Chicago Defiance Box Set Part One

by K E Osborn

  Scantily clad dressed women bring food as they play a round of cards while they stay oblivious to our presence. A shudder runs through me at how he can sit there like that, eating, drinking, laughing, while his men attack my friends, my family, and terrorize the streets of Chicago all while he sits back and does what? Parties. My fists clench into tight balls as I inch forward, but Trax’s hand on my chest stops me from moving any closer as he shakes his head and glares at me.

  “Keep focused, Sensei,” he murmurs as a cracking noise behind makes us both turn our heads to see a man stumbling slightly like he’s intoxicated. He steps up almost right beside us through a gap between the train carriages, unzipping his fly and pulls out his cock starting to take a piss.

  We both open our eyes wide as I look to Trax wondering what the fuck to do. Neither of us move an inch not wanting the guy to realize we’re only a few feet away from him in the shadows.

  All he has to do is call out, and we’ll be found.

  But then I realize, this is the break we need.

  So, I subtly grab my Glock from my waist and bring it up. Trax nods. I aim it, and we both step forward. I press it to the guy’s temple as he turns, piss running all over Trax’s boots. He groans, and the guy’s eyes light up as I turn up my nose. “Don’t say a damn word,” I threaten very quickly and quietly, but his mouth goes to open, and before I can do anything, Trax pulls his hand back and punches the guy straight in the middle of his nose, knocking the fucker out. Blood spurts from his nostrils as he falls back onto the gravel with a thud, his flaccid cock falling against his pants as he pisses all over himself.

  I groan as I look back toward the Yakuza. One of them glances over, pauses then subtly shrugs, and then goes back to their party.

  “Fucking jerk pissed on me,” Trax whispers as he shakes out his bloodied knuckles.

  I grin as I lean down and wrap my arm around the underling while Trax takes the other side, and we lift him up with his cock still hanging out of his fly. I know I’m sure as hell not putting that away. And I know Trax won’t touch it either. I guess it’s hanging out until we get back to the clubhouse.

  We drag him to the van as stealthily as possible and throw him into the back watching our six to ensure no one’s looking. I grab the cable ties and slide them around his wrists doing them up extra tight as Trax makes his way to the front of the van to start it while I close the back door and hop in. He looks at me as I jump up, and we’re on our way.

  Another successful capture.

  “How come you never get pissed on?” Trax groans.

  “You seem to be the lucky one, Trax.”

  He snorts backing the van out and heads toward the clubhouse back to where I can finally get some of this anger out I’ve been holding onto.

  ***

  As I open the rear door of the van, I’m thrown backward as the underling hurtles himself out of the back making a run for it. But Trax and I are both too fast for him as I grab hold of his shirt and yank him back while he cusses and mutters to himself.

  “Fucking, fuck, fuck,” he groans and splutters as he struggles against my hold

  “Just calm down, little man,” Trax goads grabbing his shoulders and pushing him to walk toward the clubhouse. I follow as we head inside, the entire clubhouse turns to look at us and collectively all burst out laughing.

  Torque strides up to us. “Why the hell is his cock out? You guys feeling frisky or something?”

  Trax groans as I smirk. “He took a piss on Trax.”

  “Yeah, and the fucker’s going to pay for that, too,” Trax replies as Torque raises his brow with a sly smile.

  “Right. Well, I’ll get Surge and meet you in the Chamber.”

  We nod as the Yakuza underling struggles and tries to dash off again, but Trax lays a punch into his ribcage forcing him to hunch over as we walk him down the hall to the armory staircase. We make him take the stairs to the Chamber, and I see him tense as he understands what’s happening.

  “Shit,” he murmurs as he looks back to me and shakes his head almost pleading with his eyes, but I just smile and push him through the open doorway into the dank room. The lights flicker on, and Trax leads him over to the silver chair and begins to strap him in while I go about prepping the room.

  “I don’t care what you do to me… Yakuza forever!” the underling calls out.

  Trax chuckles. “Well now… that’s going to make this a hell of a lot more fun.”

  I lean down in front of the silver chair to the panel recessed in the floor and open it. I pull the dispenser out, the plastic wrap laying out along the floor with ease.

  He watches as I lay the clear plastic beneath him, and he begins to breathe a little heavier. “What the hell is that for?”

  I smile. “Blood,” I reply nonchalantly.

  His eyes open wide as Torque and Surge stroll into the Chamber and close the door behind them with a muted thud. I glance at Surge, he’s looking much stronger now since the shootout, his arm is still in the sling, but he appears much better as he and Torque come to stand in front of the Yakuza underling before us.

  Torque folds his arms over his chest as the Yakuza’s eyes dart between the four of us, and he shakes his head like he’s confused. “What the hell do you want?”

  Torque lets out a stifled laugh. “That’s a loaded question. I want a beer. Maybe some sweet loving. Possibly world fuckin’ peace… but more importantly, I want your Yakuza fuckin’ family gone from Chicago. Fuck! No, all of America… can you do that for me?”

  The underling lets out a laugh and shakes his head. “You think you’re fucking funny, biker scum?” He shakes his head. “No. Have your beer. Appreciate your sweet-ass pussy. Because soon, all of it will belong to the Yakuza. If you don’t fall in line, the Oyabun will simply… dispose of you.”

  I tilt my neck to the side as Trax cracks his knuckles and Torque stiffens his posture. “You think we’d fall in line and not fight back?”

  He snorts. “Fight back all you want, we have more manpower and pull than you. We have people in places you couldn’t even begin to imagine.”

  “So you have officials, judges, police on your books?” I ask wanting to know how far their links go and just who we might have to fight.

  He smiles confirming what I thought. “We have people who have a hand in everything. We are everywhere. We have manipulated everything. We aren’t easily beaten once we’re settled somewhere.”

  I curl my lip. “Yakuza’s been defeated in America before, it will be again.”

  He smiles. “They weren’t wise.” He narrows his eyes. “We’re smarter.”

  “So let’s cut to the chase, hey? One of your men drugged one of our club girls. No point denying it, we have it on video.”

  His eyes widen as if he’s shocked by this revelation.

  Maybe they’re not so smart after all.

  “What we want to know is… what we can use against the Yakuza. We need something to come after them, and you’re going to give it to us,” Trax lays it out on the line, bluntly.

  We all glance at him wondering if honesty is the best policy, but it’s what the underling is here for, so I guess we may as well get straight to the point.

  The underling lets out a loud wave of laughter as he rocks in the silver chair with his hysterics. We all stand here waiting for him to compose himself as his laughter dies down, and he shakes his head. “I am sorry, I thought you asked me to rat on the Yakuza and tell you their liability. Never… that will never happen.”

  “I was really hoping you would say that,” I reply with a smirk as I spin on my heel and walk over to my cabinet of weapons. I sense everyone’s eyes on me wondering what instrument I will choose first. I decide on something I haven’t used for a while, something simple, but something that does the trick nonetheless. Grabbing the lengths of wood, I turn and walk back out to the middle of the room. Trax’s eyes gleam with delight while Torque and Surge both shake their heads as the underling’s eyes open wide.
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  “What is with the bamboo? You feeding a panda?” he mocks.

  I smirk handing one stick to Trax and bringing one edge of the other into my line of sight. The carved end of it glistening in the light to highlight the sharpened point. I glance at Trax with a slight nod, letting him know he can do this with me. He’s like a young boy on Christmas morning, and I raise the stick of bamboo and place it against the underling’s shoulder. He tenses as Trax places the other stick on his opposite shoulder.

  “Tell us what we want to know,” I murmur. His breathing quickens, but he subtly shakes his head. I grin glancing at Trax, neither of us hesitate as we thrust forward. The push of his muscle against the sharp bamboo makes it difficult to push through his flesh, but I drive it as hard as I can while he screams out in absolute agony. Both sticks piercing through his flesh until I hit bone, or muscle, something I can’t push through and have to stop, but I’m far enough in to make this extremely fucking painful for him. I glance at Trax who looks like some of the tension that’s been rippling through him the past few months is finally releasing from him too.

  “Anything sliding off your tongue now?” Torque asks.

  “Fuck… you,” he spits out through ragged breaths as he sits in the chair with his cock still hanging out and two bamboo spikes jutting out from his scapulars.

  “Oh, I think it is you who’s going to be thoroughly fucked tonight,” Trax jabs as I turn and head over toward my cabinet to grab something a little more hands on.

  “You sure you don’t feel like talking? I think Sensei’s only gonna make it harder on you?” Torque asks.

  I smirk as I place my hands inside the wicker basket searching for the two metal Tekko weapons. Basically, they’re your Japanese version of knuckle dusters. Only these have half-inch studs on the rim, so when you hit, they impale the skin.

  It’s going to hurt.

  I notice the underling doesn’t reply, but when I hear him moan out in pain, I glance over to see Trax twisting one of the bamboo skewers into his shoulder further with a chuckle as I grab what I need and head back over.

  The Tekko’s slide over my knuckles, and I step in front of him and grin. “Hi,” I murmur, and he curls his lip at me.

  “Using Japanese torture on me. You should be ashamed of yourself. You belong with Yakuza… not in a club full of mankos.”

  I snort. “And you think calling my brothers cunts is going to make me want to join the dark side? You’re sorely mistaken. Now tell us… what are the Yakuza dealing in Chicago, what we can use against them?” I ask.

  He turns up his lip and shows his teeth. “We don’t even exist. We are a figment of your imagination,” he sneers.

  I roll my fingers through the cold twist of the metal wrapped around the fingers on my other hand. I take a deep breath steadying my stance and don’t hesitate as I slam my fist forward into his jaw. I feel the impact shudder through me the moment of impact. The Tekko smacks the side of his face, splitting open his skin as he lets out a loud “oomph,” his head snapping to the side with the force of my blow as blood runs down the side of his face. The studs lodging into the edge of his jaw, and I have to yank to dislodge them from his flesh.

  A gaping hole sits by his ear and another by his lip as he turns spitting out a tooth. Blood pooling from his mouth. He coughs slightly as I stand taller, and Trax hisses out a chuckle while Surge and Torque simply watch. The plastic beneath us doing its job of collecting the underling’s blood.

  “Anything springing to mind?” Trax asks.

  “Yeah, I would like some Saki? You got any?” he asks through a muffled mouth.

  I don’t waste time, I know he’s not going to fucking talk, so I lay another punch on him, but this time straight into his chest smacking right in the center of his sternum. He jolts back with the force, the studs lodging into his flesh through his expensive tailored shirt as he gasps for the air that’s been knocked from him. Blood immediately pools on his shirt as he glances down, and I smile knowing he’ll be annoyed with me. I’ve put holes in his ornate tattoos which I know will decorate his chest under his shirt. Yakuza have defined body art which takes hours upon hours of dedication and time to have the hand-poked tattoos pressed into their skin. If he’s deep in the Yakuza, like I suspect, then his chest, back, arms, legs, every inch of him is covered in intricate tattoo designs. And I just put three holes in the artwork.

  Yanking my Tekko out of his chest, a small squelch sounds as I pop it from his muscle, blood staining his white shirt further, and I can’t help myself as I lean forward and rip open his shirt showing his intricate tattoos. He looks down to see the holes, which will be scars and bares his teeth at the break in the patterns of his tattoos.

  “You fucking ketsumedo yarou!” he pants through staggered breaths.

  “Asshole bastard? I’m sure you can do better than that…” Pausing I let out a small chuckle. “Well, that’s not a good look is it, your tattoo’s now incomplete. It’s almost like you’re… unworthy,” I mock.

  He glares at me and jostles forward trying to get at me as he wrestles against the restraints holding him to the chair, then turns and spits out a line of blood.

  I know how to get to the Yakuza—dishonor their values and you weaken them. Their family, their honor comes before everything else. “How will they see you now? Pieces of a man? A splinter of a warrior… you may as well sell your soul to us as you will be nothing to them.” I’m goading him. It’s all bullshit. They wouldn’t turn their back on him for a few small holes in his Yakuza tattoos, but it’s enough to have him wavering.

  His eyes dart back and forth between me, Trax, and Torque as he breathes heavier, the weight of his pain heavy on him, and he scowls. “Better to be nothing, than soulless,” he spits back his eyes blazing with a fierce intent.

  “You truly are a man asking for pain. Untie his ankles and take off his shoes,” I instruct.

  Trax chuckles knowing exactly what I’m up to as I walk back to my cabinet and drop the Tekkos into the trough on the back wall ready for the wash down at the end of this session. Then I grab two of the Makibishi spikes. The four-pointed spiked object reminds me of a caltrop used by the Strategic Services—just these are the Japanese version. I take them both trying my hardest not to let any of the highly-spiked points puncture my skin as I walk them over to the underling while Trax kneels at his feet. I lower beside him as Torque watches on with his arms crossed over his chest.

  “One last time... tell us something, any fuckin’ thing we can use against the Yakuza, and we can stop all this,” Torque offers.

  He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing in as he looks me up and down assessing me. “You look familiar…” His brows crease. “You remind me of someone… I just can’t put my foot on it.”

  I tense up. Is he playing me? Does he know who I am? Or does he simply see the similarity to his Oyabun?

  Shit.

  I need to protect my family, that’s the main priority above all else. So I have to deflect this conversation.

  “If you don’t talk, I’m going to ram your foot down on this…” I gesture to the spike next to me.

  “You going to let me go without a fight? Let me walk free after this? If I tell you anything, the Oyabun will kill me.”

  I glance at Trax and nod as we grab one of his legs each and lift them up by his calves. His bare feet raising in the air just enough for us to slide the spikes underneath his flesh. With all his force, he thrashes his legs trying to kick to free them from our grip, but we’re both too strong for him as we hold onto his calves tightly while he continues to try to break free from us.

  “Last chance,” I tell him, and he shakes his head.

  I don’t give him a second to change his mind before I nod to Trax. In synchronization, we slam his feet down onto the spikes. He screams out in sheer agony as the spikes push up straight through his sinew and bone. The black metal piercing his skin and now poking up through the tops of his feet. Blood seeps through onto the plastic on th
e floor as he jostles about in agony, and I stand up not wanting his blood on me.

  I stare at my handy work—his chest with wounds, the bamboo through his shoulders, his jaw open and bleeding, and his feet with spikes through them—yet, he isn’t budging. This hasn’t been the most gruesome of torture, but it has been painful. Though, I have a feeling no matter what I do, he won’t shift his stance.

  Gritting my teeth in annoyance while Torque quietly converses with Surge, I seem to have lost my patience. So, I step over to my cabinet and grab my Katana. There’s no need to drag this out. We’re not getting anywhere. I need to move this along.

  Stepping back up to the underling, his eyes grow wide when the long blade of my Katana comes into view. Now he’s paying more attention. I angle the blade, so the shards of light reflect and shine in his eyes. He squints, and I smile while taking a breath. “Family is everything… I understand that. I know when you’re with the Yakuza, it’s based on family, and that you’re a part of the Ishikawa family. But your name isn’t Ishikawa… is it?” I ask, and his eyes harden as Torque tilts his head looking at me obviously wondering where I’m going with this.

  “I may not have the name Ishikawa, but Ishikawa is my family, the Ishikawa is my Yakuza. I belong to them—”

  “Yes, but, you weren’t born Ishikawa. What’s your name?”

  He tilts his head raising his brow at me like he’s unsure of whether he should be answering my question, but he shrugs spitting out some more blood. “Takeshi.”

  My lips turn up in a half-smile more out of annoyance than anything. “Is that your real name?”

  He grins. “No.”

  Spinning around, I face Torque. “We’re not going to get any goddamned answers from him.”

  Torque folds his arms over his chest with a huff. “Why?”

  “The name he gave me… it means unbending. He’s not going to turn on the Yakuza. He knows if he does, the death they’ll give him will be far worse than anything we could deliver. He’s better off dying at the hands of us, than in the hands of the Yakuza. No matter what we do… he will not break. This is…” I let out a heavy breath, “… pointless.”