Page 31 of Ruthless Touch

It’s a weakness I’ve never been able to shake. The desperate hunger for his approval lives buried deep inside me, feeding on my pride and self-worth like a parasite.

No matter how many times he cuts me down, no matter how often he makes it clear I’ll never measure up to his expectations, some foolish corner of my heart still believes that maybe… just maybe… this time will be different.

But I know why he looks at me the way he does. His voice carries a particular brand of contempt he only reserves for me.

It’s because when he sees my face, he doesn’t see his son—he seesher.

My mother, the woman who was supposed to be nothing more than a temporary distraction from his failed marriage to Ho-seok’s mother.

Theprostitutewho somehow wormed her way into his heart before their toxic union inevitably imploded, leaving behind nothing but wreckage and a son who inherited all her reckless impulses and none of his calculated control.

“She was wild,” he’s told me more than once, usually when I’ve disappointed him in some spectacular fashion. “Unpredictable and selfish. A liability to herself and everyone around her. And you’re exactly the same.”

I straighten my shoulders, meeting his glare with one of my own, drawing on every ounce of arrogance I possess. “You can assume the worst if you want, Appa. But I’m going to prove you wrong once and for all.”

As I turn to leave, he refuses to let me have the last word. He issues his final blow like a curse.

“It’ll be your head if you’re caught lying to the syndicate, Gun-woo. And when that happens, don’t expect me to save you.”

Over the next few days, Joon and I work closely together, using our resources and doing our best to track down the elusive Black Silk.

We’ve concluded that Jamie is likely a fake identity she assumed for our meeting at Eclipse. But we struggle to uncover her real name or any other discernible information on her.

Joon runs through his regular intel contacts, seeking to gather any info he can on a Black American woman in the area. Unfortunately, Itaewon and the greater Seoul area have no shortage of tourists, expats, and others visiting.

Any time we’re on the streets, I’m scouring the crowds for a sign of her. My gut says she can’t be far; I doubt she’d be based out of another city. It would make little sense to be so far out when your targets are in Seoul.

No… the feline is close by. She’s probably lurking, waiting for her next opening.

Don’t worry, Goyangi-ne.

We’ll be meeting again soon. You owe me a kiss—and that sweet little pussy of yours.

“This is the name of a landlady in Itaewon who rents to a lot of expats,” Joon says on our third afternoon spent searching. He’s opened the passenger’s side door and slid into the seat with a business card. “He says there are a couple tenants who match her description. The landlady doesn’t like gangsters, but my contact said if we bribe her with cleaning supplies she might budge.”

“I doubt there’re many who match her description,” I say. “She was… one of a kind.”

Joon grins. “Gun-woo, are you still smitten? You sound like a man in love.”

I cut him a warning glare. “You must like having your life threatened. What have I told you?”

“Can I help it if my best pal is in love with the club girl who tried to slit his throat? It’s a sweet love story if you think about it—fucked up but still sweet, eh? It has K-Drama written all over it.”

“I have to get myself a new partner. I don’t know what’s worse—your corny humor or your terrible fashion sense.”

“Hey, this is stylish!” he protests, gesturing to his basketball jersey and skinny jeans. “Your problem is you don’t know modern fashions, Gun-woo.”

I ignore him, popping the lid on my pain killers and tossing back two of the large pills. The new medication Dr. Song prescribed me have been working slightly better, but the ache is still there.

It will always be a part of me. Some curse I’ve had to live with.

We head to the address Joon has so we can speak to the landlady. It’s true she takes one look and refuses to speak to us, likely recognizing the dragon tattoos on our arms. We get past the barrier by offering her enough funds for cleaning supplies for the rest of the year.

She waves us through her office door and then shows us a tenant board, where every person living in the building has their picture displayed.

It only takes me a second to spot her among the others—pictured next to another Black girl with afro puffs and a bright smile isJamie.

…or the woman who said her name was Jamie.