18. Jin
“You know, your hair is always so… messy,” Monroe teases the next morning.
She’s lying on her side, a playful smile on her lips as she reaches over and tousles her fingers through my hair.
“It’s always getting in your eye or sweeping over your brow.
Ever consider this thing civilization calls, you know, a haircut? ”
I grin back at her, grabbing at her wrists to pry her hands away. I push her back against the pillows and hover over her lips, peering down at her. “I’m a busy man, Tokki-ya. I don’t have time for such trivialities.”
“Oh please!” she laughs. “Between beating up people who owe you money and getting into fights to the death, you mean?”
She hasn’t stopped teasing me about last night’s Gyeol-sa. The bruises, swollen flesh, and gashes alarm her, but it seems to be the only way she can cope with me having them. By making light of it, since I won’t let her dote over me like a nurse.
“Yes, exactly. Now you understand. I’m a Ho-gwi in the Baekho Pa. I’m very important.”
Her eyes twinkle looking up at me. “Tell me about it. You had a whole crew in that alley.”
I kiss her to silence her. My way of changing the subject from that night in the alleyway. Monroe believes it changed her life forever—for the worse, by how she’s described it—and I believe the same.
But while I feel guilt that it happened the way it did, a growing part of me doesn’t regret it. If I had never marked her, or if she had never stumbled down the alley in the first place, we wouldn’t be together in my bed right now.
A surprise twist of circumstance that I’m not sure I can give up.
I’ve been as emotionally unavailable as a person can be. Yet Monroe has somehow penetrated the shield I’ve worn my entire life.
She’s… disarmed me. Slowly over time, before I even registered what was happening.
“What about this bonnet?” I ask, reaching up for the satin cap she’s wearing. Her reflexes are impressively quick to stop me. She swats off my hands, then tugs the bonnet more firmly over her hairline.
“Don’t touch a Black woman’s bonnet, Jin!” she warns in a pouty manner.
I laugh. “But I want to see that Black woman’s curls. Why do you hide them when you sleep?”
My question is genuine.
I’ve never lived with a woman, nor even allowed one to sleep in my bed. But I’m fairly certain that Monroe’s satin bonnet isn’t worn by most Korean women. From what I understand, it has more to do with a person’s hair type.
Monroe isn’t irritated by my question. Instead, she seems amused by my curiosity.
“It helps protect my curls,” she answers simply. “Wearing one to bed helps prevent breakage or frizz. Curls can be very delicate, especially type four. One of my biggest reservations about moving to South Korea was being able to still care for my natural hair.”
“You have done well,” I say as if I’m an expert. I cup her chin and drop a kiss on her full lips. “Your curls are always shiny and defined. Not that I know much about hair.”
“And we’re back to you needing a haircut,” she teases.
“Is it okay that I touched your hair last night? I got aggressive.”
She giggles. “In case you haven’t noticed, Jin, I like it a little aggressive. If I didn’t want you to touch my hair, I’d let you know. Maybe if I had a sew-in or wig, but if it’s just my natural hair? Nope.”
“Keep it like this. I like the curls.”
It’s true. She has a whole headful of them. There’re probably thousands of little coils that cover her head, each seemingly full of life. In a way, it’s much more interesting than the flat, straight hair that grows out of my head.
Monroe seems to read my mind and sense what I’m thinking. Her hands slide along my jaw, careful at the bruising, and she asks, “Am I the first Black woman you’ve been with, Jin? Be honest.”
“Yes,” I answer candidly. “Dating other races isn’t common in Korea. And as I’m sure you can imagine, I haven’t dated often.”
“Jin, have you ever had a girlfriend?”
“Once. When I was a teenager.”
“And?”
“It was terrible,” I say to her laughter. “She was clingy and expected to see me all the time. Her family wanted to meet me. Then they found out I was a gangster and forbade her from seeing me. That didn’t stop her. She wanted to sneak around behind their backs. But I broke it off with her.”
“Ouch.”
“It was for the best. She drove me so crazy, I might’ve ended up throttling her.”
Monroe shakes her head, half amused, half disapproving. “So you’ve only used women for sex?”
“Yes. Occasionally. When urges arise. Does that bother you?”
“A little,” she admits. “I like men who can commit.”
I appreciate the honesty. She’s not telling me what I want to hear. She’s sticking to her convictions and beliefs. I reach up and stroke my thumb over her cheek.
“It wasn’t about being unable to commit, Tokki-ya. I am a disciplined man who has committed himself to the oath I took in the Baekho. I can commit. But only when it’s something worth committing for.”
“This could’ve been a mistake, Jin,” she mumbles. “You’ve put your position in your gang on the line. If they find out what you’ve done?—”
“I’ll accept the consequences when they come.”
“But they’ll kill you—and me.”
“You’re not dying,” I tell her. “Monroe Ross is already dead. But you? You’ll live another life. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll make the preparations.”
“But what about…” She nibbles on her bottom lip as if to stop the question from spilling out.
“Us?” I ask.
She nods, suddenly a sadness about her large, emotive eyes.
“I’ll find a way. I’ll figure something out.”
Though as I make these promises, I’m not sure how it can possibly work.
I’m a captain in the Baekho Pa and have vowed a lifetime of servitude to the syndicate.
It’s like any other mafia organization where you don’t get to walk away at will.
You live and die by the family. In our case, the sacred brotherhood.
But Monroe’s not happy cooped up in my apartment at all hours. It’s not a proper long-term arrangement for a woman like her.
She’s restless, eager to return to a real life.
“I trust you, Jin,” she says softly, interrupting my thoughts. She leans up and kisses my bruised, swollen jaw. “It sounds insane after how we met, but I… I trust you with my life.”
I press my lips to hers in another kiss and rest my hand on her breast, feeling her heartbeat flutter against my palm.
She’s enjoyable to touch and feel. Simple things like her heartbeat or the warmth of her skin bring me a contentment I’ve never known.
I’m hard again, pinning her back against the pillows and sliding into her pussy. She moans with me as we kiss and I stroke into her. My strokes are slow and lazy, though no less pleasurable for us both.
We rock in rhythm with each other and let our hands wander our bodies. I grip her hips and switch up the motion, grinding myself into her. She turns her head to the side and shudders under me, the friction it creates against her clit unbearable.
Our orgasms come easily, after only a few minutes of working each other. Her pussy’s still pulsing as I come inside her and bite at the side of her throat. I can’t get enough of her, tasting the sweetness of her skin, even gnawing on her like an animal.
She makes me this way. Feral and volatile.
After, we get up and each take showers. My bathroom is so small and cramped that only one adult can reasonably fit at a time. She goes first while I sit up on the side of the bed and scroll through the notifications on my phone.
I have three unread text messages. All from Jae-hyun.
Jin-tae, we need to discuss last night’s events
Meet me alone at noon
Cheongyeon Spa in Namcheon-dong
I stare at the messages so long I don’t hear the shower turn off or the click of the bathroom door as Monroe emerges amid clouds of steam. She clutches a towel to her body, brown skin gleaming with droplets of water, her curls trapped under a shower cap.
She frowns slightly. “Something wrong? You look more serious than usual. Which is saying something.”
“My boss wants to meet in an hour,” I answer vaguely, rising from the bed. “It looks like I’ll have to leave for a while this afternoon.”
I can tell Monroe’s disappointed—she was hoping we’d spend the rest of the day together—but I kiss her cheek and promise to return soon.
I’m quick in the shower, lathering up and rinsing off and then putting on a change of clothes. If Jae-hyun wants to meet in Namcheon-dong, it’ll take me almost an hour. Even as frustrated and pissed as I’ve been with Jae-hyun, it’s rarely a good idea to be late for a meeting with the Baekho-je.
“Stay put, alright?” I tell Monroe.
Guilt coils inside my stomach as I kneel before her and grab the cuff. I can tell Monroe’s tired of being chained while I’m gone.
I don’t like doing it either—but I’m also not sure if I can truly trust her not to run again. As much as I want to believe she wouldn’t, past behavior is a predicator of future behavior. She’s tried once, and I can’t risk her succeeding.
It wouldn’t end well for either of us if she went rogue and then the Baekho Pa found out.
My long fingers tenderly caress her ankle. I lean forward and drop a kiss to the area. “I promise I will be quick.”
She nods and then settles on the futon couch with a book. This time from my collection she’s selected A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway. It won’t be long before she’s read every book on the shelf…
The drive to Namcheon-dong takes over forty minutes. It feels longer as my knuckles tighten on the wheel and my mind wanders.
Jae-hyun rarely asks to meet anywhere other than the Claw Lounge, which is his palace of sorts. His domain as Baekho-je. Let alone meeting at a spa of all places.
This is no typical check-in, where he wants me to report the latest on my operation. He clearly wants discretion—or the chance to execute something nefarious.