Three Eight-Chapter 33

"Did actual gangsters come and ask for money?"

He asked the moment he got in the car, brushing snow from his shoes. His voice was sharp, urgent.

"Why? Sounds like a lie?"

Mu-gyeong took off his leather gloves and buckled his seatbelt.

"They asked, so I gave it."

"Was it the Gworeum-dong guys?"

Mu-gyeong shrugged and slowly turned the steering wheel. If it really was the Gworeum-dong gang, then maybe Guppping had already made his move and was trying to get to Mu-gyeong through them. Judging by Guppping’s reaction earlier, it didn’t seem like they’d discussed collecting rent yet. So what the hell was going on?

"How should I know? Do gangsters walk around with name tags? That guy looks like a gangster, and that guy’s a thug too, far as I can tell."

He gestured at Choi-geun and one of the other workers smoking outside and snickered.

"So you’re saying the gang Gu Madam’s connected with is the Gworeum-dong crew?"

"...Yeah. They’ve got a tight grip on the neighborhood, and since they’re close with Guppping, they’ve been backing the house. They stall the cops when they show up, clean up messes when there’s trouble. If they’re prowling around under the excuse of collecting fees, it probably means something’s already in motion."

"Is that so?"

Just the thought that the gangs might be coming for him—Mu-gyeong’s reaction was a nonchalant “is that so?” Was it because he lived surrounded by money? Maybe he didn’t understand just how dirty things got in this neighborhood.

"They really do kill people. I told you before, right? When the demolition crew came, they caused a ‘work accident’ on purpose to scare them off."

Hongju spoke seriously, a grim expression on his face. But Mu-gyeong only smiled, lips twitching upward.

"First time I’ve heard you talk this much."

"Listen seriously. It’s really dangerous."

Sure, he’d seen Mu-gyeong fight, but that had been against a normal person—and one-on-one. If they came after him as a group, wiping out even someone like Mu-gyeong wouldn’t be that hard. When he ran away, they’d found him in less than half a day.

As Hongju sighed, Mu-gyeong calmly turned the steering wheel.

"They can’t kill me."

"...What?"

Mu-gyeong turned his head, looking at him. His face held not a shred of concern.

"They can’t touch me."

His voice was confident, and the smile tugging at his lips confirmed it. Hongju was speechless. Why wasn’t this man ever scared? Was it the money? Or something else entirely?

"......."

But somehow, with that tone of absolute conviction, it really felt like he would be fine.

He’d said they were going to collect a debt—but the place they arrived at was the ER. Mu-gyeong brought the dazed Hongju inside and stood by, arms crossed, as they cleaned and stitched up the torn palm. When it came time to pay, he simply handed him the card and stepped back, letting Hongju handle it.

"They said we can go now."

"You’ve got a high tolerance. No wonder Gu Madam’s dying to break you."

A cold, cutting observation. What did that even mean—‘high tolerance’? Was he referring to everything Hongju had been putting up with all this time?

"It’s just... because I’m pathetic about money. If I don’t put up with it, I’m the only one who loses."

Hongju looked down at his bandaged hand. It wasn’t that it didn’t hurt. Every beating made it hard to breathe. When his palm had been torn open, he’d clenched his jaw so hard it ached. Going to the hospital didn’t mean the wounds would stop. Even with meds, the violence wouldn’t end. The debt—and the interest—had already surpassed hundreds of millions. Even the smallest coin was water into a bottomless pot. That was the only reason he endured.

"Then you should be even more eager to stay on my good side."

Mu-gyeong pulled a cigarette from the inside of his jacket and tapped Hongju’s forehead with the white filter. Hongju blinked.

"Let’s have a smoke before we go."

He led them to the smoking area near the ER. Instead of sitting, Mu-gyeong stood facing out. He glanced back at Hongju, hands shoved into his pockets, and flicked his cigarette.

"Want one? Do you know how?"

He didn’t usually smoke much, but seeing the way Mu-gyeong held it somehow made his mouth curious.

"Yeah. I know how. Can I have one?"

Mu-gyeong raised his brows, clearly surprised, and gave the pack a light shake. A single filter popped out. He handed it to Hongju. Hongju’s stiff fingers fumbled it into his mouth, and Mu-gyeong lit it for him.

"Thanks."

His voice was muffled behind the cigarette. The flare of the red flame reflected in his eyes, casting a faint glow across his thin face. Mu-gyeong’s sharp gaze never left him.

Hoo—

Sirens wailed and hurried footsteps echoed outside, but in this small space, only the sound of their breathing existed. Just a single cigarette—but it felt like the first moment of peace in forever.

As the filter burned short, Hongju glanced toward Mu-gyeong. He was leaning slightly, arms crossed. After one last drag, Hongju snuffed it out quickly and stepped in front of him, as if to say they could go now.

But Mu-gyeong only looked at him—silently.

"...What?"

The silence was suffocating, but there was no running from it. He couldn’t help but wonder if this strange atmosphere wasn’t just his imagination. Lately, it kept happening—this charged tension between them.

And the way Mu-gyeong looked at him—there was too much in it to ignore.

After hesitating, the words slipped from Hongju’s mouth.

"Boss... do you like men?"

Mu-gyeong raised an eyebrow at the sudden question, then burst out laughing. His broad chest shook as he folded his arms tighter and dipped his head.

"Why, are you afraid I might like you?"

"That’s not why I asked. I’m just saying... I’m not—"

"Who knows?"

Mu-gyeong dragged out the end of his sentence.

"Don’t think I’ve ever really tried to stop myself."

Well. That explained why, that night, his body had moved so naturally—so deliberately.

"Someone like you isn’t half bad—"

His eyes swept from Hongju’s toes to his head, slow and heavy. If a stare could have texture, Mu-gyeong’s would be like mud—thick and sticky, refusing to let go.

"Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"......."

"I told you to keep an eye on me, but seems like your heart’s somewhere else."

With a quiet click of his tongue, Mu-gyeong turned away. Hongju’s eyes followed the fluttering ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ coat, catching the faint scent trailing in its wake.

"......Damn it."

It really did feel like being rejected after confessing. Hongju, standing there miserably for a moment, finally stepped out of the space thick with cigarette smoke.

"Let me see your face."

As soon as they got in the car, Mu-gyeong ripped off his gloves and grabbed Hongju by the cheek, yanking him closer. His nails pressed into the gauze taped to his cheek hard enough to turn white.

"If you don’t have a new wound, they might not believe it."

Snf. Mu-gyeong studied Hongju’s face with something that almost resembled serious thought. Then he slowly rubbed his thumb over the scabbed cut on his lip.

"Ugh—"

Hongju flinched, lashes trembling, and squinted his eyes. The moment he opened them again, he found Mu-gyeong right in front of him.

This content is taken from fгeewebnovёl.com.

"Ah!"

He tried to lean back with a gasp, but the grip on his cheek held him fast.

"Didn’t you hate being doubted more than anything?"

With every word he spoke, his hot breath brushed over Hongju’s cracked lips, making them sting. Black eyes gleamed beneath that half-smirk.

"I..."

He parted his lips to say that suspicion didn’t matter—but the heat of Mu-gyeong’s breath crashed down before he could. His shoulder stiffened, drawing in, as he clamped his teeth shut.

"......."

His tongue didn’t push in, but instead dragged slowly along Hongju’s upper lip. At the same time, his large hand clamped down hard on the back of Hongju’s slender neck.

"Ugh—"

The moment Hongju let out a shaky cough and his lips opened slightly, hot flesh forced its way in. Mu-gyeong’s tongue wrapped around his, thrusting mercilessly, wet noises slapping between their mouths. Lips crushed together, noses scraping as their faces pressed tight. Hongju tried pulling his head back, but Mu-gyeong’s rough hand dragged him forward again, locking their mouths together with no room to breathe.

"Mm—mph..."

No matter how much he squirmed, the brutal rhythm didn’t stop. A sharp tongue scraped the roof of his mouth, swept beneath his tongue, while burning lips bit and sucked at the top of his own.

The unfamiliar sensation made his heart pound. Shivers shot down his spine, his back held taut.

"Mmph—"

Eyes clenched shut, Hongju pushed against Mu-gyeong’s broad chest. Air hissed through the gap in their lips, breaking the seal. That low chuckle melted into the heat inside Hongju’s mouth.

"......."

Maybe the push had worked, because the violent kiss finally slowed. But even then, Hongju could barely breathe, lips still mashed against Mu-gyeong’s. His eyes were wide, frozen.

Thump-thump. His heartbeat, loud and frantic in his one working ear—it had to be his own.

"Ah!"

Mu-gyeong bit down hard on Hongju’s lower lip and then finally pulled away. Startled, Hongju clamped a hand over his mouth, feeling the wetness seep beneath his palm. When he looked—thick spit and cloudy blood were mixed together.

"What... what are you doing?"

He spat the words, fingers brushing over the aching, swollen lip. Mu-gyeong, meanwhile, licked the blood off his own lips with a smirk, then, as if that weren’t enough, locked eyes with Hongju and dragged his lower lip inward—sucking at it loudly, lewdly.

Watching him, Hongju went pale, a deep line creasing between his brows.

"I kiss you and you get mad? What happened to saying thanks?"

Thanks?

After kissing him without warning?

Staring at him in disbelief, Hongju instinctively edged back, putting space between them.

"Well, with your face like that, they’ll believe you got smacked."

He touched his swollen lower lip. The tender skin pulsed as if it had a heartbeat of its own.

"You should’ve just hit me."

"Maybe I should’ve."

It would’ve been a far more familiar form of contact.

Hongju exhaled, chest burning with pent-up heat.

Hoo...

"Buckle up. We’re leaving."

Hands still trembling, he fumbled with the belt. Until the car pulled out of the hospital parking lot, Hongju had to keep his fists clenched tight just to hide the shaking.

The freshly stitched wound in his hand was starting to throb again.