Page 46 of Marked By Him

My dark eyes finally meet hers, and I speak the first words I have to her all evening.

“Monroe Ross is dead.”

12.Monroe

If you toldme that I would be living under the same roof as the man who marked me and then tried to kill me, I would’ve looked at you like you were crazy.

Because that’s exactly how it sounds.

It. Is.Insane.

But it’s the truth—after Jin destroys my apartment and uses his blade to draw my blood, he whisks me away in his car. We drive for almost an hour until we reach a sleepy fishing village in Gijang-gun, on the outskirts of Busan.

The further we get from the city, the darker it becomes. Buildings shrink in size and number, the roads empty, and the streetlights are replaced by uneven patches of moonlight slipping through tree branches.

The shops we pass are shuttered, their metal grates drawn and locked. A lone convenience store glows on a street corner, but even that light flickers with uncertainty. It’s the kind of neighborhood that shuts down after dark and doesn’t stir until morning.

For a violent leader in a big-time mafia syndicate like the Baekho Pa, I would’ve never imagined this is where Jin wouldchoose to live. I’d assume he’d want to be in the middle of the action, right in the heart of Busan.

But then I cast a sideways glance at him and wonder if I’ve assumed wrong.

Jin seems like the strong, silent, stoic type. He’s all business and no fun.

Someone like him may be deep in the urban parts of Busan for work, but he would probably want to be far removed during his leisure time. He probably values solitude.

We pull into a sloped driveway behind a low-rise building that’s tucked between a fish market and another, older apartment building.

From the front, the place looks like it used to be mint green but was left out in the sun too long, the coat of paint faded and washed away. The balconies are narrow and used by most residents to air dry their laundry. Only a handful of the windows are lit up from within, once again telling me that this is a village that rises early but quiets in the dark.

Jin guides his Genesis G80 Sport down into an underground garage, the engine humming as the concrete structure swallows us whole. He kills the engine and steps out without a word.

You’d think we’d already discussed our plans by the way he moves with such certainty.

But I’m in the dark as he walks to the passenger side of the car and opens my door. It’s a gesture that’s not chivalrous, but more so done out of distrust. He obviously expects me to bolt the first chance I get.

His hand clamps shut on my elbow and he steers me toward the caged elevator in the back corner. We ride it in tense silence, only the clanking metal and groaning gears filling the space between us.

We reach the top floor—the fifth and final level—where Jin unlocks a heavy steel door and ushers me into his apartment.

It’s… bare, to put it politely.

The floors are old vinyl, faded and yellowed at the edges. The walls are entirely made up of exposed slabs of concrete, not a single thing hung up for decoration. There’s a tiny kitchenette to the right with no appliances except an old school coffee pot that looks older than both of us. Something tells me if I opened the kitchen cabinets, I’d find nothing inside. Maybe just one plate, one bowl, one glass, one of everything.

A wooden shelf lines the wall under the window, stacked with books in both English and Hangugeo.

There’s no artwork, no photos, no personal touch anywhere.

Just a standing fan, a futon couch, and a girthy analog TV that looks about as old as the coffee pot.

His apartment carries faint traces of soap, like it’s the only scent Jin approves of.

I linger near the entryway, the rubber mat smooth under my feet. The only thing that grounds me. The weight of the situation presses down on me all at once. My thoughts feel scrambled, so many to sort through I don’t know where to start.

Jin says nothing as he unzips his leather jacket and drapes it over the back of a barstool. He crosses the room to an AC unit mounted by the window and switches it on with a soft hum. For the first time since we left my place, he turns around and looks me in the eye.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says coolly. “So you might as well make yourself comfortable.”

I snap out of my stupor and take an uncertain step back. “Why did you bring me here?”

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