13. Jin #2
She’s sitting on the bed, hands in her lap, ankles pinned together. Because she’s in one of my shirts, it rides up like a dress would when seated, exposing more thigh than usual.
There’s a look in her eye I don’t recognize—it’s sultry and demure, her eyelids hanging lower than usual.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “I’ve told you not to come in my bedroom when?—”
Monroe interrupts me by leaping to her feet and throwing herself at me. She smashes her lips to mine, kissing me as abruptly as I had her.
I’m a martial artist with impeccable reflexes and agility, yet as Monroe Ross flings her whole body weight at me, I’m slow to react. Her arms loop around my neck and she lashes hungrily at my lips like a seductress seeking to devour me.
An explosion of heat goes off and warms my blood. It flows straight to my cock and makes me hard in seconds.
I curl both arms under her thighs and hoist her up off her feet, our mouths fused together. We kiss aggressively, tongues sparring. I carry Monroe to the bed and lay her down. She grips at the folds of my towel and rips it away, exposing how my cock juts out hard and dripping precum.
“Fuck!” I groan as I brace myself over her on the bed, a hand on either side of her head. She’s reached between us and started stroking me, leaning up to kiss my jaw.
Her touch is smooth and warm, every stroke maddening. I press my lips to hers in need of distraction and then let my own fingers wander. They wedge between her silken thighs and find the little wet patch on her panties. Evidence she’s as turned on as I am.
“Jin, just do it…” she breathes. She runs her thumb across the sensitive ridge of skin under my head and sends a trail of fire burning through me. “Just fuck me. Slide your big dick in and fuck my little pussy. Fill me up with your cum.”
The filthy words thicken the groan I release. My hand covers hers and we start to guide me toward her entrance, panties pushed aside. I can feel the heat before I even slide into her pussy and?—
A sharp breath sputters from my lungs as I snap upright in bed and the scene evaporates around me. The brightly lit bedroom fades into pitch blackness and the sexy American expat wearing my t-shirt vanishes from my bed. So does her grip on my cock.
It was only a dream.
A very vivid, very realistic, very erotic dream.
I spend a couple seconds calming my breaths, running a hand through my messy hair. I’m slow moving as I get up out of bed and survey the dark room.
Everything is still in its right place. Silence meets my ears from the rest of the apartment, confirming Monroe must be asleep on the futon.
I head into the bathroom without bothering to flick on the lights and then leap back once I step toward the toilet and sense I’m not alone.
“Ahhhhh!” Monroe screams.
“What the fuck?” I yell, rushing to the light switch and flipping it on.
“Do you mind!?” She pops to her feet, scurrying to pull up her underwear.
I don’t see anything… not really .
Except her panties quickly sliding up her thighs, disappearing under the hem of my baggy t-shirt.
Except the same distracting supple brown skin that was in my dreams. Somehow, it’s even more enticing and distracting in real life than in dreamland.
I’m rendered incapable of speech for a second before forcing my gaze back to hers.
“What are you doing in my bathroom?”
“Peeing! What does it look like?”
“You know the rules. After I close the door for the night?—”
“Sorry my bladder doesn’t play by your silly rules!” she snaps. “I had to go.”
“So you snuck into my room.”
“I didn’t wake you, did I?”
No. But I damn sure was dreaming about you at that exact moment.
We hover in awkward silence for a couple seconds. Monroe glances uncertainly at the toilet and then pushes the button to flush.
“Don’t worry, I’ll use the bottle next time.”
She moves to rush past me, but I catch her arm on her way out. “Just knock,” I say. “If it’s after hours and you need to go, knock on my door. So that we don’t…”
“Have an encounter in the dark in the bathroom? I think I’ve learned my lesson.”
For a brief second, her eyes flit over me like mine had her, where she drinks in the fact that I’m shirtless in boxer briefs with a semi-erect penis.
Apparently, I have a similar effect on her. I can feel the warmth she gives off as she tears her gaze away and then rushes the rest of the way out of my room.
I sigh.
The temptation between us just might be our undoing.
The first bullet tears through Kwong Sang-bae’s skull at the squeeze of my trigger.
Blood sprays across the mirrored wall of Club Gongshi’s VIP suite, violent red streaks splattering across the glass. Kwon Sang-bae slumps against the couch, a chunk of his head blown out.
The gunfight is instantaneous.
Bulgeomhoe members firing back at us. Me and my men firing back at them.
We’ve turned up at Club Gongshi only to find them doing what we warned against. They’ve been encroaching on our territory for some time now, infiltrating clubs like Gongshi to sell their products.
Glass crunches beneath my boots as I move. The thudding bass from the club’s speakers plays on. The drunk partiers have started stampeding for the door, screaming and hysterical. But the gang war carries on without care if they’re made casualties.
We’ll collect what blood we need to as a form of payment. Some collateral damage has never mattered.
“Down!” I bark, grabbing my youngest solider, Dong-woo, by the collar. I fire at the gold-tooth motherfucker who was about to shoot him from behind.
Gunfire rips through the air and men drop to the ground riddled with bullet holes.
A soldier of mine named Byun Hyuk screams from across the room, struck in the neck by a bullet. He’s the Baekho Pa’s only casualty as we take out the rest of the Bulgeomhoe soldiers.
All except one.
A skinny, rat-faced bastard who drops to his knees and begins begging in Hangugeo.
“Get the fuck out of here,” I snarl at him. “Go to your leader. Tell him all you’ve witnessed. Make sure he knows this is his future should the Bulgeomhoe continue defying us.”
He scrambles like the rat he resembles, disappearing from sight.
The carnage leftover at Club Gongshi is more than usual.
Bodies litter the floor, along with shards of glass from shattered mirrors and liquor bottles.
Tables and chairs are broken into pieces.
Bullet holes puncture the walls. A handful of civilian casualties lay slumped at the bar and near the door.
My shirt is soaked. I glance down and see blood seeping through the fabric. I’ve been grazed. During the fight, my adrenaline was buzzing at such a level, I didn’t even feel the hit.
But it doesn’t matter. We’ve won the confrontation and I can patch myself up at home.
I step over broken glass and head for the exit.
By the time I’m in my car, the wound in my shoulder throbs away. I crank the window down and let the warm summer air wash over me.
The feeling of victory is like no other. It’s a reward for hard work and dedication.
The Bulgeomhoe will know that this was just a taste of our wrath. If they press more buttons, I’ll tear them to shreds. My name in the Baekho Pa is Silent Hunter for a reason.
My mind wanders to Monroe on the drive home.
Images of her appear. She’s probably curled up on the futon with a book propped open, or maybe she’s at the stove making more ramen. For as unpleasant of a circumstance that she’s in, she’s behaved herself. She’s made the most of being bound to my apartment.
I pull up at the Korean barbecue restaurant at the edges of the village, the one she said reminded her of the place in her neighborhood.
Twenty minutes later, I emerge with takeout bags full of pork belly, bulgogi, and short ribs. Garlic rice and kimchi on the side.
It’s stupid.
I just snagged us dinner like some husband coming home to his wife. Yet as I slide behind the wheel and start the engine, another image materializes in my head—Monroe’s bright, pretty smile of surprise when she sees what I’ve brought her.
The image stays in my mind for the remainder of the drive. I ride the elevator up to the fifth floor with it on my mind, unlocking the door and stepping inside.
“You better be hungry,” I start, using the only form of humor I have. My dry and flat humor. “No more ramen for now. I’ve bought enough meat to feed you for a week?—”
I stop only a couple steps into the apartment.
The ankle cuff lays open on the floor, Monroe nowhere in sight. She’s escaped .
The bags of food slip from my hands. The rage comes fast and hard, slamming into me and tinging everything red. I spin on my heel and take off at a sprint, making it to the elevator in a couple strides.
The second the doors roll apart in the underground garage, I’m at my car, twisting the key in the ignition.
She couldn’t have gotten far. With no phone, no money or means of transportation, she’s stuck on foot in the dark. Even if she left during daylight hours, she would still be within the local area.
Over the next hour, I scour the fishing village. The air is thick and warm with the salt from the ocean and briny smell of dead fish, the streets already barren. Neon lights flicker from the handful of shops still open. Everything else is padlocked, metal grates covering their doors.
I drive through the main roads, then park to sprint down the narrower side streets most vehicles can’t reach. The only living things out this time of night are stray cats and beggars. A few shop owners late on their way home.
I peer inside the darkened window of a butcher’s shop, then duck between two buildings into another side alley.
My breath fogs the air. Not from the cold. From how fucking hard I’m breathing. I’m irate with anger, the bones inside me vibrating.
How dare she?! How dare she break rule one? Rule three? Does she realize what I’ll have to do now?
I pass a gimbap stand that’s closed and then notice a small figure shrouded in the shadows on the other end of the street. They’re waiting outside a lone delivery truck that’s stopped at the convenience store, as if looking for a moment to crawl aboard.
My face clenches in a tight scowl. I set off at a fast stride, coming up from behind. I’m swift and aggressive, locking an arm around her waist. My other hand fists her curls and drags her back toward me. We disappear down the side alley outside the convenience store with her writhing in my hold.
But it’s fruitless for her to even try.
I push her up against the side of the building, withdrawing my knife from inside my jacket pocket. My front to her back, I let my lips brush her ear and the blade I’m gripping press into her throat.
“Thought you were clever?” I hiss, pushing the blade even more firmly against the slender column of her throat. “Thought you could just slip away while I was gone?”
“Jin!” she cries helplessly, twisting against me.
“What have I told you?” I ask, biting at her ear and making her wince. “You will never outrun the mark. You belong to me now.”