Page 115 of Ruthless Touch

We traverse the streets in Pangyo and make our way over to Hannam-dong, a quiet and upscale residential area where businessmen and diplomats alike maintain their elegant homes behind high walls and manicured gardens.

The villa that belongs to Uncle Jerald sits at the end of a tree-lined street, its traditional Korean architecture hiding modern luxury behind its understated facade.

We pull up at the curb, Gun’s legs dropping from the foot pegs. I’ve already hopped off, sprinting straight for his front door. He catches up only a second later as I’ve started banging a fist to the door.

“Open up, you lying piece of shit! I know the truth now!”

Gun reaches for his weapon. “We might have to force our way in.”

I step back to let him blast the lock when a man calls out to us from the lawn next door. He’s a middle-aged Korean man in a track suit that does little to hide his belly. He’s eyeing us in obvious concern, his brow creased.

It’s probably not every day a dangerous mafia boss and deadly assassin turn up in his neighborhood.

“If you’re looking for Jerald Quinn, he left just minutes ago with his suitcases,” he explains in Korean.

“Do you know where he was headed?”

The man shakes his head apologetically. “He only said he would be gone for a while. Seemed to be in quite a hurry.”

“Incheon International Airport,” I say to Gun’s nod. We race back toward his idling bike. “He’s trying to skip town before we can get to him.”

“We’ll see about that, feline. Get on.”

We take off even faster than before, the engine roaring as Gun squeezes the throttle and we bullet through the city.

I hold tight to Gun’s waist, feeling the vibration of powerful machine we’re riding on. My thick braids whip through the air like heavy dark ribbons.

We break every speed limit law in South Korea, running more red lights than I can count. None of it matters now—all that does is catching Uncle Jerald before he disappears forever.

We arrive at ICN in record-breaking time, the bike’s tires screeching against the pavement as Gun brings us to a stop outside the departure terminal. We leap off and start sprinting through the airport’s atrium.

It’s packed with crowds of travelers clutching their tickets and suitcases. Many of them in line to check in their bags.

We cut them all at the Korea Air desk, pushing our way to the front of the line and ignoring their indignant protests.

“We need to know if there’s a man named Jerald Quinn on any of your flights,” I demand, breathless from our sprint.

The woman behind the counter looks startled by our urgency, her professional smile faltering. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give out passenger information?—”

Gun lifts his shirt sleeve and flashes the blue dragon tattoo that winds around his forearm, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper as he speaks to her in rapid Korean.

“You do this for us or I will have my men visit you and your family tonight. It will be your last evening together.”

The woman gasps, her face going pale as she looks between Gun’s brutal expression and my impatient one. Whatever she sees convinces her we’re not messing around, because she quickly turns to her computer and starts typing with trembling fingers.

“Jerald Quinn,” she murmurs, scanning the screen. “Flight 8055 departing in forty minutes to Shanghai. But you’re not allowed to?—”

We’re already gone, racing through the terminal toward the security checkpoint where international departures are processed. The long lines of travelers move with frustrating slowness.

I scan the crowd, searching desperately for the familiar figure who’s been manipulating my life since childhood.

And then I spot him—Uncle Jerald standing in the security line about thirty people ahead, his carry-on bag slung over his shoulder and a boarding pass in hand.

As if sensing our presence, he glances over his shoulder, then does a double take when he realizes he’s not seeing things.

We’re really here and we’re about to make what’s left of his life a living hell.

His eyes widen with shock and fear as he seems to freeze up for a moment. Reality seems to crash back in and remind him he can’t stay put if he expects to survive.