I stumbled out of my chair, but whatever relief I might have felt at his sudden appearance dissipated as soon as I saw him. His anger had always given him a commandingly powerful aura that always suppressed me and made me feel small and outmatched when we argued. But that was nothing compared to him now. With his long black coat, he looked like a tall, dark avatar of fury, with eyes burning with hatred and rage.

"Han Jungho," he said, in a dangerously ominous low voice. "What are you doing with Jaehyun?" I had heard my brother's voice angry before, but again, never to this level. Each word was like a dagger, sharp with hatred and threat. Even though it wasn't directed at me, they pierced through me, and I was terrified of my own brother.

Somehow, Park Jungho didn't seem too affected. "Baek Taejun," he rumbled, with almost an amused tone of voice. "So you've finally decided to show up." He stalked around his desk, confidently as a tiger through the grass, to stand next to me.

The henchman stepped forward threateningly, but Taejun snapped his burning glare over to him. "Stand down," he snarled. To my surprise, the henchman obeyed as meekly as though Jungho himself had given the order.

Jungho frowned. Either he was angered by Taejun's treatment of his subordinate, or disappointed by his subordinate's immediate surrender. "Jaehyun-a and I were just talking about the money he owes me. I haven't harmed a hair on his head," Jungho rumbled. Like he had done on that day, he patted my hair like I was nothing more than a dog. I flinched away.

I didn't think Taejun could get any more angry, but somehow he did. I could almost see dark flames of wrath emanating from him. "You know damn well you've done it before," he said through gritted teeth. "I won't give you the chance to do so ever again. Let him go. He doesn't owe you anything."

He held out his hand to me. "Come here, Jae. Let's go." I knew why the henchman had obeyed him so easily. In this state, it was impossible to oppose him. Despite having been petrified since the moment he had appeared, I found myself taking a step forward. Jungho grabbed my arm and yanked me back.

"Maybe he does, maybe not." Jungho glared back at my brother. I felt as though I was trapped between two walls of flames closing in. Soon I would be incinerated. "You, on the other hand. If you think I'm going to allow a damn fed to walk into my house and speak to me like that, you're more mad than they say you are."

His henchman, who until now been as stunned as me as the confrontation between two demons, suddenly regained himself. He stepped forward, his hand going to his belt, where I suddenly saw he had a gun...

In an instant, Taejun had drawn a gun from a shoulder holster, and with an ear splitting bang, the henchman jerked backwards and a bright spray of blood burst from his shoulder. He had a gun too! In all these months living with him I had never seen him with a gun. I hadn't even known he knew how to shoot. (Well of course he does. He finished his draft.) 

Before the henchman had collapsed, he had already turned his aim towards Jungho. Despite the fact that I knew it was aimed towards Jungho, I was right next to him, and I too was staring down the barrel. But I was too petrified to do anything.

"Don't make a move, or the next bullet finds its home in your skull," Taejun promised fiercely. "Let Jaehyun come to me now."

Jungho pulled me in front of him. I was so shell-shocked, I didn't resist. "You wouldn't risk the shot with your brother so close."

"Don't try me. I'm the best shot in the NIS Seoul Division." Every word that came out of Taejun's mouth made me shiver. Even though we had argued a lot, never had I heard him sound like this.

Jungho considered his words, deciding if they were true or not. "You've got a hell of a reputation out here on the streets. But I never thought I'd witness you in action myself," Jungho said. Though he spoke confidently, I could feel him tensing.

"I don't want to hear it from the bastard trying to extort my brother. Let him go. I'm losing my patience." From here I could see his grip on his gun tighten, and his trigger finger squeeze ever so gently.

I could tell Jungho was desperately trying not to lose this battle of will. But staring at Taejun was like trying to stare into the sun. It was excruciating.

"I see why they call you the Demon of Inner Seoul. Someone should have hunted you down long ago." Despite his bravado, he shoved me forward. I was finally able to move, and half tripped across the room to Taejun. He shifted to a one handed grip on his gun, grabbed me and pulled me behind him.

"I'm NIS, asshole. They can't touch me." He kept his aim steady on Jungho and started backing us towards the stairs.

Jungho bristled. I had to give him credit for being able to put up so much resistance against Taejun when he was like this. "NIS or not, the next time you show your face in these parts, I'll break every bone in your body," he growled.

"I doubt you'll ever be able to," Taejun snapped. He half pulled, half dragged me down the stairs, keeping me between himself and the wall. There was a couple of men standing at the bottom, and Taejun stepped forward. The lackeys backed away. Clearly, they didn't have the ability to resist Taejun's furious presence like their boss did. The gun probably also helped.

The tattooed woman was collapsed between her counter and the stairwell. One of her legs was bent horrifyingly unnaturally at the ankle. She snarled a curse at Taejun as we passed, but he ignored her.

As soon as the door closed behind us, he commanded me, “Go.” We picked up our pace and he kept glancing back, making sure no one was following. 

Some distance away, he dragged me over to a parked car and pretty much shoved me in. I didn’t think he had a car, so it was definitely a company car. With a screech of the tires, we sped off. He didn’t talk, and I was far too shaken up to ask how he had known where I was yet. 

With a car, the drive back to Inner Seoul only took half the time it did to travel by train. He parked outside the apartment. I was still stupefied from everything that had just happened, so he had to drag me out of the car and into the elevator. 

When we finally made it into the safety of his apartment, I was finally able to ask, “How did you know where I was?” 

“I tracked your phone,” was his simple reply. Despite how roughly he had dragged me out of the gangster’s lair and back into our apartment, he sat me down carefully on the couch (that didn’t belong to him) and put a hand to my forehead. It was drenched with clammy sweat. He took my pulse from my wrist. Without an explanation, he undid the first few buttons on my workshirt, then draped his coat over me. It had a smokey smell that I now knew was the smell of gunpowder. “Lay down. Don’t move,” he instructed. I didn’t want to anyways. 

As I laid catatonic on the couch (that didn’t belong to him), he moved around the house in a frenzy, dialing numbers and speaking rapidly in Korean, English, and one other language I didn’t know. I couldn’t even understand the Korean in my state, let alone the other two. Every once in a while he checked on me, taking my pulse and feeling my forehead.

The whirlwind of events that had happened today weighed me down like an anchor. I’m not sure if I fainted or just fell asleep, but I lost consciousness.