Hime Sama

 

 

Rolling down a ramp that led to the waterside warehouses, the group of four made note of the lack of other cars despite the designated activities for the night; by the looks of things, they’d arrived before the evening’s games could be set into motion. There was a vehicle like their own parked up in front of building A-5 and a single large truck being loaded up with crates, workers in hi-vis vests carefully packing the stock of God-knew what despite the downpour. Warm air from the air-conditioner caressed the skin of the four but it was less than comfortable due to the stink of fish being wafted around the interior now that they had come to a stationary position. 

“Ya’ready,” Ran asked as he took the keys out of the ignition, violet orbs glancing to the woman in the back through the rear-view mirror.

Slapping her thighs with a sniffle, Kitahara opened her door and was the first out of the car, “I’d like to say I was born ready, but I was six days late.” Hair instantly dragged down by the pelting rain, the woman cupped a new vice with the free fingers of the hand holding it. 

The concrete between the river and the warehouses was yellow-washed by security lights. It stunk to all Hell of rank seawater and blood; it was worse than a fish market in summer. Just as before, Rindou had made his way around the vehicle and held open the umbrella for the woman, standing to her right as she puffed on her vice to get the embers started up, his shoulder getting wet from not standing too close. And just like before, Ran and Hanma made a dash for their own comfort, jogging to the building they were about to head into, saved by the small overhanging ledge above a door by the shutters.

Finally starting the fire on her cigarette in the bluster, inhaling a long lung-full of the smoke, verdant irises surrounded by black slid to the slightly taller man beside her. “Ya don’t have to be so kind, Rindou; I’m not going to shrink if I get wet.”

He was doing everything in his power to not look at her, droplets dripping off the tips of her hair and onto the bare portion of her rack before the fuzzy neckline, “it’s bad form to leave a lady in the rain.”

Kitahara watched the man’s profile, making note of how his head jerked away every time he thought he was being slick with his peeking when she caught him. Maybe Ran wasn’t just jesting with her earlier. Maybe he did have a thing for her - he was certainly trying his damndest to not let his shoulder touch hers, opting to get soaked on the other side instead. It was cute. It had been a long time since someone tried to be gentlemanly: Hell, she didn’t recall a time anyone had ever been gentlemanly with her. It really made her want to tease him.

“Do I have cooties?”

“H-heh, what?” His head snapped around, eyes wide at the words. “No! Why would you ask that?”

“Then why aren’t you under the umbrella too? There’s more than enough room for both of us. Stand closer; there’s no need for you to get wet.”

“Too late,” fell under his breath, his left hand in his pocket to rearrange himself from the sight of her plush upper chest shiny with precipitation, his eyes struggling to keep off her breast pressed into his bicep from the proximity when she side-stepped closer. 

Over by the door to the warehouse, Ran watched his younger brother act a fool. It wasn’t like Rindou was a virgin by any means - not for a long time now - but by God was he acting like it. It was getting to the point that even Ran was becoming frustrated just watching the interactions between his sibling and the woman who magnetized hardened criminals and turned them into dopes. Sure, her face was decent, and her body was something else, but besides being fiery, he couldn’t understand the appeal which had brought the infamous Shinigami of Kabukichou and his master Kisaki to heel - let alone his beloved little brother. Even the other Executives had warmed up to her in varying degrees. The only conclusion Ran could come to was that she must be a witch: a kitsune or a succubus, or some other lusty beast putting a spell on the idiots willing to fall for it.

Even now, he could see from thirty yards away that Rindou was jibbering, his eyes shaking and refusing to focus on the person he was speaking with. It kinda pissed him off. 

“Oi, Haitani, gimme a light,” Hanma nudged the suited man standing next to him with his elbow, the tallest’s eyes flicking between his unlit vice and the interaction by the car. “Mine’s died,” he held out his hand expectantly.

“Ya’know, that deal is still standing, right?” Handing over the silver petrol lighter, Ran glanced to the man beside him, “my little brother’s after her, too.”

Hanma shrugged as he lit his cigarette, a hum at the back of his throat as smoke filled his lungs and the stink of fish guts stuck to his nose hairs, “it’s not like we’re a couple. He can try all he likes. Fuck, pass her around Bonten like a bong for all I care.”

Shifting his feet, Ran turned his jaw to look up at the fire-starter. “If you start shit with Rin over her, I’ll kill you and that bitch, too.”

“Uwah~ Big brothers are mighty scary,” Hanma held his hands up by his shoulders, an expression of faux worry twitching his features.

Ran held his taut posture as he continued to stare at the freak amongst monsters. “You’re an only child, no doubt.” 

“I ate my twin in the womb.” 

“That really would not surprise me in the slightest, you fucking weirdo.” Ran’s face construed as he clicked his tongue off his teeth, gnashing at the smoke leaving his mouth, “but I guess we should all be thankful that there’s only one of you, if nothing else.”

“Ya sure do have a mean-streak, y’know, ‘Haitani Number One’.” Hanma dangled the Zippo by his head between his lanky index and thumb, his eyes half-lidded but his usual grin skewed. “Y’sure ya just don’t wan’ her for y’self?” 

Ran snatched the lighter back with a ‘tch’ but quickly returned to his usual self; his muscles relaxed and a look of indifference propping the features which earned him fangirls of all ages. “’Not my type; I like my girls from the upper echelons and submissive. She’s a dreg with a bad attitude.” Keeping his eyes on the interaction between the newcomer and his brother, Ran jerked his shoulder and stuck the lighter into the pocket of his slacks. “If she wasn’t so useful, I’d have her body found floating in the river for leading my brother along as she does.” 

Hanma watched the older Haitani keep his gaze locked on his sibling and the woman, the tick of his jaw pulsing, his posture making it obvious he was stewing over something. “’Y’ever thought he’s into the chase?”

“Or maybe he has more refrain than I do and he doesn’t want to start an internal conflict.”

“Or jus' plain scared of losin'.”

Ran sucked in a long breath through his nose, his fists tightening at his hips from the words. His little brother was not a coward by any means. If it came down to the facts, Rindou was the one who chased after what should be unobtainable wins more than he did. That lanky fucker was trying to bait him into a problem. The weather, timing and the person they were about to meet left the older Haitani fuzzed with irritation. He hated Nakamura; he hated Hanma just as much if not more so. At least he only had to deal with Nakamura once a month. Usually.

Finally making it to the pair standing under the overhanging ledge, Kitahara sniffled, snotting into a pocket tissue, her face away as not to blow her germs towards the others and croaked, “why are you two looking like you’re aboutta start scrapping amongst yourselves? Aren’t we here to show some fucker he can’t cheat the gang which runs Japan?”

The two men who had been on the verge of throwing more than words looked away from each other at the remark. She may have been the issue which started it, and she may act like she had no clue what was going on but honestly, she was way too fucking sharp at reading a situation. Ran hoped she heeded that intuition during the course of their meeting with Nakamura. The last thing he needed was having to fight that asshole’s guys over something stupid she did or said. And he would have to fight even if he didn’t want to because their boss had heard of the woman’s growing accumulation of wins and directed Kisaki to put her on the job. And what Sano Manjiro wanted, the rest of Bonten was inclined to bow their heads and follow even at the detriment of their own sound judgement and risk of their lives.

Checking her appearance in the front camera of her phone, Kitahara dropped the end of her cigarette into the puddle and jut her head. “These orders came right from the top this time. Let’s all get along, 'kay?”

Replacing the smallest of forced smiles, Ran patted the top of her head twice in condescending. “Then try not to run your mouth, Hime Sama-”

“-I already told ya-”

“You’re our Princess for the next few hours, deal with it.” Ran cut her off, holding his hand up to halt her when she tried to speak. “We’re around you; you don’t say a word to Nakamura. You check his books, you ignore everything else. Just focus on your job of checking the numbers and leave everything else to us.”

Any other time, she wouldn’t think twice about smacking some mooks in the face for thinking they could tell her what to do. But it wasn’t a lackey this time, it was an Executive. It was Haitani Ran wearing an expression she’d never expected to see from the usually glib man in the ‘safe-zone’ of being a little stoned. He was stood in front of her, Hanma to his right as they made their way into the warehouse. Rindou was behind her, watching their backs, his posture ready in case it came down to a fight right off the bat for the unsolicited drop-in.

“We’re right beside you.”

“Don’t be scared-

“-I haven’t been scared of a single person since leaving my family,” wafting her hand above her shoulder, Kitahara quirked her brow in thought, mulling over her own instantaneous reply. It’s not like her kin were anything to worry about; they were all awfully incompetent criminals - it’s just that they were even worse as human beings towards her. Maybe she lost a little bit of the part of her brain which warned danger along the way of dealing with them. 

This was worrying to the Haitani’s and Hanma: Nakamura wasn’t as soft as Tanaka. He was quite the opposite. He’d tear her apart the second he got the chance…verbally or physically…Perhaps without getting half of a chance at all. The old bastard was as mean as they came just for the sake of it.

Walking into the warehouse not even cleared of the day’s work, blood still on the concrete, fish bones and guts in massive buckets quickly being hauled away. However, a rolling trolley of booze was placed out and Nakamura sat in one of the chairs around a table big enough for four, two other identical set-ups a few feet away. 

“Oh, the Bonten boys are here,” Nakamura’s facetious words melted away with the icy chill of the interior when his eyes landed on the female, his brows furrowing and lips puckering as if he was forced to suck a lemon. “Who the fuck is this?”

“She’s the accountant for tonig-”

“-Ouh, you guys employing slit now?” He choked down a laugh along with a chug of his whiskey. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

Kitahara grit her teeth as she walked in silence across the open warehouse, the heels of her boots crunching over fine grit, the words brash and irritating against her capable ears; she’d dealt with this kind of shit since she started to grow a pair of tits at twelve. She was fucking over it a long time ago but little did she know it was only going to get worse as the night progressed.

“If she’s so free on Saturdays, tell her she can have a spot right here,” Nakamura patted the top of his lap, his cronies chuckling along. “C’mon, baby, don’t be so cold; look at me-”

“-Don’t,” Rindou, who was practically sticking to her back hissed behind her ear, his voice quiet as he shook his head behind the backs of his brother and the Reaper. 

Adhering to the younger Haitani’s advice, she kept her head down, flicking non-existent dirt from under long nails. Clicking her tongue off her teeth, Kitahara flopped her head left and right, her vertebrae cracking from the force while keeping her eyes on the backs of the heads of her bodyguards, her voice loud enough to be heard across the space. “Let’s hope everyone can be friends at the end of the night, ‘kay? ‘Wouldn’t want this to end up with anyone going home covered in blood.” Putting her spectacles on, she gestured a long nail around, mostly pointing at the mooks littering the wide-open space, “’nobody gonna offer a girl a drink?”

Nakamura’s back straightened up from the backrest upon hearing the woman’s husky sing-song tone. “I’ve got something for you to drink right here-”

Cut off by Ran smacking the table in front of the local boss with his finger pads with more force than necessary, the boss glanced up to see the older sibling wearing his trademark docile-eyed, barely-there smile regardless of him lurched over the platform. “Don’t go getting ahead of yourself, Nakamura; that woman is sent by Sano Majiro himself. You’ll do well to keep your fucking mouth shut if all that’s going to come out of it is filth.”

“Ah,” Nakamura hummed, his eyes slithering up to meet the older brother’s with a sneer, “so she’s your boss's screw?”

Ran twitched, his right forearm grabbed before it could make it past the back of his hip with his trusty baton in his grip. Hanma had to put a serious amount of strength into stopping the shorter man from bludgeoning the West-side leader. Damn, this along with the dangerous glare he had gotten earlier made Hanma kinda want to fight the resident ‘Mr Mysterious’ himself. Maybe he should let go and watch Ran bash in the empty gourd of the man in front of them. Ah, no. He couldn’t do that. Not at this moment, at least. 

“He’s your boss, too,” Hanma said, his grasp loosening as Ran reigned himself in.

Nakamura’s eyes shot to the Reaper, “I never agreed to that-”

Ran was well past playing at this point. He was done with the idiot beside him, the moron across from him and that wench a few yards behind him: he wanted to go to a cocktail bar and pick up some pretty little thing in a designer dress he’d end up ripping off. In fact, anywhere and anyone would be better than what he was dealing with right now. Straightening up, the man who was generally reasonable during business matters clenched his jaw, the heel of his palm to his forehead in dismay. “Well, it’s only a call away: you bend the knee right here and now, or we just take everything. Within an hour’s time, everything you’ve worked for will be ours. Although, we’d much prefer a friendly alliance.”

“Heughh, even though you started to employ slit, you’re still an unfriendly bunch with no sense of humour. I’m just messing with her.” Nakamura groaned and leaned back in his seat as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He did. He had a very particular conglomeration of cares from what Kitahara could now see from her space by a set of metal steps leading up to a second floor, Rindou to her left. 

Suspicion had been playing on Kitahara's mind since she clocked the stickers on the crates being loaded into the truck outside. Checking her phone for the night’s ship logs, she pieced together why a man who was touted as such a hardass was being so accommodating. Pinching Rindou’s sleeve, she made him incline his head while she whispered into his ear, her eyes still fixed on the men behind them. Soon after, Ran received a text message. The older brother was not happy. In fact, he was so unhappy that he showed the message to Hanma in a huff. 

“Are you trying to cheat us twice over in one night, Nakamura?”

The much older man held his hands up, rolling his eyes, “I don’t understand why’re getting so mad, Kidda-”

Jolted by the mocking nickname, Ran slapped the man across from him. It wasn’t full-force but there was enough weight behind it to humiliate the bulkier man. “If you give me the run-around again, you’re gonna lose a lot more than your dignity, you disrespectful old codger.”

Still in the corner, Kitahara jerked at the sound of Ran’s palm connecting with the troublesome man’s cheek; the tone he was using even more so. “Damn, I didn’t ever expect to find your brother attractive but that kinda hit something in me, too.”

Rindou’s gut clenched and twisted into knots, his breath getting caught in his throat as he had the back of her left shoulder blade to his chest. “Is that the kinda thing you’re into?”

“Oh,” she glanced back for a split second, the back of her knuckles meeting his shoulder as eagle-eyes fixed back on the scene, “to me, you’re the better brother, regardless.”

The way she said it was so calm, so sincere, so enlightening. But the longer it stewed in Rindou’s brain, the more it felt like a callous on the back of the tongue he wanted to kiss her with. He had been choked by a compliment that fucked with his mind. 

“Is that so,” was all that was able to be formed by the younger brother, Hanma’s eye’s intermittently snapping to the pair in the corner by the open metal stairwell which led upstairs.

“You make me feel safe to turn my back on idiots so I can do my job,” Kitahara told unabashedly, the result sitting vastly different with each man of importance who caught the words.

Nakamura caught slices of the woman’s words, his frame ragging forward in anger at the back-chat. “Hohh, just what kind of bitch did you bring here, Haitani?”

Ran, who was now sitting at the empty table with Nakamura, Hanma a little behind him on a stool, cooed as he looked over the set-up. He wanted to make a joke about how his younger brother had won favour over him, but looking at her over his shoulder, her interactions with the apparent guards - her causing laughter amongst them - even Rindou chuckling as his arm stuttered to lay over her shoulder from the back - Ran shook his head. “I’m not quite sure myself.”

“She’s going to cause you all a great danger if you let her run around as she is.”

“Tell me about it,” Ran sighed before pouring himself a drink.

Moving his eyes from the older Haitani’s profile to the female making big arm gestures before a rumble of laughter followed quickly, Nakamura glanced to the tallest on the verge of bubbling over. “I’ve not seen you in a while, Shinigami. What brings you here?”

Hanma was done with the job before it started. All he wanted to do was see if he could make the woman squirm in public but he hadn’t even had a sniff of a chance. And after what Ran had said about Rindou wanting a piece of the newcomer…it made him a little mad now he saw her joking with a group that didn’t include him. It’s not like he had a loyalty to Bonten past Kisaki, and he never could resist the temptation of chaos.

Turning to face Nakamura - an alumnus he had met during his high school freshman year under rough circumstances, Hanma picked up the drink he’d been poured by the West-Side boss. Glass to his lower lip, he spoke into his drink with a grin, “I just wanna see if she fucks everyone as well as she fucked me last night.” His eyebrow, cheek and lip on the same side hitched as he inclined his forehead and winked.

All unholy hell bubbled in Ran’s gut as he was about to reach over and bludgeon the slime-ball beside him. His grip was so tight on the Mah Jong tile which had been on the table the corner crumbled. Brows low and throat taut as a means to not yell, Ran glowered at Hanma. “Do you really wanna fuckin’ die tonight?”

“Lighten up~ It’s all jokes~” He patted the top of Ran’s shoulder, a cigarette in his free hand. “Right, Nakamura San? Y’gonna let the bitch have a gander at y’books, aren’tcha? She’s just a cock-hole trying to impress Mikey.”

“Yeah, sure; let her go ahead - she’s having one of my guys with her though.” Getting one of his lackeys to pour another round for the trio, Nakamura shooed at the man who had been between him and the Bonten inspectors, his stance poised and his face unemotive. 

“Sato, keep an eye on her. Take her to the records,” Kitahara and Rindou began to ascend the steps but the younger Haitani was halted halfway up. 

“W-what the fuck?” He reached out for Kitahara, his shoulder barging into the face of the man on the step above. “I don’t think so!”

“I’ll be fine, Rin.” Kitahara held her hand up in order to chill his burst of anger. 

Ran did not like the pumped-up shoulders of his little brother; he did not like the fact Rindou held back at the upheld palm of the woman even more. This entire situation was getting out of hand.

Nakamura eyed the older Haitani, something which could be confused as joy stretching wrinkled features. “If Hanma-Boy fucked her, why the hell is ‘Little Haitani’ following her around like a dog with a bone?”

Ran’s neck creaked as he looked to the man almost twice his age, his jaw tight and an effort put into not scowling. “You know how things are. Kids always want to try the newest toys.”

“Heh~ is that all?” Nakamura licked his lips as he tore his eyes from where the woman had been, fat wrinkled fingers tweaking one of the tiles. “Although, I can see the appeal. Her tits jiggled when she walked - that’s really something special if knockers that big are real.”

“They are,” Hanma huffed into his glass, his mind unreeling back to the prior night when his face was buried in the plush mounds almost as big as his head, “pierced nips, too.”

“Damn, girls these days are getting crazier. To think a woman would get any kind of body piercing besides their ears back when I was your age is unthinkable.” Sipping his drink, the eldest shrugged, “what’s her fee?”

“What?”

“How much did you pay her?”

“I didn’t pay her anythin’.”

“C’mon Hanma-Boy~ Don’t hold out on your senior.”

“I didn’t buy her. We were workin’ a job together.”

“Then, I guess I’ll have to contact Mikey and ask if she’s available for commission.”

Ran finished what was in his glass, placing it down on the felt before sitting up straight to stare at the boss. “I think you’re misunderstanding, Nakamura. She isn’t for sale: she doesn’t take bribes, and more importantly, she belongs to Bonten exclusively.”

“You young guys have no idea how to do business at all. What’s one bitch if it means undying loyalty from the big players of the West Side?”

“That sounds an awful lot like an ultimatum.”

“I would never~”

“Because I happen to have been told just a short amount of time ago that you’re having a sea-tanker leaving in the next twenty minutes with undocumented cargo. And by undocumented, I mean a shit-ton of fire-power.” Pouring himself a refill of the expensive booze, Ran kept his eyes on the nuisance and spoke with his voice steady. “I really hope for your sake you were sending it just down the coast to Bonten’s main port or else this could be considered betrayal.”

Ran watched Nakamura’s skin turn ghastly white. Sweat beaded from his pores and his eyeballs shook. “H-how the Hell-”

“That bitch you’re trying to barter over.” Pausing his drink, danger flashed over violet irises and the corner of his lips twitched in a sneer. “Unlike what Hanma said, she isn’t just a cock-hole; she’s our newest asset and worth more as a brain than a cunt so the chances of you even getting a sniff of her is less than nil, you two-faced shit-head.”

 

---

 

Ignoring the growing conversation on the floor below, the duo sat in near-silence of the little cabin-office taking up a quarter of the second floor which overlooked the workspace until Sato cleared his throat. 

“Have you been working for them long?”

“A couple of months,” Kitahara lied, her eyes scanning the numbers from three competing ledgers in front of her in the low-light. Her ass was already aching from sitting in the old-fashioned chair at the desk overflowing with unorganized documents.

“I’ve been working under Nakamura San since I was twelve. I’m twenty-seven now.”

“Grim,” Kitahara grunted. 

She’d hate to work for a guy like that lech for any amount of time but she guessed it was probably a little different being a man. Still, she really didn’t give a shit about the back-stories of his mooks: she was trying to do long division and mentally work out where the dates fell in correspondence in tandem while this odd-ball kept trying to make conversation. She wasn’t sure if he was a plain weirdo, or clever enough to try and throw off her counting. Too bad for him that she was a prime example of ignorance is bliss from years of personal practice. If she could ignore full-on family brawls with the police, hot food being thrown from the stove at her and completing her passing homework all at the same time, she could most definitely block out this twat jabbering on with himself while she gave pre-planned textbook replies to make it seem like she was at least paying attention.

Sato had done as he was instructed by his boss: lock the door behind them and make sure she didn’t steal documents. However, she did push the limits near the end of her work when she took pictures of a dozen sheets she found suspicious and sent them to Kokonoi before standing up from the uncomfortable chair. “Who did you just send those to?” The shorter, gaunt man spread his arms as if that would stop her if she really wanted to leave. He was no more than 50kg soaking wet and half a head shorter than Kitahara.

Serpentine eyes lined by black flittered over the stranger, “wasn’t it both of our jobs to process this meeting? I haven’t taken anything.” Sato almost stepped on his own foot when the woman passed right by him, nudging him off-kilter. “Please open the door,” she spoke, her rasp gentle but the words nowhere near a question. Eyes still on the door, she tacked her nail against the lock, “hurry it; I despise being late.” 

The was a creak on the floorboards behind her, the body curling up on her in the small distance. “You really shouldn’t have come around here, stickin’ your nose where it doesn’t belong.” His stink worked its way up her nose and the air pulsing off him wrapped around her. 

“Try it, and you’ll die; Bonten doesn’t take kindly to interlopers.” Sniffling due to the dust and growing discomfort of the change in the air, Kitahara lit a cigarette, “I also personally hate a guy who first tries his luck from the back.” Glancing over her shoulder at the man abnormally close, his eyes wide and teeth completely on show, Kitahara staggered around at the expression of the lunatic. Her shoulder hit the blind covering the glass part of the only door into the room, her vice hitting the floor and her voice cut off by a sticky hand plastering over her mouth.

“You can’t leave now you’ve been in here!” His thin voice wheezed quietly against her left cheek, wild black eyes peering into hers from an inch away. Air cut off from the palm covering the majority of her face, her tongue pinched between his fingers spidering over her features to take in the feel of her heated flesh and prevent her from biting him, the other hand grasped the wrists which flailed in her panic. Despite the wide eyes and smile flashing as much as his teeth as was humanly possible, there was no expression on his face - it was just orifices stretched and wild, saliva and tears dripping down his pallid skin the harder he pushed her into the wall beside the door. “The boss told me not to let anyone who comes in here leave alive.”

Kitahara’s own eyes grew wider at the fact even she didn’t have enough strength to pull her arms free from the single-handed grip squashed between their bodies. She couldn’t breathe due to his hand blocking her air holes. His hips were pressed against her upper thighs, his knee between her legs so tight she had no wriggle room, her hands trapped between their torsos as he huffed and grunted like a feral animal at her neck and ear. Her boots slid on the damp she’d tread into the office space every time she tried to stand up straight and from the proximity and the wall, she didn’t have enough leverage to head-butt him. This fucking freak knew what he was doing: He’d definitely done this before and gotten away with it.

Kitahara thought her biggest fear was being raped or drowned, but this was much worse - it was almost like the two combined and neither action was there. He didn’t have an ounce of sexual desire for her, but he was violating everything she clung to. For the first time in a very long time, she was scared. So scared in fact, that she didn’t even consult her pride when her foot flung back, her sole and heel smacking the door in a donkey kick.

Ran and Hanma glanced up at the commotion, Rindou who had been sitting halfway up the metal steps was already on his feet and trying the door handle to the office he was refused access to. The Reaper glowered at Nakamura, “what the fuck are you playing at?”

“Oh, shit - My bad…” The West Side boss held up-turned palms up by his shoulders with a shrug, “Sato has orders to invalidate every person allowed into that room except for me. Force of habit.”

Stools scraping against the rough concrete in their ascent to standing up, Hanma and Ran were quickly surrounded by the dozen mooks who had been standing around. “You’re one dead motherfucker.”

“Not before her.”

Ran glanced between his brother shoulder-barging the door, glass spilling onto the warehouse floor as he fought off the men running up the steps and then to the apparent boss. “You’ve really fucked up tonight, Nakamura.”

Remaining in his chair as his lackeys dashed at the two men across from him swinging weapons, Nakamura’s face scrunched up as he jabbed his index finger at the air separating him from the Bonten members, his teeth gnashing and neck veins raised. “I’d rather die than bend the knee to that little bastard Mikey. His older brother was a weakling, and he’s not right in his head. There’s no way the bosses from the West would bend the knee to that fucking deluded midget.”

Hanma fought with the guards surrounding their boss, his laugh echoing to the high ceilings as if he was having the time of his life despite what the fight implied. Rindou had quickly dealt with the three men who had chased him up the steps, kicking two down the stairwell and pushing the other over the open bannister. He had barely made it into the record room in time to stop Sato from cutting off Kitahara’s lifeforce, dragging him away from the woman and tossing him into a row of metal filing cabinets. Ran finally had the chance to use his baton on Nakamura. Damn, he had wanted to bash this man’s brains in for over three years. The boastful old bastard.

Extending the metal pole, Ran wagged it by his shoulder as he stared down at the seated man. “Looks like you’re going to get your wish tonight.”

Stumbling down the steps, blood covering her front, Kitahara wafted the hand which wasn’t clinging to the bannister rail. “Don’t kill him yet!” Feet stomping and legs bowing like Bambi taking his first steps, the woman advanced for the only congregation left. Attempting to put her glasses on only for them to fall off her face due to a missing arm, she huffed and panted, her palms on the table separating those from Bonten and Nakamura.

“Why did you do this?”

Nakamura looked up at the tousled woman from above his glass, his demeanour the opposite of someone who had just betrayed the biggest crime syndicate in Japan. “There was a generation before S62, you know? We have our own way of doing things-”

Hanma shuffled over to the Haitani’s and the woman, wiping the blood on his hands on a body slumped over the Mah Jong table. “Why even bother asking stupid shit like that? Don’t tell me you’re really the caring type.”

Ignoring the stare from the prior night’s shag, Kitahara stared point-blank at Nakamura. “That guy up there really just tried to kill me simply because you asked him to. He died for you - I wanna know why you’d throw away someone who cared about you when you knew who you were dealing with. I want to know the reason.”

“He was just one in a long line of many; there’s still more where that brat came from. So how about you go ‘n fuck yourself, whore.” Nakamura threw a Mah Jong tile at the woman and she dashed forward. Stepping on the chair, she jumped onto the table, kicked him in the chest and landed on him in a squat when his back hit the damp concrete.

Plastered over the boss, cold finger pads tweaked a thin blade at the older man’s neck, her feet planted either side of his head, Mah Jong tiles making her footing unstable, ankles squashing his ears when she lowered her hips. “Huh, ya’wanna try that again? I may have a slit, but I still work for the man who decides whether you live or die.”

“He doesn’t decide. I made my choice, not him.”

“Tonight, I may just have to take one for the team.” Wagging the thin blade by the aged face of the man underneath her, Kitahara bared her teeth, her stained hair draping down, “I’m going to give you one last choice: are you going to take your punishment for your betrayal, or are you going to call on someone else loyal to you?”

“I will take the punishment,” one of the last remaining men choked, his collar snagged by Ran.

“Oh, aye?”

Kneeling in front of the woman, he sat seiza style, his head down. “I should have done better to-”

Kitahara turned her face away from the prostrating before it got out of hand. She hated this kind of shit at the best of times. One had already died for Nakamura that night, several others severely injured. Who in hell would give up what was potentially their life for a scumbag like him after what he’d just said about Sato? 

“So, what do you want, Hime Sama?” Nakamura asked.

Frame tensing at the nickname he’d likely heard from Ran, verdant eyes narrowed and shot down to the asshole. “Ya’know what, I’ve changed my mind. I’m not satisfied by a pawn. I’m taking something from you personally.”

“W-what?”

Reaching over to one of the fallen workstation trolleys which had remained from earlier that day, long nails scraped out the object which had been strewn in the fighting. Pulling her arm back before Nakamura or any of her colleagues could process what was happening, a cleaver clunked down, the heavy-duty metal crunching through bone and clanking into the concrete beneath. A thumb and index finger rolled over the grit, sanguine pooling from Nakamura’s hand. A screech was garbled as the remaining men clucked in uncertainty.

Ran’s brain was the first to restart upon the eldest’s scream piercing his ears. Holy shit, now she’d gone and done it. “Grab her!” He shouted to Hanma and his brother, the latter making a speedier move than the Reaper who was watching the female wagging the phalanges by her blood-splattered face.

“Why are men so dismissive of my words?” Pulled up to her feet by Rindou, Kitahara threw a Mah Jong tile at Nakamura’s face scrunched up in agony in a petty rebuke for what he had done to her only moments before. “Do I look like some soft-hearted cunt to you’s?”

By the way she had cursed the face of the rival boss and cut his damn thumb and index finger off, her high heeled boot kicking his injured arm as she was tugged away ‘No’ was the very real answer on their faces.

Oh, fuck. It was about to turn into a shit-show if they didn’t hurry and get their asses out of there before the other bosses turned up. The three men were utterly confident in their fighting prowess but taking on the other West Side bosses and whoever they brought along with them would not be an easy task.

However, even though she had potentially just started a war, they had learnt that he was indeed treacherous. Ran had also found out about the tanker shipment which was supposed to have gone under the radar and it was unlikely this was the first time. For fuck’s sake, he’d be writing this report up all night.

Hanma craned his neck to look over the table at Nakamura having his hand held up by his remaining lackey. “Shit, she really cut his fuckin’ fingers off~” His smile stretched and his eyes twinkled as he turned to look at the others, Ran dialling a number on his cell while Rindou had his hand between Kitahara’s shoulder blades, pushing her towards the exit. 

“What are you doing,” the younger brother asked with a grimace, his eyes on the woman’s hands, blood slipping through her fingers and down her ruined sweater. 

“You think I’m leaving them behind with the possibility for them to be sewn back on?” Shrugging off his hold, she stepped out into the downpour and pulled her arm back, tossing the digits into the waterway. “His stupid fuckin’ fish can eat them.”

Blinking at the action, or maybe more so the bitter sneer on the woman’s profile, Rindou huffed as they walked back towards the car. “Well, fuck, remind me never to piss you off.”

Hanma joined Ran at the door just as the shorter man had finished his call, twirling the woman’s broken spectacles he’d picked up from the floor. “So…this turned out pretty fuckin’ bad, right?”

The older Haitani turned his head slowly to look up at the lanky fucker beside him, his muscles tensed and a rage threatening to throw him into a fit of beating the younger man. Ran had a decent hold on his temper, he thought. Mostly due to the fact Hanma was still breathing right now. The asshole was lucky he was a Bonten member or else he’d be bunking with Nakamura in the ambulance his lackey had no doubt called by now. 

“Don’t talk to me. Don’t even fucking look at me,” Ran growled, his pace picking up as he made for the pair by the car. As soon as he was within reaching distance, he snatched the back of Kitahara’s hair and thrust her face into the car roof. 

With a thump and a yelp, she hunched over, holding her face, the gasps from Rindou and Hanma going ignored. Ran ragged her around and took her by her neck, pushing her back into the passenger door. Leering over her, his teeth bared and his voice low, violet irises flashed with danger, “I thought I told you to behave?”

“Ran-”

“Shut the fuck up, Rindou,” the older sibling snapped without taking his eyes off the woman who’d split his last thread of patience. “I warned you, you little bitch. Do you know what you’ve just done?”

“Yeah, I told you about that shipment, and found proof he was skimming from the profits,” Kitahara gnashed at the air between them, her brows furrowed as she shrugged off his grip with her outer forearm. “Not to mention you heard it yourself; he never had any intention of submitting to Bonten.” Scoffing, she used her wrist to wipe the blood trickling from the bridge of her nose where Ran had cut her. “You’re welcome, by the way, asshole.” Yanking her arm back, she purposely hit Ran on the hip with her door.

Flabbergasted by the retaliation, Ran’s usual composure faltered, his jaw flapping as his eyes went from her getting inside the vehicle and slamming the door, to flickering between the other two men. He could not believe this. He couldn’t even conjure words he was so baffled by the newest addition to their organization. The other two men were not helping in the slightest, his brother shooting him a dirty look before getting inside the car; Hanma smirking like the shit-head he was. 

Once the four of them were inside the dark vehicle, the air was cold and heavy; the silence prickling their nerves. It was very much like a family road trip gone awry: The parents had argued, the kids threw tantrums - one of them getting a crack - and then the father pulled over at the side of the highway threatening to turn the car around. Nobody was having fun. Everyone was on edge, their minds over-clocking the upcoming results of what had happened inside the warehouse, and the weather was miserable to boot.

That woman had done lots of things that night: some helpful, some bizarre - most of it troublesome. Regardless of the intention behind her actions, they had put her in the crosshairs of the men who had been around her.

Ran was perpetually irked by her but had gained a semblance of respect for her in the same instance when she proved her worth and stood up to him.
Hanma wanted to see where her limits lay - and then break them even more than he did before.
Rindou wanted her to look his way as more than a guard dog; she was the first person to ever make him angry at his brother.
Nakamura wanted her dead. Even after being squashed, he was still a man of means.

Within the next three weeks, Kitahara would suffer the consequences of each one.

 

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Updated: 24th October 2021 - 13:36

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