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Jihoon jumps up and comes at me again. I bring my arm back as far as I can before aiming right at his face. The sound of my fist connecting with his temple is sickening. He collapses to the ground in a heavy heap, and I’m almost positive I’ve killed him.
I should feel sad, or mad, or even happy.
But I don’t. I don’t feel anything except cold indifference.
Bora drops to the ground and throws herself over her unconscious husband, looking up at me like I’m the devil.
Fear me, bitch, for I am Death.
* * *
Thirty-two years old
My Harley-Davidson Ultra Limited thunders down the empty road, the roar of the engine filling the otherwise quiet night.
Riding my bike is my favorite way to end my days. It’s become almost therapeutic for me; if I don’t ride, I go fucking insane.
I adjust my helmet, but I accidentally smear blood on the visor.
Shit. Now I have to bleach it.
I ride fast and hard until I’ve reached the gates of The Fortress. Pressing my code into the speaker box, I barely wait for the gates to open before I’m storming through.
Benji and Dante are standing watch outside when I pull up.
“What the hell have you been up to?” Dante asks, nodding at my bloody helmet and shirt.
I smirk. “Fucking people up, setting shit on fire… The usual.”
Benji chuckles and shakes his head in disbelief. “I guess we’ll see it on the six o’clock news tomorrow morning?”
I shoot him a dark smile. “Sure as fuck hope so. Ezra still up?”
Dante nods. “In the conference room.”
After parking my bike in one of the garages, I hang up my helmet and go to the conference room. Ezra’s sitting at the head of the table, looking like a brutal king holding court over his empire.
“What’s up, man?” I greet as I enter the room. I claim the seat beside his, drumming my fingers on the sleek black tabletop.
Ezra leans back in his chair and glances at me curiously.
I frown. “What?”
“You’ve never told me much about your childhood,” he comments.
I shrug. “There’s not much to tell. My parents were crap, and now I’m here.”
“This came for you today.” He puts an envelope on the table. “I’m assuming Bora Yu is your mother?”
I stare at the white envelope, feeling years and years’ worth of pain and suffering crashing back into me like a freight train.
“I thought she was dead,” he says curiously. “You told me both of your parents were dead.”
“They are dead.”
“So your mom sent you a letter from beyond the grave?”
I slam my hands on the table and shoot out of my chair. “Why are you assuming she’s my mother? She could be anyone.”
