Page 72 of Marked By Him

“You were a boy.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he answers. “I’ve done many bad things.”

“I still would’ve wanted to know you.”

He exhales a breath. “You say that because you don’t know what I’ve done. Not even half of it.”

“I know what you haven’t done. You haven’t killed me. You’ve protected me. You brought me dinner… and ice cream.” I smile at him as I hold up the McFlurry cup. “A bad man wouldn’t be so thoughtful.”

Though he falls silent, he still doesn’t move his hand from mine.

We watch several episodes until my belly is full and my eyelids are heavy. I yawn softly and lean back into the couch. Gradually, my head droops to the side, brushing his shoulder. Half asleep, I expect him to shift away.

Stiffen or recoil.

Instead, Jin’s arm curls around me. He draws me closer until my cheek rests against the hard plain of his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear, lulling me the rest of the way to sleep…

17.Jin

“The time has come.”

The chamber buzzes with anticipation. Every ranking member in the Baekho Pa watches from the audience, arranged in rows around the circular room, staring down at the sparring mat in the center.

The red-hot iron claw rests on the coals, hissing and spitting sparks.

Seung-min kneels on the mat in front of me, hands clenched at his thighs, chin lifted with defiant pride. No remorse is to be found in his narrowed eyes.

I grip the handle of the iron claw, lifting it from the brazier. The heat radiates up my forearm, prickling the nerve endings in my skin. It smells like burning metal. Soon, the chamber will reek of burning flesh.

“By order of the Baekho Pa, I declare Baek-ho-ui Chim. Kang Seung-min has defied his station. He will be punished under the witness of his brothers.”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Everyone is aware of the code. They know the ritual.

I lower the claw, aiming for the exposed plane of his chest?—

“I OBJECT!” booms Seung-min. “I call for Gyeol-sa!”

The chamber breaks out into a frenzy, dozens of voices clashing at once. Members lean forward, eyes wide with disbelief. Others confer with each other about the twist of events. Some audibly gasp or jeer.

It’s not often that Baek-ho-ui Chim gets called. It’s even less often that Gyeol-sa is called. Translated to fight to the death, it means Seung-min is refusing his punishment. He is countering it with a call to keep his station by fighting his superior to the death. As Ho-gwi, I can easily refuse him.

But if Seung-min wants to battle to the death, then so be it.

My grip on the branding iron loosens, letting it fall back into the coals.

“I accept,” I answer, slowly stripping off my shirt and casting it aside. “Now get up and fight me.”

Seung-min scrambles to his feet with a hunger on his face that I recognize. I’ve always noticed it in him. He’s young and eager to rise up like I was at his age, though for different reasons. If Seung-min wants the glory of fighting me to the death, then that’s what I’ll give him.

The mat beneath our feet is stained with decades-old blood. Tonight, it will take more.

Seung-min circles me, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck. He moves like a man with something to prove. I move like a man who has nothing left to lose.

It’s how I always approach a fight—calculated and measured, but ready to be as vicious as I have to be.

He lunges first.

I’m anticipating him, my torso sliding swiftly to the left. Then I deliver a direct blow to his ankle, kicking his balance out from under him. He crashes to the mat, landing flat on his back.

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