chapter 34

Slowly, deliberately, Eun-jae reached up and ripped the tape off Morgan's mouth, the adhesive peeling away harshly from the man's bruised skin.

Morgan gasped, his lips smeared with blood, but instead of answering, he simply glared.

A beat of silence.

Then—Morgan spat. The bloody nails tumbled onto the floor, followed by a chuckle—hoarse, weak, but still defiant.

Eun-jae sighed, rolling his eyes. "Oh… okay."

Without another word, he slapped the tape back on, sealing Morgan's mouth shut once more.

Then, he started punching.

And punching.

And punching.

Fist after fist, impact after impact, until blood was dripping down Morgan's nose, smeared across his already battered face.

By the time Eun-jae stepped back, flexing his sore fingers, Morgan looked wrecked—his head hanging forward, his breath ragged, his entire body trembling from the sheer force of the beating.

Eun-jae sighed dramatically, shaking out his hand as he tilted his head.

"Are you ready to talk, sweetie?"

Nothing.

Just ragged breathing and a weak chuckle from Morgan's split lips.

Eun-jae clicked his tongue, crossing his arms. "This is more difficult than expected. He still won't talk…"

He tapped his fingers against his arm, deep in thought, before his eyes landed on something.

Morgan's knife.

The very same knife he had tried to gut Eun-jae with earlier.

Perfect.

Eun-jae sauntered over, crouched down, and picked it up, testing the weight of the blade in his palm. He turned back to Morgan, a slow, wolfish smirk creeping across his face.

Then, in a voice dripping with saccharine menace, he said—

"Alright. Shall we continue, honey?"

He took a step closer.

Morgan's breath hitched.

And God, if Caesar wasn't having the time of his life watching.

Eun-jae twirled the knife between his fingers, feeling the cool weight of the blade dance along his skin.

It felt good.

Too good.

There was something soothing about the familiar heft of it, the way it sat in his palm like it belonged there—an old friend, waiting, ready, whispering promises of pain and persuasion. The steel glinted under the dim light, catching his gaze for the briefest moment before he let it spin again, flipping between his fingers with effortless ease. A lover's caress. A predator's patience.

The sound of Morgan's labored breathing filled the space between them—ragged, uneven, laced with just the right mix of defiance and fear. It was the fear that intrigued Eun-jae the most. Oh, it was still buried under that tough exterior, sure, masked beneath clenched teeth and bloodied lips, but it was there. He could see it lurking in the tightness of Morgan's jaw, in the tension of his shoulders, in the way his fingers twitched—like he was resisting the urge to flinch.

Admirable.

Stupid, but admirable.

Eun-jae allowed himself a slow, amused exhale as he lowered himself into a crouch, balancing effortlessly on the balls of his feet. He took his time, watching Morgan through hooded eyes, letting the weight of the moment settle, letting the silence drag until it became something sharp, pressing into the room like a blade against bare skin.

Then, finally—softly, smoothly, dangerously—he spoke.

"You know… ancient warriors had a very special way of dealing with stubborn enemies."

Morgan's shoulders twitched, just barely, but Eun-jae saw it.

Oh?

He smirked, tilting his head slightly, his gaze dropping to the blade still playing between his fingers.

"They wouldn't just kill them," Eun-jae continued, voice dropping into something silky and deliberate. "No, that would be too… quick. Too merciful." His eyes flicked up, watching the way Morgan's jaw tensed. "And I'm not really in the mood for mercy tonight."

The words dripped like honey, slow and syrupy, but there was no sweetness behind them—only the razor-sharp edge of a man who knew exactly what he was capable of.

Eun-jae let out a slow, mock sigh, as if he were discussing something as mundane as wine selection, then lifted the blade and let the tip barely graze Morgan's exposed collarbone. Just the ghost of pressure—enough to remind him it was there.

"They had a technique," Eun-jae mused, letting the knife trail lazily downward, just over the fabric of Morgan's ruined shirt. "One that required patience. Precision. They'd start at the chest first."

He tapped the flat of the blade against Morgan's sternum.

"Right here."

Morgan was very, very still now.

Eun-jae smiled, but there was no warmth in it.

"They'd make the first incision shallow—not deep enough to kill, but just enough to slip a hand beneath. And then?" He tilted his head, voice turning into a low, intimate murmur as he leaned in closer, breath brushing over the shell of Morgan's ear.

"They'd peel."

Morgan's breath hitched.

Eun-jae chuckled, dark and pleased.

"You'd be surprised how easy it is to separate skin from muscle when you do it right," he continued, dragging the tip of the knife lightly across Morgan's shoulder—not cutting, just reminding him of what could happen if he stopped being fun.

"The trick," he whispered, "is to go slow."

A pause.

Then, even lower—soft enough to be a promise, sharp enough to be a threat—

"Peel it back, strip by strip. Keep them awake. Make them feel it."

Morgan let out a slow, shaky exhale, nostrils flaring, but he still didn't speak.

Impressive.

Stupid, but impressive.

Eun-jae hummed in mock contemplation, tapping the blade against his chin.

"I'm just wondering," he said, "if I were to start with you… where would be the most fun place to begin?"

He reached out then, fingers gripping Morgan's jaw, tilting his face up until their eyes met. Morgan's pupils were blown wide now—not in fear, no, not yet—but in something dangerously close to it.

Eun-jae's thumb dragged over his bloodied lower lip, a mockery of gentleness.

"Maybe your arms?" he suggested, voice light, teasing, as if he were choosing a meal from a menu. "Or your legs? You work out, right? I can tell." He squeezed, just a little—just enough to press into the bruises already forming along Morgan's jaw. "Wouldn't it be a shame to ruin all that muscle?"

Morgan swallowed.

Oh.

Oh, that was satisfying.

Eun-jae grinned, all teeth and cruelty.

"Or maybe… your stomach."

He let his eyes drag downward, slow and deliberate.

"I hear that's a fun place to start."

Morgan breathed sharply through his nose, his entire body coiled so tight he looked ready to snap. But he still wasn't talking.

Eun-jae sighed, as if he were genuinely disappointed.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, he spun the knife one last time before pressing the very tip against the soft flesh just beneath Morgan's ribs. Not piercing. Not yet.

But the promise was there.

One more second of silence.

And he would not be gentle.

"So. Let's try this again, sweetie."

His voice was almost affectionate now, soft and coaxing—like he was speaking to a lover instead of a soon-to-be corpse.

"Where is the technician heading?"

Silence.

A heartbeat.

Even Caesar, who had been leaning lazily against the wall, arms crossed, seemed to shift in interest.

Because now—

Now, Morgan had a choice.

And Eun-jae?

He was very, very excited to see what it would be.

The winter air was a harsh, biting thing—a sharp contrast to the lingering heat still coiled in Eun-jae's veins. Stepping outside the warehouse, he could feel the way the night wrapped around them like a cold embrace, the wind howling past in sharp gusts, carrying with it the metallic scent of blood and gunpowder.

Eun-jae wiped his hands on his trousers, as if that would erase the weight of everything that had just transpired. But the sensation of blood, sweat, and violence still clung to his skin, a phantom touch that refused to fade. The adrenaline hadn't settled yet, his heartbeat a steady, thrumming reminder of the power that had coursed through him minutes ago.

And then—of course—Caesar had to ruin the moment.

"Were you really planning on skinning him alive?"

His voice was too casual, as if he were commenting on the weather and not on the explicit threat of flaying someone down to the bone.

Eun-jae didn't answer. Did he even need to?

Instead, he rolled his shoulders, feeling the remnants of tension crack and shift. His fingers still twitched slightly, itching for the comforting weight of his blade, for the steady control that came with having someone's fate resting between his fingers.

And then—because Caesar was a menace and had no concept of self-preservation—

"You know..."

There was something different in his tone now—something laced with dark amusement, something deliberate.

Eun-jae barely had a second to process it before Caesar took a slow step closer, closing the space between them. His presence was a force of gravity, drawing the air tight around them, suffocating in the worst and best way.

And then he said it.

"You were pretty sexy doing that."

Eun-jae blinked.

Once.

Slowly.

Did this motherfucker just—?

Caesar let out a soft hum, his eyes glinting in the dim streetlights, and then—because he clearly enjoyed testing the limits of Eun-jae's patience—

"I really got hard, you know."

The audacity.

The sheer, unhinged audacity.

Eun-jae froze.

Not out of shock—Eun-jae wasn't the type to be easily shocked—but out of the sheer necessity to process what the actual fuck he had just heard.

The wind howled past them, cold and biting, but it wasn't enough to quell the slow, simmering heat that was suddenly curling at the edges of the moment.

And Caesar?

Caesar just smirked.

Like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he was waiting to see what Eun-jae would do next. Like he was thriving off the reaction.

And just when Eun-jae thought this conversation couldn't get any worse—

"You wouldn't mind if I fucked you, would you?"

Oh.

Oh, okay.

Eun-jae moved before he could think—before he could even register the action, his body was already reacting.

In one swift motion, he grabbed Caesar by the front of his shirt, yanking him closer, their bodies nearly colliding from the sheer force of it.

The knife was under Caesar's chin before he could blink, the cold steel pressing against his skin with just enough pressure to be a warning. A promise.

Eun-jae leaned in, his breath slow and steady, his voice dropping into something low, silken, and dangerous.

"Do you want me to skin you alive?"

The words came out like a lover's whisper, slow and deliberate, each syllable dripping with quiet, calculated menace.

He let the blade drag just the slightest bit along Caesar's throat, feeling the faintest hitch of breath, the way the pulse beneath the steel thrummed, steady and unbothered.

And then—he saw it.

That faint pink dusting across Caesar's sharp cheekbones.

The kind of flush that shouldn't be there, but absolutely was.

Eun-jae's brain short-circuited.

And then—because life truly hated him—

Caesar bit his bottom lip.

Bit. His. Bottom. Lip.

And if that wasn't enough, he had the audacity—the absolute gall—to smirk.

"Kinky."

Eun-jae saw red.

Not the good kind. The murder kind.

He briefly considered actually stabbing him.

Right here. Right now.

Just one good slash across that annoyingly handsome face—not enough to kill, but enough to make a fucking point.

But then—Caesar's smirk widened. Almost daring. Almost expectant.

And Eun-jae realized something deeply, deeply troubling.

Caesar wanted him to.

The bastard was enjoying this.

Eun-jae clenched his jaw, exhaling slowly through his nose as he forced himself to release his grip on Caesar's shirt.

It wasn't worth it.

Not yet.

Instead, he let his knife drag down Caesar's throat just a little more, slow, taunting, before he finally—reluctantly—pulled back.

Caesar chuckled, rolling his shoulders like he hadn't just said something insane and nearly gotten stabbed for it.

"So?" he mused, voice teasing. "That a no?"

Eun-jae let out a slow breath, slipping his knife back into its sheath with far too much control for someone who had just contemplated homicide.

"It's a 'I'm going to fucking kill you one day,'" Eun-jae muttered, his voice low and unimpressed.

Caesar just laughed.

Laughed.

Like Eun-jae hadn't just threatened his life. Like he was genuinely entertained by all of this.

"Duly noted, sweetheart."

Eun-jae needed a drink.

Or a nap.

Or maybe a goddamn exorcism.