Page 91 of Ruthless Touch

“Gun!”

Elise is calling me from the bedroom. Her tone isn’t panicked or distressed, more so like she’s shocked by something and wants me to know whatever it is.

I head over to go see only to find Elise kneeling in front of the dresser drawers. The second to last drawer is pulled open and she’s clutching a stack of old photos.

At the sight of me, her eyelashes flutter in a long blink.

“I wanted to grab one of your t-shirts to put on, but I forgot which drawer you keep them in. Then I found this.”

I glance at what’s in her hands to see a photo of myself from twenty years ago. I’d forgotten about these old photos I’d stashed in there when I first acquired this loft.

Truthfully, I didn’t even bother looking through them. They technically belong to my father, and I only ended up with them when I cleared out an old family storage unit. They’re some of the only photos I have of my childhood…

I lean against the doorframe, hands in the pockets of my sweatpants. “Oh… those… what about them?”

“Gun,” Elise says slowly. “I think I’ve seen these before.”

“What do you mean you’ve seen them? They’re family photographs.”

She simply gasps as she shuffles the stack and comes across another that catches her eye.

“What?” I ask, taking a step into the room. “If it’s about my school photo?—”

“This is my father. And your father. Pictured together. Look!”

Elise leaps to her feet and shoves the photo under my face.

The photo is so old it’s started to fade. But there they are—my father, a Yongsa at the time, grinning jovially at the camera with a bottle of soju in his hand and his other arm tossed around a broad-shouldered Black man. He looks equally as joyous. He’s also holding a soju bottle and laughing at whoever took the picture.

“This must’ve been before…” Elise trails off, her voice hollowed out by shock. “They must’ve been at some event. That’s my uncle in the background. Director Hart too before she ever started the agency and knew them from their military days. It looks like they were there that day too.”

I stare longer at the photo, recognizing many of the details. The background is familiar, the cherry wood and lacquered walls matching the scenery of Father’s old office at some Cheongryong lounge in Seoul.

When I was a boy, I spent a lot of time bored in that office. I had to sit and do my homework while my father conducted business. If I finished early, then he made me read from the Korean encyclopedia.

Sometimes for hours.

After a while, I’d only pretend to read. I’d really be eavesdropping, watching him bark orders at the Jeokpas under his command or sweet talk himself into a new advantageous business deal.

I looked up to him, even if he looked down on me.

I take the photo from Elise’s hands and study the smaller details like I’m in search of something.

The present suddenly blurs into the past.

I’m eight again, crouched under my father’s huge desk. My hands are pressed to my ears.

Two indistinct figures stand just out of focus. Their voices boom through the room, faces frustratingly unclear.

“If it’s not you, Tae,” one man bellows, “then who would it be? How could you let it go down like this?”

The other man—Appa—sounds just as furious. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

I wish they would just shut up. All their shouting makes me feel like my head might explode.

“You’ll regret this, Tae! You’ll regret the day you ever crossed me!”

I closed my eyes, not wanting to see anymore.