sip of my whiskey. "And here I thought I was being charming."

She leaned in even closer this time, her lips just a breath away from my ear. Her voice was softer now, more dangerous. "How about we make this more interesting?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

She let the silence linger for a moment before whispering, "Room 17. Second floor."

Her fingers lightly trailed over my wrist as she stood up. She didn't wait for an answer—she just gave me one last look, a teasing smile playing on her lips, before disappearing into the crowd.

So, that's how this was going to play out.

One thing was certain—whatever was waiting for me in that room was bound to be more interesting than sitting here, nursing a drink in a room full of ghosts.

I downed the rest of my whiskey in one smooth motion and stood up.

Time to see where this led.

I reached room 17 and placed my hand on the doorknob. Something felt off. A faint metallic scent lingered in the air, sharp and unmistakable.

I pushed the door open.

The first thing I saw was the body.

A man lay sprawled on the floor, his clothes soaked in deep crimson. His eyes were wide open, empty and lifeless. The deep gash across his throat told me everything I needed to know.

I crouched down, pressing two fingers against his neck. No pulse.

Dead.

I barely had time to process before I sensed movement. Lifting my gaze, my eyes landed on her.

The blonde.

She stood near the bed, still in that sleek black dress, except now the straps had slipped slightly off her shoulders. The dim yellow light from the bedside lamp cast flickering shadows across her face. Her expression? Completely calm.

I exhaled slowly, standing up. "You know… when you invite a man to your room and another man is lying dead on the floor, it usually raises some questions."

She tilted her head slightly, as if my words amused her. "Oh? Is that how it works?"

"Yeah." I glanced down at the corpse before looking back at her. "But what's even stranger is that I get the feeling you want me to just ignore this and focus on you instead."

A slow, eerie smile spread across her lips. "Perfect… absolutely perfect." Her voice was soft, but there was a strange excitement hidden underneath it. She took a step closer, her eyes locked onto mine. "Being the center of those cold, green eyes… I think I like it."

I said nothing, just watching her carefully.

She traced a finger along her collarbone, as if lost in thought. "But you know, it wouldn't be very polite of you to focus on me without even knowing my name first."

I raised an eyebrow. "Yooji."

Her smile widened. "Yaer."

She extended a hand toward me, but I didn't take it. Instead, I glanced at the body once more before meeting her gaze again.

"So, Yaer… should I be asking why there's a dead man on your floor, or is this just another part of your little game?"

Yaer looked at me, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders, her lips slightly parted as if she wanted to say something. But she didn't. Instead, her eyes locked onto mine for a lingering moment before her fingers traced a slow, deliberate motion in the air—an unspoken invitation.

I didn't hesitate.

What followed was intense, almost primal, a game of control and surrender. She was expressive, completely unfiltered in her reactions, her voice carrying through the dimly lit room in a way that left little to the imagination. By the time we finally lay still, the air between us was thick with heat and exhaustion.

She exhaled, her fingers lightly tracing invisible patterns on my chest, her nails leaving ghost-like trails. "If I knew you were this good, I'd make sure to see you every night." Her voice was drenched in amusement, but there was something else too—something unreadable.

I didn't reply. Instead, I let my head sink into the pillow, eyes drifting to the ceiling. My heartbeat slowed, my body sinking into the comfort of the moment. The room was dim, the only source of light coming from the bedside lamp, casting long, golden shadows across the floor. My thoughts blurred, exhaustion creeping into my muscles, pulling me under.

My breathing evened out. My eyelids grew heavy.

And then—

A scream.

Faint at first, just a ripple through the thick silence. Then louder. A muffled, desperate voice cutting through the haze of sleep like a blade.

"No… I don't want this!"

My eyes snapped open.

The drowsiness vanished instantly, replaced by something sharper, colder. My body tensed, every sense on high alert. The voice—female, distressed—came from the next room. It wasn't just noise. It was real.

I lay still for a second, listening. The muffled sounds of struggle, a choked sob, the shuffle of movement.

My jaw clenched.

Whatever was happening in that room… it wasn't consensual.

The warmth of sleep disappeared, replaced by a familiar feeling—one I knew all too well.

I sat up, muscles coiled, my instincts kicking in.

This night had just taken a turn. And something told me it was only going to get worse.

I instantly turned to Yaer, and she met my gaze without a trace of surprise. Her expression was calm—too calm, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary for her.

"A new girl," she said, tilting her head slightly. "Early twenties… and from the sound of it, not used to this."

That's when it clicked.

The muffled screams, the desperate tone, the raw fear in that voice—this wasn't just some drunken fight or a lover's quarrel. This was something worse.

A slow, cold anger coiled in my chest. I pushed myself up from the bed, my movements controlled, precise. My eyes never left hers, and hers never left mine. She was studying me, waiting, amused by my reaction.

"Who?" I asked, my voice low.

Yaer shrugged, that same unsettling smile still on her lips. "Does it matter?"

Another muffled cry echoed through the wall, followed by a sound that made my jaw tighten—a choked sob, barely audible over the music.

If the girl in the next room was the one I was looking for—the middle one—then the man inside wouldn't be walking out of there alive.

I would personally send him to meet god.

My body moved before my mind had fully processed the decision. My muscles tightened, my breathing slowed, and my senses sharpened, focusing only on what lay beyond that door. The dull hum of the club's music faded into the background, replaced by the rhythmic pounding of my own heartbeat.

I stood up, rolling my shoulders as I tested the tension in my arms. I wasn't carrying a weapon. Not anymore. The bouncers had taken my gun at the entrance. That meant I had to do this with my bare hands—or find something I could use.

My eyes flicked around the dimly lit room, searching. The bedside table had a heavy metal lamp, the kind that could crack a skull if swung hard enough. There was also a thick glass whiskey bottle, still half full. Good for a distraction, maybe.

Yaer watched me with amusement, leaning back against the headboard, one leg lazily draped over the other. She smirked, her eyes following every movement I made. "I take it you're not going to just ignore this?"

I didn't answer. Instead, I reached for the whiskey bottle and gripped it by the neck, testing the weight in my hand. Heavy. Solid. It would do.

She let out a small chuckle, her voice smooth as silk. "I could scream for security, you know."

I finally looked at her, my expression unreadable. "You won't."

She exhaled through her nose, her smirk widening. "True. This is far too entertaining to interrupt."

I turned away, stepping toward the door. Every muscle in my body was coiled, ready. The moment I stepped through, there would be no room for hesitation. One chance. One opening. That was all I needed.

I placed my hand on the doorknob, exhaled slowly, and twisted.