by K E Osborn
This is how I clear my head—on my ride, at full throttle. But only in times of ultimate stress. Most of the time, I can center myself in meditation.
But not today.
Today I need speed.
I need adrenaline.
I need a rush to get this anger out.
There’s a darkness inside of me.
A man I do not come to understand.
He’s the man who gets lost in the torture chamber.
He’s the man who loses self-control in the kill.
He’s the man riding this bike at ridiculous speeds right now. Not the Sensei that everyone is accustomed to—the calm, controlled, and placid man that nothing fazes him.
My father—or should I say the man I call my father, Hiro Maki—he made me into the man I am today. He taught me how to hold in my rage. How to control my temper. How to master the art of Zen. A slow smile creeps on my face as I think to all our training sessions. How hard he used to push me. He only wanted the best from me.
The cold of the metal presses against my flesh before it rips from my hand, flying through the air at immense speed. The ninja star slicing through the air, shards of light catching the edges sending glimmers of sparkling light through the room as they fly, one after the other. The spikes pummeling into the target, hitting with precision. Blobs of blood red splash and spray on the walls and floor as the flesh rips open from the intended target, while I duck and weave out of the way dodging whatever’s being flung in my direction.
The thought of being hit in this battle is not an option as I continue to dodge and spin, throwing my ninja stars at the targets, to kill or be killed. I dip, narrowly missing an object which was aimed at my face as it continues on its journey and destroys the wall behind me, the bricks breaking and smashing, the mortar flying off in all directions. I grit my teeth rolling to the floor and throwing my last star which hits its intended target. The flesh ripping apart as the objects stop flying at me instantly, and a round of clapping echoes through the room.
Standing up, I take a deep centering breath straightening out my gee—my white uniform with not a speck of dirt on it. I look to the boxing bags, my targets, which were filled with red paint. I notice I’ve hit each one with skill and precision.
As my father steps in, I look at him while he continues to clap loudly and a wide grin appears on his face.
“Raiden… I am proud of you, son.”
“Thank you, Father. You have taught me well.”
My father steps up to me and places his hand on my shoulder supportively. “Your training has come a long way, but you still have much to learn. You are young, only sixteen, but with me guiding you, teaching you, you can master anything.”
“I know, Father. You are the best trainer… I am grateful to have you.”
Taking me by my shoulders, he looks me in the eyes. I notice the hesitation in them like he’s unsure of his next move. He takes a deep breath and steadies his shoulders. “Son, I need to tell you something…” I tense up feeling the weight of his words falling on me. “I am not your biological father.”
My stomach tightens at the memory, so vivid. So life altering. I’d lived for sixteen years thinking that Hiro was my father. Gritting my teeth, I yank down harder, my back tire sliding out slightly as I glide around the bend. I need the rush. The thrill of the speed. I want to feel something, anything other than the anguish in my chest.
It’s been eight years since I found out.
Eight years knowing I had a different father.
Eight years to fully grasp and understand why I had this dark part of me. Why I wasn’t completely admirable like the rest of my family.
Why I am tainted.
I have his blood running through my veins.
Yakuza blood.
Turning up my lip, I let out an audible groan pulling my bike onto a dirt road. Pebbles and dust fly up into the air around me, swirling into waves of patterns at the force my tires slide over the earth. My bike vibrates and rattles with the new texture, but I keep speeding my way to a destination unknown.
I can’t help but think of everything my parents went through to get here. It makes my stomach churn at the lengths they had to go through to escape my blood father’s tyranny. The story they told me after Hiro admitted he was not my actual father was one so gut-wrenching it physically made me vomit. Thinking of it now is making my stomach knot. Thinking of my mother going through that…
My hands clench so tight I see my knuckles turning white. But I don’t care. I need to feel the pain. I need to let all of this out before I go back to the club. Because letting my brothers see me this way is never an option.
After my parents told me how they escaped, I never gave it another thought.
Until now.
Now the Ishikawa Yakuza have landed in Chicago.
And the one thing my mother and Hiro told me about my blood father is that he is Yakuza, and his Yakuza family name is Ishikawa.
That can’t be a coincidence.
The scariest thing is, though, when I looked into his eyes—his ochre brown eyes—I saw myself in them. I don’t know for sure, but the Oyabun of the Ishikawa Yakuza reminds me so much of me.
My stomach churns again, and I hammer down hating the dread forming in the pit of my very soul. He’s the reason I joined Defiance. To have protection at my back for my family. To know I have a brotherhood of men to fight for my kin. He’s the reason I studied the ways of the Yakuza. Why I wanted to learn all I could about the organization. Why I studied their techniques, their methods, their torture. I learned all their ways just in case this day ever came to pass. Now it’s most probably here, I am not sure I’m ready.
Can I take on the Yakuza?
Yes.
Can I take on my blood father?
That, I do not know.
***
After talking to Torque at Enzo’s pizzeria and telling him that I believe Aiko Ishikawa is, indeed, my blood father, we decided the best course of action is to bring my family to the club to have them under protection.
I agreed but the thought of calling my mother and telling her that her ex-husband is in town is what set me off. I just had to head off on my own for a while. Clear my head. Spin the wheels as it were. Now I’ve had a moment to let the darker side of me revel in his anguish, I need to get my head back in the game. I have to get my family here to the clubhouse quickly.
Riding into the compound, I park in my usual spot with a loud sigh. The weight of this situation is heavy on me and knowing I need to get my entire family here without telling them why might be a struggle. Mother isn’t exactly thrilled with the idea of ever bringing my sisters to the club, but they have been here a couple of times, so they know the drill.
Yanking my helmet off my head, I notice all my other brothers are already here. I have a call to make and the sooner my family arrives, the calmer I will feel. Heading off, I walk to the side of the clubhouse where the wooden tables are located and where my brothers usually come to chain smoke. Ash and butts litter the concrete as I slide into the seat. Even though there are ashtrays everywhere on the table, I shake my head at the state of this area and the disgusting way the brothers treat it.
Fucking unkempt assholes.
I like to live a clean life and being neat and tidy means you always look your best. You present an image that maintains a high standard. If you come across as shabby, or disheveled, you display dishonor to you and your family. This is how I have been raised. This is why when I torture, I always, always clean my blades. Leaving blood stains is abominable in my mind. Less mess is best. This is my motto, and I live by it.
So sitting here in this filth is making my skin crawl as I pull out my cell. My first instinct is to dial Hiro. He should be the one to lead my family into this coming war if that’s what this will be. But, my sisters will be coming into the club. They’re still so young. Keiko is eighteen, and Mei is only fourteen, and in this environment, without some convincing, I fear my mother wo
n’t bring them here. So as much as my initial reaction is to call my father, I believe the right choice at this time is to talk to my mother.
So, I dial her number and take a deep breath. There’s a typhoon starting to swirl in my stomach at how she will take this news. She ran from Ishikawa and for good reason. Aiko was her husband, but he treated her like a slave. Beat her, punished her, raped her. He was – no is, a worthless piece of scum. Hearing this news is only going to hurt her.
My shoulders are tight with tension as her happy voice echoes down the line. “Raiden, my son. It’s been too long since you’ve called me. Are you well?”
Smiling at her sweet voice, I relax back into the seat and sigh. “Mother… it has been too long. I apologize. Things at the club have been…” I take a breath thinking of how chaotic it’s been here with us thinking the Andrettis were taking over the city. We were amping up to go to war with them, and now we’re fucking working with them to bring down a bigger threat—a much more sinister and ominous threat. A threat to not only the city, to my brothers, but also to my damned family—the fucking Yakuza. I finish my sentence, “Well, they have been a little… crazy.” My wording more formal with my mother than I am with my brothers. I am always respectful toward my family.
Honor above all.
She sighs and lets out a small dissatisfied murmur. “Hmm… my sweet boy, you have grown into such a great man. Your father has taught you well, and I love that you use all your strengths for something useful. I just worry you will get yourself hurt in the chaos of everything.”
“I know, Mom… I know. Your concern is appreciated and not unfounded. But I have some news, and I am afraid of how you might take it. Is Father with you?”
“Hiro is in the den. I can fetch him if you would like?”
My chest constricts, and I run my hand over the shaved skin on the side of my head. “No, I will tell you, then you can gather the family. As long as you are all there together, you can come as soon as we end the call.”
“What do you mean gather the family? Raiden, you are scaring me.”
Dropping my chin to my chest in shame, I prepare to tell her the news she’s been dreading for the past twenty-five years. “I need you, Father, and the girls to pack your bags and come to the clubhouse, now. No hesitation. No stops along the way. This is not a drill, Mother.”
She exhales angrily but hesitates. “Are you in lockdown again, Raiden?”
Tensing, my hand runs through the tendrils of dreadlocks which hang from the other side of my scalp. “No, just you.”
“What? Why? What trouble have you gotten yourself into, son?”
Here it is, the moment of truth.
I sit up taller and take a breath. “There is a new crew in town. A Japanese crew, Mother. They say they are… Yakuza.” I hear an audible gasp, and the unmistakable sound of her rushing about the house in a panic is clear. “Mother, the Oyabun… his name is Ishikawa.”
The sound of glass shattering rings through the cell, and I jolt from the shock as I tense up every muscle in my body while everything goes quiet.
“Mother… are you all right?”
A sniffing sound comes through the cell as I hear running footsteps and my father calling out her name from a distance as he rushes into the room. “Shinobu? What’s the matter?” Father’s muffled words come through from the distance, and I grit my teeth wondering what the hell is happening. A shuffling sound echoes through the cell, and then it clears as I hear Father instruct Mother to sit down.
“Hello?” Father calls down the line.
“Father, is Mother all right?”
He exhales. “She broke a glass on the floor, but she looks like she’s in a state of shock…” There’s a pause. “What did you tell her, Raiden?”
Taking a breath, I grit my teeth at having to say it again. “I think the Ishikawa Yakuza are in town.”
He groans, “Chikushō!” and lets out a heavy sigh. “How do you know?”
Father’s cuss shocks me a little, he’s always so collected. “We ran into them with the club. They are trying to buy businesses in town. They are taking over everything, Father.”
“Yes, they would be. Do they know you are here? Do they know about Shinobu?”
I shrug. “Of that I am unsure. I have been in Ishikawa’s presence. He did not act like he knew me personally, but… I cannot be sure.”
“We are coming to the club.”
“Yes, exactly what I was asking of Mother. All of you need to pack your bags and stay here until we can fix this mess up.”
“Leave it with me. We will pack and be there as soon as possible. Give us a couple of hours to get our affairs in order.”
Nodding, I rub my brow with my fingers. “The sooner the better. I know you have to deal with work and such, but honestly, Father…” I pause while scratching my head, “… if they get to you before you get here…” I leave it hanging, and he exhales.
“Okay, I will make it an hour.”
“Good. How is Mother now?”
He’s quiet for a moment then sighs. “White as a sheet. She will be in shock for a while, I believe. She has been free of Ishikawa for twenty-five years. The thought of seeing him again…” This time he leaves it hanging, but I understand as I take in a deep breath.
“Get here soon. I will have your rooms ready for you.”
“Thank you, son.”
I smile at his words. I’ve known for eight years I’m not his biological son, but that doesn’t make him any less my father. “See you soon.”
Ending the call, I stand and start walking as Scratch steps out from the clubhouse along with Torque. Scratch looks annoyed and considering he couldn’t come with us to meet with Andretti because his ride is still fucked up from when Vibe ran into it with the truck, I would say he’s feeling a little left out considering he’s our Road Captain.
Torque looks at me and raises his brow. “Get everything organized?” he asks, and I nod.
“Yes, Pres… we’ll need two rooms. One for my parents and one for my sisters. They can share. It’s better if they’re together.”
Torque nods as Scratch looks over to his ride forlorn, sitting in the parking lot still looking like a crumpled mess and nothing like his usual sparkling Harley.
“Done! I’ll go check that out now. Can you do me a favor?” Torque asks, and I raise my chin in reply. He slaps Scratch’s back making him look to our Pres. “Call Smokin’ Joe, have him come over and deal with Scratch’s ride, will you. I can’t handle his moping another fuckin’ second.”
Scratch smiles as Torque chuckles and walks off through the clubrooms while I nod to Scratch and wander with him over to his ride. Normally, if something happens to one of our rides, we can handle it ourselves, but this bike is mangled, and it needs serious work. Work of a qualified mechanic. Something none of us are. You’d think at least one of the brothers would have a mechanic background, but nope, we have backgrounds in all areas including the gym, guns, and for me, martial arts expertise. Mechanics aren’t our strong suit.
“Man, fucking Vibe really did a number on my baby,” Scratch grunts, his hand running over the crinkled metal of the gas tank.
I chuckle. “Yeah… I can see. I’ll call Joe now.” My cell is still in my hand, so I look down dialing Smokin’ Joe’s number. It rings a couple of times and then answers to the sound of a hacking cough. I pull the phone from my ear and scrunch my face to the sound of the heavy wheezing as I bring it back to my ear and smirk.
“What d’ya want?” he grunts down the line in an all Australian accent.
“Ahhh… Smokin’ Joe?”
Cough, cough. “Who’s askin’?”
“Sensei, from Defiance MC. We’re looking to have a ride taken care of.”
Cough, cough. “Look, I’m sitting it out these days. Fucken fallen ill, but I can send ya my second-in-charge, Spanner, to take a look.”
I shrug wondering why the hell you would choose a name like Spanner. “Sorry, you’re f
eeling poorly, Joe… but sure, send Spanner as a replacement. As long as the work’s as good as yours, we’ll be happy.”
He chuckles, which then turns into a coughing fit. I tense my muscles glad he’s on the other end of the phone and not anywhere near me. I let him ride out his fit, and as it settles, he then takes a breath and clears his throat. “Spanner’s the best. You won’t find better craftsmanship. Fucken better than mine most of the time.”
“Excellent. We await Spanner’s arrival. We’ll get the ride prepped and ready.”
“Fucken hell, the way you talk always makes me sit up and take notice.” Another cough or two and he continues, “Right, I’ll let the grease monkey know to head on over. Should be with ya in twenty.”
I smirk at Scratch who’s still running his hands over his broken ride. “Thanks again, Joe.”
“Anything for Defiance. Now fuck the hell off and let me cough up my lungs in peace, will ya?”
I chuckle. “Get well.”
He groans and hangs up as I turn to Scratch and smirk at how fitting his name is right now because his bike is covered in damn scratches. I mean the paintwork’s fucked, let alone everything else. Admittedly, it did get hit by a truck, but it’s going to take some damn fine work to get that thing back into working order.
“Spanner should be here in twenty. You need to try and figure out what exactly is wrong with it, so he can get to the root of the issues and fix it,” I tell him, and he looks at the bike and exhales.
“Well, first of all, the exhaust is bent… that’s going to need fixing. The gas tank’s caved in… that will need new fabrication. The engine’s been fucking battered to within an inch of its fucking life…” he pauses, and I’m sure I see his eyes droop, “… so I have no idea what’ll need replacing in there. I’m not a fucking mechanic. That’s what Spanner’s for, but I’m also pretty sure the gearbox is shot, too. And fuck knows what else needs repairing. Goddammit! I just hope he can fix my baby.”
