Page 105 of Ruthless Touch

KD’s bloodsplatters across my cheek. It sprays into my mouth. Some of it even gets in my eyes.

The bang from the gunshot is no better—it rings in my ears for seconds to come, so loud and jarring it’s disorienting.

I can only remain where I am, kneeling in place as my head swims. The scene around me wavers. It’s only when reality comes crashing back in a couple seconds later that I grasp what’s just happened.

KD’s dead.

I’m never thrown off guard by violence. I’m a highly trained assassin for that reason.

Yet this moment is different—I can only blink and stare, completely shaken to my core.

One moment KD was alive; he was kneeling right next to me, mouthing off to Tae-hwan and the security guards. And now… now he’s had his face blown off.

We’d gotten caught moments before as I confronted him about the mission he was carrying out tonight. He told me to get the hell out of here; he said he had a job to do and he was going to get it done.

I never imagined that would lead tothis.

He would die taking the fall for me. He would lie and claim he was Black Silk.

As the bang reverberates and chaos erupts from the single gunshot, I remain on my knees like I’ve been chilled over into a block of ice.

Then it’s like I can’t bottle it up another second. It’s like I’m bursting at the seams.

I snap.

As KD slumps forward and the guards rush over to drag his body away, face torn open, Gun barks at his father. Guests elsewhere in the hotel scream in terror at the sound of gunfire.

I reach into my shirt and pull out one of the miniature smoke bombs I’ve brought with me, popping the lid and setting it off in the hall.

The canister hisses as thick plumes of smoke fill the air, quickly flooding the entire narrow passageway.

Guards double over, coughing and hacking as the acrid fumes burn their throats and eyes.

Even Gun and Tae-hwan start coughing in confusion, their voices blending into the rest of the chaos that has erupted at the Bellmare.

But I don’t give a fuck about their discomfort. I don’t give a fuck about anything in this moment.

I slide out a dagger hidden in my boot and launch myself at the nearest guard, slashing his throat before he can even process what’s happening. Blood gushes from the severed flesh, his face going slack in agony.

I’ve already stripped the weapon from his dying hands and moved onto the next target.

Another guard rushes toward me through the smoke, his silhouette barely visible in the churning gray clouds. A soon as he’s close enough, I’m closing the gap between us. I’m swift and smooth running him through the gut with my blade before I blast him in the head anyway.

He crashes down to the ground, dead on the spot.

Everything becomes a haze of smoke and a violent current of blood. Everyone is cloaked in the thick, choking clouds as we move about as indistinct silhouettes.

When someone tries to grab me from behind, I spin around, quick on the uptake, and jam the knife into his chest. His grip weakens even as he still tries to fight me. I step back and let him drop to the floor, heaving desperate gasps for air myself.

Tears stream down my face from more than the acrid smoke. The pain burning inside my chest isn’t just from the poison I’ve released into the hallway.

It’s a kind of anguish and powerlessness I’m more than familiar with. It’s what I’ve been living with for most of my life, growing up with the knowledge of what happened to Dad.

I carry on in my violent mood, slashing away guards and taking them down.

Someone grabs my wrist and wrenches me backward. I twist against his hold and raise the dagger to stab him like the others. Then some of the haze clears enough that I’m able to make out Gun’s features, his dark eyes slits against the smoke.

He doesn’t say a word, taking the gun from me. His other hand holds onto mine. He takes off toward the exit, pulling me along behind him.