by Amano, Mia
But strangely, even a scarred misfit like Genda can love someone.
And now he’s faced with a choice.
Take me, the villain, down.
Or save the girl.
How important is she to him that he can allow me to walk free?
“You orderd the hit on Ishida-san, didn’t you?” I hit him with a question. Now is a good time to find out, once and for all, if he was behind the murder of my boss.
This is the life of a yakuza. Killings and revenge killings and backstabbing and murder. It goes on and on and never ends.
How could I ever get Adele involved in that kind of life?
The thought occurs to me that if I get out of this alive, we’re going back to America. And I will convince Erika that I need a new job.
I’m getting too old for this shit.
A face appears at the door. Matsuda. He starts banging, but Genda holds up a hand, motioning for him to go away. Then, to my surprise, Genda shakes his head slowly. “I didn’t kill yer boss,” he says. “Kuroda family’s security is too tight. Had to be an inside job.”
“You sure about that?”
“I’m not lyin’ just to save my own hide, if that’s what ya think.”
I don’t know if I should believe Genda. He always was a shifty bastard. But what he says makes sense. I always wondered how the fuck a Shibata man would have managed to infiltrate the boss’s compound.
He's right. It had to be someone on the inside.
Maybe it’s worth looking a little closer to home.
“Get me out of here,” I repeat. “I’m not going to give you want you want, and you only stand to lose the longer I stay here.”
I try to stretch out as best as I can, fighting through the pain. My shoulders are starting to stiffen from being held behind my back for so long. Tomorrow, I’m going to hurt like a bitch.
But if I can get out of here, it doesn’t matter.
Genda’s glare is full of venom. He's shaking, racked with anger and indecision. In front of his eyes, his big fish is slipping away. Must hurt like a bitch.
We stay like that for a while, the silence heavy, loaded with his frustration. “Fine,” he says, finally. “We got nothin’. But watch yer back, Hijikata. Yer day will come.”
“I’ll advise you to do the same.”
“Ya got no reason ta kill me, boy. I’m not the one behind yer boss’s murder.”
“Maybe I want to kill you because of what you did to my mother.”
“I loved that woman, boy. Ya were young. Ya didn’t understand nothin’.”
“You got her hooked on the poison that killed her.”
“She was deep into that life. I just wanted to give her somethin’ to take away her pain. To make her life bearable.”
“If you really loved her, you could have taken her away from it all. You should have protected her.”
A stillness comes over Genda’s features, his hard, ugly face transforming for a split second. Almost as if he’s sad. “I should have,” he sighs. “Mistakes of bein’ young.”
He looks away, unable to meet my eyes. “I’ll call off the police dogs. But I didn’t kill yer boss. Yer better off lookin’ in yer organization instead of wastin’ time tryin’ to get to me.”
I say nothing as he walks out.
Adele
It’s six o’clock in the morning, and I’m sitting on the balcony with a cup of bitter, steaming coffee, watching the city below come to life.
I slept in a cold bed last night, which means I didn’t really sleep at all.
I tossed and turned, sick with worry, longing for Kaito’s warmth.
And when he didn’t turn up, even in the dead of night, I got up and came out here.
I’m wearing an oversized bathrobe, over one of his black t-shirts. It holds a lingering trace of his masculine scent, crisp and comforting.
I’m dead tired, but wired at the same time.
Restless and helpless, and full of fear. It’s a terrible feeling. I don’t know where he’s gone. I don’t know how to contact him. I’m on the verge of calling Erika.
Is this how it’s going to be, every time he has to do something like this?
I can’t see how this can be our life together.
Something has to change.
And this job of his; the killing, the secret, dirty work done in the shadows. That has to change. That kind of shit eats at a man without him ever realizing. Until it's too late.
The quiet morning is underscored by the distant hum of traffic, steadily growing louder as the city wakes. The twitter of birdsong punctuates the air now and then. Where it’s coming from is a mystery, so high up in this sterile, glass tower.
But it’s peaceful.
My housemates are sill asleep.
Last night, Madoka drank several shots of whiskey and then filmed her best tearful, unhinged, trainwreck movie actress video confession, dancing around the apartment in a bathrobe and slippers, her hair dishevelled like a crazy woman.
Ryuji uploaded the video on the internet, sharing it on social media.
Then, we went to bed.
If our plan works and the thing goes viral. Madoka’s world will change overnight.
That was fun. It distracted me from the emptiness of Kaito’s absence for a little while.
But in the stillness of the morning, his failure to return is painfully obvious. Hell, I might just be getting too used to having him around.
This type of waiting is the worst. I’m powerless, locked away in this gilded cage of steel and glass, in a strange, endless city.
I can only sit here, and hope.
Sometimes, you can stare at the ocean, azure and still on a cold winter’s day. And it looks so beautiful, so seductive, that you can’t help but dive in, knowing there are powerful currents beneath the surface, and predators lurking in the depths.
Things that will kill you; things you will never fully understand.
But still, you dive in, attracted to the beauty, the thrill, the unknown.
You choose to be swept along, rather than swim. The ground underneath your feet disappears and you’re floating on a bottomless sea.
All this waiting is driving me nuts. I should make a painting based on this. A gigantic, fluid study of greens and blues and black ink, splattered, wild, unable to be contained.
Because when I’m with Kaito, sometimes I can’t help but let the current take me, and hope that one day, my feet will find the sandy bottom somewhere. With him.
He’s been adrift for way too long. He needs an anchor.
The sun is becoming stronger now, causing me to squint at the haze on the horizon, casting a brilliant reflection across the gleaming marble table.
All this sleep deprivation is causing my thoughts to run into one another.
I close my eyes, letting the warm glow of the morning sunshine lull me into a dazed, almost-sleep.
I must have drifted off. Because when I open my eyes again, I’m definitely dreaming.
Kaito’s sitting across from me, watching me.
He looks tired. His usually impeccable suit is crumpled, and he’s sitting with his legs sprawled out in front of him, one arm hooked over the back of the chair. There are dark circles under his eyes.
But all of that fades away under the intensity of his stare. The morning sun touches upon his hard, beautiful features, softening them for just a split second. His eyes are molten darkness, his gaze piercing through me, and suddenly, I’m totally awake.
Is this real, or just a dream?
“How long have you been here?” I whisper. He has that uncanny ability to move in silence, like a ghost. I guess it’s served him well in the past. And even though I know he’d never, ever hurt me, it’s still a bit unnerving. “You should make some noise now and then. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“You know,” Kaito says slowly, ignoring my half-protest. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You have no idea how incredible you look, asleep in
the sunshine. Can I help it if I just wanted to sit here and appreciate you for a moment?”
I gape at him. His words are at odds with his dishevelled appearance, and they make me melt a little bit inside. Again. How does he do this to me, each and every time?
I blink, shaking off the distraction, taking in his appearance.
“What happened to you?” A sinking feeling hits me as Kaito straightens himself, slowly, agonizingly. He’s in pain. He tries to hide it, but I can read him well enough by now. He’s not moving with his usual fluid grace.
“I had a job to do. I falied.”
“Oh.”
“It’s the first time this has ever happened to me.”
“So what are you going to do now?”
Kaito offers a minute shake of his head. “Forget about it. I’ll deal with it.”
“You’re hurt,” I say gently, moving up out of my chair, the loose robe fluttering around my legs. “Let me help you.”
“You don’t have to be so sympathetic.” He lets out a small, bitter laugh. “I deserved the beating. It’s my fault. I was careless. I’m losing my stomach for this kind of work.”
“Obviously not too careless. You’re still alive.” I shake my head. “You don’t have to act so tough around me.” Mindful of possible injuries, I approach him, coming to stand before him, my bare feet soundless on the cool, tiled floor. I offer my hand. “Come.”
He looks up at me, his expression unreadable. “Where?”
“Just come with me.”
His look is hungry and dark, but he says nothing as he pulls himself up out of the chair, slowly, carefully, wincing in pain.
The last time I saw him limping like this was when he got shot in the leg, back in LA. That was the night the head of an Italian Mafia family was mysteriously killed. Kaito’s doing, of course.
“I’ve decided I don’t want you in this line of work anymore.”
“Hm.” Kaito makes a noncommital sound as I lead him slowly into the master bedroom. We make no sound, careful not to wake the others.
I close the door and undress him, starting with his jacket, trousers, shirt, the garments dropping to the floor. I wince at the sight of livid bruises all over Kaito’s torso.
They blend with his tattoos, becoming a seamless, disturbing riot of color.
“Who did this to you?” I ask, my voice hoarse. This isn’t the result of fighting. These are methodical, intentional injuries, designed to inflict pain.
Kaito turns and runs his fingers through my hair, massaging my temples. “Shh.” He puts a finger to my lips. In an instant, the tables are turned as he takes the lead, untying my robe, slipping it down off my shoulders. I pull the oversized t-shirt over my head, standing naked before him.
He leads me to the shower.
“Come,” he says, holding out his big, callused hand, the one with the severed finger.
And when he looks at me like that, how can I refuse?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Kaito
We stand under the shower, the warm water stinging at first as it hits my bruised, sensitive skin. I can’t move too quickly, or bend over too much, because there’s a sharp, excruciating pain in my lower ribs.
That fucking Mori must’ve broken a few bones.
But it doesn’t matter now.
Because my woman is here, with me, running her gentle hands over my body, kissing the places where I’m bruised and battered and it’s enough to make my pain seem insigificant.
I’ve been hurt worse than this before; I know I’ll heal.
I slide my hands down her smooth, sinuous back, cupping the curves of her bare ass.
After spending a night locked up with the petty criminals and thieves, after a night amongst the filth and sleaze of Kabukicho’s red light district, being with her feels almost sinful.
She’s pure and good and beautiful.
Everything I’m not.
I shouldn’t touch her; shouldn’t taint her. But when has that thought ever stopped me from taking what I want?
I tip her chin up, taking in her lush, pink lips, slightly parted. Her scent mingles with the steam of the shower, driving me nuts.
I’ve got a hard-on so big it’s painful.
She presses up against me, her bare skin warm against mine, taking my cock into her hand. The torrent of water from the shower cascades down our bodies, misting up the glass walls of the cubicle.
Adele moves her hand back and forth, slowly rotating her hips, grinding against me in a slow, erotic dance. She takes my hands into hers, then brings the fingers of my left hand to her mouth, sucking slowly, her tongue firm and moist against my rough skin.
My erection gets even harder, if that’s even possible.
I’m straining to breaking point, and still she’s teasing me, running her tongue over the stump of my severed finger. It’s so sweetly perverse. I curl my hand around, cupping her chin, getting her to face me.
She smiles.
Ah, fuck. This is too much. Beaten to within an inch of my life, because of my own stupidity, then I come home to this. What did I do to deserve this heaven on earth?
How can I go and keep risking my life, when I have this?
A low growl escapes me, primal, animalistic, conveying the force of my need as she drops to her knees on the wet tiles, water sluicing off her smooth, bronzed skin, highlighting every curve.
I twine my fingers into her dark hair as she opens those perfect, tantalizing lips and takes my cock into her mouth.
I close my eyes as she slides her tongue down my hard length, reaching the exquisitely sensitive area at the base.
I’m drowning in sensation. It’s fucking incredible.
She moves back and forth, controlling the rhythm, causing me to lose control and cry out.
There’s pain in my chest and sides. I’m hurting all over but I draw on it as it merges with the pleasure I’m getting below.
Bittersweet is the way I like it.
She moves faster, taking me deeper, and I guide her gently towards me, as she brings me closer and closer to climax.
The water runs in rivulets down our bodies, warm and pure, washing away the sins of the night.
And her scent, the feel of her, her warmth, it’s all around me.
She sucks harder, building the intensity, until I’m trembling, and the feeling of agony and ecstasy combined has me going weak at the knees and I savor it.
And just when I can’t hold on any longer, she withdraws, leaving me helpless.
Completely at her mercy.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper, as she stands, trailing soft kisses up my torso. Even when it hurts, it feels so good.
With her, even pain feels good.
She rests a finger on my chest, tracing the outline of the dragon that snakes over my right shoulder. “Your turn,” she murmurs.
I fucking love this woman.
I drink in her naked figure, aroused to breaking point. Ignoring the pain that lances through me, I grab her shoulders and press her against the steamed glass.
“My turn,” I respond, as I thrust into her, going deep, pushing her up against the fogged glass, my hands making blurred imprints.
She moans in delight, responding in turn by pulling me towards her, all the while taking care not to cause me any more pain.
And so I fuck her, slowly, taking my time as the steam of the shower swirls around us, water cascading down our backs, the slick of her wet hair curling down her back and around the swell of her breasts.
I fuck her like this until we both lose track of time, and it could be seconds or hours that’s passed, but we don’t care, because we’re lost in each other.
It’s slow-burning, tender sex.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The dull ache in my muscles and bones fades away as I give in to the rhythm of our bodies, and we move together.
Harder.
Higher.
Forgetting, for a moment, what I am.
There’s nothing. Just her, and me. And it’s incredible.
The orgasm builds from deep within me, taking hold of me and pushing me, driving me, until my consciousness opens up and I’m hyper-aware of everything.
The fall of water.
The warm silk of her skin.
Her perfume, vanilla and the scent of woman, raw and intoxicating.
Her honey-gold eyes, gazing into my soul, seeing things even I didn’t know existed.
The taste of her lips.
Our raw, ragged breathing, the sound of our voices, as we cry out.
Can’t take it anymore.
Reaching an impossible place.
This slow, sensuous, fucking, tipping me over the precipice.
And when I come, inside her, it’s like touching the edge of heaven itself.
If such a thing exists.
Afterwards, we hold each other, and I wash her, admiring every curve and every inch naked skin. I know all of her body now, as well as I know the back of my own, bloodstained hands.
In turn, she washes me, her slender, talented fingers soothing and massaging the places where I’ve been hit.
And I know, with every inch of my being, that I will die before I let anything happen to her. I will kill for her. But at the same time, I’ve happened to her. And I'm not a good thing.
“What are you thinking?” she murmurs, as she scrubs my back. Her fingers trace an outline over the image of the hannya inked into my skin.
“Just that you’re right,” I reply, turning and pulling her into me. The soap drops out of her hand, onto the wet, tiled floor.
“About what?”
“That I shouldn’t be in this line of work anymore.”
“Hm.” She looks up at me in anticipation, and her expression is one of complete trust, her brown eyes wide, shimmering in the muted glow of the bathroom lights. No-one dares to looks at me that way, except her.
Shit. What am I supposed to do now? This has gone further and deeper than I ever expected it to.
I shut off the shower and take her out, wrapping her in a giant white towel.
We dry ourselves and climb into the bed, naked. My body protests with every movement, but I ignore it. There’s no point in letting pain get the better of me.
