Ruthless Touch

Chapter 1 Gun

ONE

GUN

Most people avoid bright lights and loud noises when their brain feels like it’s splitting in half. But me? I surround myself with them.

I’m standing under the neon-lit sign outside Club Eclipse as if I don’t have a migraine bad enough to make a grown man cry.

I probably would if I weren’t already used to it; it’s less unusual when I go a day without the severe pulsating inside my skull.

After twenty years dealing with the daily pain, you learn to live with it.

I pop the lid on the orange pill bottle I keep on me at all times and toss back two large, chalky tablets. They taste like shit going down, but give it twenty, thirty minutes, and they’ll do the trick.

As I’m leaning against my Porsche taking my meds, a parade of gorgeous women struts by. All in dangerously low-cut dresses that barely cover their asses. Each one in sky-high heels that make them look like Amazons.

They’re on their way into Eclipse to party the night away.

…which means that’s where I should be too.

If there’s anything that’s going to distract me from the splitting pain in my skull, it’s a beautiful, curvy American tourist—

I’m winking at the group of girls when my phone buzzes from inside my pocket.

Fuck.

That better be Joon-gi. His ass better be nearby.

I fish the phone out of my pants pocket, even more disgruntled when I see the name on the screen.

“Appa,” I answer. “Always good to hear from you. How have I disappointed you today?”

My father’s grimace might as well be a sound. “You disappoint me just by waking up each morning, Gun-woo. But I didn’t call to discuss your mediocrity. This is business.”

I glance over my shoulder at the American cuties entering Eclipse and sigh. Stepping away from my Porsche, I put some distance between me and the dance club.

It’s hard enough to hear my father through the throbbing in my head without adding the club music to the mix.

“If this is about the weapons deal, no worries. I’ve got it under control.”

“There are no words more terrifying from Rhee Gun-woo than those five. This is not about the weapons deal, aegiya.”

I scowl to myself.

He knows I fucking hate when he calls me that—Hangul for childish one. But he does it anyway, just to get under my skin.

“This is about the other task I’ve given you,” he goes on, tone dripping with disapproval. “Your tasking to investigate the Black Suits in Seoul.”

Shit!

“That,” I say slowly. “That is underway, Appa. I’ve had Joon-gi—”

“Enough! Quit your lying now, Gun-woo. You have made no progress. And now a Jeokpa is dead.”

“A red breaker is dead? But how?!”

“Is it any surprise? I’ve warned you that these Black Suits were not to be taken lightly. They are here to disrupt the Cheongryong by any means possible. From the inside and outside. There was an assassination attempt on Lieutenant Im and the breaker took the bullet instead.

“The word is, they’ve brought in some of their tier ones—specifically someone by the name of Black Silk. He’s the best in the business,” my father says. “Do you realize what this means? Everyone high ranking is a target until this is sorted out—including you.”

“You consider me elite, Appa? That is surprising coming from you.”

“Make no mistake. It is purely based on your relation to me not your worthiness. Tomorrow we will meet to discuss the next course of action. It’s time to go on the offensive.”

He hangs up shortly after, making it clear he’s dissatisfied with me. But what else is new?

It would’ve been stranger if he’d hung up with an, “I’m proud of you, adeul.”

Hangul for son.

I release a breath as another pulse of pain hits me.

Can’t hurt to pop an extra pill for good measure. After all, my father’s phone calls would give anybody a headache.

I’ve barely swallowed it down when Joon-gi finally arrives.

In typical Joon-gi fashion, he tries his hardest to be impressive and make an entrance. He pulls up in a BMW 8I with a bright green underglow and the bass pumping.

Everybody on the block stares. Some in awe. Others watching on as they giggle.

Joon neither notices nor cares.

The goofball grins wide as the doors raise and he steps out looking like he got dressed in the dark—a neon windbreaker, oversized shades, and cargo pants tucked into high-top sneakers, like some Twitch streamer who got blackout drunk in a Seoul boutique.

He runs a hand through the messy dark brown shag he calls a hairstyle, otherwise known as the wolf cut.

It could be worse. There was the time he dyed his hair platinum blond.

“Told you I clean up nice,” he says in greeting. He gestures to himself. “This look? Straight off the mannequin at the Prada in Gangnam.”

“I would’ve guessed the discount rack. And what is that smell? Is that you?”

“It’s the latest. It’s called Street Heat. Limited release.”

I cough, fanning the air between us. “Street Sewage is more like it. You think you’re gonna catch some chicks smelling like that?”

“The American ladies will love it—they flock to exotic scents like this. The shop attendant said—”

“As she made a commissioned sale,” I interrupt, raising a brow at him. I clap a hand to his shoulder. “Face it. You’ve been swindled. Again.”

Joon scoffs, shrugging off my hand. “We’ll see by the end of the night. I’ll have two cuties. One on each arm. I’m surprised you weren’t already inside getting a head start.”

“My father called with some bad news.”

“Oh yeah? This about the dead Jeokpa?”

“How the fuck did you know before me?” I ask as we fall into step with each other.

We’ve started back toward the nightclub. The line has only grown longer in the last five minutes. The music pounds louder and so does the throbbing inside my head.

Any second now the pain killers should be kicking in.

Hopefully.

“You forget I’m intel?” Joon asks. “I know everything before you, Gun.”

“Intel looking like that. You sure know how to blend in.”

He chuckles. “Did your appa tell you to get your ass out of the clubs?”

“When isn’t he telling me that?”

“That’s why you never live to please them, my friend,” he says, hooking an arm around my neck. He gestures to the club floor in front of us, bathed in bright neon-purple lighting. “Parents will have you pulling your hair out trying to impress them.”

“You would know.”

Joon-gi has bucked tradition from the moment I met him in high school. From a family of well-regarded attorneys, he sought a life of crime despite his genius-level IQ. His family has considered it the highest of disrespects, virtually disowning him.

If anything, it’s caused Joon to act out even more. The platinum blond hair being one of the most visually offensive examples.

“So you heard the bastard got away?” asks Joon. “Made a clean break and nobody caught him.”

“Black Silk,” I scoff. “More like incompetence. How was Lieutenant Im even within shot? And my father says I’m incompetent.”

“That’s it, Gun. It’s all projection. They’re the problem. Not you. Never you.”

“Fuck off.” I shove at him to his laughter.

He stumbles half a step back, rubbing at his shoulder. “No need to get violent. Look around you—we’re in paradise, my friend. Eclipse is full of sexy ladies tonight.”

I scan the area, admiring the club from wall to wall.

Neon-purple lights spill over everything—ceilings, booths, even the floor looks like it’s been lacquered in liquid moonlight.

The bar stretches across the far wall in sleek black marble, glowing bottles lined up like candy behind glass.

The room throbs from the loud music; the dance floor packed with bodies grinding in rhythm.

And then there’s the cages suspended in the air where girls in tiny hot pants shake their hips seductively.

“Am I right?” Joon asks, grinning wider than seems possible. He elbows me in the ribs. “Check out that group of tourists at ten o’ clock. You think the redhead would give me the time of day?”

“She’s out of your league. All of them are.”

“Big talk from you, Gun. But women are bored of your classic looks. They want unconventional. Like me.”

We’re both so busy giving each other shit we almost don’t notice the woman who really deserves our attention.

Joon sees her first, elbowing me in the ribs a second time.

He’s gone still otherwise, his eyes wide and voice full of awe. “And who is that? Do you see her? Over at the bar counter? ”

I follow his gaze, my eyes traveling over the writhing crowd on the dance floor. It finally lands on the only woman Joon could possibly be talking about—and she’s not only stunning, she’s alone.

She’s seated at the bar counter as the party happens around her, sipping on a simple cocktail like she’s satisfied in her solitude.

My heart flips inside my chest. The heavy pounding in my head suddenly ceases to exist.

I’m as awestricken as Joon, peering across the club at the beautiful woman.

She has smooth dark brown skin that radiates in the purple-tinted lighting and feline-like eyes that are dark and mysterious.

Her hair is long and done in some kind of thick braided style, hanging down her back like rope spun from velvet.

She has a nose ring and a full mouth she’s painted the color of wine.

Unlike most of the women in Eclipse, she’s shied away from the mini dress and skyscraper heels.

Instead, she’s wearing a black top that’s cropped to show off a toned stomach—and another piercing, this time a belly gemstone—and some kind of matching wrap skirt that hugs what are deliciously curvy hips.

But though she’s obviously beautiful, that’s not the only distinctive thing about her.

It’s the energy she possesses, so different it makes her stand out from the others in the club.

She has a calm, quiet, cool confidence as she sips her cocktail and her dark eyes roam the club space. Almost like she’s the queen surveying her subjects.

“She’s alternative,” Joon whispers, elbowing me yet again. “More my speed, yeah?”

I don’t answer him, too busy staring at her unapologetically.

Considered bad form or not, I don’t give a fuck.

It’s been some time since I’ve laid eyes on a woman like this.

“You think she’d give me her number?” Joon goes on. “I should go ask.”

Finally, as if sensing my gaze set on her from across the room, she looks over. Her dark eyes meet mine, holding contact like she’s already decided something. Then… then the corner of her lips quirk in the tiniest of smirks.

“She must be new to the area,” he rambles on cluelessly. “She’s a tourist.”

I take a step forward, my mind made up. “More like she’s dangerous.”