Lies save trouble for now,

But they will return in thunder and lightning.

Rain

I met again with JB that same evening.

First clue he was overly eager to help me? He invited me to his house.

Keeping it professional, my ass.

But I was willing to overlook it if it meant putting more pieces together of my life's biggest puzzle.

But before fleeting there, I needed to cover my tracks.

I got dressed, all fancy —if you call a crop top with a skirt fancy— and ready, sliding to the elevator and the parking garage, in a mission to hijack one of the guys' cars. 

Jin's car was the best option. It had only one tracking device on it and only just for safety if we needed to find him if something went wrong. 

But I needed to get rid of that tracing device as well, in order to go to JB's house.

And it was just my fucking luck, that when I was lying on the concrete floor of the garage, beside the car on all fours and ass up, with my head under, fondling the car's bottom like a handsy teenager, that I heard another car entering and stoping just next to me.

How do I explain this exactly?

I got from the corner of my eye, it was V's car. 

I huffed and breathed, spiting a long list of curses like a gutter rapper and taking a sharp inhale to regain my calmness. 

I don't want to lie to V. And the less he knows, the better. 

The driver's door opened and closed, footsteps followed in my direction. 

"Rain?"

A blond head with furrowed eyebrows and the expression of a thoroughly shocked and weirded-out puppy appeared, leaning next to me. Not V. Just Jungkook.

I exhaled with enough relief to hug the floor.

"What are you doing?" 

"Getting high on car fumes."

His wide as saucers eyes blinked three times while he shook his head, tilting back.

"Is that a thing?" He scrunched his nose.

"Oh, yeah. It's better than diesel gas, and more...environmental friendly than cocaine."

I remained completely serious without missing a beat. 

Internally, my mind was exploding, and I wanted to choke from laughter. 

He nodded. 

Bitch, he bought it. 

A sane person in my place would get insulted.

See? Bad egg. Everyone will believe the worst thing possible about you. Comes handy. 

Apparently, I'm the pantyless bitch that gets high on car fumes, too, now.

Meh, who cares.

He steps back and stands as I crawl out, resting on my knees to dust my palms on my thighs.

He looks on the ceiling, clearing his throat, rubbing his palm on his nape. "So...how that works?... Can you teach me?" His cheeks flashing red.

"Sure," I say, grateful that my distraction is working. "Some other time. Where is V?" They were supposed to be out together. 

"I just dropped him somewhere. He has a thing."

Knowing V, "a thing" means a blowjob appointment.

He looked down at me for a second, then whipped his head up again.

"Never seen a girl in this position before, Jungkook?" I grinned, biting my lip and gathering my hair up with my hands in a ponytail provocatively.

Holy shit, his face just got ten shades redder. 

He chocked into a coughing fit.

I drop my hair, bursting from the urge to roll on the floor from laughter. 

Girl, don't tease him. It's not even funny anymore. The guy is more sheltered than the kids in "Dogtooth." 

A fucking 21-year-old gangster/dealer/killer with the face and abs of an Instagram model, and he is more virginal than olive oil. It's so surreal, it should be made into a movie. It surpasses J.K. Rowling's and George R.R. Martin's imagination and the rareness of finding a real-life unicorn.

"No," his voice was restrained. "But it's not that. You..."

I tilted my head in curiosity as he extended a reluctant hand to lift me, then on second thought, he took it back like he touched an electric fence. 

"An Oyabun never kneels before others," he said, gaining the courage to look me in the eyes.

Huh.

"No one ever told you?" He presses his lips.

I lifted with ease, fitting the detached GPS tracker in my back pocket discreetly. 

I wanted to retort that an Oyabun certainly doesn't give the first kisses to her clan members, but whatever, I'm just glad he is back on the respect track.

Or simply Suga's threats are working. My mental alarm singsongs.

Shut up. I retort to it.

He certainly never objected when you were kneeling. And he had plenty of opportunities to do so.

Great. Now I am angry again.

Are you sure you're not hungry?

Focus. Video. I need to watch the video before I hang Suga.

Every time I tried to get in his face without knowing my facts, he always got on top. No pun intended.

I turned on place, getting in Jin's car. 

"Where are you going?" 

"After the high, people have the munchies, Jungkook. And I'm feeling like tasting a Michelin-star stake."

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~ 

I met with Violet for a fleeting second, giving her my phone and the instruction to go to "RR." If anyone realizes that I'm gone —which they will, or simply ask Jungkook— and tracks it, they will think that I'm there blowing dollar bills and enough coke to bake a five-tier wedding cake. And if they decide to go there... surprise motherfuckers! I'm invisible. Try to find me.

JB lived in Gagnam-gu. The neighborhood was the home to most of the heavily loaded mofos in Seoul. Famous people lived there, but most residents were those with the kind of money one couldn't make in a lifetime but rather inherited.

One thing I was wrong when I bashed JB? He didn't live in a penthouse. His house was a fucking mansion sprawled across a mountainside, big enough to make the one from Parasite look like a miserable cardboard box compared to it.

Nothing like living on a cliff to inspire you to want to jump off it.

It had a garden with a pond, a pool that we can host the next Olympics in, and a load of other crap like huge-ass plants and fucking statues. His monthly gardening bill is probably what I gave to buy the Itaewon's Starbucks.

Okay. Ryuzaki clan is FUCKING LOADED. And how the fuck the profit I get from it is more or less the same from the Bloody Waves clan?

I have a hunch Chin-hae's house will be something three times the size of JB's. Cause he surely didn't live in the clan penthouse with Sakai.

Where the fuck does the money go then?

No more riddles. Spare me, please.

You used to love riddles. My brain retorts.

That was before meeting the human version of a riddle, aka Suga, bitch.

I was waiting for ten fucking minutes for JB to buzz me in, so I got bored, climbed, and jumped over his fence.

He definitely needs to up his security.

I caught him outside his front door, dressed in a black silk robe, rushing an A-class gorgeous brunette with a condom-tight red dress and messy hair in her car. Isn't she a K-drama actress?

I was waiting to see the fucking video, and the bastard was having a booty call.

I won't fall for his bullshit cause the fucker obviously invited her in a timeframe, so I would "accidentally" bump into her.

I don't judge, my dude.

Fuck all the cast of that K-drama and the extras if you like. Hell, I might even join you if she's good.

Do you have any idea how it is to continually live with seven hotter-than-hell men?

No?

It's fucking torture.

Sometimes for them. 'Cause I'm me, and I enjoy it so much it should be illegal.

Okay, real talk here. No one is listening.

Do you have any idea how it is to live with Suga?

Throw away your panties, sis.

They're gonna be ruined for the rest of your life.

"You know, there is a device called a phone that you can text people with when something comes up—your dick per se. Use it." I pass around him and inside the double doors, where a servant was waiting to take my...coat?

I raised an eyebrow, and she scattered away.

Breaking news: Rich guy is fucking his servant. I bet she also fantasizes that someday he will fall for her and marry her or something equally dumb as it happens in every cliche nineties rom-com.

JB laughed —the fucker was amused with his servant's fear after my glare— and asked me what I wanted to drink.

I told him my enemies' blood, jokingly.

I settled for a glass of gin with lemon, following him around to what he considered a quick tour to his two downstairs kitchens, a playroom —the videogames and theater-screen kind, not the Cristian Gray kind— then, upstairs to the fifth lounge/living room, where I saw the fluffiest couch in existence and crashed my ass on it, stating that I'm simply not interested in seeing the rest of his MTV Crib.

If he thought I would be impressed by opulence and lush life and drop my panties running to his four-poster bed, with imported Italian sheets—like I bet all girls that come here do— he thought wrong. I'm the kind of girl that fucked in parks, cars, balconies, alleys, opposite to any type of surface, including trees, classrooms, once on a surfboard, and the list goes on. Moral of the story? I don't give a flying fuck about his fancy, pretentious mansion, and he should have known that already.

Also, I'm the kind of girl that once I have something set in my mind, a zombie outbreak can happen, and it won't stop me. I'm here for the video and not leaving without seeing it.

"Do I get to see the video this century, or I need to donate to your dick's Patreon first?" I relaxed back on the plush fluffiness that almost swallowed me, cutting to the chase and announcing that I see through his grand plan—not happening, sweetheart.

His eyes trailed my movement as I took off my leather jacket.

I knew what he was staring at and what I looked like.

People often asked me why.

Why did I insist on looking like I was auditioning for Narcos or Sons of Anarchy, with tattoos covering half my body? Why the gauged ears and piercings? Why the fuck-you attire of the depressed grunge lolita hoe? Honestly, I never saw the point in trying to look like everyone else. I wasn't like everyone else. I was me. And until two months ago, I had no lineage, no fancy last name, or historical legacy.

I always felt like I don't belong. I'm stuck in a generation where love is just a quote and lying is the new truth.

I knew I looked like my father's worst nightmare. Or maybe every prudish girl's worst nightmare. I knew my attire screamed: I'm here to take everything from you. And make a show for everyone watching meanwhile. If you have a boyfriend, I'll take him too. And fuck him better.

And I never mined. My looks gave power to me and heart attacks to others.

But the real reason I started with tattoos was to discourage certain people from approaching me. It was indeed a visual warning, saying stay the fuck away by literally writing death wish under my ass in the most obscure ambigram font, that it's unreadable unless you're really close. And if you can read it, you must really want to die.

I wanted to live my life independently without relying on anyone. My tattoos were something of pride and also something that protected me. And others.

I threw JB a glare, and he smirked.

"You didn't bring a bathing suit." He simply stated, reaching for a drawer under the coffee table and retrieving a joint. 

I bet it was a five-star one like everything in his mansion. 

He tucked it between his lips and cupped the tip with his palm, lighting it.

"If I'm not watching the video in one minute, I'm dragging you into that monstrous pool of yours to drown you in it." I exhaled impatiently, tapping my boot on the Persian carpet, and started counting one minute in my mind.

"You know, you're all work and no play the last days." He sank on the couch, next to me. "What got your thongs on a twist? Trouble in seven gays paradise?" He grinned as he exhaled the thick smoke, crossing his arms behind his head and his ankles on the mahogany coffee table.

His silk robe parted on his smooth muscular chest, and a shiny, black, coiled around an apple, snake was poking out, confirming the conspiracy of him having only the Ryuzaki clan tattoo, which I recognized too well since I did the same to Sakai and since I have the same myself.

Forty-two seconds.

"You have no idea," I smirked, mocking him. "But oh, wait. You're not my bestie, and we won't complain to each other while braiding our hair and eating ice-cream, so can we finally get to business?" I grabbed my drink, knocked it back in one gulp, and placed the glass back on the table in front of a thoroughly shocked JB.

"Ghetto," he shook his head, coughing a laugh.

Thirty-three seconds.

He nodded with his head to the huge-ass tv screen on the wall.

I glued my eyes on it impatiently.

"Alexa, play the video of the clan's party." He spoke loud and clear.

I unglued my eyes from the huge tv screen to look at him. "Party?"

"Alexa, pause." His lips curved again. "We had a huge clan party the previous night of Nanami's murder. It's also my alibi and of all the clan members. And about fifty "actresses" that we invited. Turned into thirty hours of ... well, I can show you if you're so curious."

"The video before the one of her murder contains footage of you in a two-nights orgy?" I demanded. Well, that's definitely unexpected. 

It also explains why Chin-hae is so set on one of the Bloody Waves being the murderer. All the Ryuzaki clan was there.

"Let me know if it gets you hot and bothered." He took another hit of his joint. His dark eyes drifted down on me. "Rumor has it you're one hell of a ride after three lines."

What rumor bitch? The only guy I've fucked in this city would prefer to cut off his own dick before boasting to others about what we do.

...Oh, right. The dead one.

Well, he can boast to hell now.

"Alexa, unpause." He winked at me, knowing I made the connection. His smile was a thing of deadly beauty. "Fast forward to 26:35:10."

Well, look at that! I actually started watching at zero seconds.

JB just implied that he had the whole clan —dead and alive— in his palm. That he could have blackmailed or exposed anyone in it with its content. Also, that the content was putting himself in danger as well. In the wrong hands, this could be catastrophic.

I might be intrigued, but I definitely don't want to question if the twenty-six and half hours we just skipped contain him and other members indeed multifucking several girls. I don't ask him to rewind a fucking second as the video starts.

The whole picture is grainier than a snuff film. Wait, this actually is a snuff film.

I can tell that the rain is not the usual downpour Seoul gets here and there but a fucking hurricane or tropical storm. Everything is black and white in night vision, and a car with the front side facing the camera is in the frame.

Honestly, it reminds me of that Spanish horror film, REC.

Tho figures can be seen, sitting in a black car, facing each other, apparently into some serious conversation.

There is sound, but nothing can be distinguished above the hard crashing rain. The sea under the dock beside the car is having its own personal outburst, raging in enormous waves that climb the dock as they crash.

I can barely tell from their built that the persons in the car are a man and a woman. The woman seems to have long black hair pulled back to a tight bun, and the man is wearing a black hoodie with the hood lifted, covering almost every feature. 

"Would you like some popcorn?" JB shifts on his seat, and I am tempted to make a video with his murder. I shush him with a swat of my palm on his forehead without taking my eyes from the screen that it's big enough to host a drive-in cinema.

The woman and the guy seem to be deep into the convo, and nothing looks suspicious. 

Except for one thing I can't ignore.

How the hell can we see inside the car?

All the cars the guys use —and consequently, I suspect, every car Nanami used— always, always have dark tinted glass windows. Nothing can be seen from the outside. 

And if my sucking memory is not failing me, in Sakai's version of the rumor of her death, the car had tinted windows. 

I tuck the information in the back of my mind for later.

The guy sitting on the passenger's seat opens his window and throws something outside.

The woman—okay, Nanami, I guess— is laughing at something the guy said, tilting her head back. Must be a really good joke. 

In Sakai's version the killer supposedly entered the car, and straightforward pointed his gun at her.

The sound of the rain is really getting on my nerves. 

"Can we mute this?" I murmur, massaging my temples, my focus utterly targeted on the screen. 

"Why? I love the sound of rain pounding," I can practically hear his grin as I flip him off. "Besides, I think you want to hear something in...about fifteen seconds."

I put him on mute in my mind.

I wish the picture was clear enough to zoom in. To see if I could figure out anything by reading her lips. But it's so crap I can barely see it's her. And the rain is blurring the air, and water washes away on the windshield. 

Damn you all, I really kinda look like her. In some younger, less vicious version. Not in height, though. Her head barely reaches the headrest on the seat. Evil incarnate comes in a perfume sample bottle.

I don't even wanna know the mechanics of my creation. My father is 6.4. 

What the hell are you even thinking about right now?

A thunder lights the sky behind the car.

Nanami leans closer to the guy. 

Like, really close. 

The guy leans closer too. 

The sound of the thunder crashes, and echoes buzzing in my ears.

The fuck?

It looks like...

...are they kissing?

I can't say for sure from this angle. All I know is that my poor brain can't take this.

I hear JB snorting a laugh beside me. 

"Look closer," he whispers. When the fuck did he get so close?

The hooded guy seems to still. Like freeze. Then he tilts back all the way like jolted from shock. 

He shakes his hooded head in denial. 

He looks around. 

He freezes again. 

And like that, he pulls out a gun, pointing it directly at Nanami's temple. 

My heart is pounding in my chest. I hold my breath and watch, unblinking.

Nanami takes a hit from her cigarette, undeterred from the fucking gun on her temple. Like she could cheat death and laugh at his face.

Then, she moved. 

The video barely caught it. 

Now she had something pointing at the guy's throat. A knife, probably. Bitch is FAST.

The guy, at a devastatingly slow pace lowered the gun.

My breath was protesting for oxygen, but I kept holding it.

It was almost like I knew.

Like I knew he wasn't lowering his gun for submission. 

Like I knew, he was lowering to distract her. 

And I knew it, I felt it, when he pulled the trigger when the gun was pointing to her heart. 

The gunshot echoed through the crashing rain and the waves of the sea. And it was the only other sound beside them, caught in the video. 

The breath I was holding whooshed out of my lungs.

The guy jumped out, rounded the car, and set it to drive. He didn't turn on the lights. Probably to avoid attracting attention. 

He clipped her seatbelt on to hold her body in place.

Then, while leaning in, he drove the car from outside, pushing it through the dock's edge to the depthless raging sea. 

He didn't look once back as he vanished out of the frame. 

"I think I need another drink," I murmured, my eyes still on the screen that now was black and empty.

Your theories?

A/N

I tried to make Rain with Artbreeder, it's a program which you can make portraits, or really anything with. 

That's the closest I could get. It's not 100% how I imagine her but something rather close.

Of course, you can have a totally different image of her in your mind. That's the magic of books. You are free to imagine her however you like. 

This is just one of the versions I have in my head. 

Don't forget to check out the Bloody Waves Pinterest inspo/mood board.

https://www.pinterest.com/sukidesuoyabun/bloody-waves-of-seoul/