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All other thoughts disappear from my head. Only one word comes to mind, my inner voice screaming as loud as possible.

RUN!

2.Monroe

I takeoff down the alley.

I’m not exactly dressed for any kind of strenuous physical activity. I’m wearing the same outfit I wore to school, deciding it was appropriate for a first date with a guy I was only lukewarm interested in meeting—a long poplin skirt that reaches my ankles, an asymmetrical-cut blouse that I’ve tucked into the waistband, and some flats that are comfy but not made for running.

Bogged down by the bunch of fabric that’s my skirt and the flats that immediately start slipping off my feet, I don’t make it far.

Not even to the end of the alleyway.

The tattooed man’s crew are much faster. Two of them sprint after me. Strong arms lock around my waist and I’m half dragged down.

We come to a sloppy, fumbling halt as I’m doubled over and a man’s trapped me in some sort of bear hug from behind.

My breaths sputter out in between cries for him to release me.

Now I’m the beggar, not the man who was on his knees.

“Please!” I cry. “I turned down here by accident… I’ll just go! I’ll just pretend I never came down this way.”

My pleas fall on deaf ears like the other man’s had.

The henchman who’s grabbed me starts dragging me down the alleyway. He’s taking me right back to the tattooed man in the leather jacket. The rest of his crew watches on, all of them with feverish looks of interest on their faces.

I’m left to twist uselessly in his hold, gasping for air and muttering more pleas.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise I’ve run into trouble this late at night.

Though Busan and Haeundae Beach are generally safe, it doesn’t mean that the major city is completely crime-free.

Most who live here, even the expats, are aware of some of the crime syndicates that roam late at night. Otherwise likened to the Korean version of a mafia. The Baekho Pa are particularly known to frequent this area, roaming bars and nightclubs to do their dirty business.

In the light of day, they’re nowhere to be found. Almost like spirits from another realm.

As I’m dragged toward the tattooed leader named Jin, I’m forced to think about how few survive the Baekho’s wrath. It’s part of the secrecy surrounding the syndicate.

Those who have come in contact with the gang meet grisly fates. Any who manage to survive are so terrified they don’t even dare speak their name.

I’m dropped at Jin’s feet, tossed down like discarded trash.

“What will we do with her?” the henchman asks. “Do you want me to kill her?”

“I will handle her. Move back,” Jin answers coldly.

They’re still speaking in Hangugeo, unaware of the fact that I understand. I sniffle from where I’m kneeling, the pebbles on the ground digging into me. If I were to try to run for it, they’dprobably gut me like they did the other guy, and something tells me more begging will do nothing.

It’ll probably piss Jin and his crew off even more.

My best bet is to stay silent and seem harmless. Make them realize it’s useless retaliating against me when I’m just some innocent American bystander.

Jin regards me with a chilling stare that makes gooseflesh prickle my skin and the hackles on the back of my neck rise.

I feel like I could vomit up what little dinner I had at Burger & Pasta. My stomach roils in warning, the queasy feeling so bad I clamp my mouth shut.

“Your name,” Jin says, switching to English. “What’s your name?”