Page 53 of Pragma
AKIRA
Operation Snare the Bunny is becoming quite successful…from a shagging point of view. Yesterday, River gave me the fuck of my life. I’m reminded of that every time I move my poor tushy. The nickname bunny took on a whole new meaning since he actually fucks like the hopping rodent.
The way his animalistic urges come out when he’s in bed is thrilling. It feels amazing to know that he wants me with every fiber of his being, that he feels the same irresistibly compelling attraction I do. But is that it for him? This growing awareness between us, to the fact that we are inevitable, does he feel it too? Now I’m sure that we were made to be together, no matter the setbacks, the misunderstandings, and the delayed realization. While River is still struggling with it. How to convince him that we are inescapable?
Drugging him seems tacky. Chaining him up too crude. I could order him, but having him willingly would feel so much sweeter. I told him I’d do anything, any-fucking-thing to get what I want. And I will if necessity dictates. But I should follow the PreyMaster’s advice for a little longer, be patient and continue luring him in.
Of course sitting with suitor number three in a café is not helping with that, is it? But I need to keep thekumichohappy for the time being.
So-won Park is the daughter of a Koren music mogul, owner of a record label and a production empire, which he’d like to spread in the US with an extra boost from us. She is not even twenty-one, she has a very irritating high-pitched fake laugh and is an entitled bimbo who doesn’t seem to be interested in me, the marriage or even the world outside her latest-model iPhone’s screen.
I now know the bosses from the other yakuza families are really trying to fuck with me through these candidates they chose. But this particular one actually works perfectly for me. All I have to do is finish my matcha mocha latte, and then leave without hurting or insulting anyone…much.
I look outside the glass window, and my eyes quickly find River, standing near the car. Fuck, he looks delicious. I wanna lick him from head to toe. He’s wearing one of his long coats with the usual black waistcoat and a gray Henley underneath. He has body proportions that put gym rats to shame, strawberry blond hair that shines under the pale autumn sun, and lush lips, as if he is wearing lip balm. I can see why people are stealing glances at him with a mix of awe and wariness.
I’ve discovered so many new things about him lately I feel fucking smug about it. I can remember vividly the taste of his lips, his skin, his cum; the face he makes when he’s aroused, the sound of his grunts when he’s nailing me into the mattress, thehungry look in his eyes as he stares at me. The warmth of his bare body while we sleep.
He’s texting someone. Joel? This morning before going to my apartment for a change of clothes—need to remind myself to leave some at River’s place, or even better, make him move in with me—he exchanged quite a few messages with his brother. He told me he’s going to see him in the afternoon, and that I’m not invited.
Jealousy is not a foreign feeling for me, but it seems to have intensified since our relationship has become physical. While my possessiveness has skyrocketed. A minute passes, and he’s still clacking away on his damn phone. I gulp my latte and leave the table without even looking at the bimbo.
When I get inside the car, he doesn’t ask me about the date, but I notice how tense his shoulders are. He’s jealous too. Doesn’t like me meeting marriage candidates, but he’s the idiot who keeps taking me to these dates. His fucking self-sacrifice makes me want to puke. I’m a yakuzawakagashira,ninety percent of what I do is immoral and unethical by societal standards. I take what I want and throw away what I don’t. I enjoy my life fully, the danger, the scheming, the gore, and do all of it with River by my side.
He belonged to me since the day we met. At that time, I didn’t know how deep my claim on him would become. What I feel for him is nothing heart-moving or earth-shattering. But that first kiss he forced on me was an eye-opener, like a bat slammed right at my head. Since then, I’ve been wanting more. And now that I’ve had a taste? I can’t get enough of it. Of him.
We are birds of a feather. That’s what we are. If River doesn’t know it yet, he’ll soon find out what it means to be utterly mine.
River
The birthday party is in full swing. A joyful occasion for the Ishida family and a forced participation for Aki and me. Ishida-san is a high ranksaiko-kanbu, one of thekumicho’s advisers. His family created a territory in New York more than ten years ago. Hence today’s invitation. Ishida-san is supposed to help Aki to acclimatize to the new city. Aki loathes going to family parties, but declining would have been perceived as disrespect toward Ishida-san and his whole family.
I look at the people gathered in the banquet hall of the Ritz-Carlton hotel, trying to tune out all the futile chatter. I recognize some of the faces, a drug lord who uses his chain of 7-Elevens as a front, a corrupted senator and his wife, a couple of lieutenants from the Yamaya family, and the ex-chief of police—the new one is in our pocket as well. Ishida-san possesses a great deal of influence in New York, thanks to his wealth and connections. Aki needs to tread carefully—at least for the time being.
Theisshou-mochiceremony is starting. It’s a significant rite of passage in Japanese culture to acknowledge a child’s entry into their first year of life.The kid is encouraged to walk carrying a two-kilomochi—rice cake—on his shoulders. If he doesn’t fall, it’s a positive sign, indicating they will be resilient and prosperous in their future life.
“Fall, little troll, fall!” Aki is muttering, glaring at Ishida-san’s grandchild. This bratty side of his will never stop being exasperating.
“Didn’t you fall during your ceremony, Mr. Boss?” Masa asks him, appearing on his other side, his gelled hair is pushed back today.
“I didn’t fall,” Aki clips. “I tripped. There’s a difference.”
So he tripped and…fell. I don’t voice my thoughts, but I know he can read it on my face when I feel a pinch on my hand. I guess biting me in front of all these people would be too brazen even for Aki.
My vigilant eyes move around, checking our surroundings once again. Soma is outside walking the perimeter, Yuna and Karin near the exits, monitoring the people coming and going. I need to keep alert; many would prosper from Akira’s death.
“Hey!” Yuki suddenly forces his way between us.
“Cuz! Here already?” Aki asks him with a smirk on his face. Yuki is Aki’s only cousin on his mother’s side. When he was a kid living in Japan with his mother and father, he used to see Yuki every day. But after his parents died in a car accident, he moved to LA with his aunt. Yuki only came to the States years later. They have an odd relationship.
“I thought you were still in Chicago.”
“I was for a while. Got bored.” Yuki takes two appetizers from a passing tray so smoothly, the waiter doesn’t notice. After stuffing his mouth he turns and lifts the scarf from a woman walking by, the bracelet from one of the drug lord’s men and thewallet and phone from the pocket of the ex-chief of police, who’s standing nearby with his back to us.
“You’re Clover, right?” This must be the first time Masa has seen him. He used Yuki’s professional name. He’s one of the best thieves on the West Coast—only because he doesn’t like to work on the East Coast. He’s not part of the yakuza. Prefers to remain a…freelancer. “Stolen anything interesting lately?”
Yuki glances at Masa for a second before going back to the stolen goods.
“A pack of dental floss and a viscount crown,” he tells him, as he takes out the money with his gloved hands before tossing the wallet on the floor. Then he moves to the phone, tapping away on the screen, not even slightly afraid of being caught.
