Chapter 13 - Elise
THIRTEEN
ELISE
I’ve slit throats of high-level public figures, stolen state secrets, and snuck into some of the most fortified buildings in the world—but somehow sneaking out of Gun’s apartment feels like the riskiest mission yet.
It’s the dead of night, and the place is engulfed in darkness.
Gun is really asleep this time. His breathing is deep and rhythmic, his chest slowly rising and then falling. The rest of his body is draped over the couch, his limbs hanging limply over the sides.
I slink past the living room and dart for the door. I’ve abandoned the shiv and pill ideas and decided on a different approach.
If I can’t kill Rhee Gun-woo, then I’ll at least use my lock-picking skills to escape his clutches. I found a paperclip and have unbent it so that I can use it to undo the front door’s lock.
It should take me no more than a minute or two.
The straightened paperclip slides into the lock mechanism.
My fingers work with the kind of muscle memory that comes from years of breaking into places I’m not supposed to be.
The metal scrapes against the internal pins with clicking sounds that would be quiet in a loud room, but in this quiet one they sound deafeningly loud.
I hold my breath for every second it takes.
Click. Click. Click.
Behind me, Gun’s breathing remains deep and even, the rhythm unchanged from when I first crept past him knocked out on the couch.
The paperclip twists in my grip as I manipulate the final pin. It gives way with a final click that’s louder than the others combined.
But it’s the sound of success.
I’ve done it. I’ve picked the double lock, and in record time.
I glance over my shoulder one more time to confirm that Gun is still out. Then I ease the doorknob into a slow turn. It moves freely now, no longer rigidly frozen in place.
With utmost care, I pull the door open just wide enough to slip through the crack.
But the moment I step across the threshold, my escape attempt screeches to a halt.
The man standing just outside grins wide. “Look what we have here. Breaking out of the joint, eh, cutie?”
Defensive instincts explode through my nervous system like live wires. I don’t give it any thought, going straight into attack mode.
My leg whips out in a vicious side kick aimed at his chest. The impact connects with satisfying force, sending him stumbling back with a grunt of pained surprise.
The only downside is there’s only one way to go down the hall, which means if I want to escape, I’ll have to get past him.
I launch myself forward in another combo of kicks. My body moves on autopilot, ignoring the throbs from my still-healing ribs.
The man grabs onto my ankle mid-kick and, using my own momentum, sends us both crashing to the ground.
We land in a heap on top of each other and instantly start grappling. His hands try to pin my wrists while I’m still on the attack, going for strikes to his face.
Footsteps pad behind us. My heart sinks as I realize this is fruitless.
There’s no way I’m escaping if it’s two on one. Not in the condition I’m currently in.
“Trying to escape again, Goyangi?” Gun asks exasperatedly. “Did you think I wouldn’t have security?”
“Hey,” groans the man under me. He lets go of my wrist and staggers onto his feet. “I’m not security security. This is me doing you a favor, Gun-woo.”
That’s when I realize who this is. I hadn’t noticed in the split second I had to attack him, but now that I get a good look at him in the hallway lighting, it’s the same flirty cornball from Eclipse.
The club had been dark, lit only by the violet neon lights, but I see him clearly now.
Joon-gi is the guy who had been the first to shoot his shot that night. Apparently, now he’s moonlighting as a prison guard.
I scowl and push myself off the ground, agitated by the set up.
Joon’s rubbing at his chest where my kick landed. “Damn, Gun-woo. You weren’t joking when you said she was fierce as fuck. I think I’ll be feeling that kick for a month. You owe me hazard pay for this on-the-job injury.”
“Shut up and stop crying like a baby,” Gun replies without sympathy. His hand closes around my elbow as he guides me back toward the apartment.
I wrench my arm from his grasp the moment we’re through the doorway.
“I’ll never stop trying to escape! What part of ‘I hate your guts’ don’t you understand?”
Gun’s lips spread into his signature cocky grin. “What part of ‘I don’t give a fuck’ don’t you understand?”
Rage clenches in my chest like a pressure cooker bound to explode. My fists ball at my sides as the urge to show him just what kind of deadly predator I can be arises.
He seems to recognize the bloodthirsty look on my face. His dark eyes gleam as if he savors it. He welcomes it.
“You want to kill me right now, don’t you?” he taunts. “But you tried already. You couldn’t bring yourself to use that shiv, could you?”
From somewhere behind us, Joon speaks. He’s wandered into the apartment after us to watch our latest fight. “Mom, Dad... why can’t you just get along?”
We both ignore him.
I step into Gun’s personal space, close enough that we peer into each other’s eyes and nothing else.
“I could’ve done it,” I snarl, my voice low and deadly. “I had a moment of weakness. I realize now that I was wrong.”
“You have a lot of those. Moments of weakness. Like when we were kissing in that hotel suite.”
My eyes narrow, my glare acidic. “Sleep with both eyes open, Rhee.”
“I don’t need to. I like it when you’re angry, Goyangi. I want you to try to kill me.” He’s the one to step closer this time, leaning in as he holds our charged gaze. “It’s more fun that way.”
Gun steps around me like our conversation is over, already engaging with Joon like I’ve been dismissed.
If I don’t remove myself from the room, I’ll go crazy and stab the paperclip I have into his eyeball—or much worse.
I rush from the living room, down the hall, slamming the bedroom door shut. My entire body vibrates with unspent violent urges.
…with fury that can’t be acted out, which only makes me feel helpless.
One of the worst feelings I could ever have.
I sink onto the edge of the bed with my head in my hands.
How the hell am I going to survive this situation? What the fuck am I going to do when I’m at the mercy of my greatest enemy?
“Hungry?”
I don’t bother turning away from what little I can see of the Seoul skyline through the bedroom window. The building next door blocks most of it, making the cityscape seem so small and distant.
“No thank you,” I grit out, jaw clenched with tension.
“Suit yourself. I prepared an extra bowl of japchae anyway. It’s piping hot and fresh.”
I can tell—the savory aroma drifts into the bedroom.
Sesame oil and soy sauce. A touch of garlic and onion.
My empty stomach rumbles with unwelcome hunger.
Gun’s already left the doorway, the sound of his retreating footsteps a light thud on the floorboards.
I close my eyes and force myself to take a steadying breath, teeth still clenched so tightly my jaw aches.
This is my situation now, whether I like it or not.
It accomplishes nothing productive to starve myself out of spite, especially when I need to maintain my strength if I’m ever going to find a way out of this.
When I finally emerge from the bedroom, Gun is seated at the small dining table. He’s already dug into the steaming bowl in front of him, his chopsticks poised between his long fingers. He glances up when I take the seat across from him, eyeing the bowl and set of chopsticks he set out for me.
“I can get you a fork if you’d prefer,” he offers.
“Chopsticks are fine.”
He shrugs yet again, casual and indifferent. “Have it your way.”
The japchae in my bowl looks more delicious than I want to admit—glass noodles glistening with oil, perfectly julienned vegetables, and thin strips of marinated beef that look mouthwateringly succulent.
I want to eat every bite I’ve been served.
Gun damn sure is; he eats like a vacuum, shoveling noodles as if he’s in some speed-eating contest.
I’m the opposite, picking at my food, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing how genuinely hungry I am.
But it doesn’t last long. After a couple minutes, natural urges override my pride. I take my first real bite and savor how flavorful it is.
Gun pauses mid-bite, noodles dangling from his chopsticks. “You like it?”
I give a terse nod. “It’s… okay.”
He laughs as if he knows that’s a lie. “It’s okay if you admit you do, you know. I won’t tell anyone the great, fierce assassin Black Silk complimented her mortal enemy’s cooking.”
“Thank you so much for the permission,” I reply, dripping with sarcasm.
He shakes his head in obvious entertainment, still grinning.
I’m reminded that pissing me off is his goal. It’s basically become a hobby of his.
Maybe it’s time to try a different approach.
One that might actually yield some useful information about my captor.
“Did you make this yourself?” I ask, surprising us both with the genuine curiosity in my tone.
“I’m a decent cook. My eomma left when I was young, and I hated the shit the staff that worked for Appa made, so I took matters into my own hands. Started making my own food pretty early.”
I pause with my chopsticks midair, struck by the familiarity of it all. “How young were you when she left?”
“Don’t remember exactly. Probably four or five.”
“That is young.”
“Yeah… well… she and my father had a very... toxic relationship. According to him, she tricked him into marrying her.”
“Tricked him?”
“They had a very hot fling and she wound up pregnant.” There’s a pause, heavy with unspoken history, before he adds with yet another casual shrug, “She was a parlor girl.”
My eyebrows rise involuntarily. “Oh.”