by Amy Faye
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.
Wes didn't taste the food as it went down, and he didn't hear the words as Todd said them. His ears heard, and his mouth tasted, but between the senses and his brain was the big, towering wall of fury. He masked it almost well enough to hide it, and the more he drank, the easier it got.
Todd filled his cup again, and he drank it again. The alcohol was going straight to his head, but he wasn't about to stop drinking. Not when Minami was over there, laughing politely at some Jap's jokes. As if she were his woman, as if he had any right to her. The other guy was older than her, older than any of the men sitting at Wes's table. Not quite old enough to be her father, but close.
He kept himself looking polite and respectful, distant even, but Wes wasn't fooled. He wasn't going out with her because he was her very good friend. That wasn't why she'd been out with Higa, and it wasn't why she was out with this asshole, either.
The urge to get up and go over, to confront her right in the restaurant, was strong. He managed to stop himself by reminding himself, every couple of minutes, that he couldn't afford to blow off Bradley and Higa. They were arranging his fight, after all. If he managed to piss them off, then there was no money coming in, and he couldn't move on to the next part of his plan.
So he sat still and waited for the anger to dissipate, and when it didn't, he just simmered in the fury until he was practically tunnel-visioned right across the room until the only thing he could see was their quiet, secluded table in the corner.
He hadn't seen her, splayed out in that kimono—or whatever it was called—on her back, underneath him, had he? She was a Yakuza girl, who knew what sort of strange customs they had? Maybe they unwrapped their presents early in Japan.
Wes's jaw was starting to hurt from his teeth clenching together. He loosened his fist by his side, forced himself to calm down. He couldn't afford to lose his cool. He took in a breath and turned toward Higa, whose cheeks had gone pink with drunkenness.
He was talking about—who knew what. Mid-sentence, it was hard to say, and his accent was far too thick to make out what he was trying to say through his drunken haze, but he said it with gusto. Bradley laughed, and so Wesley laughed as well, a cruel and barking laugh that came out too loud and filled the place. In the corner of his eye, Wes could see Minami turn for a moment before turning back sharply.
She wanted to pretend not to notice him, but anyone would have noticed that laugh. It hadn't been intentional, but knowing that he had forced her to feel uncomfortable, though not near as uncomfortable as he was angry, felt good.
Higa raised his cup significantly. Wes raised his own, Higa said 'Kanpai' a little too loudly, and swallowed down his drink. Wes and Bradley repeated it after and drank down deep. He didn't need to speak Japanese to know it was supposed to mean 'cheers,' and know what to do. It was easy enough to copy the man, regardless of how much he'd had to drink.
Bradley busied himself filling the cups, Higa returning the favor for Todd's own cup. Wes snorted out through his nose. It had already been a long meal, and it was only going to get longer. Minami was in for hell when she came to see him next. She wasn't going to like it one bit, what he had planned for her.
Or maybe, he thought bitterly, maybe she would.
He took another drink and tried to listen to the men beside him, talking glibly as if nothing strange were going on. Perhaps there wasn't, but that didn't change anything for Wes. He was furious, and no amount of drinking was going to change that. It might only make it worse.
That was how he preferred it. By the time he made it back to the apartment, thoroughly sauced, he could feel the anger still burning, hotter than ever, deep in his chest. Minami was going to get a piece of his mind, and sooner rather than later.
What the fuck did she think she was doing with some guy? Laughing, smiling—did she think that she could just go around with any guy who looked at her the right way? What was he? Some kind of fling?
He sucked in breath through his nose and blew it out like a bull about to charge, slipped down into the couch and loosened up the top button on the only shirt he had that didn't look like he only fit in playing guitar in a roadhouse band or getting his ass kicked in parking garages.
They were going to come to an understanding, Wes and her. She said she'd call him later. Well, when that happened… he closed his eyes, his heartbeat thumping in his ears, adrenaline tightening and curling in his stomach.
The knock at the door woke him from his brief reverie, and he pushed himself up from the couch. He already knew who it was before he opened the door.
Seeing Minami standing there in that black yukata, the leaf pattern printed onto it too stylish and refined for going out with someone else, was worse than he'd expected. He could already feel the anger, starting to dissipate with distance and tiredness, boiling over again, and now there was nobody to stop him.
Twenty-Three
Minami
Minami's questions about whether or not he had noticed her with Inafune were answered as soon as he opened the door. He grabbed her by the collar of her yukata and pulled her inside, the door shutting before he said anything.
Wesley's face was a mask of fury, and she knew exactly why. Part of her was afraid, afraid of what was thinking about doing and what he was going to do. Another part, softly, enjoyed the knowledge that she'd pulled this feeling out of him, knowing that he wouldn't be nearly so upset if he didn't think about her in ways that he would likely never admit to her directly.
Wes grabbed her under her knees and scooped her up, drawing a little 'oof' from Minami's lips as he hefted her weight in his arms and carried her over to the bed. He dropped her, but she was ready this time, even as she fell and landed on her ass.
He pulled at her yukata, loosening the obi more through force of will and raw strength than with any sort of grace or forethought, until he had her breast free, and then he pulled it into his mouth, biting down an instant later and drawing a choking, pained gasp from her lips.
"Ow—don't—"
"Quiet," Wes growled, reaching up and putting a hand on her face and twisting her off to the side, as if he just wanted to show her that he was completely in control of her body, and he was going to do whatever he wanted. She was going to let him do it, too, she
knew.
He worked the fly on his pants, freeing his already-erect cock from his pants, and maneuvered himself around to put it into her mouth. She accepted it, part of her enjoying the roughness that he was treating her with. His hand reached into the top of her yukata, pinching the nipple he hadn't managed to expose yet until it hurt.
Minami took his cock into her mouth and he started moving almost as soon as the head touched her tongue, his body trying to impress on her how much he was in control of the situation—he was going to take his pleasure, and she was going to accept it. She did, relaxing her mouth and letting him fuck her face, his hands continuing to rub her breasts, teased already to sensitivity.
He pulled her off and Minami gasped for air. She could see, dimly, that he wanted to say something. He closed his mouth and forced hers back onto his cock, fucking into her throat. Minami tried to relax her throat, tried to let him do what he wanted, but it didn't stop her from making loud, embarrassing, lewd choking noises with each deep thrust.
Finally he pulled out and moved himself back between her legs, apparently deciding that it would be more satisfying to take his pleasure straight from the source. He lined himself up briefly, and then with one long, swift thrust he was all the way inside her up to the hilt, her yukata splayed out on the bed beneath her.
"Do you like that, you fucking whore?"
The words burned in her ears, but Minami could feel her pussy twitch at the thought, all the same.
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, sir."
He took a hard grip on her shoulder and used his free hand to lift one of her legs up, pushing their bodies still closer together as he thrust in deep and hard. Minami failed to contain a moan, and as she groaned out the mounting pleasure that he was giving her, his hand came down in a heavy slap across her cheek.
Minami's eyes drifted closed, her body moving on its own to meet Wes's thrusts. He groaned his pleasure, then leaned down and bit her neck, hard. She knew it would leave a tender mark, and she didn't care, not any more. He was taking what he wanted from her, and she wanted nothing more than to give it to him.
Wes took hold of her ankle and placed it on his shoulder, her hips lifting off the bed and her back arching as he fucked deeper still, finding places inside her that even after all these times she hadn't realized had ever existed. Finding pleasures she didn't realize she'd wanted until she had them, and then she knew that she couldn't live without them again.
His cock hit her deep inside, threatening that it was too big for her, that she was going to be sore in the morning, but it didn't matter. Tomorrow didn't matter, she was here today and every thrust was another one that she couldn't refuse or deny the pleasure of.
He let her feel another stinging slap in the face, and her body started to feel strange, the pleasure starting to overwhelm her senses. Hot tears started to stream down her cheeks, which was strange because she wasn't upset. Her body was reacting all on its own, now, her hips rising to meet his with each powerful thrust even as she cried. A mix of sensations and emotions that she couldn't be going to understand surged through her body, sending her deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole of rapture that Wes had sent her on. She laid her head back and enjoyed it as orgasms started to roll over her in waves, unable to finish one before she could feel her body tightening around him again.
Another hard slap came down, and the tears came faster, hotter, but she just wanted more, wanted him in a way that she couldn't explain. She didn't need to. Her body was doing everything she could have wanted, matching his pace perfectly, bringing her closer and closer to the edge with every almost-painful thrust.
Wes was getting close, now. She could feel it in the way that his thrusts were coming hard and erratic, in the desperate way that he pulled her body onto him. In the way that he hunched over her, his body already starting to coil up before the pleasure of release.
He pushed into her one last time before Minami felt him shudder, felt his cock jerk inside her, and then he came. A warm, pleasant sensation came over her, filled her, sent her spiraling out of control once more in one final, triumphant orgasm as her hands scrabbled to find any purchase on the rumpled bed sheets beneath her.
Wes's breaths came in short, ragged pants, like an animal, and the way he'd fucked her, she thought, the comparison wasn't far off. Wes's lips found her neck, first kissing tenderly, and then testing with his teeth, and when she didn't protest, biting down harder before moving to repeat the process somewhere else.
Minami's hand moved to the back of his head, tracing a line through his hair and tangling her fingers in it. As long as he wanted to, she was going to let him. Whatever it was, she wasn't going to deny Wes what he wanted. For a dull moment she thought that sounded remarkably like love, but then she shook her head. The thought itself was patently absurd.
They weren't compatible, and there was no future for them. But then, maybe that was part of the allure. The knowledge that he could take what he wanted, give her what she wanted, and maybe that was all it would be, but at least it wasn't a lie. At least she wasn't fooling herself about what was happening.
Only, she knew, that was exactly what she was doing. And she wasn't about to stop now.
Twenty-Four
Wes
Wes cradled his head in his hands, not quite daring to look out the window, if it could even be called that. More like a reminder of how shit the neighborhood was, with the tiny window only a cat could have gotten through still barred from the inside, with bars fitted into the concrete walls.
It was more like a prison than anything else, but Wes couldn't shake the feeling that he had decided to keep it that way, as if it would somehow help alleviate his history and make it all go away.
He let out a long breath. He shouldn't have kicked her out. Who knows if she has a ride home. It hadn't bothered him before, but something was different this time. Something about her had changed, and that worried him more than anything.
He got up and slipped out the door, not before taking the keys off the wall. He'd made that mistake once, and with the two-hundred dollar charge for getting a locksmith out at 4 A.M. had taught him not to do it again.
He slipped into the leather seats of the Fiero, cracked and kept badly. It was still comfortable, perhaps even softer than it had been when the seats had been brand new. He didn't spend more than an instant thinking about it before he put the keys into the ignition and started to drive.
She didn't have a huge head-start. Five minutes, maybe. Sometimes Wes fucked up, and fucked up big. Sometimes he didn't realize his mistakes until the next morning, or until years later.
New York had been a mistake like that, one that ate up five solid years of his life before he suddenly woke up one day in a room not much smaller than the one he was staying in now and suddenly realized, 'whoa, what the fuck am I doing?'
Time served, at this point. He'd paid the price for that, and it had been a high enough price that he wasn't going to make that mistake again. But he knew there would be others, and he had a sick feeling that this thing with Minami would be one of them if he didn't move fast.
He drove around to the front of the building, hoping to find her waiting for a cab. No such luck.
Wes growled his frustration and stepped on the gas harder and searching the road with his eyes. She hadn't gone up the road to the convenience store, which he still wouldn't have recommended. He turned and kept crawling the streets.
There were better-than-even odds that she'd called a cab, and it had already arrived by the time Wes made it out to the street. He had to hope, had to assume, that wasn't the case in spite of the fact that it was more than likely.
The preservation paid off when he saw her walking into the public library. It wasn't the nice one. It was small and shabby and ultimately nobody went there. In Wesley's old life, years ago, they might have done deals here. Public enough to be safe, private enough—especially in the stacks—that nobody was going to walk in on you at th
e wrong time. Teenagers probably had their own uses for the place, when someone's parents were going to be an inconvenience.
He pulled into the lot and cut the engine. The odds that she'd seen him were slim at best. Wes wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. On one hand, she wasn't going to run away from him before he could get there. On the other, she didn't know to expect him. She'd still be assuming that he was leaving her well enough alone.
Well, Wes never was that smart. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, the comforting whoosh of stale air and the smell of books filling his nose. The library had always held a sort of mystique for him. As many books as a person could handle, and all you had to give them was a little promise that you'd give it back. Who on earth would ever refuse?
Wes had. What did his promises mean? He didn't take books out. Something about his self-imposed exile here in New York—away from the girls, away from his whole life up to the time with the family—had told him he didn't have the right to take their things, not even with permission. But that didn't stop him from coming in, when the mood suited him.
He looked around the familiar room, a wide open lobby with spokes that came off the center, and then the stairs down in the back. She wouldn't go there, not unless she was looking for something in the stacks. He had no reason to figure he would, which meant that he would probably be making a mistake to prioritize searching the basement.
Wes made a grid of it, starting from the door and working his way so that she couldn't possibly get past him without his seeing it. Not in the nonfiction, at least not as far as he could tell from this distance. Not sitting at a table.
She wasn't in the genre fiction, nor in the literary fiction. She wasn't in the young adult—he turned to check the lobby again, satisfied himself that she wasn't there from some vantage he couldn't see from the door, and kept on moving.
