Kyoko strode through the French doors riding a wave of pure adrenaline. It coursed through her veins, liquid energy forcing the organ in her chest to beat a frenzied rhythm. Everything was sharper, more intense and yet unreal, as though she were walking in a dream.
Ojii-san moving like lightning, lifting me off the ground with one arm.
The pieces of the shaku lying on the floor.
Had those things really happened? Lives are not a game.
The dull ache above her knee was telling her yes, but it wasn't until she was greeted by two grim-faced security guards near the elevator that she was certain of reality.
The guard from before was joined by a silvery-haired man whose expression never wavered from a fixed sour frown. His meticulous and self-assured movements advertised a military or police background and he smelled strongly of stale cigarettes and cheap booze. Small wonder he was in a foul mood.
Sleazy and Grumpy flanked me for the duration of the elevator ride and all the way to the lobby doors where the latter held open an exit door.
"Do not attempt to enter the building again," came Grumpy's sandy parting words as Kyoko stepped through the door and onto the street. Fine by me. She didn't need to look back to know he was watching her leave the premises.
By the time the young woman reached her car, she had the shakes, like she'd ingested a concentrated dose of caffeine, but her heart no longer felt like it would fly out of her ribcage. Kuon was away from their home (she loved being able to call it that, even though a small part of her still felt a little anxious), dealing with matters at the restaurant. Kyoko felt bad he had to handle it all himself, but the memories were much too raw for her to return to work. The chef hadn't even made a decision whether she would, however she knew she was still lacking experience in some areas.
Opening her own restaurant had long been a dream of hers. The words she'd spoken earlier were true. She had every intention of using the inheritance to open her own place; perhaps it truly would be best to make it sooner rather than later.
With Kuon absent, there was only one way to work off the excess energy. Throwing on some exercise clothes, she cranked up the incline on the treadmill and started running.
A workout and a shower later, she'd burned through the epinephrine in her system, but did she feel better or worse?
As she dried her hair, she studied the reflection of the woman in mirror. Petite with a strong physique, but haunted amber eyes matching patchworked skin.
The pleasant, genial face. The gleaming abyss in his eyes.
Kyoko wrapped the towel around herself and leaned against the vanity, her legs suddenly weak as smothered feelings rose up in full force.
I never had familial love and never needed it, having lived all these years without. I haven't been discontent with the bits care afforded by Naoki and Yayoi. I've never needed the smiles. The affection. I've never needed to feel cherished that way. I've never envied others who have it. Like that little girl bouncing on her grandfather's knee. I don't need to be cherished in that way.
I'm fine. Fine.
"Kyoko?" called a deep anxious voice. It bounced around the spacious entry, lingering in the air a moment before vanishing, unheard by its intended recipient.
Kuon Hizuri hurriedly kicked off his black leather Oxfords, accidentally slamming the door in his haste.
He tried again, louder. "Kyoko?"
Only the air conditioner replied, its gentle hum filling the space as it clicked on once more. That sinking feeling in his gut intensified.
His fiancé hadn't returned any of his texts from the last couple hours and Kuon had been obligated to manage the sideshow shitstorm of a circus that'd erupted at Menrui no Kisu after someone had leaked information about Antony Rossi's employer. Most likely the kitchen porter he'd dismissed the week prior.
Kuon hadn't wanted Kyoko to meet Hayate Fuwa alone. Had fought against the shouting subconscious that demanded she not be allowed to leave his presence as the events from Monday morning flashed before his eyes like a film strip. Had to remind himself there was a fine line between protective and possessive. Had to remember she would be meeting that man in a very public place, a place where he couldn't lay hands on her.
And Kyoko had been adamant like she could be some times. It was both endearing and frustrating. She'd stared at him through hard amber eyes, chin set at a stubborn tilt and told him she had to do this alone. He knew she was right. As though that made it any easier. The man would be less guarded if Kuon was not accompanying her so she'd gone. Alone. And Kuon could only pray he wouldn't regret it.
He was regretting it.
He'd been practically vibrating with anxious energy at work and had muddled through the hours with a fake gentlemanly smile that had his face hurting worse than when Sho managed that singular blow. His mind was a maelstrom of what if scenarios.
Had that bastard actually done something to her? Where was she? Was she safe? He'd left early because he couldn't stand it any longer.
The model swiftly padded through his home until he finally sighted a sign of life down the hall; light peering through the slit of the door to the bathroom.
Kuon strode down the hall past a couple additional Thomas Barbéy amalgamations and photos of family and friends. One from high school graduation with his parents and grandfather, arms draped around each other as they wore wide grins that somehow never looked cheesy. Another from college with the four of them again, Kuon's smile more subdued. A shot Kyoko had taken about a year ago of Kuon schooling Sho in pool for the third time in a row (as he so often did). There was laughter on their lips, mirth and joy in their eyes. And then the newest addition, a picture he'd taken the night he'd proposed. Kyoko and Kuon wrapped around each other, gazing into each other's eyes with all the bright wonder of the full moon in the sky above them, faces radiating love and promise.
The young man opened bathroom door slowly with exaggerated care, half fearing what he may find.
"Kyoko?" he called again, softer this time.
She was leaning heavily against the vanity, cocooned in white towel, head bent low so he couldn't see her face behind the black veil of hair. Thick tears dropped to the tiled floor like abscised flower petals. His feet came into her frame of view and she looked up at him through red-rimmed eyes, face contorting as she tried to smile- and failed.
She hadn't really cried since right after the assault. She'd contained it. Sealed it with an airtight cork like a bottle of champagne. But whatever happened this afternoon had put a crack in that wood. Now it leaked, oozing down the bottle in a steady stream.
Kuon leaned forward, drawing her inside his arms and the cork sprang free. Her nails sank into his skin through the soft woven fibers of his dress shirt as she trembled and sobbed in his arms.
A minute rolled by.
Another, feeling like an eternity of sadness. Her voice began to ease and she became silent save for a few labored breaths. The wellspring exhausted, his fiancé looked up into his eyes.
"I-I'm sorry," she hiccupped.
He traced the delicate bone framing her cheek, catching the last salted vestige of sorrow. "Don't ever be sorry love."
"I knew he hated me," she said and he could hear the years of disappointment and neglect and heartache in her words. Those negative emotions she'd buried deep in her heart.
"I knew it from the moment he first laid eyes on me, as a little girl. I made my heart rubber to withstand it. All of it," she nodded to herself, smiling ruefully and flicked her eyes to his face before continuing to stare at the nothing ahead. "But I guess it didn't really work.
"It's one thing to know and another to understand. To see it. One thing to know my supposed family sent that man, someone I trusted, to end my life and another to see it in his soulless eyes. He'd only cherish this shell," she raised her up hands up a moment before letting them fall lifelessly to her side, "if I weren't in it."
He tightened his grip around her, feeling like she might vanish if he didn't keep her close.
"I understand," he said and Kyoko could see in his eyes that he did.
The model understood all too well. He'd had a run-in with his cousin as a teen after a modeling gig since apparently acting wasn't enough for the mu' dak. It had turned violent.
He could still feel the shock of witnessing the degree of Cedric's loathing. Time chipped away at all things, especially people. Wrinkles, scars, receding hair or extra hair in other places. People became frail. Became ill. Even with intangible things like love. A married couple vows to stay together through thick and thin, but three, seven, ten years later they're sitting beside balding lawyers at a polished oak table, pens in hand, screeching at each other over who gets the house, the car- the kids- before signing those divorce papers.
But somehow time hadn't diminished Cedric's loathing in the slightest. If anything time had nourished it like mother's milk. Cedric had been sucking the teat of hatred for so long he only could only view Kuon through malice-tinted glasses.
He despised that Kyoko could empathize with his situation at all. Just another notch on the belt of reasons Hayate Fuwa needed to be behind bars.
Kuon kept his voice neutral as he spoke, "What happened?"
Kyoko relayed the events as they moved into the kitchen, leaving Kuon equally proud and furious.
"I wish I'd been there to see you break it. Perhaps it's for the best that I wasn't since I would've broken him for touching you."
Having seen Hayate Fuwa's strength and speed Kyoko could only shudder at the imagery his words produced in her mind's eye. She fervently hoped a physical confrontation between the two never ever happened.
Perceptive as ever, Kuon noticed the movement and she smiled at him, covering her unease in a gesture of reassurance in answer to the question that shone in his eyes. Kyoko reached into the freezer and pulled out another ice pack for her knee. "What's another at this point?"
They chuckled weakly at each other then sat in companionable silence, snuggled on the sofa. Kuon tucked her head into his chest, inhaling the sweet coconut scent of his conditioner and the subtler scents of citron and sea salt from his body wash. There was something undeniably sexy about her smelling like products placed in his shower. That she smelled like him.
Shame we can't stay like this. His other hand wrapped around hers, dwarfing it so completely that he could feel the steady throb of pulse in her wrist.
"I'm sorry I didn't text you back right away. I think I was in a kind of shock," she said, pulling back to look earnestly into the depths of his lush gaze before hastily resuming her nestled position. I- I'm also still not used to anyone worrying about me and with everything that happened I was lost, lost inside my mind."
"You've had several stressful events in a short period of time, Kyoko. Not to say I wouldn't have appreciated a text, but I do understand," he said and kissed her forehead.
They remained cuddled, listening to the steady beating of each other's hearts which now pulsed the same rhythm.
"Ready to contact the others?"
"Yes."
He rose, drawing her up with him and pulled out his phone. "Let's make good on your promise."
She cocked her head a little to the side. "Promise?"
His eyes burned fiery green like tall grass backlit by a summer sun. "That empires fall."
X=x=X
Of all the evening activities Kyoko imagined herself participating in, breaking and entering was not among them. Though she had to wonder if it was true a B and E when one didn't actually break so much as hack into a place. She doubted the nuance mattered.
The four of them had hunched around Kuon's kitchen table like huddled football players hours before and eventually settled on a plan based on the nanotech spyware Kyoko had slipped into Hayate Fuwa's office. Turned out that Akemi -and whoever else helped her- had spent the last few hours rummaging through layers of encryption until they'd discovered something of interest down by the port. Monumental Importation allegedly owned a warehouse, but it was the first of three subsequent shell corporations. In reality, Hayate Fuwa owned the warehouse through Fuwa Hospitality Group.
Now the rain splattered violently on the metal-roofed building in a near deafening roar that threatened to drown out all thought. It soaked Kyoko's dark hair and swept down her waterproof jacket, drenching her black slacks and sneakers. She flicked her eyes skyward and noticed how the sky had turned a swirl of dark grey like wet concrete with ever darkening cloud clusters gathering ominously on the horizon. A thunderstorm longing for land, discontent with the thrashing waves.
Kyoko felt a sudden chill settle in deep, deep into her bones. A chill which had nothing to do with her sodden hair or soggy slacks. An irrational fear that they were going to be damned instead of finding damning evidence took hold.
"I've got a bad feeling about this," she said loudly so those nearest could hear.
Sho glanced back, raised eyebrows hidden under the blond locks plastered to his forehead. Like bamboo bent under the weight of a heavy rain his spikes had all been brought low by the deluge save one which remained upright on the center of his head. It rose into the air, a silent f- youto the heavens.
"It's just a little bad weather. We knew it was going to rain," Sho said.
She supposed he was trying to reassure her, but the weather felt like an omen. Dark tidings and she couldn't shake it.
Kyoko pointed to the sky. "That promises more than just rain," she said with a wavering voice.
Strong, solid arms wrapped around her from behind, banishing the dark thoughts to the back of her consciousness as she was enveloped in warmth and sunshine. She leaned back and breathed him in. No matter the severity of the storm she knew Kuon would always be her haven. Like the eye of hurricane, her peace.
"We'll be inside shortly. Looks like Ms. Adams is almost done."
Kyoko noticed Sho had surreptitiously turned around to address Akemi who let out a triumphant, "Ha!" and disengaged the device used to hack the entrance code. The building boasted a bit more complicated security for a place that allegedly stored imported clothing from China. Akemi had already placed the cameras in a feedback loop.
"All right, hurry up," she ordered ushering them inside as she opened the door. The woman wore a tight tactical combat uniform with plenty of storage for her various gadgets. The downpour sounded even worse inside, like a herd of horses galloping on the roof. Akemi pulled out a set of compact portable lights, passing one to each of them.
Kyoko flicked the switch and bright light penetrated the night. Dust particles twirled through air like ballerinas on a stage. Under the lamplight, everything looked completely normal. Boxes graffitied with Chinese characters, sometimes piled twelve feet high, were wrapped low and high in plastic. Parked forklifts rested against a back wall. It smelled typical too, a musty cocktail of cardboard and stretch wrap. Wood pallets and concrete and dirt.
Akemi unsheathed the blade strapped to her back, making quick work of the covering on the lowest boxes nearest to her and Kuon produced a metallic handle which turned into a blade with a flick of his wrist.
Kyoko looked sharply at her fiancé in surprise and he gave her a little sheepish grin. "Can't be too careful these days, love."
"I see…" Kyoko said uneasily. The rest of her words remained unsaid, swallowed by the dark. Perhaps she'd find them in one of the boxes too.
Kuon slit the plastic and cardboard in quick succession. His long arms reached deep and pulled out… clothes. Kyoko hadn't realized she was holding her breath until it whooshed from between her lips sending dust particles tumbling through the air like dead leaves in an autumn breeze. It was filled only with cheap clothing, the kind you see on the rack at a one-stop shopping grocery.
The chef spun on her heel and called out to Akemi in a hushed voice, just loud enough to be heard over the storm, the eerie atmosphere making her feel the need to be quieter despite the hammering rain. "What'd you find?"
"Only clothes," Akemi replied, a hint of disbelief lacing her silky tones. "You?"
"Same."
"Keep checking. Some of these boxes were bound to be legitimate."
They carefully continued down the aisles in pairs. Kyoko wasn't the only one beginning to feel a sense of disquiet in the air. The feeling of unease that had begun to seep back in with each opened pallet was now marrow deep. She couldn't help but cast the light at the top of each box tower as they progressed as though expecting to see something other perchedatop. But it was only boxes and dust.
Kuon climbed up one of the medium-sized towers to check on the wares up higher. He thrust his arms into a box only to find himself buried in more cloth. He shook his head, a bit of exasperation leaking into the movement and nimbly leapt down.
"Why?" Kyoko mused aloud to herself. "Why would Ojii-san bury this place if it was perfectly legitimate?"
…I mastered this game long ago… the Fuwa elder's words whispered in her mind.
Oh, shit.
"It's a trap!" she exclaimed but a resounding thud! drowned her last word as the world flooded with bright light.
A/N Apologies for this taking so long. Too much drama going on the last month and a half along with school resuming. And yes I am a Star Wars fan :P
