Page 9 of Pragma
Yuna is in the entrance. A perpetual scowl is painted on her face. She’s tall and slim, all covered in leather, short hair, piercings in her ears, lip, and nose.
She bows, and then asks with her raspy voice, “Did you leave anyone alive,Akira-san?”
“Afraid not.” He smirks at her as I keep the door open to let them both out of the restaurant. Karin is waiting for us outside,ass parked on her Kawasaki Ninja, feet dangling. She’s Yuna’s opposite. Petite and curvy, curly blond hair down her shoulders, always wearing a floral garment—tonight is her velvet shorts. She beams when seeing us and waves her small hand excitedly—is there blood on it? She looks sweet and cute, but just like Yuna, she’s lethal.
“I’m going in.” Soma quickly gives us a salute before jogging inside the restaurant, carrying an empty duffel bag.
“Any problem out here?” I ask, as Aki stops near the car. I open the door in the back for him, but he doesn’t get in until he hears Karin’s reply.
“Two of their goons smoking. We took care of them.” She winks at Yuna before turning to me again. “We also compensated the restaurant folks as ordered and called the cleaning crew. They’ll take care of the bodies.”
I nod. I’m still extra pissed, though, about the waste of time that tonight was.
“We need to get moving, just in case the pigs decide to check out the…prank call,” Yuna lets us know, as Soma exits the restaurant and gets behind the wheel—after handing me the duffel bag with an indifferent expression.
“Good work,” I tell her, even though I know she doesn’t give a damn.
I sit next to Aki, gritting my teeth when my wounded shoulder presses against the leather. Fuck! I need to take care of that.
The BMW takes us down the streets of South Bronx with Yuna and Karin behind us, riding their motorbikes, one black, one neon green.
We are Aki’s crew, the girls, Soma, and I. We have each other’s backs, and we all pull our weight, not afraid to get our hands dirty. Aki and I go way back with Yuna and Karin; we met them in high school. While Soma is the latest addition.
Three years ago, he came to my apartment in LA drunk off his ass, offering himself to repay his mother’s debt with the Hebikawa family—she owed a truckload of money. Aki took him in—like a stray. Trained him, until Soma felt he had to repay hisgiri—a very complex concept of duty unique to Japanese culture, which can be translated into a strong sense of social obligation, of owing something, whether it’s a favor, a service, or even a debt of revenge. He ultimately decided to stay and become a permanent part of the crew. With Yuna and Karin, he helps me keep Aki alive while taking care of other tasks.
“Let’s get someyakitorion the way home. I didn’t eat yet, and all that blood made me ravenous,” Aki declares. He made short work of the three guys inside the restaurant. Fighting usually stimulates his appetite.
“I’ll stop at a place I found a couple of days ago, boss.” Soma lets Aki know.
“Who are you calling?” he asks me, moving the duffel bag and his sword to the other side of the seat to press his cheek against my shoulder.
“Kumichoneeds to be briefed about this,” I tell him. The big boss is in LA, but she is due to arrive tomorrow to check on the progress we made.
“Bo-ring.” Aki huffs. “I’ll call her from the loft later.”
“You need to explain what happened tonight,” I insist, and he nods too easily. “Kumichois not going to be happy about it.”
“The Triad has it in for us since their warehouse got raided.”
“Whoever raided that warehouse made off with millions in drugs. Why are those scumbags so sure it was us?” I wonder out loud.
“If they were sure, New York would be painted with blood. But since the stolen drugs don’t seem to have hit the streets, are they just fucking with us?” Aki huffs.
“Yuna thinks it was an inside job,” Soma lets us know, my eyes fall on his bunched-up sleeve above the silver watch. He has almost no hair on his arm, just like Aki—I learned it can be a Japanese trait. Soma’s parents were both from Okinawa, an island in the south of Japan, and moved to LA when he was a small kid.
Aki’s sudden shift catches my attention again. Keeping his head on my shoulder, he turns and props his bent legs on the seat. “Yuna thinks our life is a maze of conspiracies.” He snorts.
“It’s still weird that they pointed their fingers at us and not the Cartel or the Italian mafia. There’s no lost love with them either,” I add. “Is it because of your little stabbing?”
Soma stops the car near a food truck and gets out.
“Fuckchill grabbed Yuna’s ass, what was I supposed to do?” Aki grumbles.
“She can take care of herself.” She actually hates when we attempt to protect her.
“She would’ve killed him. I actually saved his life,” he retorts.
I gaze at Yuna and Karin joining Soma at the food truck. “She would have only castrated him. And you did almost kill him; I had to hold your other knife away from the fucker’s neck.”
