Page 26

The clock will finally run out. I’ll finish what I should’ve done the night I marked her.

I walk into Club Gongshi and survey the crowded club as possibly the only loner in the place. The stench of sweat and cheap perfume permeates every corner of the club. The music makes the ground vibrate.

It’s dark and dense inside, lit only by neon blue track lights. Everyone looks like a glowing creature, features indistinguishable.

But I have a keen eye when searching for things. I scan the crowd in search of Shin Dae-il.

Tonight is the night he’s supposed to pay up the sixty-seven-million won. He knows what’s at stake if he fails to comply. My men and I will hunt him down like a dog and take the rest of his toes. And his fingers. And his teeth.

Then we’ll dump his body in the ocean.

I order a bottle of soju at the counter but hardly take a sip.

I’m a disciplined man of control, which means I do not like indulging in alcohol often. It strips away any inhibitions and sense of restraint. Two things a strategic, stoic, measured man like me hates.

My eyes sweep the club, picking out the tipsy Korean businessmen who flirt with the young female tourists, andthen glancing over to the DJ at the booth, laughing loudly at something his friend says.

Everyone here tonight is even worse than Monroe.

They’re like the Baekho-je, slaves to their vices. They’re obsessed with pleasure and overindulgence with no concept of discipline.

It’s no wonder many of them find themselves in debt and other bad situations.

“Still hunting the girl from the alley?”

Kang Seung-min slides into view beside me, holding a bottle of beer and wearing a boastful grin. He’s almost as tatted as I am, his ink covering both arms and hands. He’s younger than me, with the same level of hunger I had at his age.

It’s no coincidence people routinely compare us. Most recently, the Baekho-je when he offered to give Seung-min my tasking instead.

But I don’t bother responding. I turn my back on him, facing the bar counter.

He takes a sip from his beer bottle and stops beside me anyway, like we’re two friends ordering drinks from the bartender.

“I didn’t realize it took this long to eliminate a teacher and her mommy.”

For once, I don’t think. I just move. Faster than anyone, much less Seung-min, can anticipate.

Speed has always been a strength of mine.

My hand clamps shut on the back of his neck and I drive his face into the bar counter. He collides with the wooden surface with a grunt, his nose slamming directly into it.

A few patrons gasp and flinch. One woman yelps. The bartender goes still mid-pour of whatever drink she’s fixing.

I smash the bottle of soju in my hand and bring the sharpest shard against Seung-min’s cheek, holding the side of his head down against the counter.

“If you speak about my work again,” I say calmly, “I will cut out your fucking tongue and nail it to the Baekho-je’s desk.”

I release him and step back.

Seung-min straightens slowly, wiping blood from his nose and cheek. He checks his palm for how much damage has been done, then looks up at me with a wide smile. He’s not angry or humiliated, but amused.

“Careful,” he says in Hangugeo. “If you keep stalling, this job might go to someone else. The Baekho-je is not a patient man.”

For a moment, my fist clenches shut around the shard I’m gripping, and I almost slash his fucking smile off his smug face.

But instead I find I can’t react so impulsively this time.

…because he’s correct.