Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
FINN
I keep the mask over my face and pull the hat lower to shield my eyes as I walk into the retirement home.
The familiar melody of our song is coming from a group of nurses carrying food trays to the senior citizens waiting in the garden.
One of the nurses groans loudly. “This song is killing me,” she says. “It’s so vulnerable.”
“It’s so hot.”
The nurses giggle.
“I love a man who’s in touch with his emotions,” agrees another. “I didn’t think I would simp so badly for three men in my entire life, but here I am. I am so whipped for The Kings.”
“Did you share the video?”
“Of course I did. I have a heart!”
“Hey.” One nurse pats the arm of another. “Doesn’t he kind of look like Finn?”
Tucking the bill of my cap lower, I shuffle past them and take the elevator to the second floor.
The nursing home’s living quarters are plush, warm, and allow lots of light from the windows. There are four doors in total along the hallway. A nurse pushing an elderly resident in a wheelchair walks by. She does a double take when she sees me.
“Finn!”
I hold a finger above the mask.
Her eyes widen, and she mimics my stance. “Sh. Right. Sorry.”
Since no one else is around, I whip the mask off. “How is he?”
“Serene as usual. How are you, Finn?” She gives me a soft, motherly look. “How you holding up?”
“I’m fine, Denise.”
“I heard your wife was kidnapped? That’s awfully horrific.”
“Very horrific,” the old man in the wheelchair wheezes.
“Did you find her?”
“Not yet.” I don’t have the time or interest to correct Denise, so I nod politely and take off.
“Don’t lose hope, Finn. You’ll find her. I promise you. We’re all rooting for you.”
“Thanks, Denise!” I call dryly.
Pausing to knock, I wait a few seconds and open the door.
A short man in a loose-fitting shirt in a plain brown color is looking through the window, rolling two worn walnuts in his hands.
“Sensei.” I bow.
He turns to face me, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Who are you?”
Those three words used to hurt like hell.
Now, I calmly straighten and point to myself. “I’m Finn, an old student of yours.”
“Finn?” His eyes dive over my face, searching for answers that his brain can no longer retrieve. “I’m sorry. I do not remember you.”
“I was young when we met.” I slip out of my shoes before entering his space completely and pull the indoor slippers I always wear from the shoe cupboard.
“It was during the afternoon, sometime after lunch. My brothers were at a concert with our dad, but he left me behind. And without my brothers, I had a target on my back.”
Sensei’s brow furrows. “Kids can be cruel.”
“I ran away from school, vowing I’d never go back.” I move to his kitchen where, as always, sensei has a pot boiling. I reach for his favorite tea from the box on the shelf above the stove. “By chance, I passed by your dojo.”
“The one on Crenshaw Street?” He rubs his thin, grey beard.
I nod as if I agree, but the truth is Sensei had already moved to a new neighborhood when we met. Rather than tell him that and confuse him more, I continue the story.
“You had a big poster outside the door of a man doing martial arts. The man looked cool. He looked powerful. And most importantly, he looked like me.”
I help him over to the low table where he sits on the floor, cross-legged.
“You saw me looking, and you came outside to speak to me. You said something that changed my life.” I prepare the tea for him and then offer it with one hand, my head lowered in respect. “‘Do you want to learn’?”
“Knowledge is the most powerful weapon in the hands of the powerless,” Sensei says.
Tucking my chin, I hide my smile.
Sensei looks me over. “Did you learn well, Finn-san?”
“Thank you, Sensei. I did.”
His eyes dip to the mahjong board. “Don’t tell me I only taught you martial arts?”
I climb to my feet and bring the board over like I always do. With laughter in my voice, I say, “Of course not.”
After Sensei crushes me at mahjong, I leave him for his afternoon nap and sneak out.
I’m usually able to walk in and out freely. If I wear a hat and a mask, most people ignore me. However, when I was walking in, I noticed that I was getting more looks than usual.
It’s probably due to the song.
I can’t remember the last time Dutch, Zane, and I jammed like that.
Normally, our songwriting sessions start with Dutch noodling around with a riff. I play something edgy that bounces around his melody, and Zane completes everything with a crazy-sick drumbeat. We normally create sets for a party vibe.
Yesterday, it was different.
Zane and Dutch started with the lyrics, and it was obvious that the song would be a ballad-type.
After we collaborated on the melody, we went straight to our dad’s recording studio and mastered the mix while filming. The music video wasn’t anything fancy. It was just us behind the scenes, making the song.
But the audience resonated.
When we woke up this morning, our phones were running hot from all the notifications. Bex Dane, a big name in the music industry, was practically on his knees for us to come do that song at one of his concerts nearby.
Dutch is considering it.
My phone beeps.
J sends me a text with an address and a name.
I text back a thumbs-up.
My phone beeps again.
J: What’s your plan with this Ace guy?
ME: None of your business.
J: I’m assuming, since you gave me the phone and not the police, you want to handle things yourself.
I read her message twice. Before I handed over Ace’s phone, I was second-guessing the decision. The Grave City Crew know that I’m the son of the yakuza head. If those messages were shared with Ace, Jinx would find out about it.
However, I took the gamble.
Training with Kurosaki, I’ve learned that every crew has a hierarchy. The soldiers at the bottom just do what they’re told. They have no access to the bigger plan.
Ace didn’t strike me as someone at the top of that pyramid.
J: I’m willing to help.
ME: Bored?
J: Angry. Please let me smash something.
“How strange,” a deep voice says, sending a chill down my spine. “I raised you for over a decade, and I don’t remember ever seeing you smile like that.”
My eyes lift slowly to a tall, lean man in a well-tailored business suit. An inky, black sensation spreads through my veins and makes my shoulders tense.
“Hello, Finn,” Jarod Cross says in the raspy voice that won him a hundred awards.
I turn my phone off and face him. “Hello, Dad.”
“Let’s take a ride.”