TWO
"Even in killing men,
Observe the rules of propriety."
~ Confucius
JENNIE
"Ms. Kim, we will be landing in h-half an h-hour," the flight attendant stammered.
Nodding, I simply raised my glass, but the moron was so scared, he couldn't even pour the wine right. I narrowed my eyes at the red stains on my new white Chanel jacket before glaring at him. I snatched the bottle from his damn hands.
"I'm so—"
"Don't say sorry," I said in a low hiss. "You aren't even on the threshold of sorry yet."
His eyes widened before taking a step back and backing straight into Hanbin, who already had a gun pointed at the back of his skull.
"All we really need is the pilot, ma'am," Hanbin said simply.
Stripping off my jacket, I stared at the moron at the end of the nine-millimeter. He was young, only a few years older than I was. What would make him take the job as a steward on my jet? A better question would be, who cleared him to be a steward on my fucking jet? Things spoken in here were more sensitive than the damn Watergate tapes.
"Hanbin, how did this fool get on my plane?" I asked, only mildly interested as Chanyeol handed me another file.
"His sister racked up quite a large debt. I do believe he is trying to pay it off," he said, waiting for me to give the go-ahead. He was so trigger-happy sometimes.
"Is that why you're here? Your sister is a crack whore?"
He frowned, swallowing the lump in his throat before speaking again. "Crystal meth."
It's too early in the morning for blood. I shook my head at Hanbin. He sulked for a moment but did what he was told and lowered his GLOCK.
"If you want to pay off your sister's debt, it would be wise for you to stay alive and not spill my Romanée-Conti, or ruin nine-hundred-dollar jackets," I told him before turning back to the file in front of me.
"Yes, M-M-Miss K-Kim. It will n-never happen a-again." His voice sounded like a dying dog's. I almost pitied his sister. Was he all she had coming to her aid?
"Count yourself blessed Nelson Reed, 997-00-4279, 1705 Blue Ridge Road," Hanbin said, making sure the moron was aware that we not only knew his name, but his social security number and address. Just because we didn't kill him today didn't mean we could not destroy his life tomorrow.
Hanbin sighed before taking a seat in front of me. "It was a nice jacket. You should have let me kill him."
"My father wasn't pleased with the bloodstains I left in the last jet." I smirked, lifting the picture of my future wife.
Wife. I cringed at the word.
I wouldn't deny she was attractive—highly attractive, in fact. But I would need more than brown eyes, dark brown sex hair, and a charming smile. She wasn't very muscular either, but she looked fast and strong.
"Her full name is Lisa Manoban, age twenty-seven. She graduated high school at fifteen, Dartmouth at twenty," Hanbin said, sorting through the photos.
"Let me guess, top of her class?" I added, waiting for him to pour more wine in my glass.
Hanbin did so before nodding. "But of course, nothing less than perfection for the Thai mutt. That doesn't only apply to the schools, but also their fancy half-a-million-dollar suits, luxury cars, vacations houses, parties, and whores."
That got my attention.
"She uses high-end hookers?" It shouldn't surprise me much, all men had their toys. I would have to put an end to it when we were married, but I understood. The marriage contract our fathers signed fifteen years ago stated neither side would tolerate infidelity. It had less to do with romance and more to do with strategic reasoning. Hookers and lovers almost always led to the fall of an empire. The moment you became comfortable with one another, secrets were spilled, and information was stolen in the dead of night. It was just easier to do without it.
"None that we could find. Instead, she just buys them pretty, shiny things like diamond bracelets, expensive purses, or thousand dollar shoes. They all like their shoes," he said mockingly, sliding over photos of all the women Lisa had been with. It was quite a list. At least she would be an experienced lover, but that didn't necessarily mean she was good in bed.
"Is she clean?" If she wasn't, we could buy whatever drug was needed. Ninety percent of everything out there had a cure . . . with the right credit card.
"As a damn whistle," Hanbin said, almost disappointed. "From her current health records, she is healthier than a racehorse, which is surprising with amount of brandy she drinks. Her beverage of choice—Camus Cuvee. She has a damn glass, or even the bottle, to her lips in every photo. She isn't depressed or an alcoholic, she's—"
"Just Thai." I added. They could drink every day, from dusk until dawn, and still walk a straight line.
"Exactly. From what I've gathered, she's the brains and is also highly skilled in hand-to-hand combat, boxing being a pastime of hers. It looks like daddy dearest has spent most of his time forging her to take his place."
"Doesn't she have an elder brother?"
"Yes, she does. Meet Bambam Manoban, age thirty-one. Married to Malibu Barbie, aka Mina Myoi, age twenty-nine, three years ago." He lifted up a photo of the happy couple. Bambam was all muscle with brown hair and hazel eyes, while his wife looked like a life-sized Barbie doll. On her wrist was a small tattoo of a Celtic Knot in the shape of an oak tree.
"A Dara knot." I told him looking over the lines.
Hanbin's eyebrow rose. "A what?'
I did not repeat myself but explained, "It means internal fortitude; to remain strong regardless of the circumstances around you. It seems Barbie is not very fond of the world she lives in."
"Well she sure likes the money it brings her. She can't bite the hands that give her those nice Jimmy Choo's."
Dropping the photo, I waited for him to go on.
"As for her husband, Bambam is also a proud graduate of Dartmouth, by the skin of teeth as it happens," Hanbin added. "And is also a world-class sniper. When he isn't killing people from hundreds of yards away, he is playing baseball . . . a lot."
"So the brother is an idiot. Mina's maiden name is Myoi?" I repeated, focusing back on his wife as I took another sip. "As in Senator Daniel Myoi?"
Hanbin nodded, lifting up a photo of the man in question. "Yes, Senator Daniel Myoi, a right-wing conservative pushing for a smaller government, and I wonder why? Her mother is an active left-wing liberal blogger, which is why they are divorced and the former Mrs. Myoi is now helping the needy children of Africa as the head of the Manoban's Global Youth Charity. Both know about their daughter's new family and approve."
I grinned at that. "Is it real a charity?"
"Sadly, yes. When they aren't stealing cars for the black-market, organizing several murders-for-hire, or selling heroin, crack, and meth to Suzy down the block, they're attending ballets and charity balls to better their community." He shook his head.
"What about this one?" I asked, pointing to the man beside Lisa. He had the same eyes as Lisa, however the man's hair was longer and a lighter shade of brown. I figured woman next to him had to be his wife.
"Ah, Nickhun Manoban—"
Hanbin looked around to see if he had the answer somewhere in his papers. I didn't need to know, but watching him squirm was amusing. First generation Korean, like myself, we looked a lot alike—the same olive skin tone, pitch black hair, and brown eyes. He was my right hand, and in some ways, that made him closer to me than a sibling. Nonetheless, I never wanted him to get too comfortable. No matter how ridiculous my question was, or how pointless it may seem, his job was to get my answer or die trying.
"It seems to be a tradition started in the eighteen-forties after the first Manobans came over from Thailand," he said at last. Nodding, I waited for him to continue.
"Nickhun Manoban, age twenty-nine, married to Victoria Song, age twenty-five. He is the son of Marco's older brother, who was set up by the Valero twenty years ago, and killed by Chicago PD in the crossfire. Since then, Marco has raised Nickhun almost as his own. Victoria, the wife, is the daughter of Adam Song, big shot bank owner. From what we can tell, Nickhun was the one who hacked the system this morning and stole that twenty-seven million from the Russians a few years back. Most of them still don't know he did it. Those who did were killed off, most likely by Bambam."
What a lovely family.
"Victoria. I've seen her face before," I stated, staring at the photo of Nickhun Manoban's wife.
"Maybe that's because if Robin Hood and Mother Teresa had a daughter it would be her."
I tried not to smile. "Explain."
He left a spread of photos across the table. In each one Victoria was either feeding the homeless, giving blood, rebuilding homes, and so on.
"She spends more time giving away all her shit than anyone in the family. Last year alone she spent almost nine million on charities and performed over two thousand hours of community service. It's like she's—"
"Guilty," I stated. Giving was normal. Giving to make yourself look like a better person was normal, but this went way beyond that.
That might be a problem. Both women seem to love the lifestyle and hate the life . . . just great.
Lifting the last set of photos, I knew who they were—the world knew.
"Marco Manoban, who is named after the first Manoban, age fifty-four, and his wife, Evelyn Manoban, age fifty-one, make sure their kids breed well," he stated, placing the file down.
"Now Hanbin, it's wrong to judge." I grinned. The truth of the matter is that I was slightly impressed, and it took a lot to impress me.
I could tell Lisa's eyes came from her mother, while her other features came from her father. They were all quite good looking, and from what I could tell, all was God-given with the exception of Malibu Barbie. It was good, but I could tell she's had work done. Nevertheless, they all looked Hallmark ready. It was almost sickening.
"Ma'am, why in the hell is Marco stepping back and allowing his second born to take over? It makes no sense. I've checked into his health records, and he's fine."
I took my time drinking in the warmth of the wine as I stared at the photos. Hanbin was right. People like us didn't just step down. We didn't retire. We died and then someone tried to replace us. But I think I knew Marco a little bit better, after all my father spoke often of him.
"All I know is he didn't want to lead but had no other choice after his brother's death. Now he's washing the blood off his hands on to his children."
He frowned shaking his head at the photo. "The Thais and their fucking drama."
"My father lost his elder brother as well, Hanbin. We Koreans have drama."
"Yea, well they still need you more than you need them."
"Are the wives involved in business?" I asked, ignoring him. Evelyn, looked too sweet to be packing with her sandy brown hair curled gracefully under a large sun hat, but then again, it was my grandmother who had taught me how to fire my first gun. I was only seven, and I had never been without one since.
Hanbin huffed. "No. They prefer to keep their heads above ground, planning parties, making sure everyone attends Mass on Sundays, going to charities and monthly dinner parties. They all know and accept it with open arms, but they aren't on the same level as you, ma'am."
Smirking, I shifted my gaze to him. "And what level am I on?"
Hanbin adjusted his tie before sitting straighter, his face void of all emotion, eyes almost black.
"You, ma'am, are heartless, and not a soul on this planet would dare cross you. You would put a bullet in our heads if we were ever disloyal to you or the family. You are the Boss," he replied.
When I glanced at the men surrounding me, they nodded, not making eye contact, but aware that I was looking.
It made me proud. It had taken a lot of blood, sweat, and no tears to make sure that they, and everyone else, knew that I was the Boss. I may be pretty, I may be young, but I was a Kim. Kims were—and always would be—beautiful, but lethal when crossed.
Nodding, I leaned back in my seat, finishing my wine as we descended. I was the head of the Kim Empire now, a fact that no one other than my men and my father were aware of. The world still believed he was Boss, but since the age of eighteen, everything—the drugs, the hits, the money—had been run through me because my father was dying. The great Dong-suk "Iron Hands" Kim was dying of stage four colon cancer. Ninety percent of everything out there had a cure, if you had the right credit card. Cancer, however, was a self-righteous bitch that fell into the ten percent that couldn't be bought.
The irony was, most people in our world thought that sons were the only way to keep our underground empire growing. My father didn't. He felt he was blessed. The men in our family all seemed to die of the same cancer, but the women were made of tougher stuff. My grandmother lived until she was one hundred and four before she passed away, in her sleep, with a gun under her pillow. The reason my mother died was because of a plane crash.
I was six when I figured out what my family was. I was brighter than most kids my age, and at seven years old, I was learning to shoot my first gun. By eleven, I was being homeschooled in college algebra, drug cartels, and at my father's insistence, hand-to-hand combat. By seventeen, I knew the business like the back of my hand. Hanbin was right. I would put a bullet in his head in a blink of an eye if he gave me a reason, and I liked Hanbin.
"Ms. Kim, we are now in Chicago," the pilot informed me as I rose from my seat.
Chanyeol, my body guard and third in command opened the plane door, stepping out first, followed by two other men carrying my things. The moron, Nelson, stood at the front of the plane trying his best not to make eye contact with any of us as we reached him.
"Ha-ave a g-good day, Ms. K-Ki-m."
Handing him my jacket, he stared at me wide eyed. "Take it to your sister and let her know how close you came to dying today, and while you are at it, go find your balls before I see you again."
With that I walked out and found a shiny black limo waiting for me. Stopping next to Chanyeol, I tried not to roll my eyes.
Where am I going, prom?
"Chanyeol, see if you can get me a car, in white . . . and soon." I sighed. I did not want to be driven. I wanted to drive. I needed to drive. It was one of my four S's. Swimming, shooting, sex, and speed were the only four things that could help clear my mind.
"Yes, ma'am," he said, pulling out his phone, already speaking to someone. If Hanbin was my right hand, then Chanyeol was my left. He was never taken by surprise. He didn't need to be acknowledged or even seen, and only spoke when necessary. Unlike Hanbin and me, he was the only half-Korean. His hair made him stick out like Donatella Versace at a Walmart. His fix? He just shaved most of it all off.
Hanbin stood beside me and handed me my personal phone. There was only one person who had the number.
"Ciao, padre, calling to make sure I got on the plane?" I asked, while Chanyeol and Hanbin arranged for a new car.
He laughed before coughing. "I would never doubt you. After all, you were the one who renewed the contract."
The contract stated I would willingly marry Lisa Manoban and would merge our families. Dong-suk and Marco had signed the contract fifteen years ago when they first created it. Then it needed to be signed by Lisa and me on our eighteenth birthdays, and one last time during the first year of the marriage.
"I did. Has she?" I asked, just as a white Aston Martin pulled up in front of me. Smirking, I turned toward Chanyeol and Hanbin and nodded, that was much better.
"No, not yet. But she, her father, and brothers will be arriving any moment to do so." He practically coughed up a lung, but I was used to it.
Taking the keys from Chanyeol, I slid in and pointed for him to get in, too. He'd done well. He could ride alongside me.
"So I am guessing that means she hasn't seen the change yet." This was going to be interesting.
"You mean, where you demand to be kept informed and in agreement with her future decisions involving the business?" Dong-suk laughed. "It will be quite interesting to see her reaction. This isn't the normal position wives play."
I snorted, pressing my foot on the gas, a row of black sedans followed behind me as I pulled out of the airport.
"It's nonnegotiable. If she wants a stake in my empire, then I need to make sure she doesn't destroy it. Her brother hacked our records this morning. They are aware of how much we are worth. She's going sign, and she is going to accept that I'm not normal. I don't expect normal," I said, flying down the back roads that would lead to our Chicago home, despite the fact that we never spent time in Chicago. Now I was stuck here.
"You allowed them to hack into our records." I smiled.
Chanyeol looked at me while shaking his head, but chuckled as well. He knew what I was talking about even if he couldn't hear the whole conversation.
Nickhun was good—great, even. He was one of three people who could crack my level one firewalls—the second was dead—and the third was me. If Manoban didn't accept, which would make her an idiot, then I would have Nickhun buried right next to number two. I hated hackers who were against me.
"My dear, if you were not my daughter, I would fear you." I could hear the smile in his voice over the phone.
"It's because I am your daughter that you should fear me." In his day, Dong-suk could make grown men cry and beg for a bullet. If Dong-suk got his hands on them, pain was guaranteed.
"You are one of the best who has ever been. But don't count Lisa Manoban out. It may surprise you, but she is just as, if not more, heartless than you are." He was right. Lisa Manoban was a name many feared. She was known as the "Boogeyman of the East," and I was the unknown "Wicked Witch of the West."
"Ma'am." Chanyeol cleared his throat, holding my work phone.
"I will see you soon. Addio," I said to my father before hanging up.
Chanyeol placed the phone on Bluetooth.
"Make my motherfucking day," I said, breaking the speed limit as I turned the corner.
"With pleasure, ma'am," Hanbin replied. "Ryan Ross, Amory Valero's right-hand man, fucked up big and drove drunk. Guess who picked him up?"
"Hanbin . . ." I said, my tone laced with anger. He knew better than to ever play guess-who with me.
"As luck would have it, Brooks was the one who pulled him over and brought him to us. He's waiting in the room under the house, so drugged up he can't see straight . . . but he's still not talking."
"Goodbye, Hanbin," I said as Chanyeol ended the call.
"Motherfucking day made, ma'am?"
I just nodded, driving closer and closer to my future wife, my empire, and some new intel. "Yes, Chanyeol, motherfucking day made."