April Loves Black Coffee: First Impressions (31 page)

“Choi Sangwoo.” Danny turns his attention to the gang leader. “If I knew you would be running here this fast, I would have thought about grabbing your previous girlfriends whenever we want to settle a deal with you.” With a wave of his hand, Danny motions for more men behind him. Five more surfaces from the shadows of the warehouse.

My heart races, but Sangwoo doesn’t seem affected by their presence.

Instead, Sangwoo narrows his eyes at Danny. Those signature brown eyes hold nothing but menace and rage. His composure is experienced and untouchable. This is not Sangwoo’s first time with such a tense confrontation. In fact, this foolish act of Danny’s seems to be beneath him.

“This is between your Boss and me. Does Jaewon know you are trying to pull this stunt?” Sangwoo asks Danny coolly.

“Drop the suitcase.” Danny ignores Sangwoo’s question. He motions to the black case Sangwoo is holding. “Slowly.”

Sangwoo drops the suitcase, extending all five fingers out like a fan. The loud thud sends riveting waves across the warehouse.

Danny gestures to one of his men to pick it up. One of the ski masks pops the latch open and examines the money inside. He gives Danny a nod as verification.

“I didn’t know Jaewon allows his minions to act on their own accord. Since when does he let you go around settling his loans for him? I’m willing to bet Jaewon has no idea you are engaging in such idiotic behavior.” Sangwoo is unaffected by the intimidating demeanor of Mayhem’s members.

“Do not say Mayhem’s name! You have no right, traitor!” Danny spits in anger. The anger flares in his eyes.

Traitor?
My intuition is quick to capture the word.

Sangwoo steps forward. “You have no idea the history your Boss and I have. But, I do know that if you think by obtaining thirty thousand dollars before the Saturday agreement is what he wants, you’re deadly wrong.”

“You think he will kill me for speeding up the process?” Danny scoffs at Sangwoo’s foreword warning. “He doesn’t care how transactions are conducted when it comes to you. You’re not even on our watch Sangwoo. We are engineering, planning, and executing far greater things than worrying about your next move. This money is rightfully ours. You’re just the stepping stone we need to retrieve it faster. This useless girl would have never been able to pay it back without you, so that’s why you’re involved, my
lord
.”

Without another warning, Danny motions for an ob
ject. A ski masks steps forward and places a metal baseball bat in Danny’s hand. Danny moves towards me with malice.

“Do not touch her.” Sangwoo’s arctic voice is dire with
a warning.

“Oh, you like her?” Danny ignores Sangwoo’s warning. He runs a hand through my hair.

I attempt to back away from him.

“I said do not touch her.” Sangwoo’s voice drops another grave octave.

“Shut up!” Without so much as a warning, Danny grabs a fistful of my hair.

“Ow!” Tears swell in my eyes. As a reaction, I slap him across the face. The anger and pain boil inside of me. I am feeling stupidly brave.
You can’t touch me like that!
my conscience growls with angst.

“Bitch!” Danny throws me to the ground.

I land with a thud, hitting the concrete ground elbows first. The nerves spin inside my bones. I don’t have time to focus on my pain.

“I said don’t touch her!” Sangwoo’s growl resonates in the entire warehouse. With a gleam of anger in his eyes, Sangwoo swings at Danny
, who retaliates with the baseball bat.

The noise is deafening and haunting. For a moment, I think it is a dream. I think it is all a dream to see Sangwoo fall to his knees as Danny swings the bat again into his chest. Blood spurts recklessly from Sangwoo’s mouth in a matter of seconds.

“No!” I finally find my voice. The cry is animalistic and unfamiliar. It is no longer a dream when the color of Sangwoo’s face turns a different shade.

“Argh!” With tremendous speed and power, including recovery time, Sangwoo springs back on his feet. He ducks the bat’s attempted second swing, grabs the side of its length, and holds it tightly against Danny’s chest. With great force, Sangwoo pushes the bat against Danny until he moves five feet across the concrete floor. For a minute, it looks like the two are stuck in a balance of weight and power.

Then, Sangwoo breaks the hold by releasing his right hand and slamming his knuckle hard into Danny’s nose. He fights back. He fights back even though blood is everywhere on him. Miraculously, Sangwoo finally gets a grip on the bat.

“Do it and she’ll die!” The loud click of a gun loading fills the air. Another Mayhem member intervenes with the weapon.

I freeze. I don’t have to turn to know that the gun is pointing at me.

Sangwoo pauses to look at me, and Danny regains his fight for the bat. Sangwoo’s distraction is Danny’s advantage.

“No!” I scream blindly.

Danny spins the bat around and clubs Sangwoo relentlessly to the ground. As though he shouldn’t hesitate for one second to overpower Sangwoo, Danny continues to cycle the bat on top of Sangwoo’s flesh as rage takes over him.

“No!” Forgetting that a gun is pointing at my head, I break into a run towards them. With all my might, I push Danny out of the way, causing him to lose his balance. “Stop! Stop it! Please! He’s going to die.”

Sangwoo sprawls on the ground; there is blood everywhere and he’s in a fetal position. With my heart pumping wildly and, I fold my body over Sangwoo’s body. It happens too quickly for me to feel the pain as the bat rains on me at odd angles.

“No. May! Get out of the way!” Sangwoo pushes me aside when he realizes what I am doing. His eyes are wide and wild. “Move! Run! This is your chance!”

He is going to die and all he can think about is making sure I am safe, making sure I have a chance to run. This is why he’s not fighting back. Sangwoo wants to surrender so I can go.

“Damn you!” Danny lets go of the bat. It clatters to the ground, bouncing in chaos. Extending a hand to one of his men, Danny says coldly, “Give me the gun.”

I stare in horror as Danny’s fingers curl around the metal body of the gun. Lowering his wrist, Danny points it directly at me. “I ask myself all the time, if the shoe was on the other foot what would you do? And you know what the answer is, don’t you Sangwoo? The world isn’t big enough for everyone. Sometimes, you just have to take population control into your own hands.”

“No! Please!”

Boom.

Darkness consumes me. A flurry of activity ensues. Shouts. Footsteps. Clatter. Commotion.

People.
More people are coming.

CHAPTER TEN

Sound travels faster than light. The loud shot reaches my ears first before my sight zooms in on the oddly shaped bullet whizzing out its socket straight at me.

I am indefinitely frozen and paralyzed. Everyone knows that feeling when you are well aware of something coming at you, but you feel powerless to react quickly. During gym time, there have been countless occasions when I see the ball coming to my face, but I don’t move. I don’t even raise my hands to block it because I am paralyzed from the inevitable. Nine out of ten times, I just let the ball whirl through the air, drop low, and slam me in the face.

The same paralyzing notion occurs with the bullet. I see it. I see it clearly with my twenty-twenty vision, but I don’t move until Choi Sangwoo pushes me hard onto the ground. My body slams against the rough concrete, and it brings me out of my trance in time to see Sangwoo cover his body over mine.

“Move!” With a spurt of energy, Sangwoo angles his body and the bullet silences when it pie
rces through his flesh . . . .

My last memory is Danny flees the scene as groups of men invade the warehouse. Ren. Ren and his distinc
tive facial tattoo. Ren shouts orders as some men rush to Sangwoo’s aid while others hoist me to my feet  . . . .

“P
LEASE LET HIM BE OKAY.”
I close my eyes tightly and then open them again to look up at the bright lights. The ambient bustle of the hospital brings me back to reality, pulling me away from replaying the scene in my mind again. I look down at the large gauze wrapped around my right arm. Images of Danny’s metal bat flash in my mind’s eye.

I am sitting on the bench just outside of Sangwoo’s private hospital room. In fact, the entire floor is on reserve for him. Although not lethal, the gunshot wound still calls for an operation. Sangwoo’s private doctor is still in his room for the last thirty minutes. As time goes by, I am growing more and more anxious.

Presently, there are thirty Crist members loitering at the clandestine hospital. All dressed in identical dark suits they roam the hallway like phantoms, haunt the entire floor like ghosts, and hover outside of his hospital door like vampires. When they first arrived at the hospital, surprise rippled from one to the next. It becomes quickly apparent that when they are not gawking at me, they are gaping. I do my best to ignore them and focus on the seemingly translucent walls. The desire unfolds through my entire being to shut down the memories and block out the stares so I can withdraw into my own thoughts.

Coarse footsteps round the side of the building.

Ren returns from wherever he was. Three Crist members stop him, and a hushed conversation ensues. They glance at Sangwoo’s door before throwing a look my way. Ren makes one final comment and they retreat into the shadows.

“Hi,” Ren says when he finally approaches me. “How are you doing?” The
intricate, embroidered tattoos on the left side of his face are stark underneath the lucent hospital lights. I am too busy staring at Ren to notice he’s holding something.

“This is your bag.” Ren hands me my tote bag. I thought it was lost in all the chaos.

“Thank you.” A sense of relief floods me. “I’m doing ok.” I look up into those brooding eyes, feeling judged and analyzed.

“He will be fine,” Ren volunteers the information to my surprise. There is kindness in his eyes, but it is the dangerous kind that shouldn’t be underestimated. “Being shot at is part of the business.”

I can only gape at him.
Is he joking? Weird gangster,
my intuition scoffs. The last thing I want to hear right now is the necessary staples that come with a gangster’s world. Fortunately, I don’t have to comment on Ren’s foreboding statement.

The door to Sangwoo’s hospital room opens. A doctor, looking as though he belongs to the Mafia family with his black slacks and white lab coat, steps out with a nurse who has blue scrubs on. For a moment, the doctor examines the men outside of Sangwoo’s room with a startled expression. Evidently, he wasn’t expecting the turnout. The doctor scans the hallway; when his eyes land on Ren there is recognition in them.

“Ren,” the doctor addresses Ren. His eyes are large and round, fixed together on top of a slightly crooked nose. When he speaks, there is a foreign accent to his tongue.

“How is he?” Ren asks with an even tone.

“The bullet was safely removed. It was only a fraction of an inch away from the old wound, but fortunately it got his flesh instead of the bone. His vital statuses are regular and undisturbed. It feels like a large bug bite for him right now. He should be able to leave by the end of today.” The doctor glances at me.

Old wound?
The word swirls in my mind. Gathering the notation of the doctor and Ren’s casual attitude about Sangwoo’s wound, I am way out of my league. I was raised to be afraid of violence and pain, but now those who embrace it surrounds me.

“Can we see him?” Ren asks with speculation.

“Of course.” The doctor nods sharply. “If there is no need for me here, I will be on my way. My flight for Japan leaves in forty-five minutes.” It becomes clear he’s here specifically for Sangwoo.

Ren bows to him.

The doctor returns Ren’s bow and then to me. His eyes dart furtively at me before he turns down the opposite hallway. The nurse retreats to the nurse station near the elaborate elevators.

“I want to see him,” I tell Ren.

He gives me a taciturn look, but doesn’t protest when I follow his heels to Sangwoo’s room. As we walk by the other Crist members, some dart apprehensive glances at me while others murmur in whispers.

“ . . . Looks just like her.”

“Same eyes . . .”

“Skin tone.”

I do my best to force their cryptic mumbles away from my ears. I focus on entering Sangwoo’s room. It is faintly lit and spacious with white furnishing.

“He’s not even trying to hide Boss.” A rapid-fire, ardent voice is complaining in anger.

“Han, calm down,” Sangwoo replies, his voice is hoarse and impatient.

“Calm down? If we don’t do anything to retaliate, our reputation, Crist’s reputation, will be mocked! I will take care of it,” the male exclaims with earnest.

“Han, I have my reasons. Jaewon doesn’t know. I am sure of it,” Sangwoo continues in the same defensive manner.

“It doesn’t matter!” The protests grow angrier by the second.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. You are not to take matters into your own hands. End of discussion.” It is the first time I hear the dangerous sharpness in Sangwoo’s voice. Now, he is starting to sound like the gang leader everyone regards him as.

“As you wish, Boss.” The male bites down on his last word and turns on his heels.

Ren and I are still standing by the door. Han stalks towards us; he is dressed in black from top to bottom with half of his face covered by the jacket he is wearing. When he sees Ren, Han stops short and bows to Sangwoo’s right-hand man. He glances at me briefly; his eyes narrow slightly, but in a matter of seconds he is gone.

“Who is it?” Sangwoo asks from his bed.

I walk into the room with Ren.

Sangwoo lies on large pillows in his hospital bed. There is a gray patch on his left arm to cover the gunshot wound. The IV tube remains attached to his right arm. There is no need to monitor Sangwoo’s status, so the hospital machines are silent.

“May.” Sangwoo breaks into a small smile when he sees me. For someone who was just shot, Sangwoo doesn’t seem disconcert or jaded. In fact, Sangwoo looks healthier with color on his cheeks.

“Hi,” is all I can manage.

“Boss.” Ren bows his head.

Sangwoo acknowledges Ren first. “Tell everyone to disband. There’s no point in gathering at the hospital and making a scene. I don’t want any publicity for this.”

“Everyone is just all worried about you,” Ren states. “Han has a point.”

“Why don’t you go outside Ren?” Sangwoo cuts him off with a dark look. “The last thing I need right now is for you two to tell me what to do.”

Ren looks hurt and rejected. Ren opens his mouth as though he wants to say something, but he simply bows in respect and retreats.

“Are you okay?” Sangwoo asks me after Ren is gone. His eyes survey my face. When he sees the gauze around my
left arm, Sangwoo points to himself. “Look. We’re twins,” he jokes.

“You’re the one that got shot and you’re asking me if I’m ok?” I ride along with the humor. I don’t even want to address the twins comment.

“It’s not the first time I’ve been shot,” Sangwoo says casually. “It’s part of . . . my world, May.”

I grimace at his confession. Only in a gangster’s world would they boast about getting shot and surviving it.

“Why did you do it?” My question comes out as a whisper.

“What?” Sangwoo asks as though he doesn’t know.

“Why did you jump in front of me?” I press on further. All the hours of waiting has resulted in a lot of angst and questions.

Sangwoo’s eyes narrow in a pervasive manner. “May,” he says simply.

“You could’ve been killed.” I don’t know what I am expecting him to say or what I want him to say. All I know is I am scared and frightened beyond reprieve.

“Because I care about you,” Sangwoo retorts finally. The hard look softens in his eyes.

Oh no. I am not ready for this.
I am immobilized, not because I am thinking of a smart comeback, but because I don’t expect such a sensitive answer from him. How can I tell Sangwoo that seeing him take that bullet for me was horrifying? More important, how can I confess to him that it brings back some of my darkest memories? The memories that I carefully boxed and shelved away in the restricted sections of my mind?

“Thank you,” is the only thing I can say. I take a step back, feeling defeated and helpless.

Sangwoo stares at me with an impassive look, giving me the impression that he is wracking his brain on how to deal with me. In the end, he beckons me to come closer. Every step I take to him is a conscious effort. I am well aware there is no going back now.

When I am by his side, Sangwoo reaches for my wrist. His warm hand wraps around my skin. I make no move to take my arm back. I already know that the moment he jumped in front of me, something in the cosmic universe seals us. I already know that no matter what, Choi Sangwoo will be in my life as long as he wants me.
This mysterious, lonely gang leader wants me.
The thought shakes me just like the first time.
He wants you because you remind him of Dead Girl. There, I said it!
Sticking her tongue out at me, my intuition attempts to butcher the mood.

“Can I ask you for a favor?” Sangwoo’s voice is soft and dreary.

“Yes,” I agree, willing to do anything to reduce the guilty feelings I have. “Whatever you need.”

“You . . . ,” Sangwoo replies slowly. His eyes capture me at first, and then his gaze takes me in.

Oh no.
The feeling starts in the middle of my heart and travels down to the depths of my stomach. Butterflies bloom in a manner I never thought possible. I am falling for him. I am falling for Choi Sangwoo even though I do not know who he is. I am falling for him even when the darkest part of me knows I shouldn’t.
Me. He wants me?

“Can you get me some water? I’m dying of thirst.” There is a short twinkle in his eyes.

It snaps me out of my thoughts, and I free fall from the great precipice I am on. I don’t know what the appropriate response is. Do I laugh or call him out on the play? “I’ll be right back,” I tell him with resignation.

“Thank you, May,” Sangwoo calls after me as I exit his hospital room. How
can he change emotions and the course of a moment so quickly? He is playing with me, I finally decide. He wants to leave me in the dark about how he truly feels. Sangwoo knows that by saving me from the near fatal bullet, I am mentally and emotionally at his mercy. He has me right where he wants me. Now, it is my job to figure out if my feelings for Sangwoo are genuine or gratefulness.
This is not the time to talk and think about feelings. You just feel bad for him. There’s a difference between actually liking someone and feeling bad for him
, my intuition warns.

I walk out of Sangwoo’s room and around the hoard of Crist members. Ren is on his phone; he looks up at me when I pass him. Two nurses occupy the nurse’s station. They are in a deep conversation when I approach. The nurses are older in age and they remind me in a homesick way of Eunhye. When I ask for water, the nurse who has
a long scar across her forehead hands me ice chips too. Her kind smile lets me know that she is aware of who Sangwoo is. 

On my way back to Sangwoo’s room, the silent elevator opens suddenly. Its steel doors slide apart to reveal the uninvited guest inside.

A dark figure exits. Today, he is wearing a casual black baseball hat pulled low over his distinctive, prominent features. He’s wearing his signature bomber jacket and accompanying black ensemble. On his hands are brass knuckles. At first glance, the brass knuckles look like fancy jewelry. But the violent nature of their purpose is clearly daunting.