Chapter Ten
AKIRA
Kuso. Kuso. Kuso! Bakayaro!
How can he push me away like this? Putting the family—Kumicho’s wishes before me? I want to stab his sexy chest and claw at his handsome face and tear out all those golden strawberry locks.
It seems like I have to turn full Annie Wilkes on him and break both his ankles after tying him up to the bed.
Nah, I can be more imaginative than that.
I want him to suffer because being rejected, after all we’ve done and gone through, makes me feel like shit.
Like…I can’t breathe at the thought of losing him.
Fuck that! I won’t. I look at my reflection in the lobby bathroom mirror.
I’m handsome, rich, and powerful. The triple-effect catch.
I’ll do my fucking worst to keep him with me.
Everybody will know he’s mine. Every-fucking-body.
And whoever dares to say something about it will swallow my blade.
Because I’m Akira Hebikawa. I make everything I want happen.
My phone beeps. It’s a text from Yuki. Finally. I’ve got Ishida-san by the balls! Now I just need Masa to find Fuckchill. The smirk appearing on my face is disturbingly terrifying. Good. I have two people to fuck up and then River will be fucked too—in a very different way.
As soon as I leave the men’s room, I feel him behind me.
I don’t so much as look at him as I get on the sidewalk.
The BMW with Masa and Soma is there, but River leads me to the Mercedes Maybach Pullman.
I know Kumicho is inside before River opens the door for me because this car is the only one she rides in.
I flop next to her while River takes the seat in front of mine near one of the men in black, who’s holding an ashtray and a small bottle of Perrier.
I unwrap a cinnamon gum and push it on my tongue. “Why are you in New York?” I’m too pissed to remember niceties.
“Business,” she lies through her teeth. Did she find out I ordered Masa and Soma to beat Kobayashi into a pulp?
What did the fucker expect? That a yakuza boss would have paid him to keep his silence?
Preposterous. The scumbag needed a more immersive lesson in retaliation.
And he did learn taking the first flight to France this morning.
“Twice in a month? Odd. I thought you were here to keep an eye on me.” I continue looking out the tinted window. I feel River’s eyes on me, but I ignore him. I’m so angry and disappointed. I chew on the gum with my mouth open knowing how much he hates that.
I hear my aunt muttering something.
“How long am I supposed to talk to the fourth…loser? I don’t even know who he is.” Trevor didn’t pass any file to me.
“Ling Wang,” she says nonchalantly.
“What?” I snap my head toward her. “Is this one of your sick jokes, Ane-san?”
“Calm down.” She slides the window down a couple of inches and then lights up a cigarette.
I hate when she smokes in the car, it makes me feel queasy. I hear my window going down, and I know it’s River’s doing. He knows me so well, he anticipates my needs. So how come he believes I’d toss him away like yesterday’s trash after a few fucks?
“I hate the fucker,” I feel the need to remind her. Not sure if I’m talking about River or Ling Wang—maybe both at the moment.
“Set aside your personal feelings, then. Because a marriage between the yakuza and the Chinese Triad could open a few doors for you. Creating a bridge between two organizations is quite powerful.”
Did I hear a growl coming from River?
“That’s insanity. Ling Wang is an ignorant prick; he only has a position because of his grandfather! It’s an insult to recommend him to me for marriage.” I realize I uttered the wrong words when I feel how tense River has turned. But I didn’t mean him. Fuck! Now is not the time to explain.
“He hates me more than I hate him. He’ll stab me to death on our wedding night. Better yet, I bet he won’t show up and blow up the church, instead.” We’ve been looking for him for a week, why would he accept to come see me now if not to get rid of me?
“We took the necessary precautions. Your men are following us. He even let us choose the restaurant,” she tells me with not even a trace of worry in her voice. “Killing us would start a major war, and that’s not what the Chinese bosses want, I can assure you.”
I curse under my breath, not liking this one bit. I do have a lot of anger I need to vent, though, and Ling Wang is the perfect punchball. Plus, I still have questions for him. Maybe it won’t be all bad.
I see River’s face creasing from the corner of my eye; his hands are gripping tightly on the sword sheath. He looks angry and wary. Isn’t that a bitch when things don’t go the way you want? I hope a little trouble will help him come back to his senses.
The car stops, and he gets out first, holding the door open for me.
I see Masa and Soma remaining outside as five of Kumicho’s men lead the way on the stone path to the Kaiseki restaurant—an old-style, expensive-looking one, judging by the asymmetrical and balanced garden around the two-story large building. More of her men are around the place.
We reach the entrance where two hostesses wearing kimonos welcome us. “Irasshaimase,” they gracefully invite us in.
We step inside the wide genkan—the entrance where they help us take off our shoes.
As a pair of slippers are placed on the floor for me to wear, I look around.
The place is a blend of western and traditional design while adhering to customs like raised floors, wooden and stone details, and the use of natural materials to harmonize with nature.
Next they take my peacoat and the kumicho’s hanten, a padded jacket worn over the kimono.
River keeps his. The owner finally arrives, a man in his fifties, looking sweaty and nervous, who’s bowing and apologizing for making us wait.
He asks us to leave weapons and phones on the counter. I snort at that.
“I’m very sorry, Hebikawa-sama.” He bows, reaching even lower this time. “I’m afraid it’s part of today’s agreement. The other party will do the same.”
So Fuckchill is not here yet. Shocker.
“Very well.” The kumicho nods at me to comply. Her men are already placing their weapons on the counter, while she gives her phone to one of the hostesses, listening to the owner yapping flattering nonsense at her.
What is going on? Why is she giving in to these absurd demands? Do they have something on us? Or is she scheming again? I leave my gun and cell, but keep my pocket knife inside my suit jacket. She is my boss, but I always follow my instincts—and they are screaming at me to kill Ling Wang.
“Hebikawa-sama, follow me, alone.” The hostess is looking behind me at River.
“Part of the agreement?” I raise my brow at the kumicho. She just stares back, concealing whatever she is thinking behind a blank expression. The owner annoyingly repeats the same words as before.
It’s not my first rodeo meeting these fuckers. This time feels more official and dangerous. Just how Mad Dog likes it.
“Alright.” As I utter the word, I already know River will protest. That’s why I look him right in the eye—I love his hair, but I’m going to fucking force-shave it all so it doesn’t cover the left side of his face anymore.
“I’ll go alone.” My commanding tone is heavier than usual. He feels it too, and he nods at me with gritted teeth.
“Put us in the closest room available,” I hear the kumicho’s weird order.
I turn around and follow the hostess. We walk down two corridors and make a right and left turn before entering a private room.
A Japanese haiku is hanging from the wall.
A small table on the left, and on the right is a step that takes us to two lines of tatami mats with a few cushions to sit on.
I can see the garden from the window and a little pond with koi fish.
My stomach feels a little weird from the car ride, so I order a soda as I wait for Fuckchill to show his soon-to-be-slashed face. I have a knife with his name on it.
The door opens, letting the hostess in with my soda. I sit at the table, and as I take the first sip I hear a very irritating voice.
“My future bride is here.”
I scrunch up my nose not hiding my cavernous deep disgust as I turn to look at him.
Fuck, but he has no fashion sense. Gelled hair pushed back in a too high Elvis hairstyle, blue contact lenses that turn his eyes into alien ones—and show his pathetic hate for his roots.
The most horrible green patterned shirt unbuttoned under his hairless pecs, a heavy gold necklace, and the tightest capri pants I’ve ever seen.
The ridiculous bulge at the front makes me snort.
He is an unrefined, unsophisticated pig—and I’m insulting the pig here.
“Are you desperate to get some cheap ass? Because I can send you in the right direction.” I point to the door and far away from me.
He smirks and takes a seat in front of me. A cloud of toilet-water cologne hits my nostrils, making me feel nauseated. I grab the soda and take another small sip.
“Your mother was a foreigner, right?” he suddenly asks.
She was Canadian but of Japanese origin. “And you are a fuckchill, what’s your point?” I retort with a bored tone.
He hums, not taking the bait. I really want to use my knife right now.
“I read somewhere that children born from mixed couples are more attractive.” He sends me a leering look.
Is he for fucking real?
First, he wanted to kill me, now he’s hitting on me? “I thought you were only into girls, based on your list of assault charges,” I taunt him.
He hums, still looking too calm for my liking. I remember him much more hot-tempered than this.
“Are you trying to make me feel offended? What a feisty bride.” I’d have already punched his face if the kumicho wasn’t under the same roof. But I need to make him attack me first so that I won’t get in trouble—more than usual.
“Don’t worry, I’ll think of a way to appease you.”
Gagging reflex initiated.