Chapter 1 #4
They don’t like that. Two of them grab my arms, trying to pin me. Another one steps in, his fist driving into my ribs right where that guy in the ring hit me earlier. The pain doubles, tripling the earlier ache. I gasp, my knees buckling.
Perfect.
I let my legs give out completely, my full weight dropping. The sudden shift catches them off guard. Their grips loosen just enough. I wrench my right arm free and swing it up, my fist catching one of them square in the nose. Blood spurts. He howls, stumbling back.
The other one still has my left arm, but he’s off balance now. I use it, planting my feet and yanking him forward. He trips over my leg and goes down hard, his face meeting the concrete with a satisfying crunch.
I’m free. For about two seconds.
They’re regrouping, circling me again. Taewoo is shouting something from the sidelines, his face red and furious. I don’t wait to hear what he’s saying. I fake a stumble, my hand going to my ribs like I’m hurt worse than I am.
They buy it. Of course. They surge forward, thinking they’ve got me.
I wait until they’re close, until I can see the smug satisfaction in their eyes. Then I lash out with my foot, catching the nearest one right in the face. His head snaps back, and he drops like a sack of rice.
I don’t stick around to admire my work. I roll to the side, coming up in a crouch, and then I’m running.
“Get him!” Taewoo’s voice screeches behind me. “Don’t let him get away!”
I sprint for the mouth of the alley, my boots pounding against the pavement. Behind me, I hear the thunder of footsteps as they give chase. My ribs scream with every breath, but I push through it. Pain is just information. It can wait.
I burst out of the alley and hang a sharp left, nearly colliding with a drunk couple stumbling out of a bar. They shout something at me, but I’m already past them. The thugs aren’t far behind. I can hear them crashing through the same space, their heavy breathing and cursing getting closer.
I duck down another alley, this one narrower. Garbage bags are piled against one wall, and I vault over them without breaking stride. One of the thugs isn’t as lucky. I hear him crash into them, the sound of splitting plastic and his muffled cursing.
One down.
I take another corner, then another. The alleys in this part of the city are a maze if you don’t know them, but I’ve spent enough time running through them to have the layout memorized. I know which ones dead-end, which ones have fences I can climb, which ones connect to the main streets.
I spot a chain-link fence ahead, maybe six feet tall. I don’t slow down. I hit it at full speed, my fingers grabbing the metal and hauling myself up. My ribs protest violently, the pain sharp enough to make my vision blur for a second. I grit my teeth and keep climbing.
I’m over the top and dropping to the other side when I hear them reach the fence. They’re slower, heavier. By the time they start climbing, I’m already running again.
I cut through a narrow gap between two buildings, so tight I have to turn sideways to fit. My jacket scrapes against the brick on both sides. Behind me, I hear one of the thugs try to follow and get stuck. His frustrated yell echoes off the walls.
Two down.
I emerge into a small courtyard, cluttered with broken furniture and old crates. I don’t hesitate. I grab the edge of a dumpster and use it to boost myself onto a low roof. My arms shake with the effort, my ribs screaming, but I pull myself up.
From here, I can see a fire escape on the building across the courtyard. It’s a jump, maybe eight feet. Doable. Probably.
I back up a few steps, then run and leap. For a second, I’m airborne, the ground far below. Then my hands catch the railing of the fire escape. The impact jars my shoulders, but I hold on. I swing my legs up and over, landing on the metal grating with a clang that echoes through the courtyard.
Below, the remaining thugs burst into the courtyard. They look up, spotting me. One of them starts climbing the dumpster, trying to follow.
I’m already climbing the fire escape, taking the stairs two at a time. My lungs are burning, my ribs feel like they’re being stabbed with every breath, but I don’t stop. I can’t.
I reach the top of the fire escape and haul myself onto the roof.
It’s flat, covered in gravel and dotted with old air conditioning units.
I sprint across it, heading for the far edge.
There’s another building close by, maybe a three-foot gap.
I jump it without thinking, landing hard on the other side.
I keep running, crossing two more rooftops before I finally stop. I press myself against an air conditioning unit, my chest heaving, and peer over the edge of the building.
Below, in the street, I can see the thugs. They’re scattered, pointing in different directions, arguing. Taewoo is in the middle of them, gesturing wildly. Even from up here, I can tell he’s furious.
They split up, running off in different directions to search. None of them think to look up.
Idiots.
I wait until they’re out of sight, then I let myself slide down to sit with my back against the air conditioning unit.
My whole body is shaking, adrenaline and exhaustion mixing into a jittery cocktail.
I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out my cigarettes.
The pack is a little crushed from the fight, but they’re intact.
I light one, my hands surprisingly steady, and take a long drag. The smoke fills my lungs, harsh and familiar. I exhale slowly, watching it drift up into the night sky.
Damn.
I was only at that apartment for a month. Barely had time to unpack properly. And now I’m going to have to move again. Clear out my stuff, find a new place, start the whole process over. It’s exhausting just thinking about it.
I’ll have to go back in the morning, once they give up the search for the night. Sneak in, grab my things, and get out before they stake the place out again. Though knowing Taewoo, he’ll probably have someone watching the building by dawn.
I take another drag, then switch positions, lying down flat on the gravel. The stones dig into my back through my jacket, uncomfortable and grounding. I stare up at the sky. The city’s light pollution washes out most of the stars, leaving just a hazy orange glow.
My ribs throb. My jaw aches where that thug hit me. My shoulders are sore from all the climbing. And underneath it all, that familiar restless buzz is still there, unsatisfied and gnawing.
Sexually frustrated. Bruised. Tired. And now I’m going to have to sleep outside tonight.
Perfect. Just fucking perfect.