Page 42 of Ruthless Touch

“Who told you to do this?” I ask.

His smile wavers. “Err… n-no one, Yongsa-nim. I… I thought… I was doing the syndicate a favor. Black Silk is our enemy, but she’s not a man. She’s just a woman?—”

“And you would put her in her place?” I cock a brow at him.

“Yes,” he answers eagerly. “That’s it, Yongsa-nim. Like you said.”

I say nothing else, letting the seconds pass by in agonizing fashion. Gi-tae gradually goes from looking confident I approve to losing his confidence again.

The expression dims on his face, and I can practically see the beads of sweat forming on his brow.

Elise glares at us both, discerning it’s best if she keeps quiet. She’s wary of me, unsure whose side I’m on.

I take my last step forward, now only a couple inches between me and Gi-tae.

Then I bend to pick up the rusted pipe he dropped earlier. I take it into my hands and test the weight of it on my palm like he had done.

He steps aside as if he expects me to do what he was—hurt Elise Quinn, a.k.a. Black Silk.

His hunger for it is palpable. He’s so clueless he doesn’t see it coming when I swing the pipe at his head with sudden, brutal force.

He tips over like a freshly chopped tree in the forest, crashing down to the ground as blood splatters. I don’t give him time to even understand what’s going on.

My fist clenches shut in the front of his shirt as I drag him half up and then pry his jaw open.

Then… I shove the rusty pipe down his throat.

I jam it down as far as it’ll humanly go.

It slides into his mouth, past his lips, scraping enamel and catching on his teeth before slipping deeper down his gullet.

Bone cracks.

Muffled gurgles spill out of him as he literally chokes on the iron. But there’s nothing he can do about it—the rusted metal shunts down the passageway, no matter how narrow and unnatural.

His eyes go wide like those of a frog that just realized it’s in a boiling hot pot. His body bucks against me as if to push me off.

But I slam the pipe down deeper until it encounters resistance at his windpipe. A dry, crunching pop tells me I’ve crushed his larynx.

The scream he makes dies in his throat, strangled by rust and blood.

His legs kick wildly, heels scraping the filthy cement in panic. Though it’s much too late—the damage is already done.

It’s irreparable as the pipe tears tissue and he hemorrhages.

I watch it all happen. I’m calm as his struggling turns weak, then he gives one final kick of his leg and a last wet, gurgled hiss.

His lesson came in death. He learned the hard way not to lay a finger on the feline.

“She’s not just a woman,” I tell his limp corpse. “She’smine.”

I stand up and admire my handiwork.

Gi-tae lies dead on the floor, his body sporadically twitching, the pipe lodged in place like a grotesque feeding tube.

I turn around to face Elise to find her staring at me likeI’mthe villain.

It’s the most honest reaction I’ve ever seen out of her. No longer is she hiding behind her mysterious veneer.