Wicked Fox (Gumiho #1)(35)

“I don’t need you to fight my battles,” Miyoung said through gritted teeth.

“Let me handle this,” Jihoon said.

“I said to leave it alone!” Miyoung’s shout echoed off the glass of the bus shelter. Heat nestled in her lungs. It mixed with her ever-present hunger and made her chest feel too tight.

“I guess she doesn’t like you that much after all, Ahn Jihoon,” Jaegil said with a chuckle.

“Oh, shut up!” Miyoung whirled on Jaegil, and he took a step back at the vehemence in her voice. “I hate guys like you, who think you can bully your way into getting everything you want. And these”—she snatched the cigarettes from his hand—“are going to kill you.”

She balled the pack in her fist. The heat that pushed her rage spread, pulsing through her until she couldn’t think beyond it. She swung her fist; Jaegil winced, anticipating the blow. Miyoung pitched the cigarettes away, her wrath fueling her. The crumbled ball of cigarettes and cardboard slammed into the window of the mart beside the bus stop. The force cracked the glass, spiderweb fissures growing from the point of impact. Too late, Miyoung realized she hadn’t just thrown it, but used her supernatural gumiho strength. In public.

For a few tense seconds, it seemed like maybe the window wouldn’t break. Then it did, the falling glass mocking Miyoung with a delicate chorus of tinkling shards.

“Heol!” Jaegil said, his eyes wide as he looked between Miyoung and the broken window.

Her stomach dropped. This wasn’t something a normal girl could do—break a solid windowpane with a ball of trash. Her eyes slid to Jihoon, who stared at the broken window with openmouthed shock. Then the owner of the mart came running out, shouting rapid-fire curses.

“Who did this? I called the police! Who’s going to pay for this?”

Hushed whispers sounded from pedestrians who’d stopped to stare.

Miyoung felt the heat of their eyes on her. Burning points into her skin like someone had lit Jaegil’s cigarettes and held them to her.

It felt like the world was shattering around her just as the window had.

She tasted acidic bile as her fear turned to nausea.

“Run! Get out of here,” Jihoon said.

“What?” She couldn’t understand what he meant. Weren’t the police coming? Wasn’t she going to get arrested? Her identity would be revealed. Her mother would have to clean up her mess, again. Would Yena kill Jihoon when she found out about everything? Her fault, all her fault.

Jaegil and Seho gave shouts of alarm before they took off, the store owner chasing them down the street.

“You have to leave before the police get here.” Jihoon shoved her so she stumbled a half-dozen steps away.

She let the momentum carry her, until she was jogging, then running, then sprinting.





14





JIHOON SAT IN a hard chair against a faded beige wall. A dozen police officers sat at desks placed in random jigsaw patterns around the room.

He’d only been in a police station once before, when his mother had dragged him there to shout at the officer who’d arrested his father. A bad memory compounded by his current discomfort. And the cop currently questioning him wasn’t helping.



“So tell me again, how did you break the window?” It was a question Jihoon had answered at least a dozen times already.

“A rock.” He kept his answers short. Less chance of getting caught in a lie that way.

“Why?”

Good question, Jihoon thought. Why had he decided to cover for Miyoung? It wasn’t necessarily because he felt protective of Miyoung. Lord knew she didn’t need someone to take care of her. Perhaps it was because he knew she’d expected him to do nothing. Jihoon wanted to show her she was wrong. That he cared about her.

Wait. Did he care about Miyoung?

Before he could dwell on that new thought, the officer spoke again. “And the kids that ran. They weren’t involved?”

“No.”

“Listen, kid. I don’t have time for this. You’re facing actual charges here.”



“I know.” Jihoon didn’t mean to sound glib, but short answers would do that.

“I am this close to losing my temper.” The officer leaned over the desk so spittle flew and hit Jihoon on the cheek.

“Officer Noh, why don’t you take a break?” The detective standing beside them had a calm voice and sharp eyes. Those eyes looked like they saw everything. They worried Jihoon more than the officer’s wrath could. “I’ll finish this up.”

The detective’s desk was a cluttered mess. Files stacked haphazardly against a box that held a mix of random tchotchkes. Jihoon spotted a Lotte Giants mug, a small wooden frame with a faded picture of a baby, and a large wooden cross with scripture carved into it: “The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous, and his ears are attentive to their cry. Psalm 34:15.”

Detective Hae read the file he’d taken from the officer’s desk. His square jaw and salt-and-pepper hair reminded Jihoon of the distinguished actors in the period dramas Jihoon’s halmeoni liked. He imagined the man wearing the large robes of a noble, yelling about the honor of the country.

“So you broke a window, and you’ve decided the best response is to be rude to a police officer?”