2. Monroe
I take off down the alley.
I’m not exactly dressed for any kind of strenuous physical activity.
I’m wearing the same outfit I wore to school, deciding it was appropriate for a first date with a guy I was only lukewarm interested in meeting—a long poplin skirt that reaches my ankles, an asymmetrical-cut blouse that I’ve tucked into the waistband, and some flats that are comfy but not made for running.
Bogged down by the bunch of fabric that’s my skirt and the flats that immediately start slipping off my feet, I don’t make it far.
Not even to the end of the alleyway.
The tattooed man’s crew are much faster. Two of them sprint after me. Strong arms lock around my waist and I’m half dragged down.
We come to a sloppy, fumbling halt as I’m doubled over and a man’s trapped me in some sort of bear hug from behind.
My breaths sputter out in between cries for him to release me.
Now I’m the beggar, not the man who was on his knees.
“Please!” I cry. “I turned down here by accident… I’ll just go! I’ll just pretend I never came down this way.”
My pleas fall on deaf ears like the other man’s had.
The henchman who’s grabbed me starts dragging me down the alleyway. He’s taking me right back to the tattooed man in the leather jacket. The rest of his crew watches on, all of them with feverish looks of interest on their faces.
I’m left to twist uselessly in his hold, gasping for air and muttering more pleas.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise I’ve run into trouble this late at night.
Though Busan and Haeundae Beach are generally safe, it doesn’t mean that the major city is completely crime-free.
Most who live here, even the expats, are aware of some of the crime syndicates that roam late at night. Otherwise likened to the Korean version of a mafia. The Baekho Pa are particularly known to frequent this area, roaming bars and nightclubs to do their dirty business.
In the light of day, they’re nowhere to be found. Almost like spirits from another realm.
As I’m dragged toward the tattooed leader named Jin, I’m forced to think about how few survive the Baekho’s wrath. It’s part of the secrecy surrounding the syndicate.
Those who have come in contact with the gang meet grisly fates. Any who manage to survive are so terrified they don’t even dare speak their name.
I’m dropped at Jin’s feet, tossed down like discarded trash.
“What will we do with her?” the henchman asks. “Do you want me to kill her?”
“I will handle her. Move back,” Jin answers coldly.
They’re still speaking in Hangugeo, unaware of the fact that I understand. I sniffle from where I’m kneeling, the pebbles on the ground digging into me. If I were to try to run for it, they’d probably gut me like they did the other guy, and something tells me more begging will do nothing.
It’ll probably piss Jin and his crew off even more.
My best bet is to stay silent and seem harmless. Make them realize it’s useless retaliating against me when I’m just some innocent American bystander.
Jin regards me with a chilling stare that makes gooseflesh prickle my skin and the hackles on the back of my neck rise.
I feel like I could vomit up what little dinner I had at Burger & Pasta. My stomach roils in warning, the queasy feeling so bad I clamp my mouth shut.
“Your name,” Jin says, switching to English. “What’s your name?”
“I… Monroe,” I choke out, the word mangled in my throat. “M-Monroe Ross.”
He stares for a moment, his dark eyes cold and hostile. “Where do you live?”
I swallow down more nausea. “H-Here… I… I live here.”
“Here?” he lashes out, his tone sharp and impatient. “Here? You live in this filthy alley? Is that what you mean?”
“No… no… I meant Busan. I-I live in Busan. I’m a… I’m just a teacher. Please. I’m on my way h-home.”
“Enough,” he interrupts. “I have no interest in hearing your stutters… or having your tears spill on my shoes.”
The men behind me chuckle. This is entertainment for them, just like stabbing the man bleeding out in the puddle.
I’ve tried not to look directly at him for fear I’ll gasp or cry all over again—I’ve never seen a dead body before—but Jin forces me to.
He turns from me to the man collapsed in the puddle, now motionless. He plants a boot on the man’s side and yanks the large knife free with a sickening wet sound. Blood slides down the blade in nauseating fashion, like some grotesque scene out of a horror film.
The smell of it hits me all at once—copper that’s heavy and metallic and so potent I soon taste it on my tongue.
He’s facing me again, watching the blood drip from the blade, in a sudden state of calm. “What did you see tonight?”
I almost gag trying to answer. A wave of nausea rises up my throat and threatens to spew past my lips. Forcing it back down with a hard swallow, I urge myself to play along. Answer his questions and pray he’ll show mercy.
But it’s so hard when my hands tremble violently and I can’t even think.
“Nothing,” I answer. “I-I didn’t see anything. I got lost and I just made a… a wrong turn. If you just?—”
“Because if you did see something, then there would be a problem.”
He takes a step toward me, and I immediately flinch. Crouching down so we’re almost eye level, he digs his fingers into my tight curls and yanks my head back. I have no choice but to look up at him.
He presses the knife to my throat. The steel blade is cold, wet, and sharp at the same time, kissing my skin in the most brutal way.
I’m frozen, every muscle inside me painfully tense.
“I could so easily slit your beautiful throat in this alley,” he muses aloud. “And no one would ever know. No one would ever dare come looking for you. Would you like that to be your fate?”
“No,” I whisper. It’s all I can think to say. What else can I at this point?
The moment feels like it goes on forever.
My head’s reeling, my heart racing. I’m dizzy and nauseous and terrified beyond belief. I’m honestly a few seconds away from pissing myself. Something I’m definitely not proud to admit.
Jin seems to hold me in this position for pure sadistic enjoyment, taking his time to decide what he wants to do. If he wants to slit my throat and end me.
Then, at last, he pulls the blade away and shoves it into the hand of another henchman nearby.
I almost pass out from the intense relief that crashes down on me.
Jin straightens up to his full height once more. He reaches into the pocket of his leather jacket and withdraws a tiny glass vial containing some kind of black substance.
“Do you know what this is?”
I can only shake my head in answer, my breaths hitching out of me.
“It’s called muk,” he explains. “Ink. Made from soot and glue. We use it for seoye—traditional calligraphy. But sometimes…” He pauses to uncap the vial. “A special version is concocted and used for ceremonies. And for gang initiations and rituals. It is used to mark what is owned by us.”
Why is he telling me this? What does this have to do with letting me go?
He crouches in front of me again, and before I can pull away, he grabs my wrist. His long fingers snap shut over me, his reflexes startlingly quick and his grip firm and strong.
His touch sets off all kinds of reactions inside me.
An instant shiver down the spine. Breath caught in my lungs. A pulse that pounds harder, like a drum.
He wrenches my wrist ’til the inside faces upward, dipping his finger in the vial and then painting a symbol on the delicate skin.
The ink sears into me, burning like I’ve been branded by an iron poker. I hiss and almost yank my hand back, but his grip is too ironclad.
He draws the symbol in a single, fluid motion.
“Owned by the Baekho,” he says, answering the question I’m thinking. “It means you have a debt to us. There is only one way to pay it. With your life. It is a symbol that no one should want. And now you carry it.”
For the first time, his cold expression shifts. His lips twist into the vaguest hint of a grin, like he’s amused by what he’s done.
“Now that it’s written,” he muses, “let’s see if you can outrun it.”
I blink, so stunned that I can’t make sense of what the hell’s just happened. I don’t get what any of this means, and I feel like I’m about to pass out at any moment.
Jin releases my wrist as suddenly as he’d grabbed it. He stands up and steps back as if admiring his handiwork.
How he and his men have humiliated me.
When several seconds of silence pass by, I realize he’s letting me go. He and his men won’t stop me if I leave.
So that’s exactly what I do—I can’t get out of this alley fast enough.
Tears streak down my cheeks and my knees nearly buckle as I scramble to my feet and take off, sprinting into the night.
Behind me, cruel laughter echoes from the dark recesses of the alley.