19. Killian
19
KILLIAN
“ I t’s the middle of the night,” I state coldly as I stalk into the warehouse where Lance and my men have detained the yakuza men.
Twelve of them kneel before me, gagged and bound, several of them bleeding from the ears, nose, or mouth based on how much of a fight they put up. All of them follow me with wary gazes. The subtle tremor that ripples through them tells me they know what’s coming for them now that I’m here.
“You woke me from a very good sleep to start this?” Stopping in front of the center man, the one glaring up at me defiantly, I study his face for a moment.
Then I backhand him, striking him so hard it sends him toppling backward. His companions flinch but keep their gazes focused forward and averted from mine.
“Which of you smart-asses thought it would be a good plan to steal from the Kings?”
I know the answer. Like Natasha said, their leader, Saturo Takumi, is a slimy little worm. Still, he needs to learn a lesson, and since he’s not here to receive it directly, I’ll have to teach him through his men.
Another man down the line flinches, his shoulders jumping up near his ears as I approach, and I point to him. “Let’s start with him.”
Lance and Justin—one of my captains—hauls the man forward by his elbows, and the prisoner’s eyes widen with fear. He says something around the cloth tied between his teeth, a plea for help, or mercy, I imagine.
But I’m not feeling generous tonight. In fact, I spent all my generosity on leaving Boris’s men alive. Which means the yakuza in my care tonight will face the full force of my wrath.
My men strap him down to a metal chair—one that makes chopping limbs off easier. And as Lance yanks the gag out from the man’s mouth, I head to the table full of tools to choose my weapon.
“What do you think, Lance?” I ask playfully. “The axe?” I pick it up, letting the warehouse light glint coldly along the edge of the steel. “Or maybe the butcher knife?” I supply, raising it as well to compare.
“Not messing around tonight, are you, boss?” Lance asks, his blue eyes dark with bloodlust.
“Looks to me like we have more men than we need, so I thought we’d chop them down to size…”
Justin and Luther chuckle darkly, and my first victim starts to hyperventilate as he leans as far away from me as the chair will allow.
“Please, I’ll do anything—tell you anything!” he begs, his eyes rolling wildly, as if in search of an escape. But he’ll find none.
“Will you deliver a message for me?” I ask, setting down the axe.
“Yes, yes !” He squirms against the restraints as I stalk toward him slowly, twirling the butcher knife’s handle in my palm.
“Good.” I bring the blade down with ruthless unconcern, severing his hand from his wrist.
The man howls, his gaze stunned as he stares down at the truncated limb, and he thrashes. The arm, no longer tethered by the size of his hand, slips free, and he pulls it protectively against his chest as he attempts to cradle it.
I gesture to my men, and they get to work on the others until our warehouse is an echoing chasm of fear and pain. Blood paints the floor as we turn them into gory masterpieces. And when we’re through, only two have survived the brutal christening.
Lance breathes heavily beside me as we stand looking at the crimson mess slowly oozing toward the drains. My men will clean up after I’m gone, sure to leave no trace that could incriminate us.
“I don’t know, Lance. What do you think?” I ask casually, resting my hands on my hips as I inspect our remaining victims.
One is missing an ear, and blood flows freely down his neck and shoulder, staining his grimy shirt. The other’s face is closer to a bloody pulp. His head hangs loosely forward, his chin resting on his chest as a bloody trail of spit stretches from his lips.
The man with the missing ear is definitely more with it, though he’s in rough shape.
“I don’t think this guy will make it,” Lance observes, grabbing the drooling one by his hair and lifting his head.
His glazed eyes attempt to focus on us but fail, and when Lance releases his hair, his head lolls dangerously back onto his chest.
“It only takes one man to deliver a message, right?” I ask, locking eyes with the yakuza man missing an ear.
He trembles now as I give a wicked grin.
“Seems like it,” Lance agrees.
With a nod, I draw my gun from its holster and put a bullet through the other man’s skull. And the last man standing stares in dumbfounded silence as his final companion dies.
Lightly slapping the man’s cheek, I draw his attention back to me. “You with me, friend?”
He nods, though the quivering intensifies as he loses his bladder all over his pants.
Studiously ignoring the dark stain that grows across his crotch, I hold his gaze with mine. “Tell Saturo, that if he ever tries to betray me again, I’ll be coming for him. And next time? Not one of you will make it out alive. Got it?”
The man nods vigorously, his skin paper-white in contrast with his dark hair and the crimson of his blood.
“Good.” I look toward my right-hand man, turning speculative. “Maybe we can wrap up that hole in his head—just so he doesn’t bleed out before he delivers our message.”
“Smart,” Lance agrees, and he jerks his chin in a silent signal.
A blood-spackled Luther stalks toward the office. He returns a moment later with some gauze and a bandage, which he slaps unceremoniously against the bleeding man’s head. The man flinches but waits for my man to wrap him up.
Then Lance leans in to cut the zip ties holding him to his metal chair.
Smirking, I grasp the man by the collar of his shirt and hoist him back onto his unsteady feet. His legs are too weak to hold him up, and as soon as I attempt to release him, he collapses to the cold cement.
“Come on, buddy,” I encourage gruffly. “You’ve got a long walk ahead of you.”
Hauling him back onto his feet, I keep my grip firm, eliciting a choking sound from him as his collar bites into his neck. But he stumbles along as I half drag, half steer him toward the door. Outside, the air is crisp yet calm. A hint of sunlight is just starting to creep over the horizon.
My mind immediately shifts to Natasha and how, by all that’s fair, I should have been fucking her these last few hours, not chopping men into pieces and listening to their screams. Without a doubt, I prefer the sound of my little tigress’s cries of pleasure, and I ache to hear them again soon.
“You have my message clear in your head?” I taunt, keeping the yakuza man on his feet as I turn him to face me.
He nods emphatically, then winces, as I imagine the hole where his ear used to be can’t feel great.
“Good.” I throw him down on the hard gravel, and he scrabbles across it in his haste to get away from me.
It takes several yards of a crab-like crawl before he manages to find his strength, and then he’s off, sprinting into the night as quickly as his weak legs will carry him.
Lance crosses his arms beside me as we watch the man’s hasty retreat. Behind me, I can hear the muffled conversation and laughter of my men as they begin the messy task of disposing of the bodies.
“Welcome back,” Lance observes quietly, his deep voice almost amused.
“Hmm?” I glance toward him in my confusion, and he meets my gaze with that ever-watchful, intelligent one I’ve come to know so well.
Lance might not be my brother in blood. But he’s my best friend, the person who knows me better than anyone else in the world. And I wouldn’t put it past him to have perceived more about what’s going on with me than he’s said. That’s just his way. And he doesn’t mind when I choose to keep things close to the vest because that’s his default setting.
“I’ve just never known you to show the leniency you did with Boris’s men yesterday. This is the Killian I’m familiar with,” he observes.
He’s not wrong, as a mafia boss, I’m known for being brutal, and that’s how I like it. It makes my business deals far less likely to go south. In fact, Saturo is one of the few men still reckless enough—or maybe just stupid—to try getting the better of me.
I should take a leaf out of Boris’s book and stop trying to do business with the yakuza. They’re just as likely to put a knife in my back as they are to shake my hand, at this point.
Lance might have a point. How I handled Saturo’s men tonight is a stark contrast to the way I handled Boris’s men yesterday. But Saturo needed a reminder of what happens when someone betrays the Kings. Boris I can give a bit more leeway because, when it comes down to it, I started that feud. And I can respect a man who’s willing to fight for his daughters’ honor.
Once again, my thoughts turn toward Natasha and the square we’re in. She’s still fighting it—her feelings for me. But they’re there. I can see it in the way she looks at me. The way she responds so eagerly to my touch. She might want me dead, but I’m willing to bet my life that, when it comes down to it, she won’t be able to kill me.
Making her mine, on the other hand? I suspect that’s going to be a much bigger feat.
Because I know how loyal she is to her family—and Boris has made it perfectly clear that he has no intentions of marrying one of his daughters to me.
Especially now.
But if I can, I intend to change that…