Page 70 of Pragma
“I’m very sorry, Hebikawa-sama.” He bows, reaching even lower this time. “I’m afraid it’s part of today’s agreement. The other party will do the same.”
So Fuckchill is not here yet. Shocker.
“Very well.” Thekumichonods at me to comply. Her men are already placing their weapons on the counter, while she gives her phone to one of the hostesses, listening to the owner yapping flattering nonsense at her.
What is going on? Why is she giving in to these absurd demands? Do they have something on us? Or is she scheming again? I leave my gun and cell, but keep my pocket knife inside my suit jacket. She is my boss, but I always follow my instincts—and they are screaming at me to kill Ling Wang.
“Hebikawa-sama, follow me, alone.” The hostess is looking behind me at River.
“Part of the agreement?” I raise my brow at thekumicho. She just stares back, concealing whatever she is thinking behind a blank expression. The owner annoyingly repeats the same words as before.
It’s not my first rodeo meeting these fuckers. This time feels more official and dangerous. Just how Mad Dog likes it.
“Alright.” As I utter the word, I already know River will protest. That’s why I look him right in the eye—I love his hair, but I’m going to fucking force-shave it all so it doesn’t cover the left side of his face anymore.
“I’ll go alone.” My commanding tone is heavier than usual. He feels it too, and he nods at me with gritted teeth.
“Put us in the closest room available,” I hear thekumicho’s weird order.
I turn around and follow the hostess. We walk down two corridors and make a right and left turn before entering a private room. A Japanesehaikuis hanging from the wall. A small table on the left, and on the right is a step that takes us to two lines oftatamimats with a few cushions to sit on. I can see the garden from the window and a little pond with koi fish.
My stomach feels a little weird from the car ride, so I order a soda as I wait for Fuckchill to show his soon-to-be-slashed face. I have a knife with his name on it.
The door opens, letting the hostess in with my soda. I sit at the table, and as I take the first sip I hear a very irritating voice.
“My future bride is here.”
I scrunch up my nose not hiding mycavernousdeep disgust as I turn to look at him. Fuck, but he has no fashion sense. Gelled hair pushed back in a too high Elvis hairstyle, blue contact lenses that turn his eyes into alien ones—and show his pathetic hate for his roots. The most horrible green patterned shirt unbuttoned under his hairless pecs, a heavy gold necklace, and the tightest capri pants I’ve ever seen. The ridiculous bulge at the front makes me snort. He is an unrefined, unsophisticated pig—and I’m insulting the pig here.
“Are you desperate to get some cheap ass? Because I can send you in the right direction.” I point to the door and far away from me.
He smirks and takes a seat in front of me. A cloud of toilet-water cologne hits my nostrils, making me feel nauseated. I grab the soda and take another small sip.
“Your mother was a foreigner, right?” he suddenly asks.
She was Canadian but of Japanese origin. “And you are a fuckchill, what’s your point?” I retort with a bored tone.
He hums, not taking the bait. I really want to use my knife right now.
“I read somewhere that children born from mixed couples are more attractive.” He sends me a leering look.
Is he for fucking real?
First, he wanted to kill me, now he’s hitting on me? “I thought you were only into girls, based on your list of assault charges,” I taunt him.
He hums, still looking too calm for my liking. I remember him much more hot-tempered than this.
“Are you trying to make me feel offended? What a feisty bride.” I’d have already punched his face if thekumichowasn’t under the same roof. But I need to make him attack me first so that I won’t get in trouble—more than usual.
“Don’t worry, I’ll think of a way toappeaseyou.”
Gagging reflex initiated.
“Watching you thinking is like watching a dog chasing his own tail, moronic at best,” I keep insulting him.
I can hear the suppressed anger in his short laugh. One crack at a time. I just need to keep hitting the nail.
“Plus, I’m not vision or hearing impaired,” I deadpan.
