JUNHEE rushed to the hotel.
Half an hour ago she received a call from Jung Taeju. It was a short call, yet it was enough to make her dropped everything she was doing at the moment upon hearing the victim's name was Yoon Jiwoo. An assault, Taeju had simplified. His voice was taut, not giving her any details on the phone as he urged her to get back as soon as she can.
When she arrived at Mujin's floor, Taeju was already waiting for her near the entrance to their boss's office. The guards positioned along the hallway bowed their heads as she passed each one of them from the private elevator, addressing her with the deference due to her status in the organization. Her messy low ponytail bounced against her back, her white Ursina pumps clicked with urgency against the floor as she approached Taeju.
"What the hell happened?" She inquired once she stopped in front of him.
According to Taeju, Do Gangjae tried to get back at Jiwoo for beating him during the brawl that was held in the evening. Taeju did not know what happened exactly before he arrived at the scene, all he knew was, Gangjae almost smacked Jiwoo's head with a fucking hammer. If he late for another minute, Jiwoo's face must have caved in, unrecognizable from the whack, bits of her brain would have scattered all over the floor.
"That little fucker. I'll kill him," Junhee hissed, manicured nails digging into her palms, her lower lip wobbled as she tried to curb her anger, "How's the girl?"
"She's fine," Taeju sighed, voice dripping with annoyance at the mention of Jiwoo as they walked to the door, "Go see her for yourself once all this is over."
Taeju did not trust the girl at all, she did not belong in this lifestyle like Donghoon although Junhee and Mujin saw otherwise in her; he did not get that. Three of them were aligned in most aspects regarding to Dongcheon, but when it came to Jiwoo, he only trusted in himself.
The two acolytes then slipped into Mujin's office, positioning themselves near the gilded black double doors, hands folded over each other in front of them. Upon seeing the arrival of his most trusted members, Mujin unsheathed the katana—a gift from his Japanese client, Yamamoto—to begin with the proceeding that will decide the former rookie's fate for his crime.
"Face, arms or legs? Which one?" Mujin asked, testing the blade's weight in his hand. The fine Japanese craftsmanship served a greater purpose rather than being displayed like other trinkets in his office. He had been using the blade to punish the misbehaving recruits by mangling the aforementioned parts. "I'm only going to mutilate one."
Gangjae breathed heavily at the consequence of his actions, glancing—with his one good eye—at Taeju and Junhee behind him, only to find emotionless faces staring back at him. He swallowed hard, feeling completely at loss as he staggered forward, clutching his injured right side and kneeled in front of Mujin.
For Junhee, to be in here under circumstances like this was like entering the Devil's lair, to be honest. It was no secret that Liber Hotel was known for its luxurious, triumphantly modern and state-of-the-art facilities that match the hotel's contemporary style for business and lifestyle travelers from all over the world. A masterpiece of design, like a well-tailored suit, Liber was designed with Choi Mujin in mind. Beautiful, bold, stylish and sophisticated like a perfectly fitted suit straight out of London's famed Savile Row.
All of Liber glorious appearances were the personification of Mujin, the external display for everyone to see and admire the beauty of it, in contrast with his personal chambers—office and the penthouse—that screams otherwise.
Floors and walls clad in marble dark like black treacle, the lighting was dingy and drab, only soft glows from various sculptural lamps littering the space, casting menacing shadows against the wall. There were literally ominous dark clouds pulsating overhead, a forecast of something sinister that will come out of it as thunder rumbled outside the building, carrying Mujin's wrath with it, waiting to be unleashed on Do Gangjae.
A chill—not related with the sentence occurring in front—skittered up Junhee's spine because for all she knows, she was not in the office but inside Choi Mujin's mind. The office was like his mind; mysterious, atrocious, and astute. A locus where he schemed his wicked plans and punished those who had committed sinful acts against him.
It was a mistake, Gangjae had admitted. And he was truly sorry also for hurting Jiwoo. Still, he can't get away that easily. Mujin won't let him because in Dongcheon, the number one rule was: you do not betray each other.
Junhee and Mujin knew something like this would eventually happen to Jiwoo. A girl in the sea of men; a bait that was waiting to be devoured. What Gangjae did was intolerable, he knew that well but his ego being tarnished by some girl got the best of him, and now he was going to pay dearly for his dishonorable action.
"And that's why I chose not to kill you." Opted Mujin as he returned the katana back into its sheath, placing the weapon down on his desk with a clank.
"Are you going to get rid of me?" Gangjae scoffed incredulously as he looked up at the figure looming over him, "You said I was useful to have around."
"It's most unfortunate," Mujin lowered himself to Gangjae's eye level, "I didn't know it would be you who did it."
"Please forgive me, sir," The former rookie sobbed as he went quarter moon on the floor, his whole body shook as he straightened himself up, "All I did was push her around a little!"
Mujin's hand instantly went around his throat, throttling Gangjae from saying another word. Small ragged gasp filled the room as Gangjae struggled against Mujin's firm grip, clawing at his hand uselessly as he tried to dislodge himself from the tendrils around his neck. The drug lord's eyes burned with void and anger as he watched Gangjae's face began to turn into sickening color, eye wide with fear.
"We—Jun and I—personally brought her here," Mujin tightened his grip, eliciting a short, ugly gasp from Gangjae, "You shouldn't have even touched her."
Mujin flung him away like a rag doll as he claimed his spot between Junhee and Taeju, pulling out the dagger strapped around his waist. "Which one?"
Do Gangjae wheezed, chest heaving as he tried to breathe after the immense pressure that almost burned his lungs just now. Face, arms, or legs? The question rendered him speechless from the very beginning because he really cannot choose. Deep down he knew he fucked up, his brain was in chaos and incapable to make decision. With the dangerous trio staring down at him, judging his pathetic self, nothing good will come out of it.
"Alright then," Mujin then passed the dagger to Junhee and she took it as forks of lightning ripped the graphite sky, then thunder roared with a promise of rain, "She'll decide."
Gangjae's mouth fell open, the hairs on the back of his neck erected and goose pimples marked every inch of his skin as he scrambled backwards, his terror mounted with every step Junhee took towards him. He could literally see tendrils of darkness cloaked her figure, her heels boomed against the floor as the Grim Reaper was closing in on him. "Ple—please—please don't."
The woman seized his head, pulling at the roots of his hair as Junhee coerced Gangjae up to his feet. Despite the pain inflicted by Jiwoo, he began to thrash and buck under her grip. He then froze, breath hitched as Junhee skimmed the dagger's cold tip across his sweaty forehead before it landed on his temple.
"The fuck you were thinking, hmm?" Junhee grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, "Should I cut your head open?"
Gangjae shook his head then burst into a shriek as Junhee thrust and twist the dagger into his temporal, flesh squelching, inviting the blood to trickle down his face. It was not deep enough to kill him, yet it was sufficient to torment him. That was what she was going to do: torment him.
Gangjae sucked in a breath, lips quivering at the sensation of his flesh being sliced as his eye landed on Junhee's emotionally detached countenance. The torture was far from over, the tip was still buried inches from Gangjae's skull.
Fueled by murderous rage—a seed that was sown many years ago—Junhee slid the dagger down his face slowly, smiling wickedly as she conjured another loud, piercing cry from him; the sound dominating the atmosphere. Every carving went deeper and deeper into his skin, rupturing every artery as viscous crimson cascaded down the abused flesh—assaulting everyone's nostrils with its metallic, festering scent.
Gangjae mumbled through gritted teeth but Junhee did not hear him. It was a game for her; taking a sadistic pleasure in tormenting her victims. She was enjoying this macabre show too much, wandering extremely closer to dragging Gangjae straight to Death's door. To kill another human being was the biggest sin of all, and to torture another, that was different kind of sin for all she cared. She was a sinner and always will be. Each time she reaped peccant lives, each time her dagger or bullet penetrated flesh, she sinned more and her twisted soul gladly welcomed every bit of it with open arms.
As the dagger reached around his cheek, Gangjae writhed in agony, a single tear fell from his bulging eye as Junhee pressed the dagger deeper into his cheek. She could feel he was trembling under her grip, legs about to turn to jelly at the excruciating pain.
"St—stop, jebal."
Some sanguine splattered on Junhee's face as she slashed across Gangjae's cheek in a swift motion, hurling the man onto the floor. He seethed in anguish, palming the L-shape wound to stem the oozing carmine from pooling on the floor. Junhee closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as the homicidal thirst within her began to constrain itself. It felt so good to have her blood thirst satiated and to be in her nefarious element tonight.
"Drag him out, Taeju."
Commanded Mujin and the best man quickly hauled Gangjae up to the balls of his feet as Mujin joined Junhee's side, admiring the R-rated work of his personal assistant. He personally could have swung the dagger himself but he knew Jiwoo meant something to Junhee, and he respected that 'something' by letting her be the executioner.
As Taeju and Gangjae disappeared behind the door, Mujin snapped his head towards his assistant. He fished out a grey cotton handkerchief from the inner pocket of his suit when he noticed Gangjae's filthy ichor streaking her gorgeous face. Her eyes were locked on the red pond on the floor as the grotesque mask slowly ebbed away from her face. Just now, she fed on her morbid fascination in torturing Gangjae, pulling him into Reaper's unforgiving embrace, and when she turned to look at him, there was the Song Junhee he knew, a winsome smile on her face.
"There's blood on your face." Pointed out Mujin, and the woman was fumbling to wipe off the stain with the back of her hand but he slapped her hand away, holding her face in his big hands as he wiped the blood, "It'll get even messier like that."
Concentration etched on the lines of Mujin's face as Junhee gazed at him, noting the way his lower lip slightly protruding when he began to focus on something. Her brows drawn in contemplation, swallowing hard as Mujin combed back layers of hair that fell around her face behind her ear, pressing the cloth against her cheek with a surprisingly tender touch as if he was handling a century-old Joseon baekja—white porcelain. How fascinating it was, these sinful hands that were tainted with the blood of his enemies could have possessed a velvety-like stroke against her own skin.
The drug lord halted as he felt Junhee's stare lingering on his features, holding him in her magnetic orbit. Softness momentarily flashed across his good-looking features as his brown orbs clashed with hers, and Junhee's heart went into an abnormal peaks and valleys, picking up the pace.
Mujin's stomach did a silly somersault as the event from the other night emerged from the back of his mind where he nearly fucking kissed her.
He. Almost. Kissed. Her.
Did he really try to do that? Or was it Junhee that initiated that? Mujin was not very clear at that. All he knew was, he left her—that was it. If he wanted to continue where he had left that night, he would have to think twice because the woman still has his dagger in her hand. Two daggers, actually. Another one was hidden beneath that blush pearl-adorned dress she was wearing, strapped around her thigh; he knew that well.
"There you go," Mujin susurrated, nodding as if coming to some sort of conclusion with their situation although there was still a tad blood left. He then cleared his throat as he handed over the handkerchief to Junhee, and she took it. "There's something I want you to do. Take a seat."
Junhee ambled towards the lounge area, setting the blood-soaked dagger and the handkerchief down on the tempered glass coffee table as she settled into the comfort of the Italian leather sofa, sitting cross-legged on it. Her brown eyes traveled to the night sky outside, clouds glowing in pewter lustre by the flashing lightning as pitter-patter of raindrops began drumming against the floor-to-ceiling windows. Minutes later, Mujin joined her with a drink in his hand—none for Junhee because the woman did not drink—handing her a dossier as he plopped down on the armchair, sipping his whiskey on the rocks.
"What's this?" She perused the document. Written on it was a plan, a grand scheme derived from Jiwoo's burning desperation.
Her forehead creased as she read on, flipping the pages then nodding as if coming to a consensus with Mujin's strategy. It was a win-win situation for both parties, she gathered. Jiwoo could be a good use for Dongcheon, benefiting the organization for having a little mole among the police. Also, this could be the opportunity for Jiwoo to be closer to her father's killer, working together under one roof though she didn't know who's the perpetrator, yet. Jiwoo will know when the time comes, Junhee herself would make sure of that. The 17-year-old girl still has a lot to learn and Junhee did not want to rush that information.
"She's your responsibility now, Jun," Mujin bottomed up his drink, placing the glass on the table as he licked his whiskey-stained lips, "You'll train her at time and place of your choosing."
"I'll do my best, sir," She inclined her head in acceptance, fingers threaded together on her lap, "I won't disappoint you."
"You won't. I trust you." He lit a cigarette, the smell of pungent tobacco immediately wafted into her nostrils as he slid another item concealed in a black drawstring pouch across the table. As the pouch was in her hand, feeling the shape in her grasp, she instantly knew what was inside. "Give that to her—it's for motivation."
"Anything else?" She asked, and Mujin answered with a brief shake of his head, blowing out the smoke.
Taking the cue, Junhee stood up as she gathered both items into her hands, bending slightly at the waist in a respectful bow before taking her leave for tonight.
"You know what to do if all this went south, do you?" Mujin abruptly asked as Junhee came to her full height, taking a deep drag of the gasper as his sharp russet eyes froze on her tranquil lineament.
"I will kill her myself."
Author's Note:
Hi, voidturner here! This is the first author's note for this fic, and all I wanted to say is, thank you for the tremendous support I've been getting for 'No Remorse'—it means a lot to me.
Thank you for reading, voted, and commented; you know how much it means to small writer like me. And just in case y'all wondering when I'll be updating this fic, the thing is, I don't have an update schedule sorry!
Last but not least, do share with me what you think when you read this fic :)
Dedicated to our shared husband.
Happy birthday, Park Hee-soon <3