The Undertow (The Kuroda Yakuza Series Book 2)

by Amano, Mia

  There’s no way they have evidence that I killed Nakachi.

  I was very, very careful with that job.

  That’s why I’m here, detained without charge. If they really had something on me, they would have arrested me a long time ago, and I would be sitting on death row.

  Matsuda butts in. “We’ve been looking for you for years. Admit it, Hijikata. You murdered the Justice Minister, Hiro Nakachi.”

  My laugh comes out low and cold and bitter. “Even if I was responsible for such a thing, I’d have to be stupid to confess. That’s practically signing my own death warrant.”

  Leaning forward, Matsuda looks me in the eye. I see nothing but a desperate cop, looking for a big fish. “If you confess, we’ll do a deal. Life, instead of the death penalty.”

  I say nothing. Matsuda’s colleague makes a fist with one hand, as if saving the action for later. I can guess what comes next.

  They think they can get a confession from me by force.

  They’ve got forty-eight hours to do it.

  Is that Genda’s plan? Makes sense. If the murder of Nakachi is pinned on me, the Kuroda-kai get blamed. The public and the politicians will be howling for blood. Mine, and that of the Kuroda-kai.

  And then the cops have free rein to go after our clan. They will go after Kuroda, leaving the Shibata-gumi free to fill the void.

  If I didn’t despise Genda so much, I might almost respect his cunning.

  Matsuda shrugs. “They’re always like this in the beginning.” Without warning, he grabs my wrists and unlocks my cuffs.

  Time seems to slow as I weigh the possibilities in my mind. My hands are free. A sequence plays out in my head.

  In my mind’s eye, I kick Mastuda in the stomach, rising out of my chair. Grabbing him, I pull him close to me and deliver a savage elbow to the face, before hitting him with a series of punches.

  I could snap his neck if I wanted.

  But none of that is real.

  Back to reality, and Matsuda’s standing up, and I’ve missed the moment and he’s grabbing my arms, wrenching them behind my back, handcuffing them together, the chain of the cuffs threaded through the metal bars of the chair. I’m effectively trapped now, with my hands behind my back.

  He doesn’t realise that in those few seconds, I could have killed him.

  Maybe I would have, when I was young and stupid and didn’t value my own life.

  But I’ve learnt something important over the years.

  Restraint.

  Now is not the time to do something so reckless.

  They’re going to try and break me, but I won’t give in.

  Matsuda stalks back around, facing me, staring me in the eye. I bare my teeth in a cold smile.

  He doesn’t like that. “You won’t be smiling like that soon. Fuckin’ yakuza. You’re all crazy.”

  I keep my expression carefully blank. “I want to talk to Genda,” I inform him.

  Matsuda’s gaze darts towards his colleague, then back again. “Who?” He plays dumb, and that’s when I realise that his association with Genda has the smell of corruption all over it.

  “You know who. To you, I won’t talk. To him, maybe.”

  I just need to get Genda in the room. Then, this will all be over.

  Matsuda studies me for a moment. “You’re not in a position to make demands.” He turns and starts to leave the room. “The sooner you realise that, the better this will go for you.” He faces the other guy, patting him on the shoulder. “Remeber, Mori-san. Body hits. Don’t mess up his pretty-boy face.”

  Matsuda’s hard-faced colleague starts forward, a menacing expression on his face. I close my eyes. This is going to get painful.

  But I can stand it. I’ve been through worse.

  A small snort of amusement escapes me. Who the fuck do they think they’re dealing with?

  A confession? From me?

  No. Fucking. Way.

  I’ll go to hell and back before they get anything out of me.

  Kaito

  As the door to the interview room shuts with cold finality, Genda’s partner, the one called Mori, moves in close.

  He’s a bruiser; I can see it in the way he moves, in his thick shoulders and wide neck. He’s built like a bull.

  He reminds me of some of the yakuza I know; crude, take-no-shit types. Sometimes I feel as if the cops are not much different to us. They just happened to pick a different team to play on.

  Mori crosses his arms, sizing me up. I can’t help the slight smile I wear. There’s not much to be threatened by. My arms are cuffed behind my back.

  What can I do to him now?

  “They all try to act tough at the start,” he grates, his voice low and hoarse. “But I’ve done this hundreds of times, kid. You’re better off if you just confess.”

  “Hn.” I let out a derisive snort. This seems to anger Mori. He plants a fast, savage punch in the side of my chest, on my lower ribs.

  So it starts.

  I grunt in pain, looking up into his flat eyes. Defiant. Not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me give in.

  “Think you’re tough, don’t you kid?” He punches me again, this time in the stomach, sending a brutal ache into my gut. The metal chair I’m sitting on skids back, letting out a metallic screech. “I can go all night,” he snarls. “Your choice.”

  “I’ll talk. But only to Genda,” I grit, through clenched teeth. Mori shakes his head.

  “Genda, Genda. He ain’t a cop. He’s got nothing to do with this.” He hits me again, on the right this time, just under my rips. Savage pain rips through me and I fight to keep it from showing on my face.

  Mori hits again, and again. I know this style. He can’t leave any obvious injuries, ruling out my face and hands. But he knows where to hit to score as many points as possible. He knows where it’s going to hurt the most.

  I let out short, sharp breaths as each new onslaught of agony tears through me.

  I close my eyes and escape to the only place I can.

  When you’re defenseless, there’s a way to shut everything out. I learnt this when I was a kid, listening to the sounds of fucking filtering through the paper thin walls.

  Of course, at the time, I was so young I didn’t even understand what it really was. All I knew was that sometimes, the sounds would turn brutal, with my mother, the whore, crying out in pain, pleading for him to stop.

  And I would cower in the dark in fear, powerless to do anything.

  The night I finally summed up the courage to do anything about it, I killed a man. I was twelve years old.

  And I swore I’d never, ever feel powerless again.

  Even now, there’s nothing these dirty cops can do to me, except cause physical pain.

  And I can shut that out.

  I can escape, to that deep, dark void in my mind, where there’s nothing.

  Ignore the pain.

  And somewhere in that void, a light has come, and suddenly that emptiness is filled with thoughts of another.

  Thoughts of her.

  Her perfume. Her warmth. The sweetness of her body, the incomparable memory of fucking her.

  While this man beats the shit out of me, I’ll think of her. And I’ll never confess. Even if I’m as guilty as the devil himself.

  Because once I do that, I know I’ll never see her again, never get to touch her, to taste her.

  And for me, that’s a fate worse than death.

  My world is upturned as Mori kicks out the chair from under me. I angle my body as I fall to the cold, tiled floor, landing on my side, trying to absorb some of the impact. My lower ribs are causing me agony. Several must be broken.

  The cold steel of the chair digs into my arm, turning my hand numb.

  “Fuckin’ crazy punk.” Mori laughs, grudging admiration creeping into his voice. “Most in your place would have been crying for their mothers by now. Matsuda brought me a tough one this time.”

  I get a view of his worn leather shoes as he s
tarts to walk away, his footsteps echoing hollowly on the cold floor. “I’ll give you some time to think about it,” he says. “See the world from a different perspective.”

  “Get Genda,” I rasp, my voice coming out hoarse.

  “In your dreams, kid.” The door slams shut with an ominous thud as he leaves.

  I close my eyes, the icy chill of the floor seeping into me. The pain from my ribs is excruciating. The rest of my body aches all over, from where he hit me.

  I’m drowning in a sea of agony, and all I can think of is what I’m going to do when I get out of here.

  I close my eyes, and wait.

  It has to be hours before the door creaks open again. I must have drifted off, because I rouse at the sound of footsteps.

  Someone moves my chair, dragging me upwards. A bolt of pain shoots through me. I balance awkwardly on my feet for a split second before I’m once again upright, facing the world.

  My bruised and battered body protests against the sudden movement, and I fight to keep the pain from my face.

  I don’t want them to know that I’m in agony.

  I blink against the bright light as a familiar face comes into view. Genda.

  And in the corner, another man stands, watching me with a dark, hawk-like gaze. He’s not a cop; he doesn’t give off that kind of vibe. No, this guy is yakuza to the core. He’s wearing a plain black suit, but I can see the bulge of a gun underneath.

  Huh. Genda has enough pull around here that they’ll let his guy into the fucking police station with a firearm.

  The man says nothing, his face carefully blank. He’s about my age, and I can instantly tell that he’s dangerous.

  Must be Genda’s protection.

  Genda’s sitting on the metal chair opposite me. He leans forward on the scratched, plastic table. “They told me ya were askin’ for me. That ya ain’t gonna talk even if they beat ya to death. Maybe I can save all of ya some sufferin’. What the fuck do ya want, boy?”

  I know why they’ve been so quick to bring in Genda. If they haven’t got anything out of me after two days, I can call the lawyer. And once Saitama gets involved, it’s all over. So they’re hoping Genda might be able to soften me up.

  I glance at his bodyguard. “He goes.”

  Genda stares at me, narrowing his eyes. “I’m not fuckin’ stupid, Hijikata. I know how dangerous ya are. So I brought along your equal. He’s you, ya know. Just works for the other side, is all.”

  “I’m cuffed with my hands behind a chair, Genda. What the hell can I do to you?”

  “Hell of a lot, from what I’m told. I don’t wanna take my chances.”

  “You don’t know what I do.”

  Genda leans forward, and smiles, baring his teeth like a hungry shark. “Ya know, when ya showed up at that poor fucker’s funeral, I had ya tailed just out of curiosity. Because I was surprised to find ya payin' yer respects at the big man's funeral. So I wanted to talk to ya, to see how the little brat Kaito-kun had grown up, and try and convince him he'd be better off with Shibata than those fuckin' Kuroda dogs. I owed yer poor mother that much. Too bad my people sent a kid who’s still wet behind the ears to follow ya. Obviously they didn't realize how dangerous ya are. And where is he now? Where are the others who went after ya? They were seasoned fighters. Hard men. Yet ya offed them without a sweat. That tells me somethin’. That yer exceptionally skilled in the art of killin’. When I had ya followed, I didn't expect to find Kuroda's fuckin' hitokiri right in front of my nose.”

  I return his stare with a cold glare of my own, giving nothing away.

  “Ah, if ya weren’t tied to that chair, I’d be scared. Look at ya. Pretty like yer mother, but ya got none of her gentleness. She was a beauty, that one. That face is about all the goodness ya got from her.”

  If he wanted to get a reaction from me, he’s succeeded. “Don’t you fucking talk about her,” I snarl. “You don’t deserve to even speak her name. And if you want me to tell you anything, tell your hired dog to leave the room.”

  “He’s no different to ya, Hijikata.”

  “Scared of a handcuffed man, Genda?” I roll my eyes.

  Genda says nothing for a while, then looks up at his man, gesturing to him with a flick of his head. The guy disappears like a shadow.

  “Now ya’ve got my undivided attention. So tell me, what’s it gonna take to get ya to spill?”

  I pause, taking a moment to study him. Genda’s an intimidating man, even up close. His face has become lined over the years, and there’s a fading scar running across his left cheek. His small eyes are hard, his thoughts hidden behind a slight sneer.

  It’s the same perpetual sneer I used to see on his face when he came to visit my mother, to collect his weekly payment.

  My hatred for him flares back to life, forgotten over so many years. Its ferocity surprises me, almost causing me to forget my aching body.

  “What’s that look?” Genda leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. Now that his bodyguard is out of the picture, he allows one layer to drop away. “Ya remembering the good old days? I’m not that man anymore, boy. Time changes people. Don’t gimme that look. I loved yer mother. We all did.”

  “Don’t talk about her,” I say quietly, not wanting him to taint her memory any further. Genda was the one who got her hooked on smack.

  I roll my shoulders, trying to distract myself from the pain, and trying to push my anger down. No point in allowing Genda to get to me. That’s exactly what he wants.

  I take a deep breath. “I’m not going to confess to killing Nakachi. Not now, not ever. So you can say goodbye to your little police vendetta against the Kuroda-kai. It’s not going to happen.”

  A flat laugh escapes Genda. “Seem awfully sure of yourself, boy. But we got a few tricks up our sleeves. Besides, I can’t let ya go now. Not with ya shadowing me every step, tryin' to kill me.”

  I shake my head, suddenly wishing my hands were free so I could slam Genda’s head into the table. “I don’t think you’re listening, Genda. You should tell your police buddies to let me go.”

  “And why the hell would I do stupid a thing like that?” Genda’s stare becomes very intense.

  Good. I’ve finally gotten his full attention. “Listen carefully now,” I say softly. “We’ve been looking into someone. Her name’s Mariko Richards. Our people in America know exactly where she is.” I drop the news into total silence.

  Genda doesn’t move; his expression doesn’t change. But I catch something. The tiniest tightening at the corners of his eyes.

  The name means something to him.

  “If I don’t report back to my superiors by the time morning comes around, something’s going to happen to her. I don’t know what, but you know this game all too well, Genda. I’m sure you can use your imagination to figure it out.”

  Genda goes very, very still. For a long time, he doesn’t say anything. Then, he stands up and shrugs. “Can’t say the name’s familiar to me. Ya missed yer chance, boy. Just know that we will get yer confession. And there won’t be any deals done. Ya missed yer chance. They’ll go for the death penalty, all the way.”

  And with that, he walks out.

  Kaito

  I stare at the one-way window after Genda leaves. A new feeling works its way into my gut, amongst all the pain. Something I’m not used to.

  Despair.

  Now it even hurts to fucking breathe.

  I played my trump card with Genda, and lost. The girl means nothing to an animal like him. I should have known better.

  Now, I’m fucked.

  There’s no phone call, no lawyer. Just more torture in store for me.

  I can’t even speak to the woman I love. I just want to hear her voice again, that low, throaty, seductive, blissful sound. I want to hear her laugh, complain, cry, moan in pleasure.

  I want it all.

  Can I hold out until Erika and her people realize I’m missing and figure out what’s going on? Until they can send their hot-
shot lawyer?

  If it means seeing Adele again, then of course I fucking can.

  The only thing that stares back at me from the mirrored window is my own reflection. There are dark circles under my eyes, and despite Matsuda’s warning to leave the face alone, my right cheek got bruised when I was toppled to the floor.

  Assholes.

  I look like shit.

  I’m about to close my eyes and try and drift off into my thoughts, when the door bursts open.

  Genda rushes in.

  Again?

  He locks the door behind him, glaring at me with sheer hatred in his eyes.

  “Fuck you,” he snarls, picking up the other metal chair. I brace myself for more pain. But instead, Genda hurls the chair at the one-way glass window.

  “Chikusho! Fuck!” he screams, next taking the table and throwing it across the room. I feel like I’m sitting in the calm of the eye of the storm.

  The one-way glass shatters into a jagged web of glass fragments. It’s got some kind of film coating on it, so the glass doesn’t fly everywhere.

  I take it he actually does care about the girl.

  I wait. He’s still got that foul temper. Some things never change.

  When Genda turns to face me, he’s visibly trembling. “Anythin’ happens to her, yer all dead. I will kill each and every last one of ya Kuroda fuckers.”

  “Relax, old man.” I sense the change in our dynamic. Somehow, I’ve now got the upper hand. And I intend to exploit the fuck out of it. “Nothing’s going to happen to her, as long as I walk out of here in one piece.”

  “I can’t-”

  “I don't know what will happen to her if I don’t get out of here soon. I can't guarantee that she'll be safe if you try to attack the Kuroda-kai. My boss is not as forgiving as I am.”

  Genda says nothing at first, a strange riot of emotion crossing his face. He’s at war with himself. He wants this victory, badly. Taking down the Kuroda-kai’s hired killer would be a huge coup for him. Not to mention the cops would be come down hard on Kuroda if they knew our clan was behind the assassination of one of the country’s elite politicians. That would play right into Genda’s hands.

  The public love to loathe the yakuza. They’d be baying for blood for a long time.