by Amy Faye
Wes forced himself to sit, forced himself to be still for another few moments. He needed to calm down, needed to dissipate that nervous energy somehow. Once he was settled in, he could start to plan. Right now he wasn't useful to anyone.
The relationship that was going to come was just like a fight. The first line of defense was his feet. Placement. Second were his hands. But master of everything was the ability to see things for what they were, and react appropriately. That meant being calm, and that meant being smart. It had worked for him in hundreds of fights, and it would work for him here.
All he had to do was calm down and think.
Eleven
Minami
Minami's breath went out of her lungs unsteadily. She didn't like feeling this way, and she sure as hell didn't like that Wesley Park, underground fist-fighter, was the one behind it.
Father's business was Father's business. The sooner he realized it, the way that she had all those years ago, the sooner she could have her own life. The sooner she could get away from the world that she had no interest in remaining in.
But that wasn't going to be an option, not if he had his way. Minami knew that it was only a matter of time before Wes was going to get the hammer of the Shimizu family dropped on him.
When he did, it wasn't going to be a case where he might be totally fine. He was, for all intents and purposes, already dead at this point. He didn't know it yet, but Minami, she knew.
That should have made it easier to leave him to his fate, and that was exactly what she'd intended to do. Return to her online life, her online friends, and get the hell away from the madness that she'd been thrust into completely against her will.
But she couldn't get him out of her head. It wasn't the sex, though that had been more than a bit better than previous lovers. Something about having a man who knew what he wanted only served to draw sharp lines of contrast to the boys who had wanted to pander to her and complain about their stupid problems.
She didn't have time for that sort of man. But with Wesley, she felt something else, as well. Something that almost bordered on… pity? As if seeing him crushed beneath the boot of the Shimizu clan was beneath him. Like a butterfly killed by getting hit by a car. Ruining something beautiful that never deserved it.
'Never deserved it' seemed like an incredibly odd description for Wesley. He gave every impression of deserving the worst anyone could give him, and he didn't seem like the kind who cared much about what people did to him either, for that matter.
But more than that, the thought kept ringing in her head that he was more than that. Was he a bare-knuckle fighter? Sure. Was he a thug? Almost certainly.
But he wasn't afraid of the Shimizu. Whether it was through ignorance or arrogance didn't matter. Nobody could have looked at Takuya Higa and had any doubts about his underground affiliations. He wasn't big or imposing, but he dressed so much like a Yakuza that even the most oblivious could pick up on it without much trouble.
Yet, even with that being the case, he'd dared Higa to try to stop him, and then he'd walked off with her. The entire situation almost felt magical, because it was so close to what she really wanted. Someone to take her away, not from a bad date, but from the world that she kept getting sucked up in.
If it was only her, and she had to convince her father that she should be allowed to leave the world that he'd built up an empire in, then there was no way that it would happen.
But if Wesley did it, if he really managed to get her out, then… she blinked the thought away. That sort of thinking was dangerous. Too dangerous. She could be in serious trouble, thinking things like that. Or she could get what she'd come all the way to America to get, once and for all.
Peace.
She picked up her wallet and slipped it into the pocket of her shorts, the pocket that was just barely large enough to contain it. Her phone stayed in her hand.
She'd have to find a driver, and if Father was away 'smoothing things over' with the Higa family, then Majima was going to be out.
The first person she came across bowed deep and greeted her reverently.
"Young mistress!"
"I need a ride," she said. Better to be up-front with it.
"Yes, young mistress."
He rose back up and she followed him into the garage. Three cars seemed like overkill, but they had four, just to be safe. She slipped into the back seat and he turned on the engine.
"Where are you going?"
She tried to figure where she could be gone a few hours, near his apartment. It would be better if she could have an excuse for having been gone, and it would be much better if her father didn't find out where she'd been. Not where she'd really been, anyways.
"The library, please."
"Yes, young mistress."
He started driving. "Not the downtown one—just… I'll give you directions."
He wasn't going to know the city's layout well. The man was a pickpocket first, a driver second. But with Majima out, she had to take who she could get.
"Shall I wait for you here, young mistress?"
"No, I'll be a few hours. I'll call Father to have Majima come and get me when I'm finished."
He looked nervous at the idea of leaving her alone. Father wasn't the sort to forgive a mistake like that, but she had no patience for it.
"I want to have time to myself. Father will understand."
"Yes, young mistress."
She watched the car pull away before heading for the door, stepping inside, and getting a sip of water from the fountain just inside.
Satisfied that he was gone, she stepped back outside and started heading down the street. She had to get to Wesley's apartment, and she had to get there before more of Higa's boys came around. Or, worse, before her father rounded up enough men to make an attempt on the place, because then, it would be too late for Wesley to take her away from anything.
She took the elevator up and stepped out. The floors no doubt all looked the same, but she was fairly certain that she was in the right place. Wes opened after a moment when she knocked.
"Hello," she said, as he stood there, speechless.
He stepped back away from the door and turned back. He hadn't, apparently, bothered to put on a shirt today, because he answered the door with all his muscles on display. His back stretched wide even as he walked, relaxed, away, drawing a sharp v-shape to his slender waist.
"Good morning," he called back.
"It's afternoon."
"That's fine," he said dimly. "Did you need something?"
"I thought we could get something to eat."
"Oh, yeah?"
"If you're not interested—"
"Well, I just had to pay the rent, so…"
"It's my treat, then," she said, smiling. If it cost her a few dollars to get him to trust her, she would gladly pay that price to secure her future away from her father. She had a little money put away from the job she'd been told, point blank, to quit when Father decided to relocate to America.
Minami hadn't needed it before now, so it had sat there in her bank account. Now it seemed to make good sense that she shouldn't spend Father's money. He'd know that she'd eaten with someone else when he saw the charges on the bill, and then it would be a hop, skip, and a jump to figuring her whole plan out.
The longer that she could pretend that she had nothing to do with Wesley, the longer that she could avoid the consequences that were going to fall on his head, and the more likely that he'd be able to get her out. Until then, she'd keep him as quiet as she could keep him, because a secret weapon only worked when it was a secret.
Twelve
Wes
Wes looked down at the girl laid beside him, pushed himself up, and checked the time on his phone. A little past one meant it was time to go. He rolled out of bed and rose to his feet, dressed, and headed out. For a moment he considered taking the roll of quarters, but the notion of breaking his fingers wasn't one that he was looking forward to, and if things turned ug
ly, he could probably manage unless they decided to pull a gun.
If they did that, it didn't much matter what he brought with him, because guns weren't the sort of thing he was prepared to deal with.
The drive out was easy, if not quick. Ten minutes outside of the city and somehow they'd managed to find a goddamn wheat field. He'd wonder if they even had those so close to the city if he hadn't just found it on his phone G.P.S.
He pulled off next to the other cars and turned off the engine, looked in the mirror and got himself settled. Ten minutes to showtime, but there was no reason not to be early.
The guy who waved him over was short and built like a goblin, with thin limbs and a pot-belly and a head that was nearly as wide as it was tall. Wes knew better than to make something out of it.
"You! You Wes Park?"
"You got it."
"You ready to fight?"
"Mr. Bradley said I would be, didn't he?"
"Good. You'll be up first."
"Perfect."
"Five hundred for the fight, another five hundred if you win. That fair?"
"Sure, I don't see why not."
The man gestured with his head to follow, and started off. "So how's Todd doin' these days?"
"Okay, I guess. I'm just a fighter."
"Sure, sure, but the guy doesn't shut up, you let him get talking, right?"
"Sure," Wes agreed, not wanting to get into it with the guy. If anyone he'd ever met had a problem of not shutting up, it was this gremlin of a man, but he wasn't about to say that to a guy who was going to hand him a fistful of cash.
"Ring's right through here."
Wes could already see the ring of cars that they'd circled, all the headlights pointed in. From outside the circle, he could just about see where there were already several dozen people carrying red plastic cups and lining the ring to get a good angle, a few even sat up on top of the hoods of the cars cross-legged.
The ring itself was big, which favored him. Too tight, and it turns into a brawling match. Wes could win them, but it would cost him something. A big ring like this, he could afford to take his time.
"You ready? We're about to announce the fight."
"Ready enough, it's your show."
"Okay, then." The gremlin raised his head and waited a moment, as if he were waiting for someone to notice him, which was going to be a lucky shot if anyone could see him through the crowd at all. Then he nodded, and a girl who wasn't exceptionally unattractive stepped out and announced him as an out-of-towner, which wasn't totally inaccurate.
He stepped into the ring, stripping off his shirt and leaving it laying on one of the car hoods. He raised his hands as he entered, and then settled back and made what few mental preparations were still required.
The problem came in when the others stepped in to meet him. The first guy was a gorilla. Probably three-hundred pounds, and fists the size of a cannonball. Then another. And they didn't look like they had much intention of fighting each other, particularly as they touched fists.
Two-on-one weren't odds that he liked, particularly when they were this big. Maybe Todd had been right not to trust these guys.
Wes took a breath and waited for the girl's hand to drop. The sound of the crowd around him fell away as her hand moved, and then they were away. Wes circled around. There had to be a way to win. Some kind of weakness.
As big as they were, no doubt about it, they'd hit like a truck. How fast were they? How agile? How smart?
He had been in worse scrapes than this, he reminded himself. Six on one last night, and they'd even tried ganging up on him. These guys weren't as green as those ones had been, but they made up for it with numbers. His body was still tender where they'd clobbered him, though, so maybe that wasn't painting such a great picture for him.
The two big guys started to spread out almost immediately. If they caught him on both sides, the fight was over. He had plenty of space, and that was good, but with two of them it was a double-edged sword. They'd have plenty of room to flank around him.
The only answer was to play it as a long fight. He wasn't going to knock the guys out fast, but he could do damage slowly. The one on the right stepped in a fraction of a second before the other, and Wes used that chance to rocket a fist into his ribs, and then lunged out of the way of a coconut-sized fist coming around straight for his head.
He danced a few feet away and the dance began again. Closing in as he tried to circle around, tried to get close to one without getting close to the other. Another chance to hit again. Another chance to run away, and it started again.
The third time he wasn't so lucky. He hit the guy's mouth, and he sprawled back to the ground satisfactorily, even if only for an instant. The feeling of the thick python-strong arms wrapping around his waist, on the other hand… that wasn't good. He kicked out with a booted foot and connected with bone on the one he'd knocked down, sending him back to the floor, and then tried to wriggle free of the big man's arms.
The grip held tight, in spite of his twisting and jerking. Wes let his weight go limp and tried to slip that way, but the guy tightened and held him up as the other one on the ground started to get up.
Wes rained down blows on the big guy's back, neck, and head, hoping to get him to loosen, but even as his fists pounded the grip just got tighter. The other rocked him with a hard punch that caught him on the point of his chin, and for an instant the world spun around him.
Then the rain of blows started once more. The grip loosened, but not enough. Wes swayed back to avoid another punch aimed at his head and caught the guy's head in his hands and pulled him into a headbutt.
The big bastard fell back onto his ass and clutched where his nose had busted open, and Wes turned his attention back to the guy who had apparently regained his composure and was trying to squeeze the life out of Wes from around the waist.
Wes twisted and turned to face him, finally getting around, and put his knee in the guy's mouth. That got him to loosen up real good. Wes slipped the grip and stepped away. This was a job, and he didn't necessarily like seeing the other guy hurt. He had some semblance of sportsmanship, after all.
But as he took two steps and lined up the kick, like he was going to do a football kickoff, he had to admit, he wasn't too upset about having to ruin this guy's night.
Thirteen
Minami
Minami's eyes blinked open. The sound of birds chirping as she woke was still strange, even after she'd lived in America for years. The birds were so different from the ones in Japan, their song so strange. But she liked it, too, she had to admit. It seemed odd that such a small thing seemed so strange.
Minami rolled over into the empty half of the bed where Wes had been sleeping. She'd felt him get up in the night, to use the lavatory she supposed, and gone back to sleep. He'd taken his sweet time with it, but that wasn't something she was going to criticize.
But he hadn't come back at all. She pushed herself up further, to get a look around. The whole apartment was one large open wall, except for the little kitchen section that was separated by a half-wall. That had the sink and stove built into it.
The place was empty. No sign of him. The bathroom door hung open a little way, the light inside turned off. Aside from the sound of birds singing, the place was silent. The realization made her feel strange. There was no television in the entire place, only a few books with spines spider webbed with cracks from reading dozens of times. No magazines, no newspapers. Minami stood up and grabbed her phone from the floor beside the bed, where she'd left it plugged into a wall charger.
No calls. No messages. No texts. Where in the hell was he? She unplugged the phone. So what was she going to do? She certainly hadn't planned on staying the night, but then…
Minami hoped that the man who drove her out wasn't going to be punished, but she suspected that hope was faint with her father being who he was. Oh, well. He wasn't a man near and dear to her heart, in either case. It was sad, for him, but she wasn't going
to lose her mind over his problems. He was a Yakuza, after all, and more than likely deserved whatever was coming to him.
What was she supposed to do with herself now? There wasn't much in the place. The whole apartment was surprisingly spartan, for someone who spent time with American gangs. What she had seen had been that they liked to flaunt their money, and they had a good deal of it. If he was the kind of man who Higa would know, even through an intermediary, then he could get money to furnish the place better.
Yet, he had only the one sofa, and it looked rough. Cheap, and worse, old. There was a table, a couple of mismatched chairs. The walls were bare. There was no television, and there didn't seem to be enough in the place to make it look dirty or messy.
She stood up. The kitchen was similarly sparse, but it saw use, and she could see where Wes had burned food on the stove eye. Looking at the clock on her phone and wondering how much longer he would be, Minami took in a deep breath.
Where was he? How long would he be? It was presumptuous, even rude, to start fussing with someone else's things, but what else was she supposed to do?
Finally, frowning, she turned and pulled a washcloth from the counter beside the sink and wet it, pulled out the iron heating element in the stove, and then the catch dish, and started rubbing the soot and burn marks off.
The work gave her something to do, at least. Something that she could use to pass the time until she got some sort of better sense of where the hell Wesley had gone, and when he was going to be back. She found herself looking at the phone, waiting for him to call, even as her hands kept moving. She wanted Wes to call and explain where he'd gone. But he didn't, and she knew he wasn't going to. Did he even know her phone number?
She replaced the dish, replaced the heating element, and moved on to the next one. It was obviously less-used, but it still had some caked-on muck.
