Chapter Seven

Moriah

"I promise I will never let go."

Jeong-Ki's words ring in my mind as he goes out on the balcony to have a cigarette. I can't quite believe them, but my heart tells me to try. To trust one more time. Sure, he lied to me at first. Maybe he's not the gentlest. But even so, I'd like him to be mine.

If we survive all this, that is.

Even through the closed glass door that leads to the balcony, I can't miss his shouted cursing and the sharp thud that hits the wall nearest me.

It wasn't a gunshot, but my heart leaps into my throat anyway and I rush over to the doors. There's something … is that an arrow? Someone shot a damn arrow at him?

I open the door to ask and he keeps shaking his head, staring at it.

"It's turning into Lord of the damn Rings in here," he says, putting the cigarette out in an ashtray he has hidden by some bushes that line all the balconies, even ones this high up. "Get me some gloves, please. Top dresser drawer in the walk-in closet. The dresser is closest to the door."

I go back into the bedroom and go into the closet, which is massive. It could fit my whole Chicago apartment inside I think. No wonder he had to specify which dresser, as there are four, plus two shoe racks, and the rails on which hang suits, shirts, tees, jackets, and more. All designer.

I find the gloves quickly and bring them to him so he can pick the arrow up.

There's something attached to it. Paper. He places the arrow carefully next to the ashtray and unrolls the paper.

"It's in Korean, but whoever wrote this isn't a native with Hangul, or they want us to think they're not," he muses. "The handwriting is stiff."

I lean over his shoulder to look at it and even my fairly meh Hangul is more natural than this. Was it deliberate to throw us off a scent, or is the person who sent it not Korean?

"They're using English grammar," I comment.

Jeong-Ki shakes his head. "I can't read this. Can you?"

I take the paper from him, holding it with the edge of his shirt I'm still wearing, and read this butchery of the Korean language.

"You thought you escaped to another country, what you didn't realize was you played right into our plans.

"Time is ticking, and your ex-idol boyfriend can't save your pathetic ass, no matter how tough he thinks he is now. He's still just a pathetic child."

I pause after I'm done reading, confused. Why does this letter sound like whoever sent this is actually after Jeong-Ki? I look up at him to ask when I see his big eyes grow even wider as gears turn in his head.

"They're not after me," I say quietly. "This whole thing with the kkangpae … It has nothing to do with me."

He shakes his head, not in disagreement but as if he wants to clear it. Black bangs move like a dog shaking off rain.

"He used to call me that," Jeong-Ki whispers, more to himself than to me.

"Come again?"

" Pathetic little child ," Jeong-Ki nearly spits. "Our old manager used to call me that whenever I had an issue with another member in the group, usually the same little prick. He—" He pauses to look at me. "You literally know nothing about BurntUp, do you?"

"Not a thing. Sorry."

"Our label had big plans for us and while usually in K-pop, management and label are one, our label outsourced our management to someone in the US. Stefan Lear. He used to work with one of the biggest US music managers, but they parted ways and he had his own company.

"He was a colossal jerk. Especially to me. I was the workhorse. Spent extra time in the studio polishing up tracks while the other two vocalists didn't have to — not that they could have anyway — and yet it was never enough.

"We had a pretty big break coming in the west. He was counting on us to make him millions of dollars and billions of won. But I had a breakdown.

"Between him and the one member, I lost my mind. Pil-Sung, the member who always pissed me off, crossed a line and I was done. I quit, relinquished most of my assets to pay for the broken contract, and hid until I decided to join the Special Forces.

"The last thing Lear said to me was, ‘You will pay for this, you pathetic little child.' "

Jeong-Ki's hands shake and I reach out and hold them both in mine, thumb rubbing across the scar on his knuckles.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper.

"I'm not a victim," he says. "Don't pity me."

Pursing my lips, I reply, "I can be sorry you were under a bad contract, with a manager who didn't care about you, with a bandmate who drove you to literal insanity. It's not pity to acknowledge that you went through things that, on the surface, may have looked like your choosing but were the results of one choice that snowballed and got out of your control."

He squeezes my hands, silent for a moment. The humid summer breeze wafts in the air, and the city noises are faint in the distance.

"No one ever said that."

"Said what?"

"That it wasn't my fault, or my choice. Everyone kept saying, ‘Obviously he chose that path,' when every fucking thing after I signed a contract would've resulted in penalties if I fought them. I didn't have a choice; they just made it look like I did," he admits. He looks up and meets my eyes. "Thank you, jagiya."

I melt a little inside at that endearment and can't help but kiss him.

Trust me, you would too.

When I pull away he shakes the paper in his free hand. "Let me get the arrow too. I'll still run everything for prints but I'm pretty sure we got our guy. Now we just need to find him."

The last part of the sentence hangs in the air, unspoken.

"Find him … and kill him."

* * *

While Jeong-Ki was at the police headquarters, I settled at my computer to research Stefan Lear, music mogul whose career nosedived when Jeong-Ki quit. It's evident some people on social media dislike Jeong-Ki a lot, despite the fact his career ended a decade ago.

"He couldn't handle that PS was going to be more famous," someone wrote.

"More famous?" another replied. "That flop can't sing; if anyone tanked Lear and his company, it was him and that screeching gasp he gives at every high note."

I assume PS means Pil-Sung, the member Jeong-Ki mentioned earlier.

I read more, mostly opinion pieces, but many truth bombs are dropped in those. The psychological torment, whispers of physical and sexual abuse against Jeong-Ki, and the fact that the group's fans always would push it under the rug.

"HE IS FINE. THIS IS HIS CHOSEN FAMILY!" their largest online fanbase wrote right before Jeong-Ki quit. "STOP MALIGNING HIS CHOICES."

Maybe if you people stuck up for him instead of believing pretty lies, he wouldn't have had a breakdown, I think as I scroll. I skip over anything about the group that doesn't include the manager. If I never cared about them before, I certainly don't now.

Lear shut down all his socials after this Pil-Sung person failed as a soloist in both Korea and the west, and there are a ton of people with his name in America, and none in South Korea anymore.

Then I see a thread from a sasaeng, which is basically a stalker, who used to follow Jeong-Ki specifically.

"That motherfucker Stefan Lear got all Jeong-Ki's money and assets and now lives nice and cushy in the Gold Coast of Chicago, in a mansion near the lake."

Chicago? The bastard lives in my hometown? I don't know why that bothers me, but it does. He doesn't deserve to live in Chicago.

Hell, he doesn't deserve to live.

My phone rings; it's Jeong-Ki.

"I found him," I say without greeting. "Well, almost."

He chuckles. "I got his address, jagi. The prints on the letter came back a small-time kkangpae wannabe. It took some polite persuasion, but he gave me Lear's address and phone number in Chicago."

"So … road trip? Or are you going to insist on playing by the rules and being polite?"

Jeong-Ki scoffs. "Okay, I deserve that. Fuck the rules. Those went out the window when I saw you attacked. Let's go."

In the end, we decide to book separate flights, just since it seems like he's having us watched.

Incheon has three flights to Chicago the next day, arriving within 5 hours of each other. I take the early one, Jeong-Ki will take the later one. Meet up at a hotel he booked under an assumed name, while we each have to waste money and book separate hotels under other names in different parts of the state.

"You have a town called Sandwich?" Jeong-Ki asks, wrinkling his nose.

"The UK has a place called Twatt. I think they win," I quip, making him laugh. He really has the cutest laugh … if you ignore the fact he's likely insane.

I admit, I missed Chicago. I love this place, despite feeling more at home in Seoul. When you grew up somewhere so iconic, it's in your blood forever. Maybe, when this is all over with, I can have Jeong-Ki here for a small vacation.

The time difference is brutal, and when I get to the hotel, I fall fast asleep without even changing my clothes or showering.

An unknown amount of time later, the bed dips, waking me.

My heart hits my throat, and I forget I was waiting for someone to arrive. Hell, the sleep was so deep, I forgot I traveled at all. In my mind, there should be no one in my apartment, and I can either freeze or fight.

The old me would've fought, and after what just happened to me, my body wants to freeze, to let panic take over.

I can't let it.

Rolling over, I bring my knee up, hoping to hit something, while I use the other pillow to try and smother the person, or at least startle them.

Who thinks a person will get attacked with a pillow, right?

A man coughs and curses in Korean, and that's when I recognize his voice.

"Oh shit, Jeong-Ki!" I sit straight up, dropping the pillow, and realize I kneed him right where it hurts. "Why would you sneak up on me like that?"

"I thought it would be cute…" He coughs. "To surprise you with a kiss, like the movies."

"This isn't fucking Sailor Moon ; I was ready to suffocate you!" I cry, but at the same time I can't help the laugh that escapes.

"I'd rather be suffocated right now," he admits, leaning on his back and groaning. "Is my misery really that amusing to you?"

I nod as I giggle. "Sorry, I needed this laugh before we continue," I say, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "I didn't mean to harm your future children."

"Our future children," he mutters, turning over. "I think I can breathe again without agony."

"Good," I reply, choosing to ignore his mildly possessive response a second ago. I begin to stand when a strong hand grips the back of my neck, pulling me back down to face him.

His black eyes glitter as he whispers, "You will pay for that later."

Shivers dance on my skin and I reply, "I'm looking forward to it."

He lets me up finally and I take the liberty of ordering food for us. There's a chance we may not get the upper hand against Lear, and I'd rather die with a full stomach.

"How do you think he did it?" I ask as I spear my tteokbokki with a toothpick.

Jeong-Ki looks over at me. "Did what, exactly?"

"I mean, somehow he organized it so, if I paid off my friend's debt to the local kkangpae, I'd have to leave since my inheritance came from the Sicilians. Or was it serendipity that I did that and he heard about it somehow -- likely via the kkangpae -- and got lucky?" I wonder. "It feels like we are missing a key element here that connects me to you."

Jeong-Ki nods, slurping some japchae. "That is why my sergeant was sure you were running this whole thing. There's something we're missing here on how he found you and tailed you from here to Seoul, knowing you'd get embroiled in the kkangpae again, and knowing that was my division."

I pause. "He could've found your division from a sasaeng. Some still follow you."

He groans. "Don't remind me."

"It's how he found me and tracked me. Do we think the kkangpae were paid off to tip him off for anyone going to Seoul he could manipulate remotely?" I wonder.

"That's such a crapshoot," he muses. "But then Lear was never a smart man. He got lucky and came up with half-baked ideas that somehow paid off -- usually because of me."

I don't believe in coincidences whatsoever. Plus, it would've been easier to just look for someone already in Seoul. When we find Lear, I plan on interrogating him. Not only is he psycho enough to want to track down and hurt Jeong-Ki, he's also apparently manipulated my business to do so, as well as stalked me.

Sorry, buddy, I used to be nice. Not anymore.

* * *

After dinner, we head to Lear's lakeside mansion; the home he bought with all of Jeong-Ki's money. Bastard.

"He has a typical security system. All we have to do is jam the signals and he won't know what hit him," Jeong-Ki says.

"Suddenly you really don't give a shit about the rules, huh?" I comment.

"Not after how I rescued you," he replies.

You neglect to mention how turned on you were even while you rescued me, I think.

He takes his phone out and presses something on an app. "Make sure you have a data connection in case you need it on your phone. Our Wi-Fi receptors are also going to be affected."

"Are we sure he won't be expecting us? I mean, we both did leave Korea pretty quickly," I say, doubt creeping in.

Jeong-Ki grins. "You don't seem to fully grasp that Stefan is a grade-A fuckwit with money for brains. If anything, he thinks you left after what happened to you. Which, by the way, you really should've been seen at a hospital."

I wave a hand as if to wave away his concerns. "I need the person who did this to me dead, Jeong-Ki. That's all I need. All the years of helping clean up after the bodies were gone from behind the bar I used to work at made me pretty desensitized. So just pray I get to enjoy this."

He regards me for a minute, dark eyes calculating what I said. Then he nods. "Let's go."

A window is open and the sounds of a man cursing heavily hit my ears.

"Fucking shit ass… They told me to hook it all up to the Net. It will work fucking perfect. Now I'm even in the damn dark, these fucking tech cunts…"

Even his lamps were running on Wi-Fi? What a pretentious prick.

As were his locks.

Jeong-Ki turns the knob on what would, historically, be the servants' entrance and the door easily swings open. We walk into a darkened hallway, but it's short, and the lights from the outside give us enough illumination to see by.

And it's easy to find Lear. His voice echoes in the large house as he bumps into something and curses.

Jeong-Ki picks up a long, thin decorative vase along the way, and one doesn't have to be a genius to know what he's going to use it for as he holds it like a baseball bat.

We enter an office, where Stefan is bent over a router, muttering and cursing. I clear my throat to get his attention.

He leaps to his feet, startled, but I can only see shadows as Jeong-Ki immediately whacks him in the head with the vase, creating a dull thunking sound. Stefan stumbles and falls to the ground, but this isn't a movie, and he's not unconscious.

Quickly, Jeong-Ki removes his belt and I do the same, so we can secure his hands and feet.

We need answers before we kill him.

"Teamwork," Jeong-Ki comments, giving me a fist-bump. He grabs Stefan's phone from his pocket and takes it before he gets his phone and turns the Wi-Fi back on, along with the lights.

Stefan, already dazed from the hit, groans and squints in the light. Then his eyes focus on us.

"Looks like I have visitors. Jeong-Ki, you know better than to hurt your elders."

Jeong-Ki punches him so hard in the diaphragm it makes me wince. "You're older, that doesn't mean you ever get to demand respect from me, you cockroach."

Stefan coughs and grins up at me this time. "You look surprisingly well considering what you went through three days ago. I was supposed to get the footage. But your little boyfriend didn't leave anyone alive to get it to me."

Fucking monster.

I reach my leg out and kick him square in the face with my heavy boot, and the crack that follows is so satisfying, as is the mess of blood now running from his shattered nose.

Jeong-Ki gives me another fist bump.

"Here's how this is gonna go, okay? You're already a dead man. So you being a stubborn boomer isn't gonna help you. So, you're going to tell me what this is all about. You got Jeong-Ki's money. You don't know me. So how did you decide to tail me once I got to Seoul, and why still go after Jeong-Ki? What's in it for you?"

He spits out blood and a tooth. Guess I hurt more than his nose.

"Why should I tell you shit?"

"Because you're gonna die anyway," Jeong-Ki says. "At least this way, the kkangpae members here you worked with won't outlive you for long."

Lear grins, a terrible pantomime of happiness as blood stains his teeth and lips, as well as his saggy face.

" I'm not the one with the local kkangpae connection, children," he says, almost in a sing-song voice. "I merely got paid to facilitate everything that happened in that place. First, just to hurt you, Moriah. And then, when you left for Seoul, I got paid even more to hurt you … and then hurt him." He nods at Jeong-Ki.

" Who paid you ? Because it wasn't just me that got hurt. My friend did too!" I cry, remembering how bruised and in pain Phil would be every time the men left. The time they sent him to the hospital…

The ghoulish grin widens. "You truly are a stupid child. Did you think your precious friend was a victim? He did all of this to you. And has plans that go further than me."

I used to hear when you were enraged, you saw red. Well, my vision blacks out for a moment before I realize I've got my knife in a death grip, pressed against his flabby throat. A bead of blood runs down the blade.

"You're lying."

His eyes move to Jeong-Ki. "He took my phone. You can see for yourself."

"I plan on it."

And without further conversation, I slice through his throat with my serrated army knife, relishing in the gurgles as blood rushes up his throat and out of his mouth as he feels his life begin to fade.

Good fucking riddance.