In Lines Of Love ~ Kimchay

49. Happy fucking valentines ( pt11 )

Kim stood on the deck, cigarette resting between his fingers as he exhaled a slow stream of smoke.

The salty breeze ruffled his clothes, carrying the scent of the ocean, but he barely noticed.

His mind was elsewhere...on a voice, on a conversation that had been short but meaningful.

Porchay had spoken to him. No curses, no anger. Just words.

Small progress. But progress nonetheless.

His hair was pulled into a loose man bun, a few stray strands framing his face.

He reached up, pushing them back, when a low grunt pulled him from his thoughts.

Kim turned, arching a brow at the man kneeling before him.

"Xiao Lee," he drawled, voice dripping with mockery.

The man, head bowed and breathing ragged, remained silent.

His wrists were bound behind him, bruises forming along his arms.

Blood dripped from a cut on his temple, staining the wooden floor beneath him.

Kim crouched, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied the beaten man.

"Head manager of Tian Hao’s port. Second in command." Kim tilted his head. "You should know better than to test my patience, Lee Ying."

Lee Ying didn’t respond, his body tense with defiance.

Kim sighed, rolling his shoulders. "I’ll ask you one more time. And trust me, I won’t be as nice. Where is the real base of Tang’s export?"

A beat of silence.

Then, Lee Ying lifted his head, his lips curling into a deranged grin.

Blood stained his teeth as he laughed..a dry, hollow sound.

"Fuck you, Thai mutt."

Kim’s smirk didn’t falter.

His gaze flickered to the gun holstered at his waist.

Without hesitation, he pulled it free and slammed the grip against Lee Ying’s temple.

The man crumpled to the floor, laughter turning into a ragged groan as fresh blood dripped onto the deck.

Kim clicked his tongue, brushing stray strands of hair from his face. His patience was wearing thin.

Footsteps echoed behind him.

Keng approached silently with a tablet in hand. Kim took it without a word, tapping the screen.

The live feed flickered to life.

"HELP! HELP ME!"

A woman's voice, frantic and trembling.

Lee Ying’s head snapped up, his breath hitching.

On the screen, his pregnant wife was bound to a chair, fear evident in her tear-streaked face.

Kim let the video play for a moment, watching as Lee Ying’s expression twisted into something raw, something vulnerable.

Then, he calmly pressed a button, shutting off the feed.

Silence hung thick in the air.

Kim crouched down again, gripping Lee Ying’s chin, forcing him to meet his eyes.

His voice, when he spoke, was cold.

"I am not kind."
.
.
.
.
.
Korn had insisted they go shopping.