somerealnerd

  John still hadn't found where Seo-young was. He’d ditched the Harley a good stretch from the North Shore docks, parking it quiet behind some crates. That beast’s growl would’ve rung out like a damn arm, making it all too risky. He needed stealth, needed to slip in silently. He needed to catch Seo-young before she waded too deep and drag her out. To juice his speed and stamina, he popped a Vigogen2 again. The pill felt bitter on his tongue, but he had no other choices now, since he had to py safe.

  Funny thing though, while Liam was cooking up that AI video scam, he’d dropped some intel on this supposed sex drug’s side gig. Tests on Fucker A, B, and C showed wild body boosts. B and C got a solid kick already, but A, who was a star basketballer back in his life before being the man toy of John’s security team and Liam’s guinea pig, went full superhuman. Running at twenty kilometers per hour for a straight forty minutes. His peak sprint? Forty kilometers an hour for ten seconds ft, which easily blew past human limits. Top sprinters in the Reward World tapped out at thirty-five for maybe ten ticks. Crazier still, the effects stacked, as two pills trumped one, though diminishing returns kicked in. But Liam’s warning rang clear too: side effects were strong, so John wouldn’t want to go too hard on it. Post-trial, all three guinea pigs started clutching their chests, heart spasms, and their livers were tanking. They were still recovering a week after the trials. Point was, going beyond one pill would be really dangerous. John chewed on that data as he bolted toward the docks, legs pumping.

  Then he spotted Seo-young's car, parked crooked near the edge. That same damn ride where they’d pulled that fake sex stunt, where John tricked her into kissing him, having her tits sucked, and being fingered by him, and he had a good ugh about it afterwards. It was all memories too sweet and too warm to be true for John now after his bloody and messy life as an undercover. If anything really happened to her, John would hate himself for the rest of his life.

  Don’t do anything stupid, Seo-young. Wait for me.

  Seo-young was in already, so John started to scan the shadows, hunting for cop silhouettes. Luck struck quick finally. Up ahead, a cluster of badges milled around, and there, towering over them, was that tall, pretty-boy prick Min-jun, Seo-young’s boyfriend, chuckling with some other girl cop like he didn’t have a care. John’s blood boiled. One look screamed it—this fucker was neck-deep in screwing him and Seo-young. John took everything not to charge over, smash his smug face in, and choke out where she was. No, there were multiple cops, multiple guns. If he wanted her out alive, he had to keep his cool.

  He kicked off his shoes, socks hitting cold ground to muffle his steps, and slid into the dark near the group. Too far to catch their chatter, but he couldn’t risk closing in. Worse, though he could read lips, but from this side angle, dodging their sightlines, half the time their mouths were a blur. He had no other options, but to lock on Min-jun, eyes boring into him. Patience was the key now. This bastard had set her up, so he would have to slip, and give something away. And he did. Min-jun’s gaze kept flicking, subtle but twitchy, toward one spot, like he couldn’t help tracking it. John followed the line, and there it was, the warehouse closest to the crew, hugging the dock’s edge. Couldn’t be sure it was her spot, but every second he stalled, Seo-young’s odds sank. No more waiting. He skirted the cops’ sight, bare feet silent, and looped toward the warehouse’s rear.

  Back with Seo-young, her kindness, damn near predictable, kicked in. She couldn’t stomach the hostage taking a hit. Slowly, her gun dipped, then cttered to the concrete. The lead goon kept his knife pressed to the woman’s throat, a smug glint in his eye, while the st uninjured punk, grinning like a creep, sidled toward her. He closed in, one hand shooting out, aiming straight for her chest, but Seo-young didn’t blink. Her leg snapped up, heels smming into his gut, dropping him hard with a wheezed grunt.

  That pissed off the leader. His bde twitched, nicking the woman’s neck. Blood beaded, then trickled down in thin red lines. “Hey, who said you could move? And you even fought back?” he barked. “Stand still, or she’s fucking done. I’ll slit her throat like a fucking dog. And don’t worry. I’ve still got a dozen more bitches in this box. One dies, I grab another.” He chuckled, low and nasty.

  “You py nice, stay put, and they’re all fine.” Seo-young’s rage was a furnace, ready to blow, but that woman’s terrified eyes pinned her in pce. Her chest heaved, her big breasts rising and falling with each furious breath, and that only stoked the goons’ filth more.

  The one she’d kicked scrambled up, rubbing his hands, leering. “Sorry, officer, gotta test the goods first.” He stepped in, tentative at first, then a paw nded on one side of her chest. Seo-young’s skin crawled, humiliation burning hot, tears pricking her eyes, but she bit them back, jaw clenched. He took her stillness as a green light, digging in harder, kneading with a sick grin. Her teeth ground so tight they might’ve cracked; tears slipped free, slow and silent down her cheeks.

  This is supposed to be an easy task. Where was that fucking John? Did he even get out?

  The lead goon huffed, growing impatient as he was not the one having fun. “You’re hogging the fun, asshole. At least let me see her tits!” The creep ughed, quick and nervous. “Oh, right, right.” He grabbed her T-shirt at the chest and ripped it open, fabric tearing loud, baring her pale, full breasts that were still cupped in her bra. Deep cleavage hit the air, radiating a pull that had both scum gawking.

  “Damn!” they crowed in unison, drool practically dripping from their twisted mugs. “Quick, get that bra off!” the leader snapped, antsy now. The other goon’s hands shot forward, eager as hell, “I wonder how her pussy feels compared to those bitches in the box”.

  Seo-young’s tears broke loose, sobs hitching soft in her throat. Fear cwed her. She wanted to beg, but these animals wouldn’t care. She hated herself for lunging in so carelessly. She hated Min-jun, for letting her enter this warehouse alone. And of course, she hated John, for not showing up to save her from all this mess, even though she knew John could have no idea where she was. She closed her eyes, ready to face the upcoming torment.

  But then, a dull thud cracked the air. The hand reaching for her hit the floor, severed clean at the wrist. A leather jacket draped over her chest, gentle and warm. John stepped in front of her, barefoot, socks shredded, feet scraped raw and bleeding. His face carried a quiet sorry. “I’m sorry, Seo-young. I’m te. My bad.”

  And the maimed goon finally clocked that his stump spurting red, and he shrieked, a high, broken wail. Rafael’s daggers were razor incarnate; John had leaped from a container, slicing through the wrist like it was butter, no resistance at all. Now, he sheathed the bde, stepped up to the screaming punk, and smmed both palms hard against his ears. The pressure bst doubled the guy’s agony. He crumpled, rolling and howling, clutching his head.

  “You! Who the fuck are you? Don’t fuck around! One more move, and I’ll slit this bitch’s throat!” The lead goon’s voice cracked, panic seeping through as John appeared. His knife twitched, pricking the woman’s neck again, more drops of blood welled up on her right side, staining her skin. John just stared, icy, then pointed zily to the other side. “You should go for the left side. Artery’s there. She’d bleed out faster.” The words hit like a brick, and the goon froze, mouth gaping, brain short-circuiting on what to do next.

  John wanted that woman safe, sure, but he knew the py: saving her meant crushing the threat, not dancing to its tune. Seo-young might’ve got that too, but her heart was too soft, too straight, which kept her from crossing that line. John wouldn’t blink twice. The goon hesitated, grip faltering, and John’s stomach churned with disgust. Fucking pussy.

  Still, it was a perfect opening for John. “Hey,” he drawled, voice low, “I don’t even know that woman. Why would I give a fuck about whether she’s alive? But, I highly recommend that you think hard before you twitch. If you really cut her, what’s it gonna cost you? I’m gonna give you a little preview, okay? Watch carefully. Don’t blink, and rex. Absolutely no sudden moves, as I’ll make sure you regret it, very much, if you do.” He punched the st bit hard, as no way he would let this idiot flinch and slice her by accident.

  His gaze flicked to the severed-hand goon, still thrashing and wailing on the ground, then to Seo-young, tears streaking her face. His rage boiled up, white-hot. He grabbed the punk’s neck with his left hand, pinning his head still, and slid his right thumb gentle-like over the guy’s left eye. Instinct kicked in. The goon’s lids snapped shut. John gnced up at the lead thug, fshing a grin, here we go, bitch, then he started to press. Slow, deliberate, he drove his thumb into the guy’s eye socket, inching in with sick patience. The screams went from loud to hoarse. Now there was just snot, tears, and feeble croaks for mercy now. John kept smiling, eyes locked on the leader, until his thumb sank full in. Then he twisted, exaggerated, churning it like he was stirring soup.

  The lead goon broke. Knife cttered free, and he bolted to the side, puking his guts out, knees hitting the floor. “Please, please, man, let me go!” he choked between heaves, begging. John didn’t answer. He gnced at Seo-young and the freed hostage, both wide-eyed as they stared at the gore John had just revealed. Fear lingered, for sure, but something else burned brighter: revenge, sweet and raw. John broke the leader already, so he yanked his thumb out, grimacing, and wiped it clean on the limp goon’s shirt, whose body was still as death now.

  He turned to Seo-young, ready to hash out how to spring the trafficked women, but she was already moving. Gun in hand, she stepped up to the kneeling, begging leader and, bang, put a bullet through his skull. No pause. She swung to the four crippled goons who were still breathing, scattered on the concrete, and fired once each, headshots, clean, methodical. Five bodies down. Then she marched to the container, voice ft. “Head straight out the front. Cops’ll pick you up.” Without a gnce at John, she strode out the back door.

  “Hey, Seo-young, where you going?” John called, jogging a few steps after her. Then he stopped, turning to the freed girl who witnessed the whole thing. “The cops outside will ask you about what happened. Just tell them the truth. But, if they ask about the five killing shots, tell them I took her gun, and I pulled the trigger, got it? She saved you, so don’t get her into any trouble.” The easiest thing would be to tell them she’d been locked in the container with the other girls and hadn’t seen anything. But the fresh blood on her neck would scream liar to the police. Before she could come up with a reply, John stormed out to find Seo-young. No luck, she was gone already. Maybe today cracked her too hard, and she needed space. John thought. So he left on his own, heading back to that storage unit to spend his final night of this messy undercover life.

  John pushed open the storage unit’s door, the creak of metal slicing through the damp quiet, and froze. There she was, Seo-young, perched on his rickety foldout cot, swallowed up in his leather jacket. Her shoes were off, kicked aside, baring her feet, delicate and perfect, wrapped in sheer bck nylon. The silk hugged her arches like a second skin, teasing out the soft curve of her heels, the elegant taper of her toes, which were painted a flirty pink that glowed faint through the dark mesh. Those legs, still in her crisp suit pants, were tucked up tight, knees hugged to her chest, her face buried there as soft sobs shook her shoulders. The sight hit him like a punch, tender, raw, and damn near unbearable.

  He ached for her. Seo-young was a good woman, too good, maybe. Sure, she had her quirks, those little tantrums, the way she’d slug his shoulder or chest with her fists, hard enough to sting, grinning like it was a game afterwards. But she’d trusted him, start to finish, and they’d clicked, smooth as hell when it mattered. Guilt gnawed at him now, sharp and sour. He’d doubted her when he clocked the trap days back, so he kept her in the dark, thinking she might’ve been in on it. If he’d tipped her off sooner, maybe tonight’s hell wouldn’t have touched her. Her crying just twisted that knife deeper, each sniffle a jab at his conscience.

  But then there was something else. Maybe it was that Vigogen2 he had popped before the rescue, still buzzing in his veins, amping his pulse. Or maybe it was just him, same as always, a horny pig. His eyes locked on those feet. God, they were gorgeous. Slim ankles flowing into sleek arches, the nylon clinging like a lover’s whisper, every line screaming grace and heat. Was it just short socks, or full-on pantyhose stretching up those legs? His mind spun wild, picturing the silk climbing higher, hugging her thighs. In the stillness, her muffled sobs mixed with the loud gulp he couldn’t stifle, his throat dry as he swallowed hard. He scrubbed a hand over his face, yanking himself back, forcing the haze out of his head.

  Tonight repyed in flickers, heroics and blood. He’d swooped in, saved her, and yeah, that had to score points. But the way he’d handled that goon, thumb in the eye, slow and savage, might have rattled her too. And Min-jun, that fucking Min-jun, her golden boy, selling her out cold. She had to be a wreck, heart shredded, trust torched. John fumbled for words, some soft fix to patch her up, but nothing fit.

  His night had cracked open mysteries, sure. He tied up loose ends, convinced and tricked Rafael to be on his side, but it still felt like a mess, same as this whole undercover grind. It was still all chaos ahead, and there was no map for it. But there was one thing he knew, clear and loud: sleep wasn’t coming tonight, one way or another.