Gi-tae’s jaw clenches, but whatever retort he’scontemplating dies on his lips as I rise to my feet in one fluid motion and drive my steel blade into his skull.
He meets his end with a wet, meaty thunk, his final breath a sharp gasp. I raise my boot and shove him the rest of the way back by his shoulder.
My once clean blade now drips with his blood.
All while his remaining men are on their knees, forced to watch.
I hold it up to show it off, relishing what I’ve done. The fact that I’ve kept my promise like I swore I would. I’m about to issue my next command when one of the Bulgeomhoe members breaks free from his captor and throws himself at my feet.
Some middle-aged man, his face streaked with tears and snot as he clutches at my legs like a drowning man grasping for driftwood.
“Please,” he sobs brokenly. “Please, I’m begging you. My wife—she’s pregnant. We’re going to have a baby soon. Please don’t do this.”
Min-gyu and another soldier, Dong-woo, move to snatch him up, but I hold out my hand to stop them. This pathetic, blubbering man has caught my attention, and I want to address what he’s said.
I crouch back down in front of him like I had with Gi-tae and look him in the eye.
Wanting him to understand what I’m about to say; wanting him to know the cruel, harsh reality of this world.
“So was mine,” I say, the corner of my mouth twitching.
Shock flits across his features as it sinks in I have no mercy. His pleas mean nothing.
Standing back up, I nod my head at the remaining men on their knees. “Kill them all. No survivors. Then burn the place down to the ground.”
They’re my parting words as I turn and walk out of theclubhouse. Behind me, my men rush to make my orders happen, promptly shooting some of the men in the head and using their knives to gut others.
The flames and smoke come soon after, burning the Bulgeomhoe clubhouse down and leaving nothing but ashes once we’re done.
Whereas the Bulgeomhoe clubhouse was a bloody massacre, the atmosphere in the Claw Lounge tonight is leisurely and uneventful.
A few spare hubaes hang out at the bar area while another lieutenant talks up a waitress.
I’m still covered in blood.
Gi-tae’s, and the blood of a dozen other men who no longer draw breath.
It’s worn like decoration as I stride through the lounge and head up to the third floor. Rage still courses through me as I do.
Destroying the Bulgeomhoe isn’t enough. It’s not even close to being enough.
As I make it up the elevator and stalk down the hall, I realize nothing may ever be. There is no amount of violence that will ever sate the hunger inside me.
The bloodlust that’s been awakened only grows stronger and more insistent. It calls for more destruction and more pain.
More devastation.
I want the entire peninsula to burn. I want everyone to suffer like the precious things I tried to protect. For others to hurt the way they’ve been made to hurt.
My office door flies open, and I stop short at who I find inside.
Once again, Lieutenant Nam Joo-wan lounges in one of the leather chairs across from my desk, a glass of soju in his hand.
My fucking liquor. From my fucking minibar.
Again.
“Jin-tae,” he greets me, popping to his feet. He raises his glass in a mock toast. “I heard the operation against the Bulgeomhoe was a success. Congratulations are in order.”
