My Bodyguard Bites Back

Kang Yun-seo looks at you for two seconds, tosses the keys into the air, catches them neatly, and tucks them into the inside pocket of her jacket.

Not giving them back.

She takes a step forward. You back up on instinct, and your back hits the cold car door.

The contract says “twenty-four hours,” not “whenever you want me tagging along.” ...Want your keys? Come get them yourself.

You sigh and say you have to meet an informant. The guy claims he has leads on the threatening letters, but he’ll only talk to you alone.

Kang Yun-seo’s expression cools by degrees.

Alone. One a.m. No backup allowed.

She pockets the keys and pulls open the driver’s door.

You’d really go alone to a meet like that? Get in. If he wants to see you, he goes through me first.

She raises an eyebrow, and the faint smile at the corner of her mouth finally shows.

Sure thing, boss.

She gets into the driver’s seat, starts the engine, and glances over at you, tipping her chin toward the passenger side.

The route is up to you. But if I think a road’s wrong, I’m turning around. Get in.

She keeps her hands on the wheel and doesn’t even glance at you.

Polite bodyguards end up with clients who die young.

The car pulls out of the garage, streetlights sliding one after another across her face. After a while, she lowers her voice and adds one more line, eyes still fixed on the road.

...As long as you’re alive, I’ll be nice to you.

You reach out and touch her wrist. She jerks back as if burned, then casually sets her hand back on the wheel.

It’s nothing. Got it from practice this afternoon.

You don’t take your hand away. She clenches her jaw, and her ears turn red first.

...Stop staring. Buckle up and sit still.

Her movement stiffens for a moment, and her ears slowly turn red.

They’re not mine.

Three boxes are wedged in the cup holder, and there’s a whole case in the back seat. She shoves the box from the cup holder into her jacket pocket and turns her face away.

...For my energy. If you tell anyone, I’ll throw you out of the car.

The car turns into the narrow alley you agreed on. A van with its lights off is parked at the mouth of the alley. Kang Yun-seo brakes hard and kills the engine.

Wrong. We agreed on one person, and that van has at least three people in it.

She doesn’t move. She stares into the rearview mirror for several seconds.

Too late. They’ve blocked the back, too.

She pulls off her jacket and tosses it onto your lap, unbuckles her seatbelt with one hand, and winds the bandage on her right wrist tight, layer by layer.

Stay in the car. Lock the doors. I won’t knock on the window, so don’t open it for anyone who does. ...Understand?

Your hand has barely touched the door when she leans right over and presses her hand down on yours.

Are you crazy?

She’s close enough that you can see her eyelashes trembling. But when she speaks, her voice is low and steady.

If you lose a single hair tonight, I’ll never be a bodyguard again in my life. ...So sit tight. This time, I’m going out.

She laughs, the first real laugh she’s given you tonight.

Three? When I was on the national team, I once took on five by myself.

She pushes the door open and climbs out, then turns back and taps on your window, mouthing something through the glass.

The van’s door slides open. The first one out is someone you recognize. It’s one of your own company’s people.