When plans break
983 Words
They moved me out quietly.
Through a hidden back corridor of the club, the walls glowing dim red from the neon lights, I could still sense the chaos behind the closed doors—muffled laughter, pounding music, bodies pressed together in a world I was no longer part of. A gun stayed pressed to my lower back the entire time, the cold metal a constant reminder not to slow down, not to turn around.
My stomach churned, but I forced myself to stay calm—or at least look calm.
The men flanked me on both sides, walking in perfect sync. Their hands never strayed far from their weapons. Behind me, he followed. Tall. Silent. Unhurried. The kind of man who didn’t rush because the world adjusted itself around him.
“Back here,” he said quietly.
Not kind. Not warm. Just an order.
I swallowed. Then, almost reflexively, I muttered under my breath, “Wow. Secret hallways, armed escorts… really rolling out the red carpet tonight.”
No response.
Outside, black SUVs waited in the alley. Rain had started falling, cold and sharp, soaking through my clothes in seconds. I hesitated for half a breath, staring at the open door.
One of the guns nudged harder into my spine.
I sighed. “Guess screaming would ruin the mood,” I murmured, climbing inside. My knees brushed against the damp leather seats.
He stepped in after me. Calm. Cold. The door shut with a solid thud that sounded final.
The engine started.
City lights blurred past the windows as we drove, neon fading into darkness. I caught fragments of their conversation—low voices, short sentences.
“…old factory…”
“…meeting point…”
“…other side of the river…”
My chest tightened.
The factory district came into view eventually, abandoned buildings stretching across the landscape like bones picked clean. Somewhere between two cities, far from witnesses.
I kept my breathing steady, fingers curling into the seat.
“So,” I said lightly, forcing the words past the lump in my throat, “is there a schedule for this? Or do you usually just… wing it when delivering people?”
He didn’t look at me. “Sit still.”
I laughed softly. Too softly. “Right. My mistake.”
⸻
They’d left the highway.
Fields replaced streetlights. Wet asphalt, empty roads, nothing but darkness and rain.
That’s when I saw it—the door lock hadn’t fully clicked.
My pulse spiked.
The SUV slowed slightly as it curved around a bend.
I didn’t think. I acted.
I threw my weight sideways, slammed my shoulder into the door, and shoved.
The door burst open.
Cold air rushed in.
The SUV swerved violently. Tires screamed. Someone shouted.
I lost my footing, fingers slipping—and he grabbed me.
Not to save me.
To keep control.
We went out together.
The world spun as we crashed into the embankment, rolling through mud and wet grass. Pain exploded across my ribs as I hit the ground.
I screamed.
Mud splattered my arms, my face, my mouth.
He slammed into the ground a few feet away, hitting hard—but when he pushed himself up, it wasn’t pain on his face.
It was anger.
I didn’t wait.
I scrambled to my feet and ran, grass slicing at my legs as I bolted toward the bridge ahead.
Behind me, he stood slowly, wiping mud from his jaw.
“…Annoying,” he muttered, voice low and sharp, like I’d just broken something expensive.
I ran harder.
On the bridge above us, the other SUVs screeched to a stop. Men leaned over the railing, shouting.
“After her,” he ordered. Calm. Deadly. “Now.”
Engines roared.
⸻
I spotted it just in time—a narrow stretch of tall grass beneath the bridge.
I dropped into it, sinking into mud, pressing both hands over my mouth to stop my breathing from giving me away.
Rain soaked through my hair, ran down my neck. My heart slammed against my ribs.
Boots thundered past me.
Flashlights swept the area.
They stopped close. Too close.
“…She couldn’t have gone far.”
“…Check the water.”
Then footsteps retreated.
I stayed still until my lungs burned.
Relief washed over me in waves.
Then I heard him.
“Where is she?” His voice cut through the rain like a blade.
A door slammed. Heavy footsteps approached.
One of the men stammered, “S-she vanished, boss—”
The punch came fast.
A dull crack. A body hitting the ground.
No words. No warnings.
He stood there in the rain, tall and unmoving, one man behind him awkwardly holding a bent umbrella.
His jaw tightened.
The phone rang.
A hidden number.
He took it, voice steady despite the tension in his shoulders.
“Seo-jun.”
A pause.
Rain tapped steadily against his shoulders as he listened, his gaze sweeping the riverbank.
“The package?” the voice on the other end asked.
Seo-jun’s jaw tightened—just slightly.
“There was an unexpected complication,” he said calmly. “Minor. Contained.”
Silence.
“We lost time,” he continued, tone smooth and professional. “I’ll reroute the delivery. You’ll have it—just not tonight.”
Another pause.
“I’ll handle it.”
He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his coat.
No smile. No anger.
Only calculation.
I pressed myself deeper into the mud, my teeth chattering, my body shaking from cold and fear.
He turned away at last, signaling his men back toward the vehicles.
The engines started. Headlights cut through the rain.
One by one, they disappeared into the dark.
I stayed where I was long after the sound faded.
Alone.
Cold.
Barely standing.
And somewhere down the road, warm lights waited—unaware that I was about to collapse right at their doorstep.
- Writer
