Chapter One
RIVER
NINE YEARS LATER
He’s chewing on that fucking gum so damn loudly. I hate it. He knows it. He does it even more obnoxiously.
“Something wrong, Bunny?” He gives me his devilish, toothy, Hollywood smile.
That damn nickname. I ignore him, keeping my face blank because showing Aki my irritation would only spur him on. The problem is that he can read it anyway. He knows me too well and enjoys pushing all my buttons—repeatedly.
From the first time I met him, I wanted to punch that arrogant smirk off his face.
No news there. Since I was very young, I realized that my perception of the world differed from that of others my age.
Violence ran through my veins and haunted me in every aspect of my life until it blinded me to reality.
I wasn’t that different from my piece of shit of a father; I wanted to beat up everyone—the animosity inside me was eating me up.
People irritated me; they still do most of the time.
And that was what tied me to Aki. He helps me feed that thirst for destruction while I help him stay alive. A mutual exchange.
Apart from the inner craving for violence and mayhem, we are opposites in everything else.
He’s impulsive, I take my time to ponder; he talks non-stop, I’m the silent type; he’s a rule breaker, I’m a rule maker; he cares excessively about his appearance, while I grab the first thing I find lying around—usually a Henley, a vest, black pants, leather boots, and a long coat.
We are water and fire.
I open the back door of the BMW. My eyes fall on him getting out—sheathed katana in hand.
Today the tips of his hair are purple. The little platinum rabbit dangling from the ear cuff swings as he straightens; it makes me bite the inside of my cheek.
He wears it only to tease me. He buttons the stylish pink suit jacket—he can pull off shirts and suits in all sorts of colors most people can’t even dare to attempt.
Under the lamppost’s artificial light the salmon shade is even starker, it hides his small but fit and agile body.
I’m big and muscular compared to him, but he is the unstoppable one.
There’s no way to predict or contain his actions.
He is a loose cannon, always blubbering about outlines of a bigger plan he actually makes up as he goes, which in our line of work is fucking suicidal.
But Aki is notorious for his savage behavior, deranged tendencies, and penchant for breathing violence instead of oxygen.
“Are all the cogs in that rusty machine of yours moving? Let’s go! I’m famished, Riv.” He’s also fucking rude.
I grit my teeth and look around. “Keep the car warm,” I tell Soma, who’s behind the wheel, before closing the door. We start walking toward the restaurant. The rest of the crew, Karin and Yuna, are outside checking the perimeter.
An ominous feeling is creeping in. Ling Wang, one of the small bosses working for the Chinese Triad asked Aki to come alone for this meeting.
Like I’d ever let him go by himself into a viper nest. The yakuza’s truce with the Chinese Triad is fragile at best, and since we came from California to New York to expand Aki’s empire to the East Coast, there’s been rumors of war.
The hostility never ceased between our organizations; we just pretended to play well with each other.
Aki and I are part of the Hebikawa family.
He is the wakagashira, a high-ranking boss under the kumicho, the big boss.
Aki assists him usually by torturing and killing.
Meeting Ling Wang today is a rare occurrence—we aren’t the peace keepers, more a coercive force.
That’s why tonight’s encounter will probably have a bloody outcome, and that’s the only reason why Aki agreed so easily to it.
He will one day take the kumicho’s place, since he is Akira Hebikawa, the last heir of the Hebikawa family.
So he pretty much does whatever he wants—unless the kumicho insists.
I’m his bodyguard. My sole duty is to protect him. The hardest damn job in the whole damn world and one that fell on my shoulders the day we decimated the Apollo Gang nine years ago.
I tuck a blond lock of hair which escaped the half ponytail behind my right ear, leaving the strands on the left side down to cover the scars on my face.
I usually show them if I want to be intimidating.
The rough, uneven, disturbing skin over part of my face, neck, arm, and body makes most people recoil while the rest turn wary.
They think twice before engaging in a fight with me—if my size didn’t scare them off first.
We’ll see how tonight goes. I have some pent-up energy to vent.
I enter the restaurant, followed by Aki, and after taking a look at the entrance, I let him go ahead. The hostess is all smiles as she asks us to wait a moment.
“What kind of restaurant is this?” he asks me when she leaves.
I checked it on the internet before coming here. “Asian fusion.”
Aki stares at me, blinking a couple of times. “Are you fucking with me? Why do white people pull this kind of shit?”
“The owner is Filipino,” I let him know. “And I’m one of those white people.”
“Ugh. You’re not white. I Japanized you. You even have a Japanese name.” He makes an intolerable popping sound with the gum between his teeth.
Shit, but he’s ridiculously irritating. “A name you supposedly gave me.”
“I went to the city hall back in LA and did all the paper shit needed. It’s your middle name now.”
I really can’t tell if he’s screwing with me or if he actually did it. “Fuck.”
“What? Ichigo is a cute name.”
“Do I look like a strawberry to you?” Ichigo means strawberry in Japanese. But I’m not entirely sure about the meaning since it all depends on the kanji Akira chose when he wrote the name. There are a couple of possibilities.
“You look more like a bunny.” He smirks, then glances around until he finds a small paper basket and drops the chewing gum into it. “Do you remember Ichigo Ichie?”
“The Japanese idiom?” It emphasizes the importance of treasuring each moment, as it is unique and unrepeatable.
“Made me think of you,” he says, tossing another piece of gum in his mouth.
Of me? What does he mean by that?
The hostess comes back, halting my thoughts. I need to focus on our surroundings, not on the meaning of a middle name that I may or may not have.
Ling Wang hates Aki’s guts ever since he got stabbed in a night club four months ago.
He’s a nasty motherfucker, who’s been trying to repay the favor multiple times.
His failures only galvanize him into more action.
The invitation is under the pretense of helping us with Hebikawa’s construction company.
What is he actually scheming now? He killed the last spy Aki sent into his crew, so I have no idea what he’s planning.
The ominous sensation rises in my guts once again as we walk the long corridor paved with round stones.
My hand is close to the gun on my side as we pass several private rooms on each side, all empty—the shoji sliding doors with lightweight dark wood frames and translucent paper are open.
The hostess stops in front of the last one.
I give a quick look inside before we take our shoes off and then climb the two steps to get in.
The room is a mix of Asian cultures. Chinese red lanterns hanging from the low ceiling, a traditional Thai painting on the wall, Japanese tatami on the floor, and Korean K-Pop music playing softly in the air.
I sit on the square purple cushion on the floor next to Aki. He takes his time to look at the menu then orders a bottle of sake and a plate of sashimi. The hostess bows and then leaves, closing the door behind her.
I frown at him. He doesn’t like sashimi. “You said you were famished.”
He waves his hand at me in a dismissive move. “Where the shit is Fuckchill?”
We arrived ten minutes late, but Ling Wang is not here. Aki is never punctual, though, and everyone in the criminal business knows it. Still, not coming after an invitation is a very disrespectful move. But I wonder if Ling Wang is bold enough to do it, since this is personal to him.
“If he stands me up, his hand won’t be the target for my stabbing this time.
” I know he means every threatening word he hisses.
He hates waiting. The smacking, squelching sound he’s making with his chewing gum and the drumming of his fingers on the shiny black surface of the low table are clear signs of it.
I take a deep breath, the soft, lush grass smell from the tatami mats fills my lungs, gifting me a moment of tranquility. Which disappears in the blink of an eye as Aki curses again.
“He’s fucking with me with this whole burying-the-hatchet act, like inviting us to a fucking Asian fusion restaurant will help with the war going on between us.” He snorts.
A waitress slides open the door, holding a tray. She kneels on the floor to set the sake bottle with two glasses and the sashimi plate in front of us. “Feel free to push the bell on the table if you need anything else,” she says before leaving again.
“You ran a knife through his hand,” I return to our earlier conversation, opening the bottle of sake and pouring some for him. “That’s pretty hard to forgive.”
“It was justified,” he says vehemently.
“Was it?” I pour some soy sauce in the two small plates and then grab a pair of chopsticks from the container.
“Why are you playing dumb? What is it, Bunny? Your fluffy tail got a bit frizzy?”
Fuck this shit. “You trying to pick a fight already tonight?”
“Not with you,” he states, going for a slice of tuna. “What the fuck? No shiso leaf? No ginger?” He drops the metal chopsticks soundly on the table.