That kind of defeat would fester over time. It would turn into pure loathing and hatred. More than it already was years ago.
But I still remain somewhat unconvinced. The shootout was coordinated. The message delivered as if some riddle I’m meant to solve. That’s not the work of a broken man nursing old grudges over his disfiguredjaw.
That’s the work of someone with resources. With patience.
Somebody with a plan.
Still, I have to be sure.
I’ll find Goh Seung-ho myself. If he’s the one calling himself Black Shell, I’ll finish what I started all those years ago.
This time, I won’t leave him breathing.
The hanok sits crooked on the edge of the coast, an isolated little house away from civilization.
It’s the place I inherited from my family, where I spent the first few years of my life before everything was taken from me.
But as I approach it now, it radiates warmth, light glowing from the windows and smoke curling from the chimney.
The shutters have been repaired. The porch swept clean. The air smells sweet, like a sugary, freshly baked dessert.
Monroe’s doing. She’s always loved this place. The privacy of it and how cozy it feels. She said once that it was the perfect place to raise a family, far from the noise and danger of the city.
I push open the door, and a small body barrels into my legs.
“Daddy!”
I look down into the beaming face of my son. He’s small—barely three years old—with Monroe’s warm copper skin and my almond eyes and untidy dark hair. His name is Jaden, and he’s the most precious thing I’ve ever created.
It still amazes me that someone as ruthless and cold as I am can create a thing as pure and innocent as this.
I scoop him up, holding him against my chest as he wraps his little arms around my neck.
“Have you been behaving yourself?” I ask to his eager nod.
Monroe appears in the kitchen doorway, a mug of tea cradled in her hands. Her belly is swollen with our second child, too round and heavy to be disguised by the flowy dress she wears. A smile plays at the corner of her lips as she sips from the tea.
“He waited all day for you,” she says. “Even tried to stay up through his afternoon nap. It was a losing battle. Nodded off after a few minutes, but he put up a good fight.”
I laugh and lift Jaden high, spinning him a few times. He shrieks with delight, his giggles filling the house like music.
When I set him down, he scampers off to play with the toy cars scattered across the ondol-heated floor. I watch him go with pure fondness beating in my heart.
My wife and son are my happy place; they’re my entire world, regardless of the real cold and gritty world outside.
“Dinner’ll be ready in a few minutes,” Monroe says. “I made jerk chicken.”
“Sounds tasty. I’ll go wash up.”
I cross to her first, pressing a kiss to her forehead then her lips. She tastes like honey and chamomile from the tea.
The washroom is small and simple, with a basin and a mirror and not much else. I splash water onto my face, letting the cool liquid wash away the stressful remnants of the day.
When I look up, I hear the scream.
The sharp sound is ear-splitting and deafening in the otherwise cozy quiet of our home.
I spin around, my heart slamming against my ribs, and rush into the next room. What’s going on? What could’ve happened in the short time I’ve been gone?
