Chapter 42

Jang Taegeon had always treated Lee Jaeha with tenderness, a fact Jaeha sensed even in their intimate moments. Taegeon handled him with extraordinary care, offering the highest level of consideration anyone could hope for from a spouse. Because of this, Jaeha felt compelled to avoid ending up in a wretched, pathetic state, if only for Taegeon’s sake.

Initially, he considered eliminating the easier opponent while he still had the chance, as the older of the two seemed stronger. However, leaving an unpredictable threat behind could lead to even greater trouble later. Surprisingly, Jaeha’s mind remained clear and rational. Beneath every calculation lay one absolute, unwavering conviction: Jang Taegeon will come for me.

Taegeon would find him, and Jaeha had no doubt about that. Therefore, all he needed to do was survive until Taegeon arrived.

With one cuff hanging loose from his wrist, Jaeha wrapped the dangling metal around his right hand like a makeshift knuckle-duster and adjusted his stance. His remaining opponent wielded a sashimi knife. Although the handcuffs were meager, Jaeha needed some kind of weapon, and there was no other scrap of usable metal anywhere in the warehouse.

The man sneered at him, “So you’re not just some useless rich kid, huh?”

Jaeha ignored the taunt and delivered his deduction with the cold certainty of an established fact.

“It’s only you lot.”

The man visibly recoiled. None of his accomplices had made a sound, even after one of them had been neutralized. This silence made it painfully obvious that no one else remained inside the warehouse or anywhere along its immediate perimeter.

The Myeongwon organization might have orchestrated the abduction, but it had clearly outsourced the filthy work to outside mercenaries, most likely men concealing themselves behind illegal immigrant identities.

Jaeha decided to gamble.

“I’ll pay you double.”

The man’s eyebrows twitched. “You’re really starting to get on my nerves.”

“Triple.”

Although the man stood shorter than Jaeha, a jagged sense of danger radiated from him. Any careless advance would end with flesh sliced open.

Instructor Park had praised more than Jaeha’s natural athleticism. He had also admired Jaeha’s uncanny intuition for anticipating the path of an incoming attack.

That instinct, recognized and tested by a professional, burned more fiercely than ever in the heat of the crisis. Jaeha knew that if he threw a punch carelessly, the knife would shred his arm before he reached his target.

Noticing his hesitation, the man curled his lips into an ugly grin.

“You’re pretty sharp, aren’t you?”

Jaeha gave him nothing.

“So what if you pay me triple? You think I’m going to betray them and start licking the soles of your shoes?” The man’s voice roughened with contempt. “If I lose my reputation in this line of work, I’m dead. Who the hell do you take me for? This is exactly why I can’t stand rich little bastards.”

The kidnapper appeared to be overcome by a sudden surge of intense resentment towards the wealthy. Jaeha had never wronged him, yet he let out a quiet sigh, realizing he was being made to pay for the sins of another rich man. The man adjusted his grip on the knife, and the danger around him became openly predatory.

“I’m not interested in fucking anyone, but there are plenty of other places I can stab besides my dick,” he said, his grin widening. “Look forward to it. I’m going to carve you apart with this blade, one piece at a time.”

The graphic threat did not unsettle Jaeha. He ignored it completely and delivered a short, vicious knee to the man’s solar plexus. Given his superior height and reach, maintaining distance and attacking with his legs was far more practical than allowing the fight to devolve into a close-quarters brawl. His knee struck the solar plexus cleanly, but Jaeha did not escape unscathed.

As the man staggered backward, he slashed out with the knife. Jaeha instinctively raised his arms to protect his face. The blade tore through the sleeve of his dress shirt and left jagged lacerations across both forearms. Heat trickled over his skin, and a moment later, the cold warehouse air turned the running blood cold.

Jaeha bit down on his lip.

He had expected the strike to the solar plexus to end the fight, but the man merely rubbed the injured spot with his palm before snapping back into a combat stance.

A brief sigh of disappointment escaped Jaeha. He had genuinely believed that would be enough.

The man looked furious. “Coming at me with cheap tricks you bought using your daddy’s money.”

“I fail to see why you’re criticizing something I paid for and learned properly,” Jaeha replied before he could stop himself.

The man’s face flushed a violent crimson, his features twisting with murderous rage.

Jaeha rolled his neck and immediately regretted the unnecessary provocation.

A dull ache pulsed at the base of his skull, though it remained tolerable. The cuts across his arms burned sharply, and he could only hope the blade had not reached the muscle beneath. He tightened his grip around the handcuffs.

In the next heartbeat, the man lunged without warning. The knife appeared to slash wildly, yet a consistent and lethal rhythm governed every strike.

Jaeha quickly realized that evading all of them would be nearly impossible.

Perhaps removing his suit jacket had been a mistake. The soft silk of his dress shirt offered no resistance to the blade. It parted as though it were no more substantial than air, exposing the skin beneath. His jacket would have served as a far more durable shield than a shirt that might as well not have existed.

The vest from his three-piece suit proved equally useless. Jaeha thought he had completely avoided the blade when it swept horizontally beneath his chest, but a sudden chill across his skin was followed by a searing burst of heat.

The knife had reached him there as well.

He had no time to look down.

Jaeha drove his fist toward the man’s collarbone, his intention precise. If he shattered the bone and damaged the brachial nerve, the man’s arm would become useless.

The kidnapper rotated his shoulder with a small, fluid motion. Jaeha’s punch connected, but the altered angle robbed it of any meaningful force. He had failed to damage the bone or muscle. At most, the metal around his fist had torn through flesh.

The man grimaced, then immediately slammed the blunt edge of the knife into Jaeha’s sternum.

A dull thud reverberated through the warehouse. His bones remained intact, but the impact produced enough agony to flood his eyes with tears.

He still could not retreat.

Jaeha pivoted at the waist and drove an elbow, hardened by years of training, toward the man’s temple.

Again, the man evaded the direct hit. Even so, the force of the near impact made him stagger.

“Ugh…”

Jaeha seized the opening.

Clenching the handcuffs like brass knuckles, he launched another punch. At the same instant, the man extended his knife arm in a movement that resembled a fencing thrust.

Their attacks met like opposing spears.

Jaeha’s superior height granted him greater reach, allowing his fist to strike the man’s temple with brutal accuracy.

Pain exploded through his dislocated thumb, a throbbing agony beyond description.

Unfortunately, the man’s arm was still long enough to breach Jaeha’s guard.

The blade plunged deep into his pectoralis major.

Blood burst from the wound, but Jaeha clenched his teeth and refused to yield.

“Ugh.”

His groan remained trapped low in his throat. Across from him, the man staggered with a dazed expression, but the bastard did not squander the opportunity.

He twisted the knife while it was still embedded in Jaeha’s chest.

“Argh!”

Agony ripped through him, more violent than anything he had ever experienced.

The muscle Jaeha had trained so rigorously was dense enough to prevent the blade from sinking even deeper. Yet as he thought of Jang Taegeon, a man who could smoke a cigarette without changing expression even after being stabbed in the stomach with a weapon this sharp, Jaeha found the comparison impossible to comprehend.

His knees struck the floor. Clutching the left side of his chest, Jaeha folded beneath the pain. The agony had become so overwhelming that he could no longer offer meaningful resistance. In truth, lasting this long had already been remarkable. Jaeha was not a professional fighter, unlike the man standing before him.

Both of them seemed to recognize that the end had arrived.

Perhaps intending to render Jaeha permanently unconscious, the assailant seized the knife and ruthlessly wrenched it free from the thick muscle of his chest.

“Argh!”

A strangled cry tore from Jaeha’s throat. Before the sound had fully escaped, fresh blood surged from the wound.

Only then did he realize that sweat had drenched his entire body.

The man stepped forward and raised the knife high. A heavy shadow swallowed his face as he stood over Jaeha with absolute control of the situation.

He looked solemn, almost ceremonial, like an executioner preparing to deliver the final blow.

Expecting the knife handle to crush his temple, Jaeha quietly closed his eyes.

Then it happened.

The warehouse door burst inward with a thunderous bang.

“Why the fuck are you closing your eyes?” a familiar voice snarled. “Were you planning to suck this bastard’s dick?”

A sharp crack split the air.

The man looming over Jaeha was hurled sideways and smashed violently into the warehouse wall. The sickening sound of bone breaking echoed throughout the cavernous space.

Jang Taegeon had arrived.

He gave the man no chance to recover. Taegeon drove his heel into the kidnapper’s jaw with savage force.

Whether disoriented by a concussion or crippled by pain, the man attempted to scramble upright. Taegeon buried another brutal kick in his solar plexus, sending him collapsing back to the floor.

“This is pissing me off a lot more than I expected.”

His voice rumbled like the growl of a hunting beast.

Taegeon showed no mercy as he trampled the man huddled against the wall. Despite the kidnapper’s ragged gasps, he continued trying to rise, but every effort proved futile. With an expression of chilling indifference, Taegeon delivered one final kick to the unconscious man. Then he swept the sweat-dampened bangs away from his forehead and turned toward Jaeha.

Jaeha could only stare at the broken wreckage of the opponent he had struggled so desperately to fight. Some distant part of him thought he ought to stop Taegeon before the man actually died.

Before he could speak, firm fingers settled beneath his chin.

Taegeon stood over him, gripping his jaw and forcing his face upward.

Jaeha remained silent.

“I asked why you had that look on your face.” Taegeon’s voice dropped into something low and dangerous. “You knew I was coming.”

Only then did Jaeha see him clearly.

His bangs were damp and slicked with sweat. His suit hung disheveled across his broad frame, and his chest rose and fell with each heavy breath. Every sign of frantic exertion stood in violent contrast to his cold expression and severe tone.

Jaeha understood at once.

Jang Taegeon had raced here for him. He had driven himself to the limit for Jaeha’s sake.

Without realizing it, Jaeha squeezed his eyes shut again.

“Drag him out!”

“There’s another one over here!”

Behind Taegeon, who remained silent as he waited for Jaeha’s answer, several unfamiliar members of the organization poured into the abandoned warehouse. They began hauling the unconscious kidnappers outside.

“Why the fuck are you covered in cuts?”

The curse tore from Taegeon’s mouth.

He stripped off his jacket and draped it around Jaeha’s shoulders, then pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it firmly against the wound in his chest, where the bleeding was worst.

“Ugh…”

“Just endure it for a minute.” Taegeon increased the pressure. “We need to stop the bleeding first.”

He was frowning.

Jaeha had never seen that expression on him before. Something in it almost resembled genuine anguish, perhaps even pity, but Jaeha could not be certain.

The kidnappers’ words continued to reverberate inside his skull.

Through the open warehouse door, the blinding beams of several car headlights cut across the gloom. Yet even within that dizzying glare, the entire world seemed pitch-black.

The shouting faded.

So did the roar of engines and the dull collisions of bodies and objects around him.

Lee Jaeha had reached the furthest limit of despair. Standing at the precipice of that hopelessness, he hardened his heart.

“Director Jang.”

It was not that Jang Taegeon had never loved him.

Jaeha had not addressed him by his formal title in so long that he felt the hand pressed against his chest flinch almost imperceptibly.

He had no regrets.

Jaeha believed he had already received every fragment of affection he had any right to claim. More than sorrow, he felt a sudden wave of pity for Taegeon. That pity was why the words did not lodge in his throat. It was why he could speak them without faltering.

No lingering attachment remained, or so he resolved to believe.

He had promised himself that he would give Taegeon everything he could. Here and now, Lee Jaeha’s love was approaching its final and absolute completion.

“Let’s live as strangers.”

Taegeon said nothing.

“I don’t think I can survive this kind of thing two more times.”

I want to give you everything.

Jaeha swallowed his heart and buried his true feelings beneath an expression that conveyed something entirely different. The facade he presented bore no resemblance to what was breaking apart inside him.

It occurred to him that Taegeon would not believe a word he said.

Even so, Jaeha was confident that he could make him believe it.

***