Page 45 of Ruthless Touch

I walk out of the room to finally give her some real privacy.

As I do, I’m fully aware I’ve got no fucking clue what comes next.

I can’t let the feline go. She’s an assassin hunting the syndicate. She’s out to kill not only me, but my father and everybody else high ranking.

But the longer I keep her identity a secret, the more deep shitI’mgoing to be in.

Father didn’t mince words when he issued his warning. If I’m caught withholding information or seen as betraying the Cheongryong in any way, it’s my fucking head on the chopping block.

I scrub a hand over my face, the pain in my head throbbing away.

“How the fuck am I going to get myself out of this one?”

TWELVE

ELISE

There’sa thin line between captivity and hospitality… and I’ve just woken up somewhere that thinks it can pass as both.

I roll over in a bed of soft sheets and cozy warmth and instantly realize I’m not in my own.

The past twelve hours come back to me all at once.

KD and I had been on a mission to eliminate Lieutenant Ko Dong-kyu. I’d run into none other than the thorn in my side, Rhee Gun-woo. Then we’d fought—and kissed—and I’d managed to get away.

And then I was confronted by…

A complicated feeling clenches inside my stomach thinking about the low-level Jeokpa enforcer and how he had attacked me.

I rarely lose a fight, but this one was brutal. It was life or death.

I would’ve died had Gun not shown up.

But that doesn’t change the fact that, as I sit up inhisbed athisapartment, there’s nothing I want more than to get the fuck out of here.

A beat of anger pulses through me at the presumptuous fact he’d even bring me here in the first place. As if we were allies. As if we were friends and he gave a damn about what happens to me.

I wouldn’t put it past him to turn me into the Cheongryong anyway.

He’d be able to claim the win for himself and would get the last laugh.

Which means I have to get the hell out of here.Now.

Pain radiates through my torso like broken glass grinding against my ribs every time I try to shift my weight, but I force myself to push through the discomfort and swing my legs over the side of the bed.

The simple act of sitting up sends waves of nausea churning in my stomach. I have to grip the mattress to keep from toppling over as the room tilts sideways around me.

My thoughts are still cloudy, but I vaguely remember a doctor had come by earlier. I had finished my bath and Gun had introduced him as his private on-call physician.

The man stitched up the deeper cuts and examined my ribs. He pressed pills into my palm with instructions to take them for the pain. Those same pills had knocked me unconscious.

I push through the weakness anyway, staggering to my feet on unsteady legs as I scan the shadowy room for any sign of my clothes. The oversized t-shirt I’m wearing hangs loose around my thighs, clearly borrowed from Gun’s wardrobe.

Ugh. Wearing my worst enemy’s clothes is not on my bingo card.

Fresh anger rolls over me, bringing me to scowl.

When I pull open the nightstand drawer in search of anything useful, I spot hair ties and makeup wipes instead—the kind of small signs that speak to a regular female visitor. The thought of being in the same space as Gun’s girlfriend makes my skin crawl.