by K E Osborn
“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.
“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 Makibi
shi 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 the 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.”
Surge places his hand on Torque’s shoulder. “Maybe we should end it and try to find another way.”
Torque’s brows furrow knowing this has been a waste of time, but he gives me the nod, and I turn toward the underling and raise my Katana to my eye level looking down the length of the blade.
He closes his eyes letting out a long breath. “May my death be swift, and my legacy be long.”
I smirk. “Wrong… your death will be long, and no one is even going to know where you have gone,” I state.
His eyes flick open as he understands my words. We’re not going to give his lifeless body back to the Yakuza. We’ll dump him where no one will ever find him. We won’t let them make a martyr out of him for a cause he had no part of. No, he won’t be honored or remembered for his sacrifice to the cause. He simply will have vanished. Possibly being seen as a traitor to the cause.
These thoughts will be running through his mind as I bring my Katana up and rush the blade down and through the side of his abdomen. He lets out a long drawn out wail as the blade pierces through him swiftly, the sharpness making it easy to slice through the muscle, but I don’t go through all the way. No. Just enough to rupture some organs. Just enough to do some damage to make his death slow and painful as he bleeds out in our silver chair. He slumps over as I withdraw my blade, blood pools from the wound along with some bodily entrails as he gasps out, his body shuddering under his impending death.
Finally looking into two scared eyes, I bend down. “There’s no honor in your death,” I spit at him as he shakes uncontrollably, his body shutting down before me.
We all stand back and watch him slowly wither away. The pain crippling him. He can’t talk, he can’t do anything other than bleed out all over our plastic-covered floor.
Surge turns to Torque.
“We need to fuckin’ find something on these assholes fast. We need someone on our side. Fucked if I know how we’re going to get out of this, but we need to figure it out and damn fast.” Torque shakes his head and turns for the door, but then turns back as the muffled moans from the underling echo through the dank room. “I’m gonna get Ace working, see if he can figure anything out we’re missing. Surely, there’s fuckin’ something. Somewhere they must’ve slipped up, and we can use it against them. There’s gotta be fuckin’ something.” He runs his fingers through his hair and turns toward the door to walk away.
I look to Trax and notice he’s watching the eyes of the underling closely. It’s like he’s studying him, watching the moments of death like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world to him.
He turns to me, and I pat his back. “Thanks for including me, brother. It was fucking good to let off some steam.”
I exhale and nod. “Don’t get too caught up in the bloodlust, Trax… there’s a fine balance between knowing when to stop and becoming addicted. If the addiction takes hold, that’s when lines are blurred, and it can… become a problem.”
He screws his face up and tilts his head like he’s confused. “What the hell do you mean?”
“If the addiction for bloodlust takes over, you go looking for it… then you start killing for fun. Do you hear what I’m saying?”
He jolts back in shock, his eyes widening. “Whoa hey, you think I could turn into something like a serial killer? You know I only kill for the club, Sensei. I wouldn’t kill for… fun… would I?”
I rest my hand on his shoulder and look calmly into his eyes. “You can control everything, you just have to want to.”
He takes a deep breath and nods like a switch is flicking inside of his brain that maybe hearing he’s heading down a dark and dangerous road, and maybe I’ve alerted him to just how real it was getting.
He rubs the back of his neck. “How do you flick it off?”
“You concentrate on the task at hand. Don’t get caught up in how good the feeling is of hurting someone who has wronged you, or how powerful you feel when
you slice a blade through their flesh. When those feelings overwhelm you, you need to reel it in. You have to focus on what you’re there for… and that’s purely to gain the information you need. The kill is not important, the information is, and how you get that information is imperative.
“It’s not about causing pain, but about maximizing anxiety so they will crack and tell you what you need... if they won’t, you end it. Plain and simple. Even though every part of you wants to drag it out, make the pain last longer, drag out every scream, every morsel of pain you can extract from them, especially when they have wronged you. But you can’t. Not men like us, Trax. It’s a fine line, and we walk it every fucking time we enter the Chamber.”
He nods like he’s understanding me, which I hope he is because I’ve trained for years to keep myself in line. To know my limits. I know my appetite for blood. It’s part of why the typhoon inside of me swirls at such a vast rate of knots. I am a tormented man, and the beast inside of me needs to be let out on occasion. That’s why Torque wanted me for the club’s torturer. But I can see Trax is probably going to have to be my second. I see me in him, and if I don’t step in and get him under control, we could lose him to himself. He needs to be taught self-control in all matters, and perhaps this is what he’s needing right now.
The underling gurgles and takes one last gasp for air making us both turn to look at him as his body sags and slumps in the silver chair, all life leaving his soulless body. I let out a heavy sigh.
Trax shakes his head and grunts. “I can’t believe he didn’t talk.”
I shrug. “Aiko has trained his men well. I should have known better. I should have known no matter who we took… none of them would say anything against their Oyabun.”
“Fuckers,” Trax grunts kicking the underling in the shin. “Can I ask you something?” Trax’s voice is low like he’s unsure of how to proceed with the conversation.
I glance at him and nod. “Of course.”
“Do you remember Mylee?”
