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“Answer me,” he says, barely raising his voice but my heart kicks into fifth gear by the sound alone. I nod.

“Such a good boy.” He smirks and looks at me while he wets his lips; there’s that flutter in my stomach again.

“And here,” he grunts, taking out his wallet, throwing a wad of cash in my direction. It falls on the ground all around me. “That’s for some boxing lessons.”

“Why?” I seem to manage to ask, while he turns his broad back to me, not waiting for an answer. I watch him run a hand through his hair and flick his half-smoked cigarette away.

He shrugs on his jacket, sighs, and doesn’t look back as he walks to the parked black supercar in front of the rundown building to talk with my father who’s fixing his tie next to the car.

I pick up the cash and make my way to the burning cigarette and touch my lips to the end and inhale deep. It tastes like matcha somehow, and my stomach swoops while I inhale deep, smoking it while I watch the car drive away until all the nicotine has filled my lungs. I open my eyes, the flashback traveling to the back of my mind.

“The dark side of the moon,” slips from my lips.

Moon takes a step in my direction; we’re almost stomach to stomach, and I can feel his body heat radiating from him. “Took you long enough,” he says, his voice low and hoarse.

“You’re the dark side of the moon,” I repeat, and Moon’s eyes widen. The man standing before me is older, much harder than he was back then. Like the cold water turned to ice running through his veins now.

“You don’t have to be scared.” He chuckles, and it sounds mocking. He grabs my cigarette and smokes it.

“Hey, those are mine.” I raise my voice and I can hear a couple guys gasp who are standing around us. Moon’s gaze lands on them and they quickly turn their eyes down. I look around. No one is looking at us; everyone is pretending to be busy with something else.

“I think I told you not to smoke. Do I need to teach you a lesson?” he asks, raising his chin in my direction like a dare. He holds the cigarette in front of my face, and I keep my eyes on him while I take a drag. His mouth parts a little and his eyelids turn heavy while I exhale through my nose. The look in his dark depths are like the embers burning at the tip.

He rubs my chin with his finger as I take a deeper drag filling my lungs with the poison. The way he’s looking at me sends chills down my spine. His touch sets my skin on fire, and I have the urge to adjust myself.

The lines around his eyes crinkle when he says, “Good boy.” Not giving the cigarette back, he pushes it between his lips and grabs my chin without warning, shoving me against the railing with his big body. Doesn’t he care people can see us? He swipes a lock of hair from my cheekbone and runs his calloused thumb over the cut there. “Who did this to you?” he asks with no emotion in his low voice.

1 Hanfu: Han Chinese clothing and refers to the traditional styles of attire worn by the Han Chinese ethnic group.

2 C-drama: Chinese dramas.

3 Yaoi: A genre of Japanese fictional media featuring romantic and erotic relationships between men, often created by and for women.

4 Manhwa: A Korean genre of comic books and graphic novels.

Ten years ago, Shanghai

Moon and Eliot

Fuck, is that the way he talks to his men? I’ve heard the stories that he’s vicious in his business dealings. He looks angry, that’s for sure.

“It happened during training.”

His hold on me doesn’t falter. He takes a step forward and I place my hand on his chest, trying to keep some distance between us. His eyes travel down in slow motion.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize, trying to pull my hand back; I know he hates it when people touch him. I don’t know why I’m apologizing though. Instead of letting me pull away, he seizes my wrist hard. I look up into his dark brown almost black eyes. I gulp and the corner of his mouth twitches while he places my palm on his heart. What the fuck is happening? Why do my cheeks flush? Why does my heart start to race? Why’s his heart beating like that too? I try to pull away, but he keeps holding on. His fingers dig into my skin, it feels like it’s going to leave a mark. I’m strong but he makes me feel so small compared to him.

He keeps staring and speaks so slowly in Japanese, his voice so clear when he says mine keeping his eyes trained on me. It feels like he’s looking right through to my soul, and I get scared. Is it lust to kill me with his stare, or hate? Fuck, I don’t know. Did he really say mine in Japanese? No, probably not.

And lust? Give me a break. He doesn’t like me. He only uses my translating skills, I’m nothing but dirt under his very expensive custom-made shoes. I probably didn’t translate it right; my Japanese is still a little rusty.

“Moon,” I begin.

Endo, his second in command, walks up to us and Moon’s eyes turn pitch black, like he’s ready to kill him for interrupting whatever this is. He lets go of my hand like my skin burned him. See, it was all in my head.

“What is it, Endo?” he asks, not bothering to turn around. Why’s he leaving his back exposed? My first instinct is to turn him around to protect him, so he’s leaning against the railing instead. I shake my head, why am I worrying about Moon? Endo’s eyes catch mine over Moon’s shoulder and he smiles, but why do I feel uncomfortable the second his eyes move over my face, down to my lips as he swallows.

“Sir, the meeting is starting in ten minutes,” he says and bows, walking away.