Mean Boy: Bad Boy Romance

by Amy Faye

  She slipped into bed and tried to avoid thinking too much about what was going to happen the next day. Whatever he'd set up, it was just going to be another hassle, and she didn't want to have to deal with it, but that didn't change anything. That didn't mean that she had to mope over it, though.

  She dressed an hour before she was supposed to go downstairs, made sure her hair was straight and attractive, and went down to wait. The other man came alone, which was unusual. He was older than her, as well, but his hair still had all its color. Yakuza had their pride, but they wouldn't have dyed their hair to keep up appearances. The age added something of an air of authority, as far as Minami was able to tell.

  He was wearing traditional clothes; if he was going to wear traditional clothes, Minami would have rather known in advance, because now she looked the foolish one in her American clothes, no matter how nice.

  "This is Patriarch Kondo Inafune," her father said, gravely. The man in front of her set his hands on his knees and bowed his head. "Patriarch Inafune, this is my daughter, Minami."

  Minami bowed, as well. Inafune was more attractive than Higa had been. She couldn't see herself marrying him, no more than she could see herself marrying any Yakuza. But it didn't feel like it was an insult this time, at least. She straightened back up.

  "Nice to meet you," she said softly.

  "The pleasure is all mine." There was an air of quiet confidence in the man, one that might have been attractive if not for his profession. "Chairman, your daughter is very beautiful."

  Minami's father nodded his head solemnly. Minami wanted nothing more than to get this over with, but it continued. She spoke little. She had no special desire to get to know the man, but he seemed to take it better than she might have expected. He must have interpreted it as demure, she thought, rather than trying her best to distance herself. Or perhaps he didn't mind.

  Either way, when he left an hour later, it was with a promise of returning the day after next—when he'd take her out for real, to a proper dinner, and they could get to truly know each other before making any sort of promises.

  Minami wasn't exactly in a position to say no.

  Twenty

  Wes

  "I need your help." Wes could see from the look in her eyes exactly how strange Minami thought that was, and she wasn't wrong to feel that way.

  "Really? You, Wes Park, need my help? With what, exactly?"

  "I have to convince my boss I'm good to fight."

  "Well, Wes—I hate to tell you this, but you almost certainly aren't okay to fight. Have you looked in a mirror lately? You look like a mess!"

  "That's not important. I need the money, so I need to fight. It's that simple."

  "You're going to get yourself killed. No."

  Wes's teeth ground together. "You're not my mother."

  Minami's expression turned from one of amused insistence to annoyance damn fast. "No, I'm not, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let you go out and kill yourself, for what? For money?"

  "It's not as if I'm asking your permission. If you don't do it, I'll find someone else."

  "And what exactly is it that you wanted me to do, anyways?"

  Wes pressed himself deeper into the couch. There was no way that he was going to fool anyone, not even now that his face had lightened to a comfortably warm brownish color from the horrible black it had been.

  Minami was probably right. She definitely only wanted what was best for him, but that wasn't exactly an incredible comfort when he needed cash fast. He had told himself that he'd ask her for money, but then the words wouldn't come out. So it was the fight after all.

  Maybe, eventually, it would come out why he needed so much money, and then he could try to get her to give him something. But now that he was right there, he couldn't just ask her to pay for his family problems.

  "I just need to look good enough. I can do the rest."

  "So, what? You need me to put on concealer or something? Is this a makeup thing?"

  "There's more, but not right now."

  "Oh?"

  "Yes, but don't worry about it yet."

  "Alright."

  That wasn't so hard, was it? He didn't say it out loud. No reason to pick a fight he didn't need to pick right now. Getting into an argument was the last thing he needed to do, particularly with how fucked up his face was already. What might normally only be a little slap in the face might cave his damn cheek in at this rate.

  "Alright, well, we're going to have to go buy something from the store."

  "Yeah, I know that. But I thought I'd leave it up to you. You're the expert. I entrust my future to you, master."

  She closed her eyes. "I should just fuck it up enough that you get caught out. It would serve you right."

  Wes thought Bradley would like that. Coming in with the makeup only half-done, so he could try to fuck with Wes as long as possible. He wouldn't like what happened after, when Wes figured out what had happened, but it would be damn funny to him for a few minutes. Then he'd learn why it wasn't that funny after all.

  "But you're not going to."

  "You won't know until I'm done, will you? And with a face like that, Wes Park, you won't enjoy the makeup going on."

  "No, I didn't figure I would. Like I told you, though—"

  "I know. You need the money, and they won't let you fight. I can hear."

  She pushed herself up and grabbed her purse from the coffee table. Wes stayed sitting for a minute, looking up at her with his tenderized face. "You know the God damnedest thing?"

  "What?"

  "He doesn't know about those guys your boyfriend sicced on me. He thinks I lost a fight before that. They had me two-to-one, and I'm pretty sure one of them is still in the hospital."

  She gave him a look that he could only describe as 'not amused' and turned to go.

  "Come on, we have to go to the store."

  "You can't do it on your own?"

  "I need your face to compare to."

  "Oh. Right."

  Wes pushed himself up and followed her out the door. He followed her down to his car and unlocked it for her. The nearest place was only on the corner, but it was a little windy to walk almost a half-mile each way.

  They should have something, he figured, and when he pulled in, she didn't argue, so he assumed he must have found someplace that would work. She pulled him inside and they headed together straight on back the right-side wall into the makeup section.

  Wes had never felt so lost before in his life, and he was only twenty feet from the door. So much crap on the walls he couldn't begin to identify. That was nail polish, he figured, and beyond that, he'd seen it before but couldn't hope to put a name on it, and the differences, if there were any…

  The only thing he had to go on was a bag of his sister's stuff, which she'd left completely unpacked on the bathroom counter every day, in spite of his insistence that she put it away. Well, with his insistence, she'd clean it all up, and the next day she'd just leave it out again.

  It hadn't been instructive of anything about makeup except that there was a damned lot of it, and that he didn't like or trust the stuff.

  Minami picked up a bottle of something that might have been nail polish and a puck-shaped thing, held them both up for him to see.

  "Liquid, or powder?"

  Wes tried to give her a look that communicated exactly how little he knew about what she'd just said. She might as well have been speaking Japanese, as far as he knew what she meant, or what the differences were.

  She seemed to figure it out on her own after a minute. "Right. Okay. Liquid it is."

  Minami put the puck of apparently powder-based concealer and then held the bottle up to his face. Her cute little teeth showed a little as she chewed on her lip. She turned and grabbed another, held it up to his face, and then held the first one up again.

  Wes let her do her thing. Obviously this was more complicated than he thought, but if she'd agreed to do it, then he'd just wait and she'd get it
done. Probably.

  Finally she looked around, popped the plastic ring around the cap of one of them, and daubed out a little onto her finger. She wiped across his cheek, the tender skin protesting at the contact—contact she hadn't make a special effort to keep gentle, he noted.

  She frowned, and then popped the other open and made another swipe across his face. The first went back onto the rack. She seemed to think it wasn't that odd to open the stuff up, but it didn't stop her from smudging away the stripes on his cheek roughly.

  Then she handed him the makeup. He was loathe to spend any money he didn't have to, but he could afford a few dollars for concealer, especially if it got him into this damn fight. Not getting in, on the other hand?

  Well, he wasn't going to settle on that. If Minami thought he could cover up his nose, then she would get it done. And if she didn't, well… Wes wasn't going to think too much on that possibility either.

  Those girls couldn't afford for that to happen.

  Twenty-One

  Minami

  Minami sat back and examined her handiwork. He could do wit ha lot more work than this. Wes was a good-looking man, but with his severe features, they would look even more striking with just a bit of eyeliner, maybe some mascara to help his eyelashes—not that they needed it, the bastard.

  But if he wanted to cover up the horrible bruising on his face, then this would do it, at least for a few hours. He'd been surprisingly still through the whole thing. The way he'd acted the day before, she assumed that it hurt like a son of a bitch, but he hadn't flinched or reacted much at all.

  Then again that was exactly like him. No way he was going to let her see any sort of real reaction to anything. Everything was macho bullshit with him, and even when she was playing makeover, that was how it was going to keep being.

  "How do I look?"

  "Like you're going to be a supermodel," Minami answered.

  "Perfect." He was half-joking, but she could hear the growl of frustration in his voice, the only sign—if it even was a sign—that he'd suffered one bit of pain from the entire process.

  "Anything else?"

  "If everything goes alright, I'll tell you later."

  "I'm not going with you to see you get your ass kicked."

  "Well, good news, then, because there's nobody who's going to kick my ass in a fair fight."

  There was something charming about his confidence, but Minami still had her doubts, and they weren't going anywhere. If he was so sure that he was never going to lose, then why was it that this boss of his wouldn't just use him in every fight?

  He had to get tired out some time, and the beating he'd taken from Higa's goons was still fresh. She couldn't see him hurting, but she could see the ugly purple lump on his leg when he took off his pants at night. She could see the ugly brown spiderweb-bruise that crisscrossed his face, and as much as he was perfectly capable of pretending it didn't hurt, she wasn't an idiot. There was no way it wouldn't hurt.

  "You can't just keep putting yourself in a position to get hurt, Wes."

  "You're not my mother. I can do what I like."

  "Maybe I don't have to be your mother to worry about you."

  "Well, don't worry about me, how about that?"

  If only it were that simple. He was heading for disaster, and anyone could see it. Minami still held out some hope that he was going to pull her out of the Yakuza life. But how was he going to save anyone when he couldn't even save himself?

  Minami's phone buzzed. For a long moment, looking into Wesley's eyes, she wasn't going to reach for it. Finally, he turned away and pressed himself deeper into the corner of the sofa, and the moment was gone.

  She reached over and pulled the phone out, read the message.

  "I have to go."

  "That's fine. I have to go soon, too. I don't think it would be smart for you to come with me."

  "I'll give you a call, later."

  "Maybe I'll answer it," Wes answered.

  The man was absolutely incorrigible.

  She had to get home if she was going to be ready for dinner with Mr. Inafune. What was he going to be wearing? She should have asked. Her father should have asked, more accurately, but Father was anything but practical when it came to these matters.

  For that matter, he also never wore traditional clothes, so it might be that he never considered the question of whether to dress in Western or Japanese clothing, but it wasn't something that she could afford to ignore.

  After all, it might be a farce. There was no way that she was going to marry Inafune, no matter how good he looked or how well he treated her. But she at least had to keep up appearances, and there was no reason to disrespect the man, marriage or no.

  She pulled the car into the garage and nodded at Majima, cleaning the Mercedes beside her. He stopped to bow, only returning to his work as she stepped through the door into the main household. She had just about enough time to get showered and changed, if she was quick.

  If he was wearing traditional clothes the day before, it only made sense that she should err on the side of caution. And besides that, she had so few opportunities to wear her yukata, so it felt special to take it out.

  She tied the obi just in time to hear the knock at the door. Her mother stepped inside a moment later, turned her around and checked the bow, tied tight behind her.

  "Are you ready? You look great."

  "Do I?"

  "You look perfect." Mother turned her back around and pulled Minami into a tight hug. "You'll be fine."

  "Lead the way."

  Minami followed her mother down. It wasn't going to be so bad, she thought to herself. It certainly wasn't. He couldn't be as bad as Higa had been. He was younger than some of the patriarchs that she'd met with, who seemed to want a young wife as a status symbol because there was no chance of her providing them an heir.

  Not that any of it mattered, because even before she had met Wesley, she was never going to marry one of them. That was the reality. Minami wanted nothing more than to get away from the life, and she was going to—regardless of how many matchmaking meetings her father arranged.

  Minami let out a long breath when she saw him standing there, his thumbs tucked into his obi. She would have felt perfectly foolish if she were the only one wearing traditional clothing. She might have been under-dressed still, but the smile that came across his lips as he saw her told her that she hadn't done so wrong.

  The feeling of pride that swelled in her was hard to swallow. She shouldn't care much what he thought of her. She wasn't marrying him, and likely wasn't going to go on a second date. But even still, she couldn't deny the swell of pride in her chest that she'd chosen alright.

  He bowed as she approached, and she met him with a bow of her own, deep enough to be respectful.

  "Miss Shimizu."

  "Patriarch Inafune."

  "Are you ready to go?"

  "I am."

  He turned and started out the door, slipping on sandals just before he reached the door. She didn't have anything to match perfectly, but she had sandals of her own, for the rare occasions that she went out in traditional clothing. It would have looked awfully strange, after all, to wear western heels with a yukata.

  She followed a little ways behind her as they slipped into her father's Rolls Royce. Majima sat silently in the driver's seat, adjusting the mirror as they settled into their seats.

  "Patriarch Inafune?"

  He gave the name of a restaurant that Minami hadn't heard of. Clearly Japanese, however. She was already getting a sense for the man, and if Higa had been one extreme, Kondo was the exact opposite extreme. Japanese, almost militantly so. If she had to see him again, then it would be wise to always wear these clothes.

  They stepped inside the restaurant twenty minutes later, nobody particularly daring to look too closely at them. The severe expression on Inafune's face never slipped, except when he let his gaze slip over to Minami, where it softened only a bit before he looked straight ahead onc
e more.

  Minami, on the other hand, didn't notice. She had something else to worry about. Or, perhaps more accurately, someone else. In the corner was a familiar face, the American 'Mr. Bradley' who had been so close to Higa. Higa sat across from him, visibly deep into his cups. Beside them, Wesley Park, his face looking quite unlike he'd had his nose badly broken, stared at her.

  Twenty-Two

  Wes

  Wes swallowed down the Japanese liquor and didn't particularly listen to Bradley. He definitely didn't listen to Higa, who anyone could have seen silently fuming beside him. Anyone, it seemed, except for Bradley, who didn’t seem all that panicked about any of it. He should have paid more attention, because if he'd looked, he would have already figured out exactly what had happened, and if he really wanted Wes not to fight when he was hurt, one look at Higa's face would have told him that Wes wasn't as good as he looked.

  But apparently either Todd didn't mind as much as he put on, or he wasn't looking too close at Higa's expression. Nor, thankfully, was he looking too much at Wesley's.

  That was definitely not her father, Wes knew. She wasn't sitting there like she'd sit there with her father. That was another date. One that she hadn't thought to mention. Something primal inside him overtook the knowledge that she was the furthest thing from exclusive. He hadn't asked her to be, and she hadn't promised, but it did little to quell the anger burning in his chest.

  "Isn't that right, Wes?"

  Wes grunted his agreement, not taking his eyes off Minami. She peeked over her shoulder, and clearly saw Wes watching, because she immediately looked back at her date, as if she'd seen a ghost.

  Well, let her know. It wasn't exactly a secret, and he certainly wasn't going to keep it a secret. No, he wanted her to know. Wanted her to know exactly how he felt about it, too. When he was done with her, though, there wouldn't be any way that she didn't find out.

  Bradley refilled Higa's cup with sake after he finished it. Wes finished his own cup in one long swallow that burned all the way down. Mr. Bradley filled it as well, then set the carafe back down in the middle of the table.