How to Bind a Monster (Kinky ABC #2)

FIRST KNOT

People think the worst part of killing is the blood. Fucking amateurs.

Blood is easy. Blood cleans off with hot water and citrus soap.

Blood smells like metal and it’s annoying after a while, sure, but it doesn’t cling if you know how to scrub.

You get used to it. You even start to crave the sting in your nose when it’s fresh, like the moment before a lightning strike.

No. Anyone who killed before will say the worst part is the sound.

That tiny little gasp when someone realizes they will really die.

That soft flutter in the throat, when the knife sinks too deep or the bullet rips through something vital.

That fucking sound lives in your bones if you’re not careful.

It sets up shop somewhere between your molars and your spine and it waits.

Just fucking waits for the right moment to torment you.

But for me, that’s the best part.

Tonight, I add another gasp to the collection.

He’s barely twenty, and fucking stupid, wearing fake leather and gold like he’s top of the food chain. Tch. My boot hits his stomach with a wet thud and he folds like a lawn chair. I don’t even break a sweat.

“Please. I didn’t mean to—”

I twist his wrist until I hear the pop. That’s another sound I like, the popping. It’s honest.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” I say, pressing my knee into his ribs. “You sold crank two blocks from the Xpider pachinko. You thought I wouldn’t find out?”

He’s crying now.

They always do.

People always cry when I use the calm voice.

I could stab him and save the trouble. But the Boss said, “make it a message”, so I don’t rush.

Fuck rushing. This isn’t some back-alley mugging, anyway.

This is the long, drawn-out kind of punishment that teaches you how deep fear can settle in the gut.

I want him gagging on his own tears before the first real cut.

I want him to remember my face every time he closes his eyes.

I pull out my tanto—sleek little bitch of a blade. It glints under the alley light grinning at me. It’s an old blade that I use when I want to feel something. She loves me and I love her.

The guy’s eyes go wide when he sees her. Cries harder.

I push the tip into the soft meat of his cheek.

He screams for me loud and beautifully.

I make him sing like this for a few more minutes, because I can’t silence him like I wish I could. But the singing is good too. Second best thing.

When I’m done, I leave him breathing in a mess of blood pooling on the floor. His breath comes out wet. His fingers twitch. He won’t talk again. Won’t eat right. Won’t even fuck without hearing my laugh echoing in his head.

My blade’s clean after I use his shirt as a rag. My boots too, after wiping them on his crotch. Message delivered.

Tokyo’s air tastes different after a job. It feels alive under my skin, crawling with heat and rot, making my chest buzz in a way I wish I could carve it open and rip the frenzy out of it myself.

I light a cigarette and walk down the alley, stopping to pet a stray cat that’s over a dumpster. His fur is black and his eyes glow yellow. I decide to name him Kai—after me, of course.

My name’s Kaito Arakawa. I’m twenty-three and I’ve slit more throats than I’ve shaken hands. I’m part of the Dokugumo-kai, the biggest gang in Tokyo, and actually the right hand of the boss, Kobayashi-sama.

People say I’m a monster, call me an “Oni”, and I like it. Monsters sleep easier than men.

Or they used to.

Lately… it’s getting harder.

Sleep is a fucking myth for me. Every time I close my eyes, I hear the popping of joints, the soft choking of people dying, that fucking dove-flutter-gasp.

My brain plays it on repeat, making me want more of it.

Every time I lie down, I want to get up and find someone to play with. Beat up. Cut up. Kill.

And so, I keep killing. Keep drinking, too. Keep fucking. It doesn’t help.

I punch walls until my knuckles are bloody. Doesn’t help.

I hold a knife to my own throat in the mirror and wonder if I’d sing too. I know I won’t, but the gasp… yeah, would be nice if the last one I collect is my own.

Not today, though. Today I’ve got more shit to do.

There’s a row of public phones near the main street, old ones with cigarette burns on the metal. I step into one, shut the glass door, and drop a few coins inside. The line crackles, then one of my guys picks up.

“It’s done,” I say.

“Good,” he answers. “Kobayashi-sama will be pleased.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“About that other problem… He’s coming to deliver.”

Oh, yeah.

“Arakawa-san,” he says, polite. “Try not to make a big mess this time.”

I laugh so loud I scare Kai off the dumpster, even from here.

“‘Try not to make a mess,’ huh?” I mutter, cracking my neck. That’s like telling fire not to burn. Like asking a storm to please, please don’t tear down the fucking house.

There’s a pause on the other end, then a sigh.

“Just be clean this time. Don’t just… let the corpses around. The police’s still on us for the Shinjuku mess.”

“Sure,” I say, grinning into the receiver. “No corpses around.” I hang up and take another drag from my cigarette. “I said nothing about body pieces.”

* * *

Fuck neutral ground.

I hate this bullshit. Even the shadows here feel artificial, like the street’s trying too hard to pretend it’s not soaked in blood just beneath the surface. This whole shit smells like peace treaties and old piss, with flickering streetlights to make everyone look worse than they are.

The guy I’m meeting is already there when I turn the corner, leaning against the hood of a piece-of-shit sedan, arms crossed, trying to look hard.

Ryosuke, one of the Kagebōshi-gumi’s dogs.

Same ridiculous hair, same broken nose, same smug fucking expression.

Thinks he’s a big shot because he once held a guy’s head under a bath of acid.

He gives me a smirking nod like we’re equals.

I stop three steps away and crack my neck again.

“Ryo,” I say, spitting his name. “Didn’t think you’d show up without your leash.”

He smirks.

“Funny, I was just thinking Kobayashi-san wouldn’t let you out of your cage.”

“Only when we’re hunting vermin.”

“Then I brought you two.” He gestures toward the backseat of the car. “The gifts.”

Yes, the gifts.

Two fuckers scraped off the bottom of whatever sewer hole the Midori-kai calls home. One’s bleeding from the head, the other’s got duct tape around his mouth and a piss stain down his thigh. Both look like they’ve been roughed up a bit already. Good, means Ryo’s at least pretending to give a fuck.

“These two touched something they shouldn’t in your territory,” Ryo says. “We didn’t know. When Midori-san found out, he told me to do what was necessary to keep peace. You can finish it.”

I step forward, and they flinch. Fucking cowards.

One of them—skinny, scar on his jaw, looks like a fucking disgusting rat—is the one who cornered a girl in our territory two nights ago. Grabbed her in an alley behind the restaurant she works in, roughed her up. Thought no one would find out.

Too bad for him she screamed loud enough for my boys to hear.

I stare at him, and he stares at me like he already knows he’s going to die badly.

“You know,” I say, sounding like I’m talking to Ryo but keeping my eyes on the rat. “Of all the people I kill—and there’s a fucking lot—you know which ones I love to kill the most?”

Rat’s-face starts shaking.

“Rapists.” I grin wide.

I slide the blade for the second time tonight—my tanto, sweet and humming in my hand. She vibrates when she’s near filth.

Ryo clears his throat.

“We’re even after this. Yeah?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

I grab the rat bastard by the hair and drag him down till his face scrapes the pavement. He squeals behind the tape.

“Shh, shh, don’t cry yet,” I murmur, twisting a fistful of his hair. “The fun is just starting.”

The other one tries to bolt. Dumbass. He turns, takes a step, maybe two, and I let go of the first bastard’s hair so I can deal with this genius.

I catch him by the collar and slam him against the car.

He tries to throw a punch, and I laugh in his face.

They never fucking learn. I kick the side of his knee, watching the joint fold the wrong way.

He screams and stumbles. I grab him by the ankle, drag him to the car hood, pin him there, and then press my weight into the back of his calf.

I hook my fingers under his knee and bend. The bone gives like dry wood. There’s a pop first, then a grind of cartilage, tendon and meat twisting around splinters. He screams, but I press harder until the leg folds and rips open, bone jutting out.

That’s going in my memory book.

I let him drop, watching his body twitch against the tire.

“Run next time.” He sobs through the tape. I grin and turn back to the rat on the ground. “Now, where were we?”

I take my time. Ryo lights a cigarette and leans back on his car without a word. He watches, though. Pretends not to, but I see him glance over every few seconds. Maybe he wants to make sure the payment is accepted. Maybe he wants to know what kind of animal I really am.

I show him.

I don’t kill them quickly, because I’m not boring.

I slice rat-face slowly—a piece of his thigh first, then his bicep, then his cock.

Skin peels back like wet fruit, something always hilarious to see.

His scream is gagged but it doesn’t matter.

I hear it in his bones, in the way his body thrashes and trembles and sweats.

The other guy is still trying to crawl away; I let him for now. He won’t go anywhere, anyway.

I drive the blade between rat-face’s ribs. Twist. Again. Again. His body jerks like a marionette, and when he stops moving, I leave him slumped in the gutter.

Then I turn to the crawler.

He’s pissing himself. I don’t even bother dragging him up. I kick him on his back and kneel over him. His eyes are wide, pleading. I lean in.

“You should’ve died before crossing our line.”

The blade goes in beneath his jaw. Up, hard, slow. I feel it scrape the roof of his mouth and then keep going in.

He doesn’t sing for me. But I collect another gasp.

Now it’s quiet. Just me, Ryo and the stench of blood soaking into neutral ground.

I wipe the blade on the second one’s jacket.

“Tell Midori we’re square. But next time one of your men even looks at someone in our district wrong, I’ll decorate my walls with his skin.”

Ryo lights another cigarette without flinching.

“You think this scares him?”

“No. But it should scare his little dog.”

“Try anything outside this alley, Kaito, and I’ll hand-deliver your spine to Kobayashi-san wrapped in your own fucking guts.”

I step closer.

“Then pray this truce holds, Ryo. Because the day it breaks, I’m coming for your ass first.”

We stare each other down. Two seconds. Ten. A lifetime.

Then he nods once and flicks ash at the corpses.

“I’ll pass along your message. Let’s just hope your master knows how to keep his beast on a leash.”

I grin.

“He doesn’t leash me. He lets me pick who I bite.”

Ryo turns and walks to his car. Doesn’t look back.

The wind picks up and the city hums again, hot and alive and crawling under my skin.

I smile.

Tonight I’ll sleep.

Maybe.