Page 4 of Ruthless Touch

It’s been some time since I’ve laid eyes on a woman like this.

“You think she’d give me her number?” Joon goes on. “I should go ask.”

Finally, as if sensing my gaze set on her from across the room, she looks over. Her dark eyes meet mine, holding contact like she’s already decided something. Then… then the corner of her lips quirk in the tiniest of smirks.

“She must be new to the area,” he rambles on cluelessly. “She’s a tourist.”

I take a step forward, my mind made up. “More like she’s dangerous.”

TWO

ELISE

“It’s not safe.”

I meet KD’s gaze in the mirror as I smirk and screw on the cap to my tube of lipstick. “Coming from the guy who thinks motorcycle helmets are optional and red lights are suggestions? I’d introduce you to my friend Self-Awareness, but I’m pretty sure she blocked you.”

KD lets out a low scoff under his breath like I’ve just disrespected his honor. He folds his thick arms over his broad chest and raises both brows as if he’s my father.

“I’m anexcellentrider, EQ. Have you forgotten all the times youbeggedto ride on the back of my bike?”

“Begged or agreed with a resigned sigh after you asked fifty-eleven times?”

“Hey!” he says in offense, dropping his arms to his side. “Must you mock every moment we dated? Those were good memories! Besides, Cilla loves going for rides on my bike.”

I’ve moved on from my makeup to spritzing on perfume. The light notes of white amber and jasmine linger, just potent enough to be noticeable but delicate enough not to be overpowering.

“Priscilla is yourgirlfriend, KD,” I say with a smirk. “She loves riding something, but I hate to break it to you—it ain’t your bike.”

“I heard my name!” comes Priscilla’s squeak from the other side of the cramped apartment. “What was that about riding what now?”

“Nothing, baby! Just Eli being Eli,” KD shouts back.

I’ve slid into my sandals and snatched my wristlet off the bed, stepping toward the doorway that KD’s half blocking.

“You’re going to have to move out of the way, Black Onyx.”

“I’m not doing shit. Not ’til you at least agree to let me come with you.”

“This is a solo thing. You know that already. Now move or prepare to be flipped on your ass.”

A moody expression crosses his face like a young boy. Nevertheless, he steps aside and lets me slip by.

The apartment is only eight hundred square feet, with a small kitchen and a living room so compact we can barely fit a loveseat.

But it’s the place I’ve called home for the past four months, so I’ve got no regrets.

I found it when I moved to Seoul on assignment and came across an ad from a fellow American expat.

The description read in messy cursive:

small but clever layout. Just enough space to move without bumping elbows. Second highest floor in mid-rise building with lived-in charm. Beautiful sights and sounds of Itaewon. One shared bathroom but private balcony for each bedroom. Perfect for cats & plants!

It sounded so modest and wholesome even a hardass like me couldn’t resist.

When Priscilla Daniels opened the door and revealed she was a five-foot-three Black girl with afro puffs, a Sailor Moon tee, and glasses she was blind without, I knew I had found my spot.

She was bubbly and accommodating and a student studying medicine at SNU, which all seemed like things I could tolerate.