Chapter 11 - Gun
ELEVEN
GUN
Only Elise Quinn could make me bleed and leave me wanting more.
Pain rings in my head like a goddamn temple bell—and I have that psycho kitten to thank for it. It takes me longer than I want to admit to get up off the wet, pebbly ground.
That headbutt was borderline fatal.
I sit up with a groan, running fingers over my scalp to assess the damage. It feels like my fucking skull has been cracked open and then pricked by thousands of tiny, razor-sharp needles.
Elise had no idea what she was doing and how dangerous it was to hit me in the head like that. She doesn’t know about my condition. But it doesn’t make what she did any less deadly.
She’s long gone. Nowhere in sight.
As soon as I collapsed, she smartly took it as her cue to get the hell out of here. It doesn’t take a genius to tell how worn down she was toward the end.
So Goyangi-ne has limitations after all.
The way she carries herself, you’d think she was Wonder Woman.
Tonight, as we were fighting, she was markedly slower than the other night. She wasn’t as graceful or aggressive either. She seemed more concerned with escape and evading me than outright fighting—and even trying to kill me—like she had in the hotel suite.
Sensing this, I had taken it easy on her. I didn’t really want to hurt her.
The truth is… a growing part of me has begun to even… enjoy our little sparring matches.
Our cat-and-mouse games.
It even amuses me that she seems to deeply hate me so much. It almost seems personal.
But my little feline friend won’t be escaping me that easily, even as I stagger to my feet and my skull throbs with pain.
Elise didn’t realize it, but when we were sparring, I stuck a tracker on her. I’d anticipated she would eventually slip away, and I preemptively snuck the tracker tag on her belt when we were grappling.
Sorry, Goyangi-ne, but you still haven’t seen the last of me.
I withdraw my phone from my pocket and swipe the tracking app open. Like I guessed, she’s making her way home, already outside the subway station a couple blocks from her apartment.
I take off after her, cutting time down by ordering a taxi.
For the duration of the ride, I’m monitoring the app, watching the blinking red dot that symbolizes Elise walking down the street.
And then… and then the dot goes down a side alleyway on the map.
My brows furrow.
The red dot remains in the alley for several minutes.
“What the hell is she doing?” I mutter under my breath.
In the alleyway she heads the opposite direction. Instead of going toward the exit, she goes deeper down the narrow passageway until she disappears inside what looks like an empty warehouse currently for sale.
“Why would she do that?” I ask. “Is she meeting someone? That man who crushed her in a bear hug tonight?”
The same pulse of jealousy that had beat through me earlier returns. I didn’t like seeing him put his arms around her; I didn’t like how familiar they looked with each other.
The taxi brakes outside the alley. I toss a wad of won at the driver and get out with intentions of interrupting whatever the hell she’s doing in that warehouse.
And if it’s with the bastard from outside the subway station, then—
I slow up as shadows engulf me inside the empty warehouse and voices echo. I pick up on Elise’s strained voice and another that sounds antagonistic.
Adversarial.
Who the fuck is here with her?
I’m soundless creeping through the dark warehouse, carefully making my way up the metal staircase that leads to the second level where the voices are coming from.
I slow up as the main floor spreads out in front of me and the scene I’m walking in on reveals itself.
Immediate, intense, near-blinding rage floods me.
Almost to the point I attack without any thought or foresight.
Instead I go still, my body suddenly rigid and taut. Tension cords through every muscle and makes me feel like I’m made of stone.
My fists damn sure feel as if they have the same kind of crushing impact.
Elise is chained to a chair, bloodied and bruised, barely able to lift her head up. And standing over her with a rusty pipe in his hand is none other than Nam Gi-tae, a low-level enforcer in the syndicate.
He’s kept around only for his brawn and stupidity. He’s exactly the kind of dumb oaf high-ranking members like to have as foot soldiers and muscle.
Somehow, he’s tracked Elise down and chained her up. He’s hurt her if the fresh bruises and blood are any indication.
“Even bloodied and bruised, you’re a sexy lady,” he says menacingly. He’s holding her face in his hand, forcing her to look up at him like she’s subservient. “I know how to make a woman like you cry, even when she acts so tough.”
Elise gives him no reaction other than defiance to the very end. She glares back up at him despite the fact she’s completely at his mercy.
He doesn’t seem to care—his clumsy mitten for a hand travels from her face, down her throat, to her chest. He grips her shirt fabric like he’s preparing to tear it open.
“I want to see you beg me, Black Silk,” he taunts, laughing crudely. “I want to make sure you know your place—”
“I wouldn’t touch her if I were you,” I interrupt, barely able to keep my voice level. I step out of the shadows and reveal myself.
Gi-tae looks like he’s seen a ghost. The rusty pipe drops from his grasp and clangs on the floor at his feet. He immediately lets go of Elise as if I didn’t just see him accosting her, his entire face paling like he’s fallen ill.
“Yongsa-nim Gun,” he chokes out, using my formal rank and address. He gives several deep and quick bows. “I didn’t hear you—”
“What were you doing, Gi-tae?” I ask simply.
He stutters over his words, looking from me to a chained-up Elise. “I… ah… Yongsa-nim… errr… I… I found… Black Silk…” he finishes lamely.
I take another step deeper into the room, my face and tone cold. “And then what?”
“Ahh…” he stammers. “I… I… Yongsa-nim Gun. She’s a woman. Black Silk. She killed Sin-won.”
“So you took it upon yourself to capture her,” I say, stepping closer. “You thought you would make her suffer?”
Relief eases his features. His eyes light up as he gives a fervent nod. “Yes, Yongsa-nim! I was doing it for the Cheongryong. To avenge Sin-won and make our enemies pay.”
The glowing expression on his face tells me he expects praise. He thinks I’m about to congratulate him. He’s likely already fantasizing about all of the amazing accolades he’ll be given for his excellent work.
Praise from his superiors. Mountains of cash. Any call girl he wants. Possibly even a promotion.
“Who told you to do this?” I ask.
His smile wavers. “Err… n-no one, Yongsa-nim. I… I thought… I was doing the syndicate a favor. Black Silk is our enemy, but she’s not a man. She’s just a woman—”
“And you would put her in her place?” I cock a brow at him.
“Yes,” he answers eagerly. “That’s it, Yongsa-nim. Like you said.”
I say nothing else, letting the seconds pass by in agonizing fashion. Gi-tae gradually goes from looking confident I approve to losing his confidence again.
The expression dims on his face, and I can practically see the beads of sweat forming on his brow.
Elise glares at us both, discerning it’s best if she keeps quiet. She’s wary of me, unsure whose side I’m on.
I take my last step forward, now only a couple inches between me and Gi-tae.
Then I bend to pick up the rusted pipe he dropped earlier. I take it into my hands and test the weight of it on my palm like he had done.
He steps aside as if he expects me to do what he was—hurt Elise Quinn, a.k.a. Black Silk.
His hunger for it is palpable. He’s so clueless he doesn’t see it coming when I swing the pipe at his head with sudden, brutal force.
He tips over like a freshly chopped tree in the forest, crashing down to the ground as blood splatters. I don’t give him time to even understand what’s going on.
My fist clenches shut in the front of his shirt as I drag him half up and then pry his jaw open.
Then… I shove the rusty pipe down his throat.
I jam it down as far as it’ll humanly go.
It slides into his mouth, past his lips, scraping enamel and catching on his teeth before slipping deeper down his gullet.
Bone cracks.
Muffled gurgles spill out of him as he literally chokes on the iron. But there’s nothing he can do about it—the rusted metal shunts down the passageway, no matter how narrow and unnatural.
His eyes go wide like those of a frog that just realized it’s in a boiling hot pot. His body bucks against me as if to push me off.
But I slam the pipe down deeper until it encounters resistance at his windpipe. A dry, crunching pop tells me I’ve crushed his larynx.
The scream he makes dies in his throat, strangled by rust and blood.
His legs kick wildly, heels scraping the filthy cement in panic. Though it’s much too late—the damage is already done.
It’s irreparable as the pipe tears tissue and he hemorrhages.
I watch it all happen. I’m calm as his struggling turns weak, then he gives one final kick of his leg and a last wet, gurgled hiss.
His lesson came in death. He learned the hard way not to lay a finger on the feline.
“She’s not just a woman,” I tell his limp corpse. “She’s mine.”
I stand up and admire my handiwork.
Gi-tae lies dead on the floor, his body sporadically twitching, the pipe lodged in place like a grotesque feeding tube.
I turn around to face Elise to find her staring at me like I’m the villain.
It’s the most honest reaction I’ve ever seen out of her. No longer is she hiding behind her mysterious veneer.
Her dark eyes are wide, and she’s speechless.
I’m unapologetic, cracking my neck on either shoulder. Then I step toward her to undo the chains.
“What? You’re acting like I’m the one who started it,” I say as I crouch beside her, casually yanking the chain. “I just… finished it.”
“What are you doing?” she finally manages as the chains clang and I remove the first shackle from her wrist.