Pairing: Do Kyungsoo / Harper Hasagawa (OC)

Current Chapter Rating: PG-13 (Violence)

"So, the bus driver," Hemingway exhaled, "he took the money." My back was starting to hurt from sitting in this uncomfortable chair for so long, and I switched which leg I had crossed.

"Yes." I answered. This whole charade was getting boring. The fear from earlier, plus the adrenaline of yesterday, were long gone now that Hemingway and I had been cooped up in here for nearly three hours. How much longer was he going to do this for? Surely he wanted a break.

"Right off the bat?" He continued distractedly, jotting down my responses.

"Yes."

"With no coercion on your part." He reiterated, guiding me to his point like I was some sort of newb.

"What can I say?" I shrugged snobbishly. "LA should find better city employees."

"Well, they been looking for a reason to fire him." He caught me off guard with this free detail, and I leaned in, finally interested.

"Why?"

"Apparently he likes to skip stops." Hemingway shrugged, but I let out a laugh.

"No shit?" I chuckled, marveling at the universe for its weird sense of humor. "Guess my luck really was holding out."

"So you make it to the airport. Then what?" He led on.

"Then we went in."

"Where security was waiting for you?"

"Not airport security." I pointed out.

"No, private security." Hemingway readjusted in his seat, setting his mouth in an even deeper frown than it had been the whole time, if that was even possible. "Men who had no business enforcing law at an international terminal." I cocked an eyebrow at him, half of me thinking this was a trick, and half of me thinking he'd been on my team all along.

"Whoa there, Hemingway. You sound suspiciously like you're coming over to my side."

"There are no sides, just the truth." He said it so flippantly, like he actually believed it.

"Of course there are sides!" I scoffed. After so many hours in here together, I hadn't peg him as an ignorant. "There has to be, because the truth is relative." Life had taught me that lesson again and again, more bitter and depressing each time.

"You learn that in Afghanistan?" He fired back. Definitely a trick. "Or was it Syria? Libya?" He listed off some the locations that the United States had a heavy military presence in, hoping he'd peg where I served without knowing. It was a wild shot in the dark, but it was creditable. Your occupation always changes you; how you look, how you act, how your respond to situations. It didn't take a genius, or even a green detective to see that I had training, and the most common form of training was military.

"You took a big chance just then, didn't you Ernest?" I acknowledged his leap. It would be dumb to assume that I could hide behind my lack of identification forever. Three hours seemed like a good record, but sooner or later they were going to find me. And this would be where they would start. I'd bet good money that there were three or four desk jockeys behind that glass right now, vying for my first hint. They could find you with so little these days...

"Is it going to pay off?" Hemingway pressed. It would probably be better to not say anything at all, to starve them of the satisfaction. But my butt was numb, and I was hungry, and I was sick and tired of sitting in this damn room. I wanted this to be over with, I wanted to go home.

"Yeah, alright." I shrugged flippantly, figuring to hell with it. "But listen, what I did today has nothing to do with my service." I didn't think my saying it would at all change what he thought, but I felt the need to specify, if only for myself. What I did in the military had nothing to do with what I did for those South Koreans. How I did it, was a little different. But that's not what he asked.

"Are you sure about that?" He leaned back in his chair and dropped his pencil in the folder. It was the kind of stance your dad would take when he didn't believe your excuse for being out after curfew.

"Are you about to brand me as some kind of terrorist because I helped Koreans? They're southerners!" My heart sped up as the thought left my mouth. Here was another thing I hadn't even thought about when I agreed to help them: what my own country would think of me once I had.

"No, I just think that a lot of good men and women go over there, see things, hear things that…change their relative truth." Ernest was picking his words carefully, probably because it was such a huge elephant to invite into the room. Every other TV show, every other movie, they were all about the grey area the US was living in fighting this war. I wasn't there to discuss the finer details of my stance on the matter, but if he said one thing out of place, you bet your ass I would pop off.

"You're not wrong," I countered, "but everything I did, I did because I believed it was the right thing to do."

"You gave a man a concussion—" He threw his hands in the air, seemingly much more exacerbated than he had been letting on. He was sick of being in here, I was sick of being in here, we should both just leave! But no…we had to account for every one of my sins.

My eye roll should have moved mountains as he went off on his spree. "And we're listing again."

"You stabbed a man with a stick—"

"A wand, and he's fine."

"You bribed a city employee—"

"Apparently, I'm not the first."

"And let's not forget the show coming up where you broke one man's jaw, and shattered another's arm." He flipped to the next page in the folder, revealing pictures of bruised faces, and medical charts outlining just how badly I'd ruined someone's time.

"Shattered is a harsh word." I turned away, not wanting to look at them.

"What word would you rather use?" He mused at my discomfort, but that wasn't exactly what it was. I'd done much worse to people. I will admit here and now that I've committed my fair share of killing in the line of duty…but what I did at LAX wasn't wrapped in any flag but my own. I was fighting for my life, and instinct kicked in. I didn't mean to hurt them so badly. At the time, all I could see were openings and soft spots, not faces or pain. They probably screamed, but I couldn't even tell you what it sounded like.

"Unavoidably hurt?" I offered instead.

"Oh really?" Ernest lifted a bushy brow at me, another 'I-don't-believe-you' face. "You don't think any of this could have been prevented?"

"We already went through this!" I snapped, letting my annoyance get the best of me. "I was not the instigator, I was the response. I did what I had to do based on the actions taken by that agency. But yes, this all could have been avoided had that company treated those boys like humans instead of singing dancing livestock." I pounded out the syllables on the table to make my point. He hadn't been there! He didn't see the state Bacon was in! That kid was destroyed, and his managers expected him to sing and dance for a million crazy girls? How was that humane? How was that compassionate? They deserved to lose whatever revenue they did by cancelling the show, and I was glad as hell those boys got home safely.

"I don't presume to understand the cultural differences here, and neither should you." Hemingway tried to curb my anger with some sort of lecture, but I battered it down with my familiarity.

"I did two tours in southeast Asia. I understand their commitment, and their silence. They suffer and they smile. It's how they are."

"If you wanted to advocate so badly on their behalf, why didn't you do it the right way? The—"

"The legal way?" I cut him off again, and he realized he may have pushed me too far. "The way that's as broken as it is ineffective? That is not my arena, and let's not forget that one of those boys had to go home to a dead mother. I stuck to what I was good at."

I told myself to take a deep breath. Breathe in, breathe out. My passion was getting the better of me, and god dammit, I did not want to go to jail. Hemingway, in turn, gazed at me from his side of the table, aware that I was too hot at the moment to poke, but still not getting up to finish this never ending interrogation.

The value of money was hardly measured by how much you had. It was the status, the opportunities, the threat of being without it, that made everyone learn its language. Things seemed cheaper in America, but that was because $500 was actually 500,000 won. Significantly less zeroes, but all the more influence.

After she, Harper, seized the bus, it was a quick trip to the airport. They didn't even have to hike up from the street. Apparently she'd paid enough in both money and threats to get what she wanted. Kyungsoo sat uncomfortably as he stared at the back of her head. She was so aggressive now, surrounded in bitter orders she was comfortable yet unwilling to give. It was told in every move of her body that she didn't want to keep going, that she wanted to be anywhere but on the bus with them…and yet she stayed. Junmyeon told them after he'd forked over all his cash that she resorted to violence so quickly and so easily, that it had to be habit. Normal people don't just automatically go from cash to fists in the same sentence unless they're used to it.

And then they all looked at Kyungsoo, questioning him! Like he had any answers to give. She was as much a mystery now as she was when he first saw her, perhaps even more so. When he couldn't offer them any insight, EXO turned to Suho, who just heaved a sigh. This was the price of getting home, he said. Condone the violence, or stay hostage to the expensive water and tiny bags of peanuts at the convention center.

It wasn't hard to figure out which everyone was going to choose.

Harper stood beside the door as they all filed off the bus, eyes ticking over them, doing the same headcount Suho constantly did. When they were all accounted for, she gestured to the driver. Most likely something obscene, because he furiously slammed the doors shut and plowed into traffic without bothering to look.

"She makes friends wherever she goes, doesn't she?" Junmyeon muttered as he passed out the passports, shooting D.O. a special kind of irritated look. Kyungsoo ignored it; something about 'definitely discussing it later'. Suho probably didn't believe him. As a matter of fact, none of them believed that he had no idea what kind of person she was. Even if he told them all about the girl he'd met that night, they would all tell him it was a different person.

The thought was still crossing his mind when Harper corralled them all into a circle and used Suho as her personal mouthpiece.

"Stick close to each other. Head straight for security. No matter what, don't stop for them, don't stop for me. You all get on that plane or so help me I will throw you back in that dressing room bathroom myself. Are we clear?" The boys all nodded. Her pep talks needed work, but she got her point across.

In a tight blob, they entered the international terminal. To try and seem inconspicuous, Harper lassoed herself around Baekhyun's arm, looking like a young mixed couple. He went rigid at her touch, but quickly relaxed into it as the automatic doors slid open for them. At least if shit hit the fan, everyone could count on Baek to survive, because there was nowhere safer to be than in her grasp.

The terminal was shaped like a giant hangar, with what seemed like miles between check in and security. They clopped along on the bright white tile, keeping a wary eye out for guards that could have followed them from the convention center.

Between the United and Singapore Airlines booths, a cluster of dark suits stood at the ready. They looked like a group of secret agents, earwigs and shades in sparkling shape. Harper immediately ducked her head into Baekhyun's shoulder, using his frame as a block to peak around. She didn't seem too intimidated, but EXO let out a collective gulp.

It was their security. The men who'd followed them from Seoul. They hadn't been at the arena because they were only scheduled to be there for show time, but Kyungsoo guessed that they'd been sent ahead the minute Harper busted down the dressing room door.

These were guys Kyungsoo met before he even debuted, men he'd known for years. All those caring feelings he couldn't find before came bubbling up to the surface, as Harper released Baek and stepped out of the safety of their group.

"Wait, no! Tell her to stop!" Jongdae hissed to Kyungsoo, but there was nothing he could do. She was out of arm's reach and calling out to her would only draw attention to themselves. "That's Kunwoo's brother!"

"We have to get to the gate, we have to. She said not to wait for her." Suho ordered even as their pace towards the line slowed.

"She's going to kill them!" Dae whined.

"She's not going to kill them." Kyungsoo quickly defended her, although he wasn't sure why it flew out without his say so.

"You said she stabbed a guy already!"

"With a chopstick!" He tried to downplay it.

"Uhh, that was a wand?" Jongin interjected, but Soo cut him off with a glare.

"She's dangerous!" Jongdae snapped, as if Kyungsoo had proved the point for him.

"Would you rather go back to the arena?" Suho intervened with a hiss. "Miss the funeral? Let Baekhyun get fired?" The members eyed each other, weighing the expressions of the other too see if they were willing to let their friends get beat up if it meant they'd get to go home.

"No…" Jongdae finally sighed. Junmyeon put a firm hand on his shoulder and squeezed, because he was feeling the pressure too, they could tell.

"Then we do this her way."

"I trust her." Baekhyun piped up, and everybody looked at him. He had a tendency to believe blindly, mainly because he was a puppy at heart, but it was a pure sort of opinion that tipped the balance just enough.

"Let's get home, and we'll apologize to Kunwoo later." Junmyeon finalized, and just like that-their group had momentum again.

"We've been in the US too long." Chanyeol quipped with a grin, tottering along at the back, having way too much fun for the situation. "We sound like Cowboys."

"Ugh," Minseok scoffed playfully, "someone get me a hanbok." The boys all chuckled, and were still chuckling right as the fighting started.

I will admit that my approach wasn't exactly subtle, but we were at the end of the line. All I had to do was distract the guards long enough for the boys to get through security. From there, the airport would keep them safe. There was no way LAX would allow a group of Koreans to detain another group of Koreans in their terminal. Laws and such.

I marched up to the suits as the boys headed for international waters. My head was down and my hands gripped the batons on my back belt loop. The only amount of surprise I had was that they'd think I was unarmed. It was too optimistic to think they didn't already have my picture, my name, and maybe even my service record. But my batons, they were my constant advantage. Small, concealable, and particularly destructive, I'd fought my way out of plenty of situations with my trusty sidekicks after the ammo ran dry. And now I would do it again, because the last thing I wanted was to be shot in the back by police for bringing a gun and using lethal force. They tended to shoot first in those kinds of situations.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the luxury of a full advance, because one of the guards caught sight of my Korean boy band hiding behind a Chinese tour group.

"Kim Junmyeon!" He shouted and I knew my time was up.

Batons make a pretty sound when whipped through the air. They sing a sort of harmonic tune until they're halted by something...

Like mine were by his face.

The other travelers in our immediate vicinity started to scream and run when I arched my second stick onto the raising arms of the next suit. I turned into the momentum and lashed my combat boot across his jaw, putting him down.

People were shouting, bodies were scrambling, out of the corner of my periphery I saw the boys being pushed along with the crowd, the airport staff ushering people away from the scuffle. I dodged the punch of a guard and swiped his feet out from under him with my baton. Before I could reset, another bear hugged me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides. I tested his balance by lifting both legs and bucking at the guard coming for my front. It pushed him back enough that he released me. With the drop I caught his arm, spun around his back, twisted and pulled. His arm made a sick popping sound and he cried out. Was it out of socket? Probably. Was it broken? Most likely. But it put him out of commission and I kicked him out of my way.

They came two at a time then, and I lost all visual on the boys, too busy trying not to be beaten to a pulp. Figuring I needed a leg up, I ran and jumped on top of the closest ticket counter, swinging my baton along the side, making them jump back and give me a pocket of space. TSA was shutting down the checkpoint, but I couldn't see my guys, so I hoped and I assumed that they'd made it in.

Focusing back on the people who were trying to end me, I dropped to a crouch, supported myself with a hand and bicycle kicked the guards in front of me. It was a game of bob and weave at this point. I had to dodge their grabs and holds. If they got their hands on me, I'd be finished. Despite the fact that I was stronger than most men I knew, I wasn't enough to fight off the weight of five angry Asians. So when I'd made my opening, I lept from the counter and took off towards the exit. The boys were taken care of, it was time to get the hell outta there. But before I could taste sweet freedom, two guards stepped in my path, and another two flanked my right. I veered to the left but backtracked when I saw two more. They had me surrounded, and it wasn't just bodyguards. TSA finally joined the party, which was unpleasant since I knew they were armed.

It's fine, I told myself. I'd fought my way out of worse situations. Couldn't really think of any at the moment, but I'd make do. I had my batons, my objective was met...it was a win for the most part. I wind milled my sticks, demanding more room as they pushed in, and was just starting to consider the consequences of getting caught when my whole world went ironclad. My muscles clenched like there was a vice on each limb and joint, and any movement I had went into arching my back involuntarily. The first thing that came to mind while I was unable to move was, 'electrocution'.

They tased me!

If you've ever wondered what it's like to be hit with a stun gun, I can tell you it's not fun. Find a thesaurus, and look up the word 'awful'. Seriously, being tased is a bad bad time. I remembered the first time I'd ever been volted to high heaven as I laid writhing on the ground in the airport: it was during hell week at boot camp. I was still coming off the high of beating almost everyone at the obstacle course. While I didn't get first, I at least beat Tinker, and the other ass wipes who still liked to chant 'Here comes the Baroness' when I entered the room. We were ushered into our classroom where the Drill Sergeant had laid out mats like for gymnasts. He told us to break off by squad and take a cushion. Tinker and the other soldiers in my unit crowded towards the back, no worries past what MRE they were gunning to grab at lunch.

I'd known Tinker since my freshman year of high school. We'd had homeroom together, we played sports together, we went to prom together, we even enlisted together. Now we were getting tased together.

He linked arms with me on my right, giving me an apologetic grin, and another guy took my left. My DS stood behind us and counted down from three, two, one-

Have you seen that YouTube video of the cadet who grabs the assistants junk while she's stunned? That's pretty much what it was like. And it wasn't a feeling I ever wanted to experience again, yet here I was: in the arms of the LAPD, being dragged out of LAX, the toes of my boots bouncing over the gravel. Here I was with Hemingway, sweating out the end of this devastating interview.

"And that's it?" He asked.

"That's it." Retelling it all made it sound completely unbelievable, but I was used to outrageous things being the truth.

"It's quite the tale." The old detective shook his head tiredly, and shut his folder with a slap. Everything that I told him could be corroborated with surveillance footage. Well, everything but the bus, but that didn't count. Still, one girl breaking out nine pop stars, using only batons and harry potter merch?

"If you sell the movie rights, I expect a cut of the profits." I joked.

"There is one thing I still don't know." He leaned in on his elbow, giving me the same kind of look he gave when he guessed I'd served in the military. It was a look only someone who'd been around the block a few times had, the one that listened to their gut more than their evidence file.

"What's that?" I asked uncomfortably.

"What was your exit strategy?"

Our final staring contest was interrupted by the door suddenly flying open, and both our surprised faces when an exquisitely dressed Asian man and a briefcase walked in.

"My client won't be saying another word." He had a high voice, but in a tall, 'I-own-this-building' sort of way. He also had impeccable timing because I was just about to throw myself at Hemingway and get locked up for life instead of answering that question.

"Your client?" Hemingway twisted around in his chair to gape at the intruder.

"Yes, I am her attorney."

"My attorney?" I shared Hemingway's surprise. As far as everyone here was concerned, I'd waived my right to counsel, and it wasn't like I had a lawyer on retainer to call anyway. Also, was he not like...nine hours late?

"Yes." The lawyer answered both of our questions, and then stepped back, gesturing for Hemingway to stand. He was jockeying for the detective's seat, and it was quite the dismissal. Ernest was clearly offended, but not even he could sass at attorney-client privilege. So he stood with a huff, giving both of us the angry eye before marching out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Personally, I don't think it was fair, since all I'd been was compliant. But I supposed he was judging me by my company.

"Hey, I didn't-" I started to explain that I neither called an attorney, nor could I afford one, but the man held up a finger to silence me. We lingered in a choked quiet for several moments before I heard a soft 'click' from the speakers in the ceiling, the flip of a switch. He had us wait for them to turn off the recorder before he grabbed Hemingway's abandoned chair and quickly made himself at home, as straight backed and formal as I was used to. The dreadful thought that he was an old friend of an old family I used to know crossed my mind and made me nervous, but I caught sight of a Taegukgi pin on his fancy leather case, which only put that fear to rest and raised another one.

"You're Korean?" I established, whether he would silence me again or not would cost him his finger, and I hope the glare I shot him was enough to convey that.

"Very astute." He brushed off the accusation in my voice, unloading a file similar to Hemingway's, only instead of English, it was in squiggles. "I'm South Korean, it that was your next question." He mused, carefully insulting me in the process.

"It wasn't." I snapped. I don't know, I just figured, maybe it was common sense? I kidnap South Koreans, a South Korean lawyer shows up. Doesn't that just make sense? Which meant he was intentionally being an asshole. I knew lawyers were typically dastardly, all of the JAG stiffs could attest to that, but to their own clients even?

Better question: Was I even his client?

"Good," He continued through my glare, which was a considerable feat, "at least this conversation won't be as dull as it will be short."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I could feel the snob in me starting to rise up. I was too drained to deal with this, not after three hours of Hemingway's monotonous interrogation. It'd left me too brain dead to navigate safely through legal town. "Now, what did you tell him?" He asked, pen poised over paper.

"Are you even a real lawyer?" I blurted, because I mean, he hadn't even introduced himself and he was expecting me to launch into that whole story again just like that? I don't think so. Instead of answering, he plopped down his pen and went back into his bag for a small tablet that he propped up in front of me. "What the hell is this?"

"This," He sighed as he pushed the on button, "is your only chance. And yes," the screen filled with the face of another Asian man who smiled at me politely from behind a big desk, "I am a real lawyer. I'm just not yours." He leaned back in his stolen chair smugly as the tiny man on the screen called for my attention.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Harper." He greeted, folding his hands neatly on his tabletop; an unfamiliar outline of cityscape scrawling out the window behind him.

"Uhh, it's morning, and how do you know my name?" I looked between the tablet and the lawyer uncertainly. Which one was I supposed to look at?

"I've been hearing your name all day, and pardon my time zone difference. I've just had lunch. Did you have breakfast?" His tone was pleasant, like having a chat with an old friend. It irked me that he knew my name when not even Hemingway did. Was this man really better connected than America's finest?

"Oh yes," I rolled my eyes, "The LAPD served me a steaming bowl of incarceration, an eventful side of interrogation...and bad coffee." The tiny man laughed out loud, which I wasn't particularly fond of. My sarcasm wasn't supposed to be funny, it was supposed to be insulting damnit! "Who are you and what do you want?" I asked, just to stop him from laughing.

"My name is Kim Young-min, and I am the CEO of SM Entertainment." I was quick to put together the dots, but I still couldn't believe it. So soon? It hadn't even been twenty-four hours and here was the big boss, ready to finish me.

"Are you here to sue me or something?" I tried to put up a brave front, but in the back of my mind, I was shaking. How was I supposed to get out of this? This wasn't something my batons could fix. "Because, go right ahead. I got nothing-" Maybe if I played strong, they would think I was so. It was how I lived most of my life, fake it til you make it. But whatever anxiety I possessed was starting to come out on my brow.

"I believe the proper term is, 'I have nothing'," He corrected my English, which was as funny as it was sad. I probably only laughed because I was so used to it. In Japan, they would correct me all the time, baffled by how I couldn't speak my own language, let alone another one. "But no, I'm not planning on taking any legal action against you in regards to the rescue of my employees yesterday."

"Rescue?" His choice of word was particular, and I didn't think he was the type to not prepare beforehand. He looked well groomed and powerful. Not like a man who was going to misuse a word that could very clearly take this from one side of the scale to the other.

"Of course!" He exclaimed. "The American branch of SM went too far! They were clearly acting on their own, without my authorization. What kind of animals refuse to let a friend attend their own mother's funeral?" I glanced at the lawyer, but he seemed completely uninterested in the exchange. Did he think it was outrageous? Because he seemed like the type who would keep someone from their mother's funeral…just saying.

"So it's the American's fault?" My lip curled at his explanation. "How original." I mean, the whole world was blaming us for everything, why not tack on this as well?

"The fault lies with me, as I am the head of the company." He emphasized 'fault' like he was a little insulted I even insinuate he run his company any other way than wholesomely. "I'm not here to reprimand you, Ms. Harper. I'm here to reward you."

"Reward me?" I tested, but he nodded adamantly. "For kidnapping your employees?"

"Rescuing." He held up a finger in correction.

This had never happened to me before. I didn't know how to handle someone paying me when I was sure they were going to punish me. You're supposed to just go with stuff like that, right? I was still uncuffed, but it wasn't like I could fight him through the screen. Lawyer man though…

"Okay well, I like money." I threw out. It was worth a shot at least. He was offering, after all!

"I'd like for you to come work for us."

"Money and food-I'm sorry, what?" I was still listing the things I liked when he threw out that bombshell.

"I'm giving you the opportunity to move to South Korea and work for SM." He repeated himself, a smug grin on his thin lips.

"Um, how about a timeshare or something instead?" I chuckled nervously, a part of me already discouraged that I wasn't going to get a lump sum.

"We have a very lucrative benefits package." He sounded like the host on a game show, presenting me with what I could win if I picked the correct door. In this case though, he was only offering me one door. "We would pay for your relocation, plus your room and board for the life of your contract." Contract piqued my interest. There weren't very many jobs that required that kind of thing anymore, at least not in the fast food industry I'd been in for the last few months.

"And how long would that be exactly?" I asked, wondering if it was like the book I'd signed for the military.

"Thirteen years."

"THIRTEEN YEARS!" I shouted. The lawyer jumped, and I swear there was a tremor against the glass, like someone was ready to sprint in if they had to. "You are out of your damn mind!"

"I would go ahead and put in your two weeks' notice for you, but...you are unemployed. Quite frequently it seems." His eyes moved away from the camera, and to something else on his screen. Information of some sort that was undoubtedly about me. How could he know that I was jobless already? That only happened yesterday. They couldn't even have gotten me out of their system that quickly! I clamped my mouth shut, suddenly unsure of what I should or shouldn't say. I hated this type of thing, where you reveal everything about yourself in two or three little words. I wasn't the type to pick up on those, but apparently he was. Apparently this CEO Kim was a regular spy master.

"The world is quite a different place after coming home from war, isn't it?" He looked back at me, and the mood suddenly darkened.

"Go fuck yourself." I gritted. There was no way in hell I was going to follow him down that rabbit hole, not when he had absolutely no idea who I was, or what I'd gone through. Sure, every male in his country was required to serve, but it wasn't the same. He didn't have the blood of hundreds on his hands, or the nightmares to back them up. Who was he to pretend like he could compare? "The family we leave behind often put down their own struggles to help us take up ours." I reached forward and snatched the tablet from the table, and brought it right up to my eyes.

"Listen, whoever the fuck you are, if you so much as touch my family-"

"You should congratulate me, Ms. Harper." He cut me off, knowing he was perfectly safe to do so, which made me more pissed off and more powerless to do anything about it. "I am now the proud new owner of your mother's mortgage loan. It seems she is behind on a payment, or three." I dropped the tablet back to the table and stared dumb struck at his tiny manipulative face.

"What…" I knew my mother had been having some issues. It was difficult to be a single mom, and have an unplanned bird back in the nest. But I had no idea she was that far behind.

Or he could be lying. That was always an option.

"I could very easily transfer your first paycheck, which is considerable, to offset the balance. You'll find that I am a very generous credit company."

He had me and he knew it. It would take a sociopath to not agree to save their mother. While I did sometimes consider it, I cared way too much to tell the world to burn.

"How do I make you go away?" I said as lowly as I could. It felt horrid, playing like I had anything to bargain with when he clearly held all the cards and knew it.

"You come to Seoul." He said easily.

"And you'll leave my mother alone?" I clarified for no other reason than to hear him say it.

"Of course! And, if it makes it easier, I won't terminate EXO's contracts, and you can work with them." Those were the boys he was talking about, the boys I'd just jeopardized my freedom to save. They were called EXO. I remembered the faces that I'd put on that plane: Kyungsoo, Cheekbones, Bacon, the tall one, the cat-eyed kid, the sheep…the other tall one. EXO is what their fans chanted for them, it was who they were. And yet-

"Terminate their contracts?"

"Yes," He said it nonchalantly, not like destroying the boys that I would rather see content than not was beyond reproach, "I am perfectly within my rights to do so, with them refusing to perform and such. We lost millions."

"You are one twisted fuck, you know that, right?" I couldn't help myself, it sort of just slipped out. Seriously? He's putting up a false front by telling me he wants to reward me, then demands I move across the world, blackmails my mother to do it, and then says he'll throw in the futures of nine other people for giggles. He was demented!

"Do try to speak like a lady, Ms. Harper. You represent SM now. Lawyer Kwik will take you through the next steps, getting a visa and-" He started to arrange the things on his desk, and at his name, the attorney came to life. He shuffled papers around like a pro, and the briefcase was back, but I quickly held up both hands.

"Wait, I didn't say yes."

"But of course you did." CEO Kim returned knowingly. "You all but screamed for someone to save you from yourself. Why else would you have gone into that airport with no intention of leaving?"