Welcome to Your Last Race (Street Racers #3)

38. Yeeun

Dad left first, then Hoseok.

Before Yoongi can go, I stop him at the door. Jimin's with him. It's unavoidable, I guess. The things he told me a few days ago are stuck in my head. The whole 'I admire you' thing.

"Something wrong?" Yoongi asks.

"It's about what I texted you earlier."

He nods. "You wanna do it now?"

"Do you have time?"

"To bring down an asshole? Always."

I glance at Jimin, wondering how he fits in that picture.

"If you don't want him to-" Yoongi starts saying, but Jimin interrupts.

"I won't say a word, but let me watch. Please."

Yoongi looks back at me. I shrug.

"Fine, Park. You're in."

He looks genuinely... genuinely satisfied. Like a kid.

I run back to the living room and start gathering my things. "I'll be back soon."

"Are you going to play the bad guy now?" Jungkook asks.

I was going to play the bad guy the moment his father showed up in our place. Then he talked shit and insulted me. His father never seemed like a regular – or good, for that matter – person to me.

"I'm going to do extensive research," I say. Throwing one arm around him, I give him a peck, and wave at everyone else on my way out. "See you guys!"

I take my car, following them straight to the big – but not the biggest – headquarter Yoongi's got around. The first time I was here was when Jungkook got hurt, in the whole mess with Hyoshin. It doesn't seem as busy now. Equally bright on the inside and secretive on the outside, but not many of his workers are running around.

"You don't know anything about Jungkook's father?" Yoongi asks, leading the way through the maze of the halls.

"Nothing," I say. "Neither does Jungkook, really. His family was never mentioned. His job. Nothing."

Yoongi smiles. "Good. I like it better when I don't know anything about people. Leaves more room to decide for myself what is true and what isn't."

There's a room, bright with white light. Two computers, two desks, two chairs. A white board on the right wall. Not many distractions. Nicely organized notes, pens and post-notes on each desk.

"Okay," Yoongi says. "You know what to do."

Jimin, as promised, stays quiet. He leans against the wall, right by the door.

"I've done this once," I protest, even though I know exactly what to do.

"Come on, Yeeun." Yoongi chuckles. "You're not gonna fool me. You sat in a room like that for thirteen hours then and you found out 80% of the crap I needed on that drug dealer."

"But it was four years ago."

"Three at most," he says. "Just do it. I'll be doing the same thing next to you. In three hours, we'll know the most important shit. I'll do the dirtiest job. I just need your brains."

I glance at Jimin again. For some reason, his presence here now makes me feel more powerful. The idea that he admired me to the point he would do anything to work with me. He wanted to work with me to try and get into my head, I've figured as much. And while I don't want to make my whole life about this, about being a criminal mastermind, it could have a small, nice spot in my life. A part-time job.