Chapter 13 - Elise #2
“Yeah, you can imagine how that went over. My father prizes prestige, so when he married her and her reputation followed…” Gun’s grin dims, becoming bitter around the edges.
“It made everything even more of a mess. But he’s not perfect either.
He was only divorced for a few months before he married her. ”
“He was married before?”
“To my brother’s mother. She was more respectable... by our society’s standards.”
I set my chopsticks down completely, drawn into his story despite myself. “And why did they divorce?”
“Appa isn’t a good husband,” Gun says simply, like he’s commenting on the weather. “Or father. He and my brother’s mother were childhood sweethearts. Then he joined the military and had an illustrious career. But when he got out, he got involved in a life of crime.”
“The Cheongryong?”
Gun nods. “Mi-sook—my brother’s mother—didn’t like that kind of lifestyle. With it came all his mistresses, the partying, the violent ways. So she divorced him and took my brother Ho-seok with her.”
Silence stretches between us as I process his words, my japchae forgotten as the eerie similarities between our stories wash over me like waves.
Both of us abandoned by mothers. Both of us shaped by fathers who chose a life of crime over family.
And both of us carrying the weight of choices we never got to make.
He has to know. He has to know what happened… doesn’t he?
Gun must notice the shock written across my features because his eyebrow quirks, that familiar easygoing grin spreading across his face.
“Yeah, my family’s fucked up,” he says, his tone suddenly lighter, like he has to make a joke of it to keep from drowning in the traumatizing reality.
“No wonder my father hates me; I’m just a reminder of the prostitute he got conned by.
But my brother, Ho-seok? He’s the preferred one.
Neurosurgeon in Incheon. And me?” He spreads his hands with mock grandeur. “I’m a rotten gangster.”
“Your father is a gangster too,” I say defensively without even thinking. “He’s a lieutenant, right? One of the highest ranking in the entire syndicate.”
“Don’t tell him that. Somehow I’m still a failure in his eyes. Not as sharp as he is, so he says.” Gun laughs it off as if he’s done it a million times before, then reaches across the table to nudge my hand with his. “What about you, Goyangi-ne? Do I get to know about your past?”
The question rings through me, rendering me speechless. I’m suddenly mute as it dawns on me—even stronger than it ever has before—that I want to share something real.
I’m tempted to tell this man about myself. It feels natural and like the right thing to do for a reason I don’t understand.
But then my lips refuse to move.
I can’t bring myself to open that door.
How can I make myself vulnerable when it’ll only give him ammunition to hurt me later?
Everyone betrays trust eventually—it’s just a matter of time.
My gaze falls to the cooling noodles in my bowl. “There’s nothing to tell. My family is boring and uninteresting.”
Before Gun can press the issue further, he suddenly hisses in pain. His face contorts as his hand flies to his head. The chair he’s sitting in tips over as he leaps to his feet, not saying a word as he strides from the room.
No less than a couple seconds later does the bathroom door thud shut and the medicine cabinet creak open.
A pill bottle rattles and water runs from the faucet.
All sounds that tell me he’s rushed to go take his medications again.
He seems to rely on them heavily. He often keeps them at his side, popping a couple every few hours.
Then I think back to that moment in the alleyway where I’d headbutted him and he’d reacted as if in severe pain. More than most people would.
My brows knit together as curiosity wars with my sense of decency.
Whatever condition ails Gun is clearly serious enough to send him running for pharmaceutical relief in the middle of a conversation.
It’s serious enough to make him keep a pharmacy’s worth of pills within easy reach.
And I’m going to find out exactly what it is.
Things stay awkward and tense between Gun and me for the next two days, the air in the apartment thick with unspoken words and strategically maintained distance.
When he finally leaves on what he calls “business,” I’m almost relieved.
…until I discover Joon will be my babysitter, sprawled across the couch with a bag of chips and more corny pick up lines.
“It’s okay if you’re not feeling Gun, cutie,” he says, winking.
“He thinks just because he’s handsome, rich, and powerful that that’s what women want.
But I keep telling him they want a true romantic…
like me. The kind of man who’ll hold your hair back when you vomit and recite Shakespeare to you afterward, you know?
I’m a ride or die. And hey—if you’re ever interested, it could just be between me and you. Gun doesn’t have to know.”
“Uh… right.”
I half consider taking him out, running through various scenarios where I incapacitate Gun’s loyal sidekick and make my escape.
But the rational part of my mind reminds me there could be more security positioned throughout the building. More eyes watching than I’m aware of.
Then I’d wind up in the same situation as the other day.
If I’m going to make another escape attempt, it needs to be through stealth rather than confrontation.
When Gun returns hours later, I can’t help but press him about where he’s been.
“Cheongryong business,” he says vaguely.
The non-answer only confirms my growing theory: Gun is still covering for me.
He’s keeping the truth about Black Silk’s identity from his father and the rest of the syndicate. He knows exactly who I am and what I’ve done.
For reasons I can’t really fathom, he’s chosen to protect that information rather than cash in on the glory it would bring him.
By day four, my body finally starts to feel like my own again.
The worst of the bruises have faded from deep purple to ugly yellow green, and my ribs no longer scream in protest every time I take a breath.
I’ve been keeping up with exercise despite the cramped quarters—sit-ups and push-ups and shadow boxing routines that help me feel less like a prisoner and more like the weapon I was trained to be.
I’m in the middle of my third set of sit-ups when the bathroom door opens and Gun emerges in a cloud of steam, water beading on his skin like liquid diamonds. He adjusts the towel wrapped around his waist, his muscles distractingly on display.
He has washboard abs and defined arms. His pecs are sculpted, and his shoulders look harder and broader than ever.
Our eyes meet across the small space, and that familiar smirk curves his lips as he catches me staring.
“Like what you see, Goyangi-ne?” he teases, running a hand through his damp black hair.
“You wish,” I shoot back, quickly looking away
“True. But I know I’m not alone.”
His hands hover near the fold of his towel as if he’s about to drop it, then he laughs and walks off.
I glare after him before giving my all during my next rep of sit-ups.
This is the problem with living in a confined space like this. It’s not even that I’m forced to cohabitate with my enemy.
It’s the fact that Gun’s presence takes over the entire apartment. That he looks so damn good doing it.
Gun in a towel. Gun without his shirt. Gun’s grin and his teasing words that heat up my skin.
All of it’s very inconvenient when you’re trying to hate someone.
On night five, I wander into the living room to find him putting on the 2003 Korean film Oldboy.
The room dims to nothing but the blue glow from the TV screen.
I take the cushion that’s unofficially become mine. Gun merely smiles with his eyes, the dark orbs gleaming even in the dim room.
The moment feels strangely intimate and comfortable, like we’re good friends enjoying a movie night… or even worse, two lovers spending a night in.
“This your first time?” he asks.
My cheeks flush, and I glance over as my brain slowly works out that he means the movie.
The movie. NOT whatever it is you think he means.
…something intimate? Something involving real human connection?
It’s stupid.
I know how to behave around men. I’ve grown up in predominantly male environments, from being raised by Dad and Uncle Jerald to joining the military and wearing a man’s uniform every day.
I’m one of only three female assassins working for Vanguard.
Some of my most credited kills have been seduction kills—me charming our targets to the point they didn’t know what hit them when the time came for me to go in for the kill.
Yet being around Rhee Gun-woo makes me feel like I have no experience with men. He makes me feel like I’m some nervous teenager on my first date with a guy I’ve been crushing on.
My stomach flutters and I force my gaze back to the TV screen.
“It’s a classic in Korean cinema,” Gun goes on. He tosses a handful of the sweet and salty popcorn he’s snacking on in his mouth. “It was so big it even broke into the States, didn’t it?”
“I’ve heard of it but never watched it…”
“You don’t just watch Oldboy. You survive it. You do scary movies, Goyangi? Something tells me you think they’re juvenile.”
I do.
Usually.
But as the opening credits roll, it’s clear right away this isn’t some cheap jump-scare horror flick.
The music score swells in dramatic orchestra fashion, opening to a drunken man gripping a dog leash in one hand… and something off-screen dangling at the end of it.
“That’s him,” Gun says, scooping up another handful of popcorn. “The main guy. You’ll see.”
The scene transitions to a police station with the same man slurring and stumbling. He pisses on the wall and then picks a fight like an unhinged idiot.
I frown. “This is who I’m supposed to root for?”
Gun merely grins. “Wait for it.”
Over the next minute, the man disappears. Gone without a trace.
From there the movie takes us on a wild ride of psychological torment. I’m full of questions the deeper we get into the film.