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k-p-p-d · 7 years

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Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood (M)

Summary: His intentions aren’t necessarily good, but don’t ever let Dr. Kim Minseok be misunderstood.

Warning: graphic content, mentions of torture, minor character death

Length: 3.7k

A/N: Don’t hate me, @admincl.

Previously...

“If they find out, we’re dead.”

Han cut his eyes to the slightly trembling man sat across from him, gaze decidedly annoyed and boyish features pulled down into a scowl. “Ye of little faith, Park.” He sighed, “How long have we been running this operation?”

“About a year--“

“And how much have we made?”

“Shit, I don’t know. Maybe about 20 million?”

“USD?”

“Yeah.”

Han nodded, “And how much are we projected to make with just this shipment alone?”

“Almost 3 million.” Han lifted a brow, wordlessly demanding clarification which the other hurriedly supplied, “USD. Sir.”

“And what’s the conversion rate of USD to yuan?”

“Um,” a beat of silence passed between them as the other man wracked his brain for the right number. Han almost scoffed; what was the point of having an accountant (an American, no less) if he couldn’t even keep track of simple exchange rates. “It’s 6.62 to 1?”

Han did scoff this time. “Are you asking or telling me?”

“Telling. Sir. It’s 6.62 yen to one dollar.”

“So that means we’re pretty rich, aren’t we?”

The accountant shifted uncomfortably as he affirmed, “Yes, sir, it does.”

“And how many times have we been close to getting caught?”

“Well, none—“

Han hummed as he momentarily contemplated the other man’s answers. “You know,” he began slowly as he shifted the papers on his desk, “a betting man would say the odds are in our favor. Would you agree?”

“Yes, sir, I would—“

“And yet, here you are, ready to piss your pants instead of doing your fucking job,” the Chinese man snapped venomously. “Amazing,” he chuckled humorlessly.

“I’m sorry, sir! I didn’t mean to—“

“Waste my time?” Han interjected icily, making the accountant blanch at the allegation. He rolled his doe eyes as he dismissively continued, “Well, unfortunately for you, you have. So you have two options: You can continue to waste my time while I find someone to replace you, which won’t take more than a phone call. Or…” He leaned over his desk until his face was squarely in the other man’s as he growled, “You can get the fuck out of my office and go do whatever the fuck it is I pay you for while I worry about shit far above your paygrade.” Han grinned brightly--his pearly white teeth bared to catch the fluorescent light--as he lilted, “The choice is up to you!”

The American hurriedly scrambled out of the office, leaving Han in peaceful silence. Fate being the cruel mistress that she was, less than a minute later a harsh knock against his door resounded ominously through his office. “What?” he gruffly barked, a string of curses flying through his head and ready to roll off his tongue if one Park J--

“Now Lu,” a silvery voice drawled, “is that anyway to greet your guests?”

The Chinese man started as his eyes met the catlike ones belonging to none other than-- “Minseok-ge,” he chirped brightly as he swiftly gathered himself, “what a lovely surprise!” Han rose from his desk and beckoned the man into his office. “I wasn’t expecting you!”

Minseok smiled pleasantly, though the warmth of his smile didn’t reach his eyes, as he shrugged, “I know how much you love surprises so here I am. And I even brought a friend!”

Han’s hackles rose as Kyungsoo sauntered into the room with a broad grin on his cherubic face. “Lu Han-ge, it’s so wonderful to finally see you again,” he greeted the elder smoothly.

“Kyungsoo, if I wasn’t staring at you now, I’d think you were a fellow Beijing son,” he complimented. “Your Mandarin has improved greatly since the last time I saw you. Yixing has taught you quite well.” Kyungsoo only hummed in response as he gracefully dropped into one of the oversized leather armchairs sat in the elder’s office. Han couldn’t help the downward tick of his lips at the presumptuous action of the younger (especially after said younger had criticized the exact same chairs on his last visit--”They’re comfortable but they’re not black”) but he quickly recovered and waved an arm towards the other seat as he courteously offered in Korean, “Please, have a seat, Minseok-ssi.”

The chemist shook his head and declined in Mandarin, “No, thank you. I’d prefer to stand as I’ve been sitting all evening so far. But please, don’t stand on just my behalf.” Despite the friendliness in his voice, Han knew the polite request was a thinly veiled command; and to disobey Minseok in any way would be to incur the punishment of Kyungsoo. So he sat, eyes lowered slightly and lips spread into a demure smile. “Business has been doing quite well for us lately, hasn’t it,” the eldest began as he lazily thumbed through the opened ledger sat on the desk between them.

“Yes, it has. Would you like for us to speak in Korean for Kyungsoo’s sake or…?” Han proffered.

“If his Mandarin wasn’t sufficient, he wouldn’t be here,” Minseok returned warmly as he glanced toward the youngest, who simply beamed at them both. Turning back toward Han, he flicked the ledger shut and sighed, ”You look tired, Lu. Are you resting well?”

There was something about the eldest man’s countenance which made Han shift uncomfortably in his seat. He was far too calm, far too collected. Something was off and Han didn’t know what, but his body was on high alert as his mind ran through every possible scenario that would let him escape this encounter with his life. “They say there’s no rest for the wicked and considering the bags under my eyes, I’d say it’s true,” he answered with a lighthearted chuckle.

Minseok leaned forward slightly to curiously examine the other man’s eyes, felinesque eyes narrowed and gaze piercing, and not for the first time that evening did Han feel as if he were baited prey one wrong move away from death. The chemist’s mouth twitched downward as he straightened up. With a solemn nod he declared, “You need a vacation, Lu.”

“A vacation would be nice, but—”

“That wasn’t up for debate.”

Han blanched. An icy chill spiked through his blood vessels and his heart skidded to a halt as panic flooded his system. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sharp ones staring so intensely into his but his ears didn’t miss the sounds of Kyungsoo fishing out his favorite switchblade from his pocket.

This was it.

This was the end.

His senses kicked into overdrive as his body readied itself to either put up a fight or take flight. If he tried to fight, he would definitely die. Even though the gun he had latched to the underside of his desk would give him a slight advantage, Kyungsoo was 77 for 0. If he tried to escape, he’d still have to fight his way out of the office, putting him right back at the end of Kyungsoo’s blade. Every scenario he played in his head all ended the same: Him on the floor, lifeless body cold and bloodied and wide eyes vacant staring blankly into darker, wider ones as a signature tally mark was sliced into his forearm. The odds were not in his favor.

Staring Death in the eyes was a funny thing, Han realized bitterly. Being confronted with one’s own mortality so suddenly could make a person as desperate to live as a sewer rat trying to find food. But he wasn’t a sewer rat: He had reasoning and he had cunning. No matter what he did, someone was going to die today. But that didn’t mean it had to be him.

Han grinned warmly, “Well, I have always wanted to go to Macau as a tourist, especially with the way Yifan drones on and on about its beauty. When should I go?”

Minseok smiled, again the mirth of his gummy smile failed to reach his icy glare, “Tonight. You can take the yacht.”

“Wonderful.” The Chinese man reached toward the desk phone, “I’ll just notify my secr--”

“That won’t be necessary,” Kyungsoo interrupted, his smooth baritone voice hung thick and heavy in the air as if it were trying to smother the feeble flicker of hope for survival surging through Han’s body.

Minseok pushed the phone to the farthest corner of the desk as he explained, “We’ve already arranged everything for you and your secretary will be notified of your departure after we conclude our business here. Now whether or not you’re able to enjoy your vacation in one or two or seven pieces is entirely dependent upon you.”

“I’m not quite sure—“ Minseok clicked his tongue loudly. “You have such an interesting face,” he mused. Lazily he stroked the back of his thumb against Han’s full cheek, causing the other man to startle at the sudden and highly intimate touch. “It gives you such a boyishly aloof charm, did you know that? Of course you did because you yourself aren’t aloof about the effects your looks have on others. You’re not aloof about anything really. So before you even think to try to lie to me again, know this: Your charm has no effect on me and I won’t even bat an eye while Kyungsoo slices it off.”

“He really won’t!” the disconcertingly cheerful psychopath brightly chimed in at the mention of his name.

Han gulped, barely managing to stammer, “T-that won’t be n-necessary, I’m sure.”

“Let’s hope not.” Minseok smirked, and this time his eyes glowed brightly with a sinister glint. “Kyungsoo, do you mind?”

“Not at all.” In the blink of an eye, Kyungsoo’s strong arms were wrapped tightly around Han’s body--one arm around his waist and the other constricting along his neck as a hand pressed the smooth edge of the sharp blade into his carotid--in a deadly snare. He felt in that moment every bit like the deer his features made him resemble.

The chemist casually strode past the two men to stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows behind them. He inhaled deeply as he carefully surveyed the twinkling lights of the city sprawled beneath them. He’d always loved Beijing and there truly was no better view of the city than this. Maybe after it was all over, he thought absentmindedly, he’d permanently relocate here; after all, Han wouldn’t be in much need of an office anymore. Shrugging, he plucked up the ornate glass decanter from the table next to him. “I won’t insult your intelligence by saying I know you’re probably wondering what this is really all about,” he began in a honey-coated purr as he smoothly poured the amber liquid into an equally ornate tumbler. “Someone has been stealing from me and I need to know who.”

“Minseok, I don’t ha—”

The words died in Han’s constricted throat as the blade pressed harder into the soft, vulnerable flesh. “Ah, ah, gege; don’t break my heart and make me have to kill you,” Kyungsoo murmured darkly in his ear, the heat of his breath making the trembling man’s ripple with chills. “That’d be such a shame because I truly do like you. Good company is so hard for me to come by these days.”

The soft clink of glass drew Han’s attention back toward the other Korean. “Kyungsoo finds liars to be incredibly rude,” the eldest stated matter of factly. Minseok lifted the glass to the light to admire the clarity of the glowing liquid. “You have very excellent taste, Lu,” he complimented, “very excellent taste, indeed, in so many things. Whiskey, women, wingbacks. So unfortunate your taste doesn’t extend into your hiring practices. Could have saved us all so much trouble.” He shrugged before taking a swig of his drink. “Thankfully, you’re incredibly observant so I’m certain you know exactly who’s responsible.” He walked back around until he was staring into the man’s doe eyes. “All we need is a name.”

The way he saw it, Han had three choices: He could confess, play dumb, or lie. If he confessed, he’d be separated from his beloved neck then and there. If he played dumb, he’d be subjected to whatever sadistic torture tactics swirling in Kyungsoo’s twisted mind; torture, while not fun, was survivable and he knew plenty of skilled surgeons who owed him a favor or two. If he lied, well…

Lying had always been his strongest suit.

Han swallowed hard, a grimace crossing his face as the blade dug into his Adam’s apple. Slowly, he raised both of his hands. “There’s a file in my desk,” he began, “with all the intel I’ve gathered on Park Jaebeom. The key to the drawer is in my pocket.” He motioned cautiously with a finger to left leg, “If I may…”

Minseok assented with a nod and Kyungsoo loosened his grip on Han’s waist. Han swiftly fished out the silver key and handed it to the man behind him. Kyungsoo leaned their bodies forward—the blade digging that much harder into Han’s throat—so he could unlock the drawer. Standing them both back up, the younger slid the file across the glass surface of the desk toward the chemist, who lazily flicked it open and thumbed through every sheet in the file. Minute after minute crawled past at an excruciatingly slow pace. Han knew it was essential to keep his composure yet his racing thoughts had his breath threatening to hitch with every heartbeat. At long last, the chemist closed the file and straightened his posture. “Well,” he sighed, “I must apologize for ever doubting you. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.” Han managed a smile, “You’re forgiven.”

The chemist flashed his signature gummy grin before he waved his hand to signal Kyungsoo to stand down. Reaching out, he ghosted his fingertips over Han’s tender throat as he checked the reddened flesh for any cuts. “How’s your throat feel?”

Han wanted to scoff at the absurdity of the question and careful touches but instead he shrugged, “Best shave of my life.”

Minseok chuckled lightly as he pushed the phone back toward the center of the desk. “Do you mind?” he posed sweetly while handing the receiver to the other man. Another threatening demand painted in the soft hues of a polite request. Han gingerly took the receiver. “What should I tell him?”

“That you need to see him,” he tossed over his shoulder as he refilled his glass.

“Right.”

“It’s important for you to act natural,” Kyungsoo stressed as he slithered to stand beside the door. “That shouldn’t be too difficult for you to manage, right?”

Han chose to ignore the barb in favor of swiftly dialing the familiar number. “Get your ass in here,” he barked harshly before slamming the receiver down. “How was that?” he inquired sheepishly. Minseok simply nodded, not even bothering to turn around from where he stood at the window.

A few moments passed before a soft knock sounded on the door. “You wanted to see me, sir?” a muffled voice called.

Han reflexively rolled his eyes and flatly quipped, “No. I wanted to see your mother. Now get your ass in here and give me her number.”

The world itself seemed to suddenly spin in slow motion to Han as the door slid open. He watched as Jaebeom stepped into the well-laid snare he had so desperately rigged. And in the exact instant the steel jaws of reality bit down viciously into Han’s conscience, Kyungsoo sprang into action with a brutal elbow strike to the back of his prey’s head, the blow rendering the man into a crumpled heap on the floor. Han could barely breathe, could barely think, could barely choke down the clammy grip of guilt as it struggled to claw its way out of his throat and past his lips in a scream of horror while he helplessly watched Kyungsoo almost gleefully tore Jaebeom’s tongue from his mouth, ripping a bloodcurdling shriek of agony from the bloodied man. Kyungsoo patted his cheek with his right hand while lifted the severed tongue to where its previous owner could ogle at it. “Can’t lie if you can’t speak,” he explained, smoothly switching to Korean. He flung the useless muscle across the room where it landed at Han’s feet. “He certainly won’t be needing that anymore,” he commented in Mandarin with a wink at the elder.

Turning back to the trapped man beneath him, he ghosted the handle of his blade across Jaebeom’s trembling throat. “Good evening, Jaebeom-ssi. My name is Do Kyungsoo and that man over there is Kim Minseok. I presume you know who we are. Now Minseok-hyung is going to ask you some questions; you will nod for ‘yes’ and shake your head for ‘no.’ If your answers don’t satisfy hyung, I’ll take another piece of you until there’s nothing left. If your answers are satisfactory, you might just make it out of here in two pieces. Assuming of course you want your tongue back…” Jaebeom thrashed weakly beneath him, a desperate sob gurgling out of him and splattering blood across his captor’s cheeks. Kyungsoo clicked his teeth. He hated messes. He haphazardly tore a strip of fabric from the accountant’s shirt and stuffed it into his mouth. “Is that better?” Jaebeom sobbed harder.

“Lu Han tells me you’re the man behind the delay and alterations of my shipments. Is that correct?” Minseok questioned tersely. Jaebeom vehemently shook his head as he tried to deny it. “Pick a number, Lu,” the chemist instructed.

Han tore his eyes away to stare bewildered at Minseok. “W-what?”

“Pick a number. 1-10.”

“I-I don’t...7?”

“Your lucky number. How fitting.”

A muffled howl pierced the air, dragging Han’s attention back down in enough time to see Kyungsoo casually fling a severed ring finger over his shoulder. “Let’s try this again,” Minseok insisted evenly. “You started your operation in December, correct?” Jaebeom nodded. “You purposefully remove less than a half ounce from each individual package, correct?” Another nod. “You repackage those ounces with your own branding to sell as your own, correct?” Nod. “You smuggle exactly 5 grams to my direct competition Jung Hoseok so he can keep his drug competitive to mine, correct?” Head shake. “Is that name unfamiliar to you? Perhaps you know him by another. Professor Hope?” Head shake. “Dr. Sun?” Head shake. “Sunshine Man?” Head shake. “His other one, Kyungsoo.” Another howl, another severed finger.

Han wanted to close his eyes and scratch out the savage images permanently etched into his corneas. He wanted to block out his ears and purge the gruesome screams echoing in his ringing ear drums. But he couldn’t. If he showed an ounce more of horror than appropriate, then his ruse would come crashing down and it would be him under Kyungsoo’s unforgiving knife. So he forced himself to look unto the chaos he had wrought. And with every slice of the blade into Jaebeom’s flesh, he forced himself not to lose his stomach. He had been boxed into a corner and he had made his decision; this was the consequence of his action, but it would be all worth it because he would be alive.

The interrogation seemed to carry on for hours until Minseok exhaled heavily as he turned towards the Chinese man. “I am so sorry you had to witness this, Lu.” He fixed a drink and handed it to him before fixing himself one. “At least we have our answers. Cheers.” He clinked their glasses together and downed his own, sharp gaze never leaving Han’s face. Han robotically unclenched his jaw to guzzle the burning liquid.

Kyungsoo swiped his bloodied fingers through Jaebeom’s sweaty hair as he whispered, “Hush now, it’ll all be over soon. We know he’s behind all of it. It’s just that business is business and you’re also complicit so we have to make an example out of you. But don’t worry. I’ll make sure he gets ten times worse than what I’ve given you, all of which you’ve taken so well by the way.” Jaebeom’s nostrils flared as he struggled to scream out despite the tattered fabric stuffed down his throat. Kyungsoo gazed down at the desperate man with a look akin to paternal pride (if he was capable of feeling such a thing, he was certain this was the right moment for it), a heavy sigh escaping his full lips. He really did admire the fighters. They always made for the best memories. “You’ve definitely been one of my favorites to play with but now I must set you free.”

One final stroke of the cheek was all the warning given before Kyungsoo plunged his knife deep into his victim’s neck. As gently as he could manage, Kyungsoo laid the dying man down onto the pale wood floor. He hummed low in his chest with satisfaction as he intently gazed into the glassy eyes staring back at him in horror, the bass of the noise vibrating the tense atmosphere and rippling through Han’s shaken core. The Chinese man drew in a ragged breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the scene—the murder scene—that had just unfolded before him.

He…

Jaebeom was…

Kyungsoo had…

A crisp chill raced down his spine as Minseok’s dulcet voice sliced through the still air, “Don’t let me be misunderstood: This is not mercy, this is a stay of execution. I know you were behind this and I know every single detail of your little operation. I’ve had surveillance on you since March and none of your lackeys are intelligent enough or capable of the level of deception and restraint this requires. The only reason you are alive right now is because you are slightly more valuable to me than…” Minseok’s voice trailed off as he flicked his eyes toward where Kyungsoo was hunched over carving a tally mark into the forearm of his fresh kill, “whoever that was, is simply because of who you know. But understand that you, too, are expendable.” He polished off his drink—piercing eyes never breaking contact as he did—before he made his way to the door. Just as he wrapped a hand around the handle, he turned his head just so to glance back at the visibly shaken man behind him. “One day, Death is going to come back for you; and on that day, you’ll be just another tally mark.”

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—Admin Lily

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