Mr. Mafia : Mercenary Love

"Your total is 25 dollars, Sir."

I looked at the man in front of me with a searching gaze. A muscular body in a shabby and messy suit, he had a wound on his arm that was enough to horrify anyone who saw it. I didn't dare ask, I pretended not to know.

"Just take the change," the man said.

I was stunned, he handed me $1000. Is there something wrong with this man's brain?

"B-but... You handed..."

"Yes, I'm not stupid. Think of it as today's rent," the man said.

I raised an eyebrow, who the hell is this guy? I didn't feel like I was renting anything to him. Why did he say that to me?

Just as I was about to ask him what he meant, there was a sudden rush of footsteps towards the supermarket where I worked. The man in front of me casually looked in the window and picked up the cigarettes he had just paid for. Then he went into the staff room, ignoring my call to him.

"Hey, sir! Hey! Oh my God, don't go in there."

The door to the supermarket opened loudly, revealing several people with fierce expressions and guns in their hands.

"Hey young man, did you see a man go by or come in here? He's got a wound on his hand, a tattoo of a gun on his left chest, and he's about six feet tall."

I was stunned, the characteristics these people mentioned were exactly the same as the man from earlier. I was now in a dilemma: should I be honest or lie? But my safety is also at risk if I dare to lie.

"Why, did you see him or not?"

I shuddered in fear, this was the first time I was confronted with dozens of thugs pointing questions at me. I nodded reluctantly and looked at them in horror.

Am I going to end my life for someone I don't even know? Me, Zharies Ernaln, a poor 19-year-old orphan, was in danger of being killed by a group of thugs just to save a thug I had only met 5 minutes ago.

"I... i saw him."

"Really? Where is he?" one of the thugs asked.

I stopped, they looked at me like dogs interrogating a criminal. I raised my hand to point in the direction the thug had gone.

"H-he went that way, he wanted to come in here but he didn't," I said, pointing outside the supermarket.

The thugs looked at each other for a moment and then nodded. Then they left the supermarket, not caring that they had made a mess. It was lucky for me that my confession was easy for them to believe.

"Fyuh."

I wiped the sweat from my brow and breathed a sigh of relief, I don't know what possessed me to dare tell them that. They could have disbelieved me and killed me on the spot.

"I'm glad you're on my side."

The man came out of the staff room, walking unsteadily, holding his wound. Then he took a bandage and some medicine from the supermarket shelf and sat down casually near the cash register.

"Hey you, what the---"

"Don't babble so much, I put enough money in the till for a reason," he said as he wrapped his hand in a bandage.

Then, with some difficulty, he took off his shirt. His injured hand must have hurt.

"Tsk, move your body," I said in an annoyed tone.

I helped his undress and saw that he had a bullet wound in his abdomen. My eyes widened and I almost fell over, but I kept my body in position so as not to overreact.

"Don't be like that, it's just a small wound," the man said.

His expression said it, but his sweat and pale face seemed to contradict his words.

"You should go to the hospital," I said hesitantly.

The man looked at me, groaned softly and took something out of his pocket. He threw it at me without any guilt.

"Ouch!"

"You're so picky, are you stupid? Going to the hospital is like giving my life to those bastards. Take me to your house tonight. Give me a minute, and I can get these bullets out before you finish closing up the shop. I have experience with this."

I grimaced as I picked up the item he had thrown at me. It was a thick, heavy envelope and I had no idea what was inside. When I opened it, I saw that it was filled with dozens of money. I guess this guy wasn't playing around with his words.

"But that wound of yours..."

"I hired you as my personal nurse, just do what I ask," the man said with a grimace.

I didn't answer his words and hurriedly helped him treat the wounds on several parts of his body, that night I asked my boss for permission to leave early, explaining that I wasn't feeling well.

"Ugh, your body is so heavy," I complained as I carried him.

"Shut up, it's just your body that's too small," the man said in a dismissive tone.

At his request, I took this man to my house, no matter that he was in a cheating mood. But judging from his current state, he couldn't possibly be pulling this stunt.

"What's wrong with your face? Why do you look so weird and stupid?"

I clucked repeatedly, how could I not? This guy's body scent is really bothering me. No, he doesn't have a problem with body scent, but the sensual scent emanating from his body bothers me.

A broad chest with tattoos that were both sexy and ferocious, a muscular athletic body that was over six feet tall, even when he was sweating he still smelled good, his slightly long hair with a firm jaw made me try not to stare at his face all the time. Damn it, I've done it again.

"What's wrong with your face? Why are you looking at me like that?" He asked.

I hastily gathered my thoughts. It would be ridiculous if he hit me tonight if I showed my desire for him.

No, you're not wrong, I'm a boy. And your prejudice against me is not wrong. I have sexual tendencies that could be considered deviant. But I have a great secret behind them.

"Don't ask too many questions, lie down and I'll prepare you something to eat," i said as I walked towards the kitchen.

The man just laughed and sneered. "Your house is so small, even I have to duck to avoid hitting the ceiling of your room."

I then brought him the side dishes I had reheated, they were supposed to be for my side dishes tomorrow, but I gave them to him anyway.

"What's your name, uncle?"

The man immediately spat out his food, choked and drank the cup of water in front of him. I looked at him strangely, what was wrong with my language?

"What did you say? Uncle? How old are you?" he asked.

"Errr... 19."

"Good, I'm 24, cheeky," the man said.

I laughed awkwardly, but this man's face was so extravagant, I naturally thought he was 30 years old. Even though he's handsome, he looks like a tough mobster in a box office film.

"B-but... You look like a 30-year-old mobster, sorry if I'm wrong, but just blame it on your face," I chided not wanting to be blamed.

The man who was chewing glanced at me while continuing to chew, he could change his expression from angry to relaxed that easily.

"That's right, I'm a mobster. It turns out you have good instincts in judging other people's professions," he said.

I gaped in shock, "what, you're a mobster?!"