3. Jin
The smell of blood and ink hang in the air, even before the first needle breaks skin.
I sit still in Yoon Do-shik’s chair, letting the artist draw the latest piece of art on my body. His needle hums as he drags it over my skin and makes me bleed.
He works in silence so the only sound in the room is the rhythmic buzz. He’s precise and quick, wiping away the excess ink and blood spots, his eyes focused.
Tonight’s piece is being inked on my collarbone—more claw marks of a tiger. Baekho tradition signifying what happened tonight. Every kill earns a mark.
This one belongs to Kwon Hyuk-soo. He believed he could outrun his fate, but he didn’t realize how fruitless that was.
There was nowhere in Busan that he could run and hide.
We found him inside Club Gongshi, drinking soju like water and flirting with tourist women who looked at him with derision. He tried to run the moment he spotted us. We trapped him outside the restroom and dragged him into the alley.
He had run up debt from gambling rings for months. The warnings he was given were ignored. He believed he could escape what he owed forever.
He was hardly worth the trouble. But the Baekho never lets a debt go unpaid, no matter how trivial and small.
The machine buzzes even louder as Do-shik drags the needle deeper into my skin, filling in the slash marks of the tiger. Beads of blood seep from the wound. He quickly wipes them away, careful to protect the design.
The pain is sharp and stinging, but something I welcome.
Nothing worth achieving is ever painless.
I watch Do-shik wipe away more ink and blood and my mind turns to the girl.
Her name was Monroe Ross. She was an American expat, teaching school children in Busan.
She came around the corner of the alley outside Club Gongshi with no idea what she would find.
The humidity made her tight curls fan out around her face like a halo.
Her eyes were large and striking, every emotion readable in them.
She had dark, equally expressive eyebrows, brown skin reminiscent of copper, and a round nose with a short slope.
When she saw what was happening, she froze and her mouth opened in horror. Her lips quivered, forming an O shape that made them look even fuller than they naturally were.
My men dragged her over and dropped her at my feet. Up close, she was even more pitiful and pathetic.
I peered down at her, instantly tempted to squash her like an insect.
I saw myself in the glassy sheen of her eyes, lashes stuck together from tears. Her breath came in fast, shallow bursts as she waited for me to act.
She was so terrified that I could smell the fear on her skin.
Warm. Sweet. Real.
She was a beautiful woman. I won’t pretend otherwise.
But there are many just like her in a city like Busan. White and Black American women who come to South Korea for the adventure and do so by teaching English in our schools.
I stared down at her, so vulnerable and fragile, so terrified and beautiful, and I wanted to shatter her. Break her piece by piece ’til nothing but fragments remained.
Instead, I spared her.
She was nothing more than a skittish little thing—some expat who took a wrong turn in the wrong neighborhood at the wrong time. More harmless than a fruit fly.
And like most flies, easily scared off.
That’s what the mark was about. It was a warning that she could find herself in real trouble she would never escape should I ever cross her a second time.
If she’s smart, she won’t come near Baekho territory again. She’ll stick to her classroom and books and refrain from stumbling into places she shouldn’t be.
Do-shik wipes the last of the ink and wraps the fresh tattoo in film. He steps back to give me the space to admire his work in the mirror.
Exceptional, as expected.
I’m reaching for my shirt when the door to the private room creaks open behind me.
“Jin,” a voice says. “Sorry to interrupt.”
My gaze meets his in the mirror. It’s Kang Seung-min, one of the new bloods in our crew. Formally known as Hubae, they’re the juniors who have recently been initiated into Baekho.
Seung-min is young but sharp and undyingly loyal. He charged after Monroe tonight in the alley with no hesitation. I see the same hunger in his eyes that I had at his age.
Except Seung-min also has a thirst for attention. For glory.
He has a face that’s squashed like a pug and a body that’s thick and brawny, part of what makes him a viable enforcer.
He bows once. “The Baekho-je wants to see you.”
I finish pulling my shirt over my head, careful not to brush the fresh ink. “Did he say why?”
“Only that it’s urgent.”
Of course it is.
The Baekho-je believes his every thought is an emergency.
I grab my leather jacket, not bothering to put it on, and follow Seung-min out of the room.
I step into the office, the door snicking closed behind me. The room smells like expensive leather and cigarettes, tinged with the faint sweet scent of soju. The walls are dark lacquered wood with a massive traditional folding screen stretched out as decoration.
But instead of birds or lotus flowers, it depicts a fierce white tiger mid-pounce, painted in broad and violent strokes of ink. The image has aged with time but the look in the tiger’s eye is still as wild and vicious as ever.
The same mythological creature the Baekho is named after.
A large TV screen is mounted to the nearest wall, playing a pornographic film. The woman on the screen moans as she’s taken from behind and her fake tits hardly bounce.
Pornography is banned in South Korea, but Kim Jae-hyun specializes in illegality. Indulging in American porn is one of his favorite pastimes.
He’s sprawled across an oversized leather chair, his legs spread wide, his eyes fixed on the screen. In one hand he clutches a glass of soju while the other is being massaged by one of the three women in skintight dresses in the room.
The other two massage his shoulders and feet. All three dote on him, uttering soft cooing words he ignores. Truly being waited on like the emperor his title designates.
I watch him for a moment, reminded how Jae-hyun may be the Baekho-je, but he is a slave to his vices. His greatest flaw has always been his overindulgence.
After a moment goes by, I address him in a cool tone. “You asked to see me.”
Jae-hyun glances at me as if only just realizing I’ve entered, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. He holds up his glass of clear liquid.
“Drink with me.”
Before I can answer, the woman in a short, bright red dress rushes to pour the drink. Her hands tremble as she offers it to me.
I take it but don’t thank her. My attention is focused solely on the emperor of the Baekho Pa. “I didn’t come for drinks. It’s been a busy night. There’s more to do.”
Jae-hyun waves a dismissive hand, still watching the screen. The woman is now on her knees sucking the man’s cock ’til her eyes water. “You need to learn to enjoy the spoils of life sometimes. Work means nothing if there’s no pleasure, Jin-tae.”
I don’t answer him.
But it’s yet another reminder of how different we are. He indulges in every vice life has to offer. I’m more disciplined, dedicated to a never-ending pursuit of domination and success.
But I’m not the Baekho-je. I’m just a Ho-gwi, otherwise known as a captain, doing his bidding.
Jae-hyun swallows more soju and surveys me with narrowed eyes. “I trust your new mark came out great. Yoon Do-shik does impressive work.”
“He always does.”
He guzzles more soju, then snaps at the woman in the strapless blue dress massaging his hand. “You’re still fussing with my hand? Do you know what you’re doing?” He snatches his hand back, raising it up like he’s about to strike, only to laugh when she flinches.
No one else in the room joins that laughter.
I remain silent and composed where I stand. The three women seem more terrified than ever, kneading their fingers into his tense muscles.
“I was speaking with Seung-min earlier,” he goes on, the laughter in his tone dying. “He mentioned a detail I did not know about the shakedown in the alley. He said there was a girl. Who was she?”
“No one important. Just a stupid girl who stumbled into the alley.”
“But,” says Jae-hyun, narrowing his eyes, “you let her go. Why?”
“She was harmless.”
“Except you thought to mark her. You know what she saw and what that means.”
My jaw hardens, tension on the rise inside me.
I know exactly where the Baekho-je is headed with this discussion, yet I couldn’t bring myself to kill her.
She didn’t matter. She was so useless, so irrelevant, it would be a waste of energy.
“It was a warning,” I say finally. “A means of scaring her off.”
Jae-hyun sighs loudly. He finishes his glass of soju, then sets the glass down with a thunk . “You know how we operate. There must be no loose ends. All doors must be closed. No survivors must be left.”
I swallow hard, fighting to resist any disobedience. He is Baekho-je. I am a Ho-gwi. It’s not my place to question his authority.
…but I do it anyway.
“You’ve spared people before.”
He snorts, then pins me with a dismissive glare. “I am Baekho-je. I can make those decisions. You… you, Jin-tae, are only a Ho-gwi. You are just a captain. You are not even a lieutenant yet. It is not your place.”
I glare back at him, refusing to show even the slightest sign of intimidation. No hint of weakness.
Jae-hyun merely grins as if sensing what I’m doing. “You spare no one. When you act on my behalf, no survivors are to remain.”
“What are you requesting I do?” I ask.
“Track down the girl and finish her off. Or perhaps I will promote one of your men to take your place and do it. Seung-min seems eager.”
My fists clench at my sides, and I have to pause to breathe or else I’d possibly be foolish and lash out.
I give a tight, restrained nod. “As you wish. It will get done.”
I stalk out of the office with no other acknowledgment. Rage burns through me at being reprimanded like I have been. Scolded and talked down to like a child.
All over some stupid girl who was so useless she could barely keep herself alive.
There’s one option and one option only left to me.
I will track down Monroe Ross.
And I will finish what we started.