Page 139 of Ruthless Touch

“Then sign on the dotted line. The payment information is in the brochure I just gave you. Wire the money, and once it’s received, the job will be completed. No fuss, no muss.”

The deal is sealed with a handshake and a wire transfer.

After he leaves, I disappear into my private office and spend a couple hours working on the case I’ve just accepted.

It’s the perfect conditions for someone like me who prefers to work alone.

If I ever need any assistance, I have a handful of sources I can—and sometimes do—reach out to.

Including the sexy man idling by the curb on his sports bike.

When I’m done working for the afternoon, I head outside and find Gun waiting across the street. He’s leaning against his motorcycle with that natural casual posture and crooked grin of his.

Somehow he manages to look both dangerous and relaxed in his dark jeans and sunglasses, his hair ruffled by the wind.

“How’d it go?” he asks when I reach him.

“Same as always. They are always so paranoid at first, then practically beg for help.”

His grin widens, handing me the spare helmet. “You love it.”

“Getting to choose what jobs I take on is definitely a perk.” I slide on the helmet and fasten the buckle. “Where are we going?”

“It’s obviously a surprise, Goyangi.” He swings his leg over the bike, starting the engine with a low rumble. “Trust me?”

I slide on behind him, arms wrapping around his waist. “Unfortunately.”

His laugh vibrates through his chest as we pull into traffic. The city blurs past us—buildings, pedestrians, other cars on the road.

These are the same streets I used to stalk when out on a mission doing what I had to do. Though I’m still in the same line of work, becoming my own boss and running my own agency has given it new meaning.

I offer private investigation services, and sometimes—on a rare occasion when the situation requires it—I slip into my old assassin role.

Sometimes with backing and assistance from Gun and the Cheongryong.

My new role isn’t clean, not by a long shot.

But it’s mine. It’s my work, and I’m damn proud of doing it on my own terms.

We ride through Seoul for so long I lose track of what district we’re even in. I’ve learned to enjoy rides on Gun’s motorcycle without giving it much thought.

Something I never thought I do. But I trust him implicitly, and it’s a relief being with a man who I feel comfortable giving up some control to.

Even strong women want a strong man to lead sometimes.

Gun cuts the engine on a tree-lined street I don’t recognize, somewhere on the outskirts of the city where old money live tucked behind tall gates and manicured hedges. He helps me off the bike, his hand lingering at my waist.

“Where are we?” I ask, pulling off the helmet.

“You’ll see.”

He leads me down a narrow path, branches forming a canopy overhead. The light filters through in golden patches, dappling the ground like scattered coins.

It’s quiet where we are, a sudden hush falling over us.

We round a corner to a path that opens into a small private garden.

And there, in the center, stands a monument I’ve never seen before.