Page 6 of Pragma
“It was justified,” he says vehemently.
“Was it?” I pour some soy sauce in the two small plates and then grab a pair of chopsticks from the container.
“Why are you playing dumb? What is it, Bunny? Your fluffy tail got a bit frizzy?”
Fuck this shit. “You trying to pick a fight already tonight?”
“Not with you,” he states, going for a slice of tuna. “What the fuck? No shiso leaf? No ginger?” He drops the metal chopsticks soundly on the table.
As soon as I hear the door slide open again, my hand shifts to my gun and remains there as three Chinese-looking guys enter the room. None of them is Ling Wang, but I recognize the one with long hair and the other with the goatee as part of his crew. The third one wearing sunglasses, I’ve never seen.
So much for asking Aki to come alone. Fucking cowards, always moving in packs.
Long Hair smirks and sits in front of Aki—he’s the one in charge then—followed by sunglasses. Goatee remains standing behind them.
“Hebikawa, we meet again,” Long Hair greets Aki.
He downs his sake. “Where is your boss?” he asks before placing the empty glass near me on the table, expecting me to fill it. His brown eyes are still on the guy, but his left hand is on the sword on his lap.
With his actions, Aki is telling me to look relaxed, but to keep alert. He’s pissed. I can feel his anger growing and slowly unfurling like ivy all over the room.
The waitress comes into the room only to leave three more glasses.
I knock back my drink and then pour Aki another one. Sunglasses promptly extends his glass my way. I give myself another pour then put the bottle down and hold on to it with my scarred hand around the neck as I toss down my sake.
“The boss is not coming. He’s tied up…at the moment,” Long Hair lets us know with a careless tone.
Akira’s smile doesn’t look right. Not right at all.
“So, let me get this straight.” He chews hard on his gum. “Your tiny-dick of a boss asks for a meeting. He chose a crappy restaurant in one of New York’s shittiest neighborhoods. He told me to come alone. And not only did he not show his dick-shriveling-inducing face, but…he sent three worthless, inept, insignificant cockroaches instead.”
“Disrespectful bitch,” Goatee spits. The insult makes me growl and grip my gun, but Aki’s words stop me.
“Keep that trap shut, or River here will start flipping tables, taking all the fun away from me,” he tells Goatee.
I crack my neck and slightly pump my biceps underneath my coat before tucking the loose hair behind my ear. Goatee’s eyes widen, while Sunglasses tenses as they both stare at the left side of my face. There are many stories behind my burned skin—rumors—and in all of them the Hebikawa family caused the injuries. The motive behind it varies, but a punishment seems tobe the common denominator, which is preposterous. The yakuza prefers the act of slicing off a part of the pinky finger to atone for a mistake.If the mistake is unforgivable, death is what they dole out. I never clear the air about those stupid rumors; it makes the family seem even more ruthless than it already is.
“Fuck!” Long Hair mutters, looking at me. “You are a fucking freak.”
“Maybe he is…in the sheets,” Aki hisses, and I almost roll my eyes at him. “But I’m the insane one.”That he is.
“Mad Dog,” The guy in sunglasses calls Aki’s nickname, getting a smirk from him. I gave it to him, but he made sure it stuck—for obvious reasons. It suits him perfectly now.
Long Hair sniffs as he tosses two pieces of sashimi inside his mouth. “Dogs are meant to be owned, to heel and serve; it’s in their nature.”
Aki’s smile broadens. Here we go. He’s been ravenous for a fight all day, and this idiot is giving him the perfect excuse—not that he needs one.
I hear the familiar click coming from Aki’s sword. With his thumb, he slightly pushed thehabakiforward to loosen the fit and ensure the sword could be drawn quickly. And that’s exactly what he does next—he lifts the katana above the table and swings it. The sheath smoothly and rapidly slides off, hitting the guy wearing sunglasses right in the face.
“Don’t. Move,” Aki hisses, pressing the point of the blade against Long Hair’s throat. “This dog heels only to bite until he rips everything off and tears it to shreds, hence themad.”
“Do you have shit for brains? You are outnumbered,” Sunglasses barks. I can see his arm beneath the table moving. I reach down and grip his calf, yanking it hard toward me. When he loses his balance, his arms flail back with a serrated knife in his hand. Sly fucker! I swing the sake bottle at his face; the thick glass base gets him square in the cheek, and he drops on thetatami, knife sliding away from his fingers.
Aki hums with his eyebrow raised. “Two against three roaches…I think we can manage.” As soon as the last word leaves his mouth, Goatee goes for his gun. Aki grabs the sashimi plate and throws it at him frisbee style, hitting the gun muzzle just as he fires it. The bullet ends up in the wall a few inches from my head.
I growl as I take out my Smith & Wesson and move to my knees with the intention of shooting the fucker, but Aki beats me to it. His knife flies through the air and pierces Goatee’s shoulder, making him drop the gun.
Aki shoots to his feet so fast, the cushion under him slides all the way back to the wall. He rounds the table, hits Long Hair on the temple with the butt of his sword, and proceeds to spin, lifting his leg to kick Goatee in the gut with enough force to make him hit the wall. Then with a swift flick of his sword, he slashes the guy’s throat without giving him time to recover. Blood streams down his neck as Goatee tries futilely to breathe, instead letting out gurgling noises.
