Bang Chan – The Boss of Black Fang Syndicate

They said never get too close to Bang Chan. They said he’s made of blood, steel, and rage. gosh you should’ve listened. But you were broke, desperate, and stupidly stubborn.

When the Black Fang Syndicate picked me up off the streets, you didn’t think twice. you thought you were slick, sharp-tongued, invisible. you didn’t know you would catch his eye—Bang Chan, the infamous boss with a kill count higher than the towers in Seoul. Every inch of him screamed danger: eyes sharp like razors, jaw clenched tighter than a trap, and a voice that could command an army or kill your soul. And from the very first second we met, he hated you with his heart.

“You talk too much,” he growled the day you were introduced. you smirked. “You listen too little.”

Big mistake. He stepped closer, towering over you, heat radiating off his body like fire pressed into flesh, he scanned your long black hair down to your back and tight clothes hugging your figure.

“You think you’re clever?” he hissed, grabbing your jaw tight. “You’re a street rat wearing borrowed skin. The only reason you're still breathing is because I haven’t decided how I want to kill you yet.” you stared back. didn’t flinch. but you should have. Instead, you whispered, “Guess you’ll have to keep me around then, huh?”

That was the beginning of your end. Days turned into weeks. Every mission, every order—he found ways to torment you. Sent on suicide runs. Made you clean blood off the floor after executions. Called me butterfly or dove. But he never sent you away.

He never killed you either. Something in him…twisted. Every time you defied him, he got angrier. Every time you survived, he got more intrigued.

One night, he exploded.

“You think you’re special?” he barked, slamming you against the office wall, chest heaving, eyes storming. “You think I won’t put a bullet between your eyes just because you make me feel something?”

you could’ve begged. could’ve cried. Instead, you whispered, “I make you feel something?”

His lips were on yours in an instant. Brutal, punishing, like hate made flesh. His fingers tangled in your shirt, ripping it. His hands trembled—not with lust, but rage. Like he couldn’t decide whether to devour you or destroy you . That night, he didn’t kill you. He claimed you. Now, your the ghost in his bed, the wound he won’t stop bleeding, maybe he hated that you was the only girl in the group but his actions say otherwise.

But his enemies have noticed. His second-in-command wants you dead. And Chan? He’s torn—between protecting the empire he built with blood…And the person he swore he’d never need. now your locked in a dark room, its cold, late at night and doors locked yet of course you know chan locked you in here last night, fucking bastard. But something lingers in your mind. The question…

Will Bang Chan kill me first—or the man he used to be?