Mine to Keep

Chapter 16

Ryujin's

"I hate you, Ryuddaeng . . . If you love me, don't do this . . ."

As I pick up her unconscious body, Yeji's words echo in my mind, repeating over and over like a glitchy record.

I know it shouldn't hurt this much, but it does. With just a couple of sentences, she somehow managed to flay me open, to break through the wall that has encased me since Ruby's death the wall that has enabled me to keep a distance from everyone and everything except her.

She doesn't truly hate me. I know that. She wants me. She loves me or, at the very least, thinks she does. Once all of this is over, we're going to go back to the life we've had for the past couple of months, except I will feel better, and more secure.

Less afraid of losing her.

"If you love me, don't do this."

Fuck. I don't know why I care that she said that. I certainly don't love her. I can't. Love is for those who are noble and selfless, for people who still have some semblance of a heart.

That's not me. It's never been me. What I feel for Yeji is nothing like the soft, flowery emotion depicted in all the books and movies.

It's deeper, far more visceral than that. I need her with a violence that twists my guts, with a longing that both demolishes and uplifts me.

I need her like I need air, and I would do whatever it takes to keep her with me.

I would die for her, but I would never let her go.

Cradling her small, limp body in my arms, I carry her out of the bedroom to the living room. Our resident doctor, is already there, waiting with his medical bag and supplies on the couch.

I'd asked him to stop by earlier today, so he can do the procedure as soon as possible after dinner, and I'm glad that he's on time.

I only gave Yeji a quarter of the drug that was in the syringe, and I want to make sure everything is done before she wakes up.

"She's already under?" Dr. asks, getting up to greet us. A short, balding man in his forties, he's one of the most talented surgeons I've ever met.

I pay him an arm and a leg to treat minor injuries, but I consider it worth it. In my line of work, one never knows when a good doctor will come in handy.

"Yes." I carefully put Yeji down on the couch. Her left arm hangs off the edge, so I gently arrange her in a more comfortable pose, making sure that her dress covers her slim thighs.

The doctor won't care either way he's far more likely to get a hard-on for Bambam than for my wife but I still don't like the idea of exposing her unnecessarily, even to a man who's openly gay.

"You know, I could've just numbed the area," he says, pulling out the tools he needs. All of his movements are practiced and efficient; he's a master at what he does.

"It's a simple procedure nothing that requires the patient to be unconscious."

"It's better this way." I won't explain further, but I think the doctor gets it because he doesn't say anything else.

Instead, he puts on his gloves, takes out a large syringe with a thick hypodermic needle, and approaches Yeji.

I step back to give him some room.

"How many trackers would you like? One or more?" he asks, glancing in my direction.

"Three." I've thought about this before, and that's what makes the most sense to me.