Page 37 of Ruthless Touch

He falls back, both hands clutching his head. Pure torment tears from his throat, the agonized sounds echoing in the alley.

He’s in intense pain. He’s in much more pain than most would feel on the receiving end of a headbutt.

He writhes on the ground like I’ve triggered some kind of serious injury. I’ve exacerbated some kind of pre-existing ailment or wound he has without even knowing it.

Part of me wants to stay, to make sure he’s not seriously hurt, but survival instinct overrides everything else.

Me, myself, and I.

He’s my enemy. I can’t stop and help him. It’s more important that I get the hell out of here.

I turn and take off, disappearing into the maze that’s Seocho District’s back alleys while Gun’s cries of pain echo behind me.

The escape through Seocho District feels like a fever dream, my body moving on autopilot past every narrow street and flickering neon sign.

By the time I reach the subway station, my legs shake from exhaustion and the adrenaline crash.

It’s become hard to breathe thanks to the fresh battering my ribs have taken.

The train ride back to Itaewon passes in a blur of fluorescent lights and empty seats. There’re even fewer passengers than usual even given the late hour.

I catch glimpses of my reflection in the darkened windows—torn clothes, blood dried on my brow, bruises spreading along my collarbone, braids scattered about my shoulders and baby hairs frizzing up. I quickly look away, pretending I didn’t notice.

The few other passengers on the train give me a wide berth, probably assuming I’m just another casualty of Seoul’s nightlife gone wrong.

When the train finally pulls into Itaewon Station, I drag myself up from the plastic seat and shuffle toward the doors like a woman twice my age. The platform is nearly deserted, just a few stragglers making their way home from whatever late-night adventures brought them here. I trudge up the stairs one at a time.

All I can think about is the scalding hot shower waiting for me in my apartment. The water will feel so good as it washes away the blood and sweat and grime.

…and the lingering taste of Gun’s mouth on mine.

My bed seems like a distant paradise with its soft sheets and pillows. I’ll throw myself down and won’t get up again for another eight hours at least?—

The hand that grabs me comes out of nowhere, dragging me sideways into the mouth of a side alley. It happens so suddenly and so aggressively I’m not able to react in my already fatigued state.

I’m sent tumbling down onto the grimy pavement. Yet another collision for my tender ribs to absorb.

A second passes before I’m able to process what the hell’s happened.

When I finally manage to focus, there’s a man standing over me with a nasty grin twisted onto his ugly face. He’s huge and broad, the kind of build that’s perfect for an enforcer.

My blood runs cold.

That’s exactly what he is, the muscles and tattoos alerting me to the fact that he’s a Jeokpa for the Cheongryong. He’s one of their foot soldiers.

“So it’s true,” he sneers. “Black Silk isn’t a man after all.”

TEN

ELISE

Shit.

So much for keeping a low profile. My ribs throb more in protest as I try to push myself up. The asshole who’s accosted me looks vaguely familiar the more I peer up at him—thick brows, crew cut, naturally pinched face like he’s been sucking on a lemon.

Big and bulky.

He was there the other night at the Cheongryong dinner when I tried to take out Lieutenant Im. As a Jeokpa himself, he likely watched one of his comrades go down in his place.