I’ve just been handed a grenade of information by accident. But what do I do with it?
A plan starts forming, not in a flash of inspiration, but slowly, taking shape like a shadow growing longer. It’s stupid. It’s so fucking stupid. Suha explicitly told me to stay out of it. He’dsee it as disobedience, as me sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. He might even see it as a betrayal, like I’m working for the other side.
But he also looked at me with something close to resignation when he said I was the one who always runs. When he said I didn’t need to pretend to care.
This wouldn’t be running. This would be walking straight into the dragon’s den, just from a different angle.
The idea settles in my gut, a heavy, thrilling weight. It’s a terrible plan. The chances of it backfiring spectacularly are about ninety-nine percent. Suha will be furious. He might lock me up for real this time.
But he might also... look at me differently.
It’s more motivation than it really should be, especially for the absolutely suicidal shit I’m about to pull. But that’s enough for me.
The last of Wooil’s “errands” of the day leaves me with an envelope of cash that feels a little too thick in my back pocket and the distinct sense I’ve just helped someone disappear. The sky’s been dark for hours, a deep indigo choked with city haze that swallows the stars. My body aches with a pleasant tiredness from moving all day, a counterpoint to the sharper, more localized aches from Suha’s recent attentions. The cage is a dull pressure, the nipple bars a twin pulse of heat under my shirt. I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, and I want a cigarette more than I want my next breath.
I cut through the backstreets, a maze of cracked concrete and stained brick I know better than the layout of my own apartment. This is my territory, these forgotten spaces betweenthe bright lights. The air is cooler here, trapped between buildings, carrying the ghost of old garbage and wet stone. My boots scuff softly, the sound swallowed by the sheer walls. I’m not on high alert; this is my backyard. My mind is half on the greasy burger I’m going to inhale, half on the persistent, stupid itch of wanting Suha to call and knowing he probably won’t.
That’s my first mistake. Assuming familiar means safe.
They melt out of the shadows ahead of me, blocking the narrow mouth of the alley where it meets a slightly wider service road. Then more footsteps shuffle behind me, heavy and deliberate. I stop walking.
I don’t need to turn around to know I’m surrounded. The scent hits me a second later—cheap cologne, sweat, and that particular greasy desperation that clings to small-time thugs. Loan sharks. My stomach sinks, but it’s a cold, solid feeling, not panic. Annoyance, mostly. Fucking Taewoo. Can’t this guy take a hint?
I slowly turn my head, taking them in. Four behind me, three in front. Taewoo stands at the center of the forward group, his thinning hair slicked under the weak yellow glow of a security light. His flashy suit jacket is open, revealing a patterned shirt that probably cost too much and still looks cheap. The big jade ring on his pinky winks as he gestures.
“Look what we found wandering all alone,” Taewoo says, his voice slick as oil. “The slippery little worm finally pokes his head out of the mud.”
I offer him my best grin, the one that usually makes people either want to hit me or fuck me. “Taewoo. You’re looking... sweaty. Late for a date?”
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Funny. You’ve been avoiding your appointments, Yujeong. My boss doesn’t like it when accounts go delinquent. Makes him ask questions about my effectiveness.”
I shrug, letting my hands hang loose at my sides. “Got busy. You know how it is. I was gonna come find you, I swear.”
“You’re a lying dog,” Taewoo sighs, as if disappointed. “And now you owe double for all the effort we’ve put into tracking you down. Plus a nuisance fee.” He nods, a quick, sharp movement. “Take him.”
They rush me from both sides. I don’t wait for them to make contact. I duck under the first wild swing from the front, driving my shoulder into the gut of the leg-favoring guy. He oofs, stumbling back, and I use the space to spin, lashing out with a heel that catches one of the guys behind me in the knee. Something cracks satisfyingly and he goes down with a shout.
But there are too many. Hands grab at my jacket, my arms. I twist, throwing an elbow that connects with a nose in a spray of warmth. I get a few good hits in—a kidney punch that makes a man wheeze, a sharp jab to a throat that sends another stumbling back, gagging. I’m moving, always moving, trying to keep them from pinning me. I let one land a solid punch to my ribs, absorbing the shock with a grunt, because the opening gives me a chance to knee him in the groin. He folds.
It’s a dirty, scrambling, ugly fight. There’s no ring, no rules, no applause. Just the thud of fists on flesh, the scrape of shoes on concrete, ragged breathing, and Taewoo’s voice yelling orders. I taste blood in my mouth from where someone’s knuckles caught my lip. The cage jostles painfully with every impact, a bizarre and humiliating anchor in the chaos.
For a minute, I think I might actually slip them again. I’ve taken down three, and the others are hesitating, circling like nervous dogs. I flash Taewoo a bloody smile, panting. “Told you. You should’ve brought more guys.”
That’s my second mistake. Taewoo doesn’t get angry. He just looks tired. He pulls something from his jacket pocket—a small, black object. A taser.
I see it a second too late. I’m already moving, trying to bolt for a gap between two of the thugs, when the prongs hit me high in the back, just below my shoulder blade.
The world whites out. My muscles seize violently, every nerve screaming a single, blinding note of agony. I’m aware of falling, my body hitting the concrete hard, limbs jerking without my permission. The current seems to last forever, a small eternity of helpless, shuddering paralysis. Then it stops.
I lie there, twitching, gasping for air that won’t come right. My vision swims with dark spots. Before I can even try to push myself up, boots connect with my side. Once, twice. A kick to my stomach drives what little air I had left from my lungs. I curl instinctively, trying to protect my core, and a boot catches me in the back, right over the taser burn.
They’re on me then, kneeling on my arms, yanking my hands behind my back. I feel the bite of plastic zip ties around my wrists, pulled brutally tight. Another goes around my ankles. My face is pressed into the gritty damp of the alley floor. I suck in a breath that tastes of dirt and blood.
“See?” Taewoo’s voice comes from above me, calm again. “Not so slippery now.”
Rough hands haul me up by my bound arms. Pain lances through my shoulders. They half-drag, half-carry me to a waiting van, its side door already open. I don’t struggle much; my body is still buzzing and weak from the taser, and my ribs scream in protest with every jostling step. They toss me into the windowless back like a sack of laundry. My head cracks against the metal floor. The door slams shut, plunging me into utter blackness.
The drive is long and nauseating. I have no sense of direction, just the turns and stops and the growl of the engine. I work at the zip ties, but they’re too tight, and my fingers are already going numb. The cage feels like a brand. The piercings in my nipples are a hot, throbbing focus of pain every time the van hits a bump. I concentrate on that, on the physical sensations, to keep the colder, quieter fear at bay. These aren’t Suha’s guys that’ll rough me up but are well trained not to actually do permanent damage. These meatheads are out for blood.
