Chapter 12 - Elise
TWELVE
ELISE
There’s a thin line between captivity and hospitality… and I’ve just woken up somewhere that thinks it can pass as both.
I roll over in a bed of soft sheets and cozy warmth and instantly realize I’m not in my own.
The past twelve hours come back to me all at once.
KD and I had been on a mission to eliminate Lieutenant Ko Dong-kyu. I’d run into none other than the thorn in my side, Rhee Gun-woo. Then we’d fought—and kissed—and I’d managed to get away.
And then I was confronted by…
A complicated feeling clenches inside my stomach thinking about the low-level Jeokpa enforcer and how he had attacked me.
I rarely lose a fight, but this one was brutal. It was life or death.
I would’ve died had Gun not shown up.
But that doesn’t change the fact that, as I sit up in his bed at his apartment, there’s nothing I want more than to get the fuck out of here.
A beat of anger pulses through me at the presumptuous fact he’d even bring me here in the first place. As if we were allies. As if we were friends and he gave a damn about what happens to me.
I wouldn’t put it past him to turn me into the Cheongryong anyway.
He’d be able to claim the win for himself and would get the last laugh.
Which means I have to get the hell out of here. Now.
Pain radiates through my torso like broken glass grinding against my ribs every time I try to shift my weight, but I force myself to push through the discomfort and swing my legs over the side of the bed.
The simple act of sitting up sends waves of nausea churning in my stomach. I have to grip the mattress to keep from toppling over as the room tilts sideways around me.
My thoughts are still cloudy, but I vaguely remember a doctor had come by earlier. I had finished my bath and Gun had introduced him as his private on-call physician.
The man stitched up the deeper cuts and examined my ribs. He pressed pills into my palm with instructions to take them for the pain. Those same pills had knocked me unconscious.
I push through the weakness anyway, staggering to my feet on unsteady legs as I scan the shadowy room for any sign of my clothes. The oversized t-shirt I’m wearing hangs loose around my thighs, clearly borrowed from Gun’s wardrobe.
Ugh. Wearing my worst enemy’s clothes is not on my bingo card.
Fresh anger rolls over me, bringing me to scowl.
When I pull open the nightstand drawer in search of anything useful, I spot hair ties and makeup wipes instead—the kind of small signs that speak to a regular female visitor. The thought of being in the same space as Gun’s girlfriend makes my skin crawl.
I slam the drawer shut harder than necessary.
I turn toward what looks like a wardrobe across the room, determined to find my own clothes and phone and get the hell out of here.
My legs give out without warning. I crash to the floor in a tangle of limbs and loose fabric, my arms shaking as I try to push myself back upright.
“Need a helping hand?” comes an amused voice.
I look up to find Gun leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed like he’s been watching me for god knows how long.
“Fuck off,” I spit.
“If you insist,” he says with a shrug. He turns to walk away.
I go back to trying to push myself up until large hands grab at my forearms and gingerly pull me upward.
Gun didn’t walk away at all—exactly the opposite. He turned back and came over to pick me up. He carries me back to the bed and sets me down.
I wrench my arm away from his grip the moment I’m seated, glaring up at him with all the venom I can muster.
“I want to leave. Now.”
“That’s not really an option,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact. “You’re in terrible shape, Goyangi-ne. You need to rest.”
“It’s not the resting I have a problem with. It’s having to do it with my enemy five feet away from me.”
“Is that what we are? Enemies?” He flashes that infuriating smirk I’ve grown to hate. “Here I was thinking we were lovers.”
“You wish,” I snap. “I have no interest in being trapped in your apartment. I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t appreciate it either, judging by all her shit in your nightstand.”
His laugh is rich and genuinely amused. “Those don’t belong to my girlfriend, Goyangi. I don’t have one. I keep supplies for the women who come over—tampons in the bathroom, makeup wipes, hair ties. Basic hospitality. Like a one-stop shop.”
The sound of disgust that escapes my throat is involuntary. “Women? As in plural?”
“This is my love nest,” he boasts with obvious pride. “Very discreet location, out of the way. Perfect for laying low. Which also makes it perfect for you while you recover.”
“I’d rather sleep on broken glass than in the bed where you fuck random women.”
“Unfortunately, you don’t have much choice in the matter,” he says, shrugging again. “So you might as well be pleasant about it and make our time together enjoyable.”
I heave a sigh as he disappears from the doorway.
My gaze roams the compact space. The bedroom is small, with only the bed, nightstands, and a floor lamp. The view from the window isn’t particularly remarkable either—it faces another building and blocks out most of the city.
It’s the bed that’s the star of the room.
Large and wide, which confirms that Gun really does bring women back here to fuck.
I shudder in revulsion—and a little irritation he’d bring me here like another conquest—when he returns with a tray balanced in his hands.
“I bought you soup from the local market. Dak-gomtang. It’s what you Americans call chicken broth soup. You’ll like it.”
“I’m not hungry.”
It’s a blatant lie. The savory aroma makes my stomach ache with need. But I’d never tell him that; as far as he’s concerned, I don’t need anything from him.
“You’re going to be here for days, so going on a hunger strike isn’t the smartest idea.” He sets the tray on the bedside table. Steam wafts invitingly from the bowl next to a cup of herbal tea that smells like ginger and honey. “In the condition you’re in, you can’t afford to deny food, Goyangi.”
“That’s not my name.”
“But Jamie is? If you don’t know your real name, neither do I. So Goyangi it is. Eat.”
Begrudgingly, I settle back against the pillows and take the spoon he offers, bringing the first mouthful to my lips. The soup is rich and flavorful, tasting of chicken, garlic, and scallions, and despite myself, I have to suppress a sound of appreciation.
Gun watches every spoonful I take with those dark, glittering eyes of his. He surveys me like I’m some fascinating specimen under a microscope. The scrutiny makes me uncomfortable in ways I don’t want to examine.
“What do you want with me?” I finally ask after another spoonful of soup.
“Are you ever not suspicious?” he counters, tilting his head. “You’re one of the most suspicious people I’ve ever met. So distrusting of any and everything.”
“It’s kept me alive this long.”
“It doesn’t hurt to trust sometimes either. Have some faith in life itself. Go with the flow.” His smile is lazy. Almost mocking. “Look at me—I’m still alive, and I don’t play by the rules.”
“Forgive me if I don’t want to take advice from the man who ruined my plans tonight.”
“You mean to assassinate one of my lieutenants? Who’s paying you, Goyangi? Why are you after the Cheongryong? You know what happens to our enemies?”
“I’ll take my chances.”
The corner of his mouth quirks as if even my response amuses him. “I can’t make you see reason, but either way, you’re stuck here. You might as well accept it.”
He turns and walks out of the room.
As his footsteps fade down the hall, I tip the bowl to my lips and drink the remaining broth in long, grateful gulps.
Rhee Gun-woo will get his way for now. It’s true that I’m stuck here at his so-called love nest.
For tonight, I decide, I’ll rest up. I’ll behave. I’ll let my body heal and gather my strength.
But tomorrow... tomorrow I find my way out of this trap disguised as sanctuary.
Dawn bleeds across the Seoul sky in watercolor streaks of lavender and rose. The apartment is steeped in hushed silence, broken only by the distant hum of traffic in the streets below.
I’m feeling marginally better after a couple hours of rest. The pain has dulled enough, and I’ve regained enough strength that I’m able to stand and move through the room.
My clothes are crumpled in the hamper like discarded evidence, torn and stained with blood and warehouse grime. They smell like dried sweat and blood, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
Right now all that matters is putting distance between myself and this makeshift prison.
I sneak out of the bedroom and creep down the hall toward what I hope is freedom, bare feet soundless against the hardwood floors.
Each step feels like a small victory, proof that my body is remembering how to be the weapon it was trained to be instead of the broken thing I’ve been for the past night.
The living room opens up before me, sparse and masculine in its simplicity, and there on the couch lies Gun in a position that speaks to exhaustion deeper than mere sleep.
His neck is craned back against the headrest, mouth slightly open as light snores escape his lips.
It’s the first time since I’ve known him that he looks almost... human.
Vulnerable.
Which would make it the perfect opportunity to carry out my mission. Eliminate Yongsa Rhee Gun-woo for what he and his family did to Dad.
For half a second, I’m vicious and vengeful enough to consider it.
How easy would it be to end his life right now?
One quick slash to his exposed throat, a pillow over his face, the single pull of a trigger. All ways I could solve the Gun-woo problem for good.
He wouldn’t even know the difference. He’d be dead too quickly.
But then guilt unloads on me like an avalanche I’m too slow to outrun. This man saved my life. He killed one of his syndicate’s soldiers because he had hurt me. He pulled me out of that warehouse when he could have left me to die, and he brought me here so he could tend to my wounds.