Page 32 of Pragma
It’s a driving range, but nobody corrects him.
“Trevor, your assistant, told me to bring him here,” Masa hazards an explanation.
Aki tsks.
“You told him you wanted to try golf,” I remind him.
“When?” he asks.
“Last week.”
He hums, but I know he completely forgot about it. Aki is not known for being consistent.
He looks critically at the club in his hand and swings it once in the air. Seemingly satisfied with it, he holds it near one of the white balls lined up in front of him and then gives it another swing. A loud thud resounds in the empty range. It’s not easy to follow the ball at this late hour; the artificial lights are a little blinding. It flies too high on the left and rolls on the grass, missing the target.
“Fuck!” The failed shot spurs him on, and an unappeasable Aki hits the six remaining balls, one after the other, without pausing.
He gets two hits, each followed by a loud cry and a pained moan.
“Whooo! Who said that golf is a boring sport?” Aki rolls the club in his hand while descending the three steps to the open space, heading toward the file thief.
I signal Masa, Soma, and one of the men to follow, while the other stays back. I stop a few feet from the guy lying on the grass—one of the golf balls got him right in the family jewels, making him fall on his side on the ground.
Aki rolls the guy onto his back with the tip of the golf club. “Stabbing someone in the back is harder than you thought, isn’t it, rat?” he hisses. “The muscles in the back are thick; you need to use all your strength to penetrate deep and make it fatal.”
“I-I didn’t—” the guy moans, with tears running down his bruised cheeks.
“But you were about to.” Aki’s singsong voice is filled with menacing promise.
“I needed…the-the money. I have people to take care of. Please.”
I hear Masa snort. “You mean the four women…and counting. Dude! You could’ve kept your dick in your pants.”
“I’m s-sorry. Please don’t punch me a-again.”
Aki’s maniacal laugh stops the guy’s pleading cry. “Oh, I won’t. A rat is not worth using my hands, a golf…stickon the other hand…”
He swings the club down on the guy’s chest over and over—who can only take it since his hands and feet are still bound.
“You used your foot too,” I tell Aki when he’s done venting on the rat.
“Fuck off.” He smirks at me. Damn, why does that turn me on?
“Have mercy…” The guy is panting, he’s got blood all over his skin and nasty bruises are starting to cover his belly, arms, and thighs.
“Do you know who I am, rat?”
He nods once, looking frightened. Why did he steal the file if he knew who the owner of the construction company was? That was a fucking idiotic move. Actions have consequences. I should tell myself the same thing as my mind goes back to the sensation of Aki’s hot mouth swallowing my dick. Fuck!
“What you might not know is that I dispatch whoever tries to cross me,” Aki states with an impassive, cold voice.
A helpless sob comes out of the guy’s swollen lips.
“The fates of your women, though, depend on you.” He pauses to let the words sink in. “Tell me who you wanted to sell the file to.”
“I-I don’t…really?—”
“River, my sword.” He unceremoniously throws the club over his shoulder and extends his hand toward me. As soon as I unsheathe his katana, the rat whimpers.
