Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“Who sent you?” he growled, the question edged with feral ferocity.
The guy only laughed. It bubbled up, ugly and wet, blood foaming at the corners of his mouth.
Rick shoved the gunman’s face harder into the concrete, his shoulder howling in protest. Blood soaked through the torn fabric of his coat, hot against flesh gone clammy.
The raw stink of copper clung to his nostrils, mingling with cordite and the faint ozone tang of spent rounds.
Sirens? No. That high whine in his skull was just his pulse, a tom-tom hammering behind his eyes.
He gritted his teeth and dug the heel of his hand into the man’s spine.
No resistance. The guy twitched once and went slack.
Rick rifled his pockets, pulled the wallet.
Makoto Akiyama, twenty-five. Barely out of college, Rick thought grimly, looking at the pale, bruised face smeared across the pavement.
Clean-shaven under the grit. Dark hair matted to his forehead, cheek bleeding where it had kissed the sidewalk.
Footsteps approached. Not the clumsy scuffle of backup, not the thudding boots of uniforms. This was something quieter, feline, the whisper of long limbs sliding from the dark.
Rick didn’t have to look. He felt it. The air pressure changed, like the moon had crept too close. Static crawled across his skin. Ash. Safe.
He emerged out of the shadows, sharp-edged and eerie-calm, lilac eyes gleaming under the yellowed streetlamp.
Not a scratch on him. No bruises, no blood.
Only the faint rise and fall of his chest, too steady to match what they’d just survived.
He met Rick’s gaze, stepped in, and studied the pinned man.
“You were sent to kill me,” he said, voice smoke over ice. “Why?”
The yakuza flinched. Wide, dilated eyes bounced between them. He muttered a curse in Japanese and clammed up.
Ash crouched beside him, close but somehow unreachable. “Look at me.”
Rick felt the subtle shift the moment it happened. The guy’s body loosened under his grip, limbs uncoiling like someone had cut his strings. His head lifted. Eyes met Ash’s, helpless.
Ash’s voice kissed the night. “Let’s try again. Who sent you?”
Rick stared, fascinated. He was witnessing the trick from the first row. Ash’s tone wasn’t angry. It was worse. Gentle, precise. A scalpel disguised as silk.
The kobun trembled. “I—I had orders. After what you did at Dock Nine… they said you stole someone. Beat the hell out of the crew. We were told to shoot on sight.”
Jesus, Rick thought. What the hell did you get into, Ash?
Ash didn’t blink. “How did you know where to find me?”
The guy let out a brittle laugh. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
Ash tilted his head. “Should I?”
“I used to see you at the Eclipse. We hooked up once. About a year ago.” His voice cracked. “When I saw the stash house footage, I recognized you right away.”
Rick’s jaw tensed. Without thinking, he pressed his knee down harder. The yakuza yelped. Rick eased up, growling to himself.
Ash leaned closer, eyes shimmering. “That’ll make things easier.”
Rick stiffened. He wanted to say something, but stopped.
Whatever was happening, it wasn’t natural.
The air felt charged, like the moment before a lightning strike.
Akiyama’s eyes glazed over, lips parting.
Ash touched his cheek—gently, almost tender—and the silence that followed was thick enough to drown in.
“You’re going to go back,” he murmured, voice velvet-dark. “Say the target was neutralized. Nothing left to chase. I’m dead.”
The yakuza blinked once. Twice. Nodded slowly.
Rick surged upright, yanking him to his feet by the collar. “Are you out of your goddamn mind? He tried to kill you. Tried to kill me. He ventilated my car! And you want to send him home with a pat on the ass?”
Ash rose slowly, those fathomless eyes now locked on Rick. “And what do you think happens if we don’t? You haul him in, they’ll just send another. And another. Until they get it right.”
Rick’s gaze flicked over the young henchman. Up close, he was all bone and bruises, fear lurking under the defiance. More a boy than an assassin. A pawn on someone else’s board.
Ash’s voice softened, but the iron stayed beneath. “This is the only way. Let him bury me. Let them stop looking.”
“I’m a cop, dammit,” Rick growled. “I don’t just let hitmen walk.”
“You owe me, Slade. I gave you a lead when no one else could.”
“And I pulled you out of the fire. I’d reckon that puts me in the lead.”
Ash stepped closer. Too close. “Please, Rick.”
Rick’s mouth opened and shut. Hearing Ash using his first name hit differently.
It sounded more personal, more intimate than it had any right to.
Was it honest, or just another honeyed lie?
Was he working that dark charm on him now?
His head pulsed. His shoulder throbbed. The Eldorado slouched crooked in the road, one headlight out, grill shredded.
His whole night had gone to hell in a handbasket laced with dynamite. And yet…
“Fuck.” He snapped the cuffs off and stepped back.
Ash’s eyes lingered on him. “Thank you.”
Rick didn’t meet them. “You did something to him,” he muttered, watching the dazed yakuza rub his wrists. “Same thing you did to Hayes.” Maybe the same thing you’re doing to me.
Ash didn’t answer. Just turned to Akiyama. “What will you tell your oyabun?”
“Target’s dead,” he said flatly. “Body dumped in the river. Shingo got killed in the crossfire. No witnesses.”
Ash gave a faint smile. “Good man.”
They watched him stagger to his fallen partner, drag the body into the back seat of the sedan, and slip into the driver’s seat. A moment later, the engine started, and the car drove off into the dark without so much as a brake tap or glance back.
Rick let out a ragged breath, catching himself on the wall. Pain flared along his arm as the adrenaline wore off.
Ash stepped beside him, hand on his shoulder. “You’re hurt. I’ll call an ambulance.”
Rick waved him off with a grunt. His body would knit itself up by dawn. It always did. Especially this close to the full moon. “Nah. It’s a flesh wound. I’ll be fine.”
“You were shot, Slade.”
Rick grunted. “Yeah, I noticed.” He winced as he walked over to his battered Caddie—bullet dents along the side, shattered headlight, paint scuffed to hell. “Look what they did to my baby. I just waxed her last week.”
Ash stayed behind. “You’re bleeding out, and you’re worried about your car?”
Rick bent over the driver’s side, muttering, “Have some respect, kid. That’s classic chrome.
You don’t simply replace that.” He reached inside and grabbed the mic from the dash, keying it.
“Dispatch, this is Slade. Had a couple shots fired in Silver Cove while I was following up on a lead. No injuries. Suspects fled the scene. I’ll follow up in the morning. ”
Static crackled. “Copy that, Detective. You sure you don’t need backup?”
“Positive. I’ve got this under control. No further units necessary.”
Ash snorted behind him. “CMPD’s golden boy, breaking protocol. I’m impressed.”
Rick slid the mic back in place. “Just trying to dodge the paperwork.” He looked around.
The block was still. No sirens. No lights.
No cracked-open windows. Only the glow of the streetlamp and the sour ghost of gunfire on the wind.
Nobody called the cops here. Not unless they wanted to disappear next.
This street would bury the noise like it buried everything else. New Town swallowed its secrets whole.
“Right.” Ash moved toward the building’s entrance. “At least come upstairs and let me clean you up. Unless you’d rather bleed all over your seats, too.”
Rick hesitated. Instinct said no. Walk away. Keep the lines clean. But Ash was already going in, glancing back once. And damn it, Rick followed, blood dripping down his side, vision spinning a little. He told himself it was the pull. Some kind of magic he couldn’t fight.
But magic had nothing to do with it. And he knew it.