Chapter 27 The Pleasure District
Chapter twenty-seven
The Pleasure District
Kenji
My voice came out rough and those words scraped against my throat like broken glass. "Where's my father?"
Hiro shifted the black lollipop between his teeth. "He’s within the Yoshiwara Depths."
Of course. The bastard is hiding out in the old pleasure district.
I leaned my head to the side. "How do we know this?"
Reo reached into his jacket, pulled out a small voice recorder, and held it up between us. "We intercepted the call between the Butcher and your father."
Fuck. That happened already.
My very hot evening with my Tiger had caused me to oversleep.
I held out my hand.
Reo placed the recorder in my palm.
I pressed play.
Static crackled through the speaker, then a phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
A voice answered that I recognized immediately as the Butcher's. "Hello."
Then my father’s voice slid through the speaker like oil over water. "My friend."
I hadn't heard his voice since the night he killed Hiro's new love, Nura. Hearing it now made my hands curl into fists.
"Yes," the Butcher said. "I'm glad you understand that we are friends. I had no idea what your son was going to do with my weapons."
A pause came.
Then my father's voice again, smooth and controlled. "Do not worry about my son. Kenji was a step ahead that time. But this time, we will be a step ahead."
My blood went cold.
The Butcher's voice came through again. "Just tell me what you need."
"I need your continued kindness and support. I have a plan. We’ll talk again soon."
"And I'll be waiting."
The line went dead.
I clicked the recorder off and gave it back to Reo.
Silence filled the space.
I stared at the device in his hand and replayed the words in my head. Dissecting every syllable.
Hiro pulled the black lollipop from his mouth. "Why wouldn't he ask for anything? Our father is a greedy bastard. He always wants something. Money. Weapons. Territory. But he didn't ask the Butcher for a damned thing. Just kindness and support?"
He was right. The Fox never made calls without extracting value. Every conversation was a transaction. Every word was currency.
Reo's expression darkened. "I'm worried they know we're listening."
I nodded. "They probably do."
The words settled over us like ash. If my father knew we were monitoring the Butcher's calls, then this entire conversation had been theater. A performance designed to feed us information.
But why?
What was he trying to tell us?
Or worse, what was he trying to make us believe?
"Is this a test?" I asked.
Hiro's eyes met mine. "Or is it a trap?"
I didn't answer because I didn't know. That uncertainty sat in my chest like a blade.
Reo stepped forward. "Regardless of the call's intent, the hackers got the location. We sent scouts. They confirmed activity."
I crossed my arms over my chest. "What kind of activity?"
"Your father's people stationed around the area. They're trying to blend in. Casual. Like they're just part of the neighborhood. But our scouts recognized the signs. They're monitoring corners, watching the blocks, and guarding someone."
My pulse kicked up. "Did the scouts go inside?"
Reo's jaw tightened. "They tried. Yoshiwara’s underground sex tunnels are a maze. They got lost within twenty minutes and had to retreat."
I frowned. "Then we need someone who knows the tunnels."
"Hiroko." Reo nodded. "She's been notified. She's coming with us."
My chest tightened.
Hiroko knew the Yoshiwara underground because she'd spent years consulting in Tokyo's most exclusive circles. The elite. The powerful. The depraved. If anyone understood the labyrinth beneath the pleasure district, it would be her.
But Hiroko wasn't a fighter. She was older and skilled in psychology and dominance, but not in combat or war.
I looked back at Reo. "We need double the men around her at all times. She doesn't leave our sight."
Hiro spoke, "We can put Kaede and Daisuke on her.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Put the twins on her and two Scales.”
“Can’t happen. The twins will be guarding you.”
"I don't need them guarding me, brother. Hiroko is more important."
Reo's expression didn't change. "She's not more important than the Dragon."
The words landed and I let them sit.
He was right. So was Hiro. I was thinking from the wrong place—from the part of me that wanted to protect a woman who'd helped my Tiger and me find each other on a deeper level.
Emotion was making the decision.
Strategy needed to.
I exhaled through my nose and unclenched my jaw.
"Fine." I looked between them. "The twins stay on me."
Hiro gave a small nod.
Reo's shoulders loosened by a fraction—barely visible, but I caught it.
Then my gaze dropped. The white petal was still clinging to the toe of Reo's boot.
Small.
Curved.
Harmless.
My skin prickled. The dream rushed back—black water, stems cracking through cartilage, roots threading around my heart, chrysanthemums blooming from the splits in my skin. A shiver rolled through me before I could stop it, starting at the base of my spine and climbing up.
I looked away from the petal. "Give everyone extra Scales. Every person walking into Yoshiwara gets double coverage. No exceptions."
"Okay.” Reo nodded.
I swallowed. “I still don’t like bringing Hiroko.”
"But nobody's going to know that area like Hiroko," my brother shrugged. "Without her, we're walking blind."
I knew he was right. But the thought of bringing her into a potential ambush made my chest tighten.
We have to do this right.
I swallowed. "Give me a minute to think.”
They stepped back slightly and gave me space.
I closed my eyes and let my mind work through what I knew about Yoshiwara.
The original pleasure district had been built in 1617 as Edo's official red-light district. The Tokugawa shogunate licensed it to control prostitution and keep it contained within a walled area.
It wasn't only about sex.
It was about power and status.
The district was surrounded by a moat and a single gate, and no woman could leave without permission, making them not sex workers but sex slaves.
Still, those in charge presented them as courtesans and called them oiran. They were also ranked. The highest were treated like royalty and were educated and cultured. Men competed for their favor. Some escaped through wealthy clients.
The lowest remained trapped in sexual servitude.
The district burned down twice. Once in 1657 during the Great Fire of Meireki.
Again in 1911.
Every time, they rebuilt it.
Then came the Anti-Prostitution Law of 1958. It shut down the legal brothels. Yoshiwara as a licensed district ceased to exist in the public eye.
But it didn't disappear.
A small powerful circle rebuilt it underground. Elite courtesans. Industrialists. Crime families. Politicians. They created a new Yoshiwara beneath Tokyo and resurrected of the old rituals and hierarchies, but refined.
It was now hidden and invitation-only.
The secret entrances were scattered across the district and hidden in plain sight.
For newcomers who'd proven their wealth and discretion, there were the Michelin-star restaurants.
Kurotsuki was the most famous. After the ninth course, certain guests received a black metal card with a pressed gold camellia.
Next, the server would whisper an invitation to continue the evening.
If the person accepted, they followed the server to a concealed elevator behind a sake vault.
But the restaurants were just the beginning.
Established members had other access points. A particular vault in a private bank that descended instead of leading to safety deposit boxes.
A specific theater box in the Kabuki-za that had a hidden panel backstage.
An art gallery in Ginza where a painting on the back wall slid aside to reveal stairs spiraling down into darkness.
All roads led to the same place.
The Yoshiwara Depths.
Down there, red silk corridors stretched for miles beneath the district. Obsidian stone. Gold-framed art inspired by ukiyo-e.
The tunnels were designed like a labyrinth. Easy to get lost. Impossible to navigate without a guide.
And down there, everything happened. Mergers were discussed. Elections influenced. Secrets traded.
There were even ledgers kept by the elected Head Mistress. She recorded every patron, every transaction, every confession whispered in the dark. If that ledger were ever exposed, governments would fall.
And Hiroko had been a Head Mistress for five years before retiring the position and starting her club above ground.
I put my thoughts on the Ukiyo Council who governed the Depths.
Ukiyo meant the Floating World.
The council had taken the name from the old pleasure districts of Edo, where courtesans, theater, and art existed in a realm separate from the rigid structures of samurai society.
A place where social rules bent. Where merchants could buy the company of women who would never acknowledge them in daylight.
Where fantasies lived and died behind paper screens.
The Ukiyo Council consisted of five members. Each representing a vice. Power. Wealth. Beauty. Violence. Knowledge.
And they enforced one rule: no violence inside Yoshiwara Depths.
Outside, one could wage war.
Inside, one submitted to their control.
Or they killed them.
Neither I nor my father controlled Yoshiwara. The district was too ancient and steeped in history and tradition.
We respected that.
Therefore, the Ukiyo paid us tribute. Regular payments that acknowledged our power over the rest of Japan. And when they had major problems that required the kind of violence only a yakuza clan could provide, they came to us for help.
It was a delicate balance.
Mutual respect.
Mutual benefit.
But my father hiding in their tunnels threatened that balance. If the Ukiyo had allowed him sanctuary, they'd already chosen a side.
I opened my eyes.
Two of Reo's men entered the room carrying a large diagram. They spread it across the low table in front of us.