Chapter Eight

Moriah

We stand there a moment before I clean my blade on his jeans' cuff, mind blank.

He was lying, right?

"Moriah-ya," Jeong-Ki says. "I'm gonna unlock his phone, and you have to tell me if what I find really is your former friend." He bends down and cuts the dead man's thumb off to unlock the phone before standing back up, phone in one hand, thumb in the other.

He scrolls for a bit, his brows drawing as he reads messages in Korean too fast for me to try and follow. I'm fluent, but not as good at reading it as a native.

"This … can't be," he whispers, his honeyed skin going a sickly shade of gray.

I put my hand on his arm, and his tremors make me shake.

"What is it?"

He closes the messages and says, "He was telling the truth; he was paid to have the club roughed up, and he was paid to have local kkangpae follow you and then find me. Even the police got paid to give me that assignment at your bar." He turns to me. "Did you ever see a picture of our group?"

I shrug. "Maybe. I told you, I don't know K-pop."

"Go look us up. The last album promos we did."

I get my phone and do just that, though the first thing that comes up is Jeong-Ki's "shocking" departure.

I click on images and that's when it's my turn to tremble.

It's Phil.

Phil was in Jeong-Ki's group.

Granted, in this picture he has pastel pink hair and a ton of makeup on, reminiscent of 1980s female pop stars, and a sequined suit, but it is definitely him. There's no missing his flat nose or permanent pout.

"Ji Pil-Sung," Jeong-Ki spits. "Or as you knew him, Phil the bartender."

I shake my head. "No. No way." Dread pools in my gut as I try to explain this away with logic. Because this seems like a bad thriller than my life right now. "Jeong-Ki, you weren't there. They raped him so bad he had to go to the hospital ! I was the one by his side all night, keeping the cops at bay!"

Jeong-Ki shows me his scarred knuckle. "I did fight him once, when I left the group. But the story on the internet about how Pil-Sung got his chipped tooth and I got this is not true."

Doing a quick scroll, I see a story about how Jeong-Ki got so enraged at Pil-Sung a year before the group broke up, Jeong-Ki punched Pil-Sung, chipped his tooth, and that gave Jeong-Ki the knuckle scar.

"What really happened to his tooth then?"

"Well, he and Stefan Lear needed me pliant, reliant on them, unable to escape. A scandal that I was this tough violent bastard was perfect. Who would want me then? I could stay in the group, do everything, while Pil-Sung was a sweet little angel victim." His voice goes up an octave on the last four words, a mocking pitch.

"So, he argued with me, got in my face. Did everything to make me punch him. He slapped me, he pushed me, he threatened me. I didn't give in. Do you know what I saw that crazy bastard do?"

He pauses and I shake my head again.

"He fucking beat himself bloody, chipping his own tooth. And when I tried to stop him, he bit me so hard he left this scar. Luckily the one on my neck faded. I watched as he bashed his face into a wall to make people think I beat him." Jeong-Ki runs a hand through his hair. "I knew if I left, I'd never make it in K-pop. So I stayed. They got what they wanted out of me for another year, another album."

"Are you saying … he told the guys to go that hard on him? To hospitalize him? Just to … what? Fuck me up?" That makes no sense. He hated Jeong-Ki. So when I got to Seoul it makes sense he would use me to find and hurt Jeong-Ki more.

But why did he do it the three years I worked with him? He can't have known I'd get an inheritance.

Where do I fit in here?

Jeong-Ki nods at my question and says, "We need to find him. Quickly. Before he discovers Lear is dead."

"It's Friday. He's gotta be at his bar," I reply, feeling numb.

My best friend.

He set me up to be assaulted every fucking month? And what happened in Seoul? I feel sick and close my eyes, willing the shakes to go away and the bile to settle back down.

I am betrayed, violated, hurt.

But I am also angry as Hell.

And he will regret what he's done.

Jeong-Ki's gentle touch grasps my upper arms. "Jagiya… Have you ever killed anyone before?"

I shake my head a third time, eyes squeezed shut.

"You may be going into shock."

"No. He deserved it. I knew what I was doing," I assure him. "It's Phil. I can't… He was supposed to be my friend!" Hot tears slip down my face.

"He was supposed to be mine too," Jeong-Ki whispers, kissing my temple. "I'm sorry he hurt you too, even if he never touched you himself."

The only thing my mind will do now is repeat one simple phrase: "Kill him slow."

* * *

The bar, what I call the fake Sweet Cock-Tails now, is hopping. It looks like the elite of the city are in attendance. It's no longer the dive it was when I was here. I guess my money helped, since he was nearly penniless when the group disbanded.

"Do we wait until they close?" JK asks me.

I purse my lips and shake my head. "Phil loved playing the victim. But he also loved playing hero, taking care of me after work. If he doesn't know I know what he's done, I can work with his hero complex better than the victim one."

JK nods and gives me a tiny fist bump. "Where do you need me?"

I gesture with my chin to the gangway. "Service entrance. I'll let you in."

Leaning in, he kisses me once before walking away.

Meanwhile, I bypass the line and, as security tries to stop me, I quickly move and get lost in the throng of Chicago's elite.

The bar attire has also been elevated, and my jeans and sweater do not fit the dress code, earning me vicious looks from the patrons.

Good, let them stare. They'll stare even harder when I leave here covered in my ex-best friend's blood.

Phil is laughing and chatting up a good looking couple while mixing their drinks. He looks more like the idol he used to be, with his styled and dyed blond hair and Dior blouse.

How did I never see the wickedness inside him? How did he fool me all this time?

And most important: why did he do it? What does he get out of this? Besides a few hundred thousand dollars; but he didn't know I'd be rich.

Was it truly because he just likes seeing people hurt?

Time to start behaving like I'm in a drama as I let a few tears squeeze down my cheeks and approach the bar.

For a split second, Phil's carefully molded mask of beauty fades to shock when he sees me, a hint of panic. It's gone, and carefully contrived worry molds to his perfect skin.

"Mori?" he says, over the din. "Are you okay? What are you doing here?"

"I needed my friend," I say, trying to sound pitiful. Trying to sound like him. "I see how busy you are but … please? Can we talk? Privately?"

He nods and says apologies to the couple before he leads me where I knew he would: the storeroom that has the door to the gangway.

"Hey, what happened? Did something go wrong in Seoul?" He puts his hands on my shoulders and his face uncomfortably close to mine. To see if I lie, maybe?

I nod and the sob I let out is half-real, just not for the reason he thinks. "Remember the deal I had to take? They— They—"

He pats my back. "It's okay. You're safe here."

You're not.

I wipe my eyes and go in for the kill. "And there was this guy … I thought he was into me but it turned out he was only pretending so he could arrest me. That's why the kkangpae attacked me and I just … I needed home."

"A guy? You mean he was a cop?" Phil asks, and I nod. "Give him up to the kkangpae. Let them have him in exchange for your safety."

You'd love that, wouldn't you?

I take a breath. "Can I open the back door? I need air."

"Yeah, of course, noona."

I do so, peeking to see JK, who nods at me. I pretend to take a deep breath while signaling for him to wait and listen.

"Better?" Phil asks when I turn back.

"Yeah, I just need it open." I wipe my eyes more. My makeup is a fucking mess.

"So, this asshole guy, you really should get the kkangpae to fuck him up. They will love it if you give him up and probably leave you alone," Phil continues, his face lighting up like a kid at Christmas. "I mean, he deserves it."

"Who deserves what, now?"

Phil's head whips around at the phrase, said in Korean, and he turns three shades lighter than normal.

JK shuts the door behind himself as he saunters in, gun cocked. "What's up, hyung ? Miss me?"

Phil stammers. "How… Did you trick me?" That is said to me, eyes hard and accusatory. "Don't believe anything he says! He's always been jealous—"

"Will you shut the fuck up for once in your life? You annoyed me with your singing and now you're annoying me when you speak," JK comments.

Phil stammers, his face turning red from anger. He's so focused on JK, the punch I land to the side of his face comes at a total shock, sending him barreling into a case of expensive whiskey.

It tumbles down, bottle shattering under his weight.

The stench of liquor permeates the air, and Phil yelps in pain as the alcohol seeps into his brand new wounds from broken glass. He tries to push himself up, only embedding the glass deep into his palms as he cries.

"Poor baby. That's what you get for touching people when they don't want you to," JK sneers. He saunters over, looking like an actor in a drama with a tiny, pleased smile on his face. "I've never been a violent man. But you? You bring it out in me. I guess that's your talent. We couldn't find one when you were a trainee, but look. Now we have it."

Every time Phil tries to move, glass embeds itself somewhere, and the clothes he's wearing don't even dull the sting like they would if he had on something thicker, like jeans and a sweater.

He's trapped, and we didn't even try.

I watch as JK squats down and picks up a big, sharp piece of glass. He holds it up so it shines in the thin bulb's light we have back here. Whiskey drips off of it, and he licks it with a smirk.

Fuck, that was hot.

"You shouldn't touch what isn't yours," he whispers right before he plunges the glass into whatever Phil has that passes for a cock.

The scream is ear-shattering, but the music in the bar is so loud, likely no one heard him. His face contorts in agony, tears running down his silicone-enhanced cheeks.

JK stands, and blood pools between Phil's legs.

"Oh, that was a long time coming," he comments, then gestures to me. "He's all yours, jagiya."

Watching my best friend for years sob and try and get up only to make himself bleed more should make me sick. Should make me feel guilty.

All I feel is regret that he's not suffering more.

I want to drag this on. I want him to know what it's like to be violated by more than a piece of glass to the balls.

But I also know we don't have long before someone comes looking for him.

I grab Phil by his dyed, straw-looking hair and tilt his pitiful face up to meet mine.

"Why? All I wanna know is why? Why have them hurt me — hurt you too for that matter?" I ask.

"Me? I liked it," he says, that innocent smile still in place. "You?" He tries to shrug and winces as the glass in his body jostles. "Why not have them have their fun? I liked watching you cry. You acted like your degree made you such hot shit. People even liked your drinks better than mine. So I liked seeing you put in your place.

"Now, why did I let them do that in Seoul? Because you being a Sorrento is such a big deal, they nearly killed me because I didn't know. So once I got out of the hospital, I ensured the ones you were dealing with in Korea got their hands on you after I paid off his Sergeant." He points to JK, his arm weak and shaky. "You fucked me over. Figured I could kill two birds with one stone."

The first part of that is almost what it seems like he did to JK when they were in the group together.

Humbled him. Belittled him. Made him feel less-than. All out of ego and pride and arrogance.

"You're a fucking monster."

He has the nerve to laugh. "I'm the one who got half your inheritance while meanwhile you were gang raped by the kkangpae at my orders. You don't get to be condescending to me, you gullible bitch."

I hit him again, relishing the blood that sprays from his split bottom lip. I wonder idly how much the lip injections cost him.

Still, he seems undaunted. "You don't have the balls to kill me. Meek little Mori, doing what she's told. Pretending hard work can make dreams come true. Bullshit. I can see you're ready to cry now, aren't you?"

I nod. "I am," I admit, voice wavering. "I'm sad you turned out to be such a rotten cunt."

That wasn't what he was expecting, and his last expression in life is shock as he feels the glass against his throat before I slit it like butter.

Blood gushes down his front, the arterial spray soaking my clothes. Shock remains on his face as he gurgles out his death rattle.

I stand, dropping the glass, as I watch his body slump over, dead.

Warm hands grip my shoulders from behind and turn me.

JK's eyes are so dark, it feels like looking into a black hole. But these black holes are filled with adrenaline and starlight.

"You're fucking beautiful like this," he rasps. "Powerful. Covered in blood." He kisses me, kisses away some of the blood that hit my cheek; I taste it on his lips when he brings them back to mine once more.

"Now … how about that trip to Jeju I promised you?"

THE END