Page 81 of Damian & Jun: Episodes 1-4
The metal taste of blood seeped over his tongue.
He braced himself with one arm against the floor. A word and he could explain. Anger rose up in his throat, choking off the words. Now, with the demons no longer pretending, he wanted the bruises.
Perhaps he was the insane man and the butterfly was sleeping. He wanted this truth cut into his skin; like the ink smeared on their hands, their guilt needed to be drawn in bloody characters, published at-large. If the floor was a stage, let them cut him until he could paint their names on it for the crowd to see. Bruises were just one layer of their epitaph.
He wiped his mouth. They stood over him.
“He’s bleeding, sir.”
“Cunt had it coming. Get him clean. Tell Bak the deal’s off. He better find another boy. Actually, tell him I want that Su-jin one. He looks biddable. He’ll do anything for his family.”
“Yes, sir. What do I do with this one?”
“Wash him, then put him on the bed. Use the cuffs. I’ll get something out of this disaster.”
The chief started for the door.
He’d threatened Su-jin. Jun could not allow that. His belly was pulsing in an ugly way. His head rang. Yes, he was truly the insane one.
Jun came off floor. His shoulder slammed into the ? man’s back. He grabbed the overturned table from the floor by a leg. His core engaged around the pain in his belly, and he threw it. It spun through the air like a disk. The chief whipped around as the ? man yelled. The table struck him in the chest, boards cracking down the center. The chief and table fell, limbs and shards bouncing off the door and floor. Glass shattered.
The man in black rolled to his feet, his hand ripping a gun from his coat. Jun whipped a bottle of soju across his face. So much broken glass. So many beautiful crystalline prisms.
Damian
Damian’s hand curled into a fist around Jun’s passport. His grip was so tight the bones in his hands creaked as Jun was dragged beyond the door, disappearing into the bowels of the hotel. He’d never been more tempted to turn and snap at Richard’s hand on his shoulder.
“Settle, boy,” Richard growled. “Use your head. This is your specialty.”
Damian’s chest heaved. He was dragging oxygen into his lungs from outer space.
“I want to kill them, sir.”
Richard’s hand tightened. “We’ve been through this. You have better ways now, more thorough ways.” He leaned in so only Damian could hear them. “Wolf rules, boy.”
Something primal and merciless rose at the phrase. He could count on one hand the number of times the phrase had left his dominant’s lips. Their eyes met. Richard nodded once.
“What can I use, sir?”
“Wolf rules. Where the one goes, so does the pack. This is your arena. Your ship, boy.”
Damian’s back straightened. He nodded once, accepting command. He turned on his heel. The other four members of 5N were there. Gigi. A handful of hotel employees. Mi Hi. Richard’s bodyguards, Holden and Maleko. Richard’s translator. Mr. Yun.
“The suite now. We have work to do.”
Yohei slid in beside Damian. He grabbed Damian’s hand, pressing a small bag in it. “From Jun. Keep it safe.”
“What?” Damian looked down. The bag was black and worn with a cord torn at the end.
“It was his mother’s, the only thing he has of her.” Yohei gave Damian a meaningful look and fell back with the rest of his group.
The bag was heavy in his hand. He slipped it into the front inner pocket of his suit with Jun’s passport. I will give it back.
Upstairs in the suite, Holden peeled off to watch the door. Maleko offered his services in packing.
“Are we leaving?” Gigi asked. She looked ready for a fight.
“The hotel will ask us to depart as soon as they find someone senior enough to approach a client of Reevesworth’s standing,” Damian answered. He turned, surveying who was left. “Mr. Yun, I’ll call you security and a car. I expect you’ll be at the precinct.”
