15. Jin #2
I stop mid-stride. Hwang Do-gil—one of the older lieutenants—waves me over, already three soju bottles deep and red in the face.
His stomach hangs over his belt like it’s trying to escape the confines of his shirt.
He’s seated in the center of a private room, surrounded by other captains and lieutenants.
All of them howl with drunken laughter and grope the girls who pour their drinks.
I should walk away. I hate these nights.
The captains and lieutenants gather to be loud, sloven and useless, indulging in liquor, prostitutes, and showboating. None of these things interest me in the slightest.
But if I refuse, it’ll raise suspicion. They’ll view it as a snub and draw their own conclusions.
I give a stiff nod and step inside the private room.
The room was once opulent—gold-trimmed moldings, velvet carpet, expensive crystal lights. Now it’s a faded relic like the rest of the Claw Lounge, permanently reeking of cigarette smoke and liquor.
“Sit, sit,” Do-gil says, grinning. He gestures to the chair beside him. “You’ve been busy doing great things. Let us toast to our Silent Hunter.”
The men raise their glasses in my honor, clinking them together.
A girl in a skimpy leather dress rushes over and pours me a glass. I nod silently and let the liquor sit untouched on the table.
The door swings open with a theatrical creak. The Baekho-je himself waltzes in. Jae-hyun has a cigar clamped between his teeth, his eyes more alert than usual. He waves off the woman who immediately tries to massage his shoulders and claims the head of the table like a throne.
“I see my men are celebrating properly tonight,” he drawls, blowing thick smoke in our direction.
“You trained us well, Baekho-je,” Do-gil slurs, bowing his head. “And Jin-tae’s been doing the most. What he did to that Bulgeomhoe scum—Hah! That’s what I call a message.”
“Yes,” agrees Jae-hyun, turning his gaze onto me. A slow grin comes to his face, his crowded, crooked teeth on display. “Kwon Sang-bae and his whole crew wiped out in one night. It’s very impressive.”
“That’ll teach those fuckers not to test our territory!” cries one of the other captains.
The rest of the men raise their glasses yet again and shout their approval. Soju sloshes over the rims. A girl comes to wipe up the mess and Do-gil slaps her on the ass, then throws his head back in deep laughter at the frightened yelp she gives.
A lieutenant named Nam Joo-wan, with slicked hair and a wiry frame leans over the table and grins at me. “I always knew you’d rise fast, Jin. A little quiet, but deadly like a viper. You’ve done the Baekho proud.”
I nod in answer, expression tight and unreadable.
Do-gil raises his voice over the competing chatter and laughter. “Is it true what I heard? You’re calling Baek-ho-ui Chim on Seung-min at the next gathering?”
His question garners everyone’s attention. The room hushes at once. All eyes swivel to me.
Jae-hyun’s grin fades as he puffs on his cigar and says nothing.
I pick up my untouched soju and take a sip. “Seung-min has forgotten who his superior is. It’s time I remind him.”
“Oooooh!” the men jeer, hooting like obnoxious spectators at a sparring match. Several of them bang their fists on the table, rattling the empty dishes and bottles.
“Damn,” one slurs. “This is going to be better than the last one. Jin-tae’s going to have Seung-min crying for his mother.”
The men’s excited speculation bounces around the table.
I hardly pay them any mind. It’s Jae-hyun who draws my focus.
His silence is louder than anyone else in the room as he smokes his cigar and stares across the table in my direction.
I’d noticed his eyes were sharper than usual even as he walked into the room, and I was right.
He’s more sober than I’ve seen him in a long time.
For a man who usually drinks until he forgets his own name, it’s out of character.
When he finally does speak, everyone else falls silent.
“Yes… Jin-tae has every right. Perhaps Seung-min’s grown too big for his boots. If Jin wants to teach him a lesson, then I’ll allow it. He already taught the Bulgeomhoe rats a lesson— and the witness girl too.”
The mention of Monroe pulls at something deep inside me.
I remain composed on the outside, though my jaw sets.
Everyone’s eyes turn to me yet again, this time tinged with awe.
Joo-wan whistles. “So the rumors are true? You left that girl’s place bathed in blood?”
Do-gil chuckles darkly. “I wish I could’ve seen it. They say you used your blade on her. Tore her up until she was unrecognizable.”
“It was a kill,” I answer tightly. “Just like any other.”
“She was a looker too, wasn’t she?” Joo-wan asks. “Shame. But that’s what happens when you get in our way. No one is spared.”
My hands curl into fists under the table.
They talk about Monroe like she was meat. Like her supposed death is some performance they missed and want an encore of.
And still Jae-hyun hasn’t looked away. He’s still watching me carefully.
I take another sip from my glass of soju, grateful when the topic changes.
The room devolves into more drunken chaos; one captain has passed out face down in a plate of sliced pork. Another tries to get the server to suck his dick under the table.
The noise swells around me, all of it mindless torture.
I can’t stay here. I would rather be at home.
…with Monroe.
Clearing my throat, I rise from the table. “I have debts to collect in Seobusan. I’ll take my leave.”
Do-gil frowns. “Already? The night’s young!”
Jae-hyun leans back in his chair, smoke curling from his lips. “Let him go. You know Jin-tae never stops working. He’s a man of discipline and honor. We should all aspire to be more like him.”
Finally, his grin returns, his gaze still fixed on me.
I offer a shallow bow, then exit the room, letting the door click behind me.
My fists are clenched at my side as I stride out of the Claw Lounge and head toward my car.
The leaders in the Baekho Pa think Monroe is dead. They’ve celebrated it several times over. I’ve allowed them to believe what’s an unmistakable lie.
But there’s no other choice. There’s no way I can allow her death.
I’m more certain of that than ever as their loud, crass laughter fades.
I come home to the apartment to more tears from Monroe. It’s not until I step through the door that her sniffling reaches my ears and I spot her curled up on the floor by the balcony. Her knees are drawn to her chest, her head bowed low.
Fuck. Not again.
For a second, I honestly consider turning around and leaving. Maybe a walk around the village will give her the time she needs to clean herself up. How long do emotional breakdowns tend to last?
But I’ve already entered the apartment, and it would probably look ridiculous if I left.
So instead, I do what I always do—act indifferent and cold. I toe out of my boots and strip off my leather jacket, laying it across the stool.
Moving into the kitchen, I grab a bottle of soju and two small glasses that I set down on the coffee table.
Her cries go on.
This time, she’s not even trying to hide it. She hiccups between sobs, mopping at her tear-streaked face. As I approach, she gives no reaction.
I sigh. “I told you before. I’m not equipped to deal with this.”
No answer.
I try again, my approach direct and outright. “What is the problem now? Tell me why you’re crying.”
Her watery dark eyes lift to mine, though she still refuses to speak.
“Tell me,” I insist a third time. “If this is about the cuffs, you have yourself to blame after last night.”
It’s the truth. I’ve removed any and everything from the apartment that she could possibly use to pick the locks. If she thinks some tears will guilt me into allowing her free range while I’m gone?—
“It’s not the cuffs!” she snaps, interrupting my thoughts. “It’s… never mind. You wouldn’t understand.”
I kneel beside her and reach out to unlock the cuff clamped shut around her ankle. My knuckles brush her soft skin and a sharp shiver shoots through me. Though you’d never know by the hardened expression I wear.
“Try me.”
Monroe rises slowly to her feet, wrapping her arms around her stomach and turning to peer out the balcony’s glass door.
The view is dark and beautiful at night. A direct look at the ocean waves churning beyond the small fishing village where I live. The moon and stars are out tonight, tiny silver decorations in an otherwise plum sky.
“We had sex last night, Jin,” Monroe mumbles.
I stare at her back, lost as to her expectation. I’ve known this moment would come, where she demanded we discuss everything that happened. And yet I’m unprepared for how to deal with her and these intense emotions she experiences.
“Yes,” I admit matter-of-factly. “We did. What’s the matter? You regret it?”
She exhales, the sound she makes between a sigh and a sob. Throwing a sideway glance at the bottle of soju, she says, “I’m assuming you grabbed two glasses because one is for me? Pour me a drink.”
“Aren’t Americans known for their manners?” I quip, the corner of my mouth twitching. “Where is the ‘please Jin-tae’?”
“Please Jin-tae, will you pour me a drink… it might help keep me from kneeing you in the balls again for what you pulled last night!”
“You mean after you attempted to escape? Trust me when I say, Tokki-ya, you got off easy.” I’m fully smirking now as I do as she wishes, pouring both glasses with the clear liquid known as soju.
I hand the first glass over to her and keep the second for myself.
“Most get their throat sliced open for trifling with me. You should feel special.”
“Oh, really?” She downs the glass of soju like it’s a shot, tossing it back whole.
“Yes, really.” I do the same, drinking my down fast, then snatching her glass from her grasp. I refill both of ours from the bottle, the crisp taste of the liquor on my tongue. She readily accepts her second glass.
“So I should be grateful you didn’t kill me?”
I think on her question a second. “Yes.”