“We sold ourselves, Reshmi,” he’d whispered, the memory sending a shiver down her spine. “All seven of us.”
The air in the high-rise penthouse was thick with tension, smelling of expensive cologne and gun oil. Reshmi stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the Seoul skyline, her heart hammering against her ribs. She wasn't supposed to be here—she was supposed to be safe. But safety had vanished the night Yoongi, with a terrifyingly calm stare, had told her about their blood pact.
Reshmi knew what that meant. Their enemy was close. The seven members—the seven deadly sins they often jokingly, yet darkly, referred to themselves—were in danger, and they had been trying to protect her from the fallout.
The sound of leather creaking made her turn. Yoongi entered, his black leather jacket reflecting the neon lights from the city outside. His eyes were cold, tired, and utterly captivating.
"We won't let him get to you," Yoongi said firmly. "We would never give up on you, Reshmi".