Page 49 of Ruthless Touch

He gives a haphazard shrug. “What can I say? I was taught never to hurt those weaker than me.”

I almost answer him until I remind myself he’sobviouslytrying to get under my skin. He’s saying the things he knows will piss me off.

It seems to amuse him the more he’s able to provoke me.

But I can’t play his game and give him what he wants. I merely glare at him, biting my tongue.

Gun moves away from me toward an end table where he snatches up a pill bottle and pops the lid. Two capsules disappear into his mouth before he heads to the kitchen to fill a glass with water.

I’m watching him closely, looking from where he stands in the kitchen to the pill bottle he’s left on the end table.

On the night we met, he had mentioned his medications in his hotel suite. I’d poured him some soju and he he’d opted not to drink it because he said he wasn’t supposed to on his meds.

It was a smart choice on his part—Iwastrying to poison him—but it’s a new piece of info I file away for later.

If I have to find a way to eliminate him despite his help last night, those little capsules might be exactly the opening I need.

My fingers drift to the chain around my neck, finding the familiar weight of my father’s ring where it rests against my collarbone. The metal is warm from my skin, a constant reminder of promises made and debts unpaid.

This is for you, Daddy.

Over the next twenty-four hours, I’m subjected to a torture like I’ve never before imagined—the inescapable presence of Rhee Gun-woo wherever I go.

I slip into the bathroom seeking a moment of privacy, and he’s there, standing at the mirror with a razor in hand as he trims his beard. The air smells like his expensive masculine cologne, making my stomach do unwelcome somersaults.

When I pad into the kitchen hoping for coffee and solitude, there he is at the small dining table, slurping up ramen with the enthusiasm of a man who hasn’t eaten in days. He looks up at me with those dark almond-shaped eyes that always flicker with amusement.

And as I seek out refuge in the living room, he’s already on the couch with the TV going. Remote in hand and a bag of chips propped open, he roars with laughter at the Korean gameshow on the screen. The contestants have fallen flat on their face on some obstacle course only to be drenched in green slime.

He notices me mid-laugh and scoots over on the sofa, patting the cushion next to him.

“Sit and watch. You’ll be hooked in no time,” he says. Then he holds up the bag of spicy tteokbokki chips. “Want some?”

I sigh and sink into the offered seat, reminding myself I’m stuck here anyway. I might as well stop pretending like I can avoid Gun, regardless of how I view him as an enemy.

He said it himself—so long as I’m here, it’s a stalemate.

The aluminum bag crinkles as I grab it and reach for a tteokbokki chip. Immediately, I realize it’s a mistake. Fire explodes across my tongue from the first bite.

I cough, choking on the heat, eyes watering. Try as I might to play it cool, I might as well have fucking steam coming out of my ears.

Gun merely smirks at my obvious distress before turning his attention back to the screen. Another hapless contestant is being doused in what appears to be chocolate syrup mixed with whipped cream.

A couple hours later, when I’ve finally retreated back to the bedroom, I overhear Gun through the apartment’s thin walls. He’s speaking in rapid Korean on what must be his phone.

He doesn’t realize I can understand him; Korean is just one of six different languages I speak. Linguistics is one of my specialties, having been a linguist in the Air Force, and it’s one of the reasons Vanguard pursued me for the agency.

He’s talking to someone familiar, who knows exactly where I am and why. The casual way he discusses my presence here, like I’m a temporary houseguest rather than a captive assassin, causes an uncomfortable ripple in my stomach.

I’m sitting on the bed left to my own devices. Earlier I snuck a wooden hanger from Gun’s wardrobe and have slowly transformed it into a shiv sharp enough to use as a weapon.

He might’ve stripped away my phone, daggers, and firearms, but I’m always one to improvise.

I’m almost finished when Gun’s footsteps pad down the hallway.

Shit, he’s coming this way!

I hurry to slide the shiv under my thigh just as he appears in the doorway.