Chapter 9 #2
Is this really the best you’ve got? I’m insulted.
One afternoon, I spot a group of four watching Wooil’s shop from a parked van. I wait until they’re distracted, then I slash their tires and spray-paint a message across the side of the vehicle in bright red: “Try harder, daddy.”
Wooil nearly has a stroke when he sees it later.
He drags me into the back room and goes on a ten-minute rant about how I’m going to get both of us killed, how I’m playing with fire, how Suha is going to murder me slowly when he catches me.
I just laugh and steal another can of coffee from his fridge.
The thing is, I know Wooil’s right. I know I’m pushing my luck, know that every time I humiliate Suha’s men I’m adding fuel to a fire that’s already burning hot.
The next time Suha gets his hands on me, he’s going to make me pay for every single note, every ribbon, every taunt.
He’s going to punish me in ways that will probably leave me unable to walk for a week.
And that knowledge makes my blood sing.
This is the best high I’ve ever experienced.
Better than fighting in the ring, better than the rush of adrenaline when I’m running from loan sharks, better than any drug I’ve ever tried.
Playing this game with Suha, pushing him, provoking him, knowing he’s out there somewhere getting angrier and angrier—it’s intoxicating.
I’m not stupid enough to think I can keep this up forever. Eventually, Suha will catch me. He has too many resources, too many men, too much reach. But until then, I’m going to enjoy every second of this.
The game becomes my favorite pastime.
Every morning I wake up with this electric anticipation buzzing under my skin, wondering where Suha’s men will pop up today, how I’ll shake them off, what kind of message I’ll leave behind. It’s addictive in a way that makes my old vices look pathetic in comparison.
I start keeping track of how many of his goons I take down.
By the end of the first week, I’m at eleven.
By the second, I’ve hit twenty-three. Some of them I encounter multiple times, which is almost insulting because it means they haven’t learned their lesson yet.
There’s this one guy with a scar across his eyebrow who I’ve knocked out three separate times now.
The third time, I leave him propped against a dumpster with a note that reads “Third time’s the charm?
Guess not.” and a little hand-drawn frowny face for good measure.
Wooil stops letting me use the back entrance to his shop after I lead a chase through his alley that results in his recycling bins getting destroyed.
He makes me come through the front like a normal person and threatens to ban me entirely if I bring any more heat to his door.
I promise to be more careful, which we both know is a lie, but he lets me hang around anyway because underneath all his complaining, he’s worried about me.
He’s not wrong to be worried. I can feel the bond pulling at me more insistently as the days pass, this nagging ache that settles deep in my chest and won’t quite go away.
My body is starting to protest the separation, craving Suha’s pheromones, his touch, the brutal satisfaction only he can provide.
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with my skin feeling too tight, my blood too hot, and I know it’s the bond demanding I go back to him.
But I’m stubborn as hell, and the game is too entertaining to quit.
Besides, I can practically feel Suha’s fury building with each passing day, each mocking note, each humiliated henchman who has to report back that they lost me again.
I imagine him sitting in that expensive office of his, jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth, listening to yet another excuse about how I gave them the slip.
The mental image makes me grin every single time.
I start getting creative with my escape routes.
One afternoon I lead a group of four through a busy marketplace, weaving between vendors and shoppers, then duck into a restaurant kitchen and out the back while they’re still trying to navigate the crowd.
Another time I climb onto a moving delivery truck and ride it halfway across the city before jumping off and disappearing into a subway station. I’m having the time of my life.
The notes get progressively more obnoxious.
“Miss me yet?” “Your boys need better cardio,” and “Tell your boss I said hi.” I know I’m being a brat, know I’m pushing every button Suha has, but that’s exactly the point.
I want him angry. I want him furious. I want him so worked up that when he finally catches me, he’ll make me pay for every single taunt in the most deliciously brutal way possible.
Because that’s the thing Wooil doesn’t quite understand.
I’m not running from Suha because I’m scared of him or because I want to stay away.
I’m running because the chase itself is foreplay, because every day I evade him is another layer of tension building between us, another degree of heat that will eventually explode when we collide again.
And honestly? I don’t want to stay ahead of him forever. The bond won’t let me even if I wanted to. Already I can feel my body starting to rebel against the separation, getting more restless, more agitated, more desperate for his pheromones.
But until that moment comes, I’m going to milk this for everything it’s worth.
I take down another pair of his guys outside my gym, leaving them tied up with their own belts and a note that says Getting sloppy. Expected better. One of them wakes up while I’m still writing and tries to grab me, so I knock him out again and add a postscript: P.S. This one’s extra stupid.
The bond pulls harder that night, making my chest ache and my skin feel feverish.
I lie in my shitty apartment staring at the ceiling, chain-smoking cigarettes and trying to ignore the way my body is screaming at me to go find Suha, to submit, to let him claim me again.
My hands shake slightly as I light another cigarette, and I know it’s not nicotine withdrawal.
I need him. The bond makes sure I can’t forget it, this constant awareness of his absence like a missing tooth my tongue keeps finding.
But admitting defeat and crawling back to him now would ruin all the fun I’ve been having.
So I grit my teeth and ride out the discomfort, telling myself I can handle a few more days, a few more games.