Chapter 65 #2
“Son of a bitch deserves what’s coming to him. Can we watch?” They assumed I was there to take Remo out.
“Sure, as long as I can invite another guest.”
“The more the merrier,” the other replied.
My sword slipped into my fingers with the ease of an eel through water. Both men’s eyes widened. “Hey…” one began.
It was the last one word he’d ever use. I didn’t linger over the bodies, merely sheathed my sword and stepped past them. Swapping the yin-yang mask for the cat-like one, I approached Remo
He didn’t look up, just stared at the amber liquid, his shoulders heavy with a grief I knew too well. “Go away,” he muttered, his voice slurred at the edges.
“I’m not here to talk.” I stepped closer, the heels of my boots clicking softly on the wood.
He lifted his head then, eyes bloodshot, focus sharpening as he recognized me. “Korō.” He laughed, a bitter sound that cracked in the middle. “Come to kill me too? Save me the trouble.”
“I’m not here to kill you.” I sat opposite him, reaching across the table to cover his broken hand with mine.
He flinched, then leaned into the touch, his eyes closing as if the contact was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.
“Ishika is missing. Gone.” He opened his eyes; the blue clouded with pain.
“Someone took her. And I can’t find her. ”
“You will.” I didn’t promise what I couldn’t guarantee, but he needed the hope more than the truth. “But not like this.”
He yanked me then, sudden and desperate, his hand tangling in the fabric of my hoodie, dragging me across the table until I was half in his lap, the glass tipping over, whiskey soaking into the wood.
I didn’t resist, letting him pull me close, let him bury his face in the crook of my neck, his breath hot and uneven against my skin.
He smelled of rain, cigarettes, violence and that familiar cologne I loved.
“I can’t lose her,” he whispered, the words vibrating against my throat.
“I know.” I held him, my hand stroking the hair at the nape of his neck, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles. “You won’t.”
His lips sought mine, the kissed wasn’t gentle or sweet, but uninhibited hunger of a man drowning and grabbing for air.
I kissed him back, matching his desperation, hoping in his state, he wouldn’t remove the mask.
He’d made a promise though, and I trusted him.
His hands moved over me, urgent, needing confirmation that I was real, that something in this world wasn't slipping through his fingers.
When he gripped my ass, sat me on the table, and stood between my legs, reaching for his zipper on his pants, he groaned. “Catsuit, Korō?”
My laugh soft, I guided his hand to the zipper I’d added between my legs to all my catsuits. “Just for you,” I whispered, relishing his chuckle.
And when his cock slid into me, hot, heavy and he fucked me savagely, his thrusts deep, hard and fast, I let him have this.
I let him find solace in the shadow while the light disappeared.
The room faded, the noise of the bar disappearing until there was only the heat of his skin, the roughness of his hands, the way he held me like I was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
Love would never bloom between us, but survival was inevitable.
Two broken pieces fitting together because neither could stand alone.
When it was over, he slumped back against the backrest, the tension finally leaving his body.
I stayed for a moment, watching the rise and fall of his chest, memorizing the peace I’d given him knowing it wouldn’t last long.
Gently, I eased him back against the booth, arranging his jacket over him, wiping the blood from his knuckles with a napkin.
I stood, pulling the hood lower over my mask, and walked to the door. I didn’t look back; it would make the lie hurt too much.
Stepping into the hallway, the cold air hit my face, grounding me again. I pulled out my phone, scrolling to a number I’d saved months ago under a name only I recognized. I typed a single message.
Me: Strikers back room. Now. He’s drunk.
Aware no reply would come, I slipped back into the shadows of the private room, blending into the darkness behind the heavy curtains where the light couldn’t reach. Minutes passed, the bass from the bar thumping against the floor, until the door creaked open.
A man stepped inside, his silhouette sharp against the hallway light.
Handsome, tall, good built, his green eyes roamed and he wasn’t surprised to find the room empty except for Remo and the bodies I left on the floor.
He kicked one of them lightly with his shoe, shaking his head before turning his attention to the table.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he slid onto the seat opposite Remo. “You owe me for this, Rossi. And I don’t mean money.”
Remo stirred, a low growl rumbling in his throat, subconsciously aware yet dead weight against the leather.
The man reached out, gripping Remo’s shoulder with a firmness that bordered on civility.
Only, his touch was careful not to jostle the injury on Remo’s hands.
He tugged Remo’s arm over his shoulder, dragging him up with a curse under his breath.
“Come on, princess,” he sighed, shifting the weight until Remo’s feet found the floor. “Let’s get you home before Lorenzo decides to burn this place down looking for you.” He dragged him toward the door.
Just before he reached the threshold where the light from the hallway spilled across the floorboards, Remo opened his eyes. He blinked a few times, slowly trying to focus through the haze of whiskey and exhaustion and looked at the man holding him.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he slurred, the words heavy with confusion.
“Saving your ass, apparently,” the man replied, carefully leading him to the door.
Remo made a grunting sound that signaled he’d drifted into drunken stupor once more and the man paused outside the threshold just long enough to look over his shoulder, his gaze finding the shadows where I stood hidden.
“I don’t think the chicken broth is going to work on him this time,” he said, his voice low enough that Remo wouldn’t hear. He walked away then, hauling Remo into the hallway.
I waited until the silence returned, a faint smile touching my lips. Stepping out of the shadows, I pulled my hood lower over my face and walked off into the night.