Page 46 of Ruthless Touch

I slam the drawer shut harder than necessary.

I turn toward what looks like a wardrobe across the room, determined to find my own clothes and phone and get the hell out of here.

My legs give out without warning. I crash to the floor in a tangle of limbs and loose fabric, my arms shaking as I try to push myself back upright.

“Need a helping hand?” comes an amused voice.

I look up to find Gun leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed like he’s been watching me for god knows how long.

“Fuck off,” I spit.

“If you insist,” he says with a shrug. He turns to walk away.

I go back to trying to push myself up until large hands grab at my forearms and gingerly pull me upward.

Gun didn’t walk away at all—exactly the opposite. He turned back and came over to pick me up. He carries me back to the bed and sets me down.

I wrench my arm away from his grip the moment I’m seated, glaring up at him with all the venom I can muster.

“I want to leave. Now.”

“That’s not really an option,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact. “You’re in terrible shape, Goyangi-ne. You need to rest.”

“It’s not the resting I have a problem with. It’s having to do it with my enemy five feet away from me.”

“Is that what we are? Enemies?” He flashes that infuriating smirk I’ve grown to hate. “Here I was thinking we were lovers.”

“You wish,” I snap. “I have no interest in being trapped in your apartment. I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t appreciate it either, judging by all her shit in your nightstand.”

His laugh is rich and genuinely amused. “Those don’t belong to my girlfriend, Goyangi. I don’t have one. I keep supplies for the women who come over—tampons in the bathroom, makeup wipes, hair ties. Basic hospitality. Like a one-stop shop.”

The sound of disgust that escapes my throat is involuntary. “Women? As in plural?”

“This is my love nest,” he boasts with obvious pride. “Very discreet location, out of the way. Perfect for laying low. Which also makes it perfect for you while you recover.”

“I’d rather sleep on broken glass than in the bed where you fuck random women.”

“Unfortunately, you don’t have much choice in the matter,” he says, shrugging again. “So you might as well be pleasant about it and make our time together enjoyable.”

I heave a sigh as he disappears from the doorway.

My gaze roams the compact space. The bedroom is small, with only the bed, nightstands, and a floor lamp. The view from the window isn’t particularly remarkable either—it faces another building and blocks out most of the city.

It’s the bed that’s the star of the room.

Large and wide, which confirms that Gun really does bring women back here to fuck.

I shudder in revulsion—and a little irritation he’d bring me here like another conquest—when he returns with a tray balanced in his hands.

“I bought you soup from the local market. Dak-gomtang. It’s what you Americans call chicken broth soup. You’ll like it.”

“I’m not hungry.”

It’s a blatant lie. The savory aroma makes my stomach ache with need. But I’d never tellhimthat; as far as he’s concerned, I don’t need anything from him.

“You’re going to be here for days, so going on a hunger strike isn’t the smartest idea.” He sets the tray on the bedside table. Steam wafts invitingly from the bowl next to a cup of herbal tea that smells like ginger and honey. “In the condition you’re in, you can’t afford to deny food, Goyangi.”

“That’s not my name.”