Title: Jewel Diaries – Ruby: Guns and Roses (PART 2 of 7)
Rating: NC – 17
Warning: Historically, politically and legally INACCURATE.
Pairing: Asami/Akihito
Sixth Installment: A single encounter that turned into fate, Akihito and Asami found themselves teetering between good and evil. When the die is cast, what will they choose? Love, money, morals or pride? TIMELINE: Two years post Pray in the Abyss.
Disclaimer: No profit was made in writing this. All rights reserved to Yamane Ayano.
Author's Note: New installment answers the question: 'How it all began?' in this universe.
Beta- edited by mistressdi. *hugs* Thank you so much the awesome suggestions! XD
If it's mine it's mine,
if it's yours it's mine,
if I like it is mine,
if I can take it from you it is mine,
if I am playing with something ALL of the pieces are mine,
if I think it is mine it is,
if I saw it first it's mine,
if I had it then put it down it is still mine,
if you had it then you put it down it is now mine,
if it looks like the one I have at home it is mine,
if it is broken it is yours.
~by Anonymous~
Akihito was locked behind bars when he regained consciousness.
Cigarette butts, candy wrappers and crumb-laden donut boxes littered the four-walled space currently purporting as his confinement room—it was a wonder that neither rats nor cockroaches infested said area to feast on the leftovers. The strong odor of burnt rubber that for certain was only of cheap instant coffee permeated the air while muffled voices and the telling sounds of calloused fingers hitting mercilessly—tap, tap—on overused keyboard buttons could be heard a little bit past the dimly-lighted corridor.
Although still disoriented, he struggled to stand up and inched towards the origin of such noise.
The quartz timepiece on the unexpectedly scribble-free partition indicated exactly eleven o 'clock, but whether it was in the morning or late evening, it was impossible to tell because like all detention places, this one didn't have a window.
So far, his hazy memories failed to tell him where he was.
Confusion turned to panic and then cold, paralyzing fear soon after discovering his wrists handcuffed, clothes torn and caked with mud and of something else smelling distinctly metallic that a quick survey of his entire ensemble confirmed to be dried crimson covering him from head to toe.
Oh God.
It was a literal blood bath.
He collapsed on his knees, chest heaving and intent on spilling the contents of his stomach but only the acidic taste of mixed bile and saliva made it past his mouth. Shit. When had he last eaten? Yesterday? Two days ago? A week? The hunger pangs told him it had been a while but he was sane enough to not give in and satisfy himself with the half-molded donut lying on the ground.
Instead, he allowed salty tears to dampen filthy cheeks and slid past his lips.
As if on cue, phantom pains attacked his body but he could tell neither wounds nor bruises covered his skin.
The blood was not his.
Not his.
Not his.
Not his.
Asami?
Was it Asami's? Fuck. He couldn't remember anything. The last thing he knew was finishing up a shoot, ditching his guards, going for dinner in some soba stand, walking back to the penthouse and receiving a phone call from—
Then everything went blank.
His trembling form stiffened.
A phone call.
There was a freaking phone call.
But from whom?
The unbearable throbbing on his forehead halted his thoughts. At the moment, those events dictated nothing of value to him since he remained unaware of his whereabouts. Dwelling on them further only brought him headaches.
"Hey! Is anyone there?" Akihito yelled, letting his cuffs hit the metal bars and praying with all his might that it was not Hong Kong all over again. He could survive getting raped but being drugged and sold in slave trade by some Chinese Triad would be pushing his limits.
He shouted louder upon hearing the shuffling of feet. "Mister! HEY! CAN YOU HEAR ME?!"
"Yeah, yeah! Quit your yapping! My ears are 'bout to fall off." The tired and cranky voice came from a middle-aged man clad in some dark blue uniform, complete with a stab vest, duty belt and a peaked cap. Although there were minor variations in style, pattern and insignia, he could identify a police officer even from a mile away.
"I'm in jail?" A whisper, disbelief written all over his visage.
The man snorted. "Took you long enough to notice."
In jail.
A police station.
Police Station.
Police Station.
After staring at the frowning face, most likely on overtime or working on his final shift as evidenced by the bags under his eyes and the sour, sweaty stench emitted by his pores, Akihito laughed.
Hysterically.
No, he wasn't kidnapped nor even remotely close to being raped or marketed as a cheap Japanese whore, but in fact apprehended for a crime he didn't commit.
'Or couldn't remember committing,' his mind amended.
For some reason, he wasn't sure anymore.
"You on crack?" The officer spat, suspicious and a bit disconcerted by the strange behavior. "What's the matter with you?" No move was made on his part to remove the handcuffs. This young man was a wild beast mere hours ago that it took several of his men to restrain him; but now, he was bordering the label of some disturbed weirdo.
Another laugh. "I'm in jail." Akihito repeated; this time, a statement.
The irony was not lost on him.
Because indeed, he was probably the only person in the world ever delighted to hear that.
However, at precisely quarter after midnight—a time he checked with the man earlier on—when his ticket to liberty arrived in the form of Asami's ex-wife, he couldn't find the energy in him to laugh anymore.
The tall half-American in a sophisticated business suit stalked inside the precinct like she owned the place, introducing herself as Takaba Akihito's lawyer, and furnished the bewildered officers with a copy of the judge's order granting his petition for bail—a request he couldn't remember having signed or made.
Akihito was as confused as the flustered men processing the papers for his release. Heck, he didn't even recognize this woman, yet here she was pulling the strings to give him freedom.
Figuring that maybe his case only involved vandalism or destruction of public property—the common mischief during his juvenile days—regardless of the red obviously blanketing his body, he uttered not a single word as he was dragged out from the cell, freed from restraints and delivered quite hurriedly to his unknown savior.
Around two-thirty that morning inside her apartment—finally fed and freshly showered—when Akihito learned that he was admitted to bail despite charges of frustrated murder allegedly caught in flagrante delicto, he immediately regretted thinking of the situation as lucky and fortunate before.
Being jailed was suddenly not the lesser of two evils.
Like a wild snake thrown in captivity, it was definitely dread curling at the pit of his stomach.
"Bathroom's to your left."
But his legs were not fast enough as he lurched away, lost his balance and doubled-over, vomiting yellow fluids on the carpeted floor.
Fuck.
As expected, it still tasted of acid.
"I don't need a babysitter."
"Hn."
"I'm visiting a grave, Asami. The worst thing that could happen is for the people there to rise from the dead."
"You require a bodyguard." The other man stressed out as if Akihito had not said a word.
A snort. "Yeah? What's he gonna do? Play Ghostbusters in a cemetery?"
But just like all mornings in the past few months, his contention on the matter was ignored.
The dining table was filled with a traditional home-cooked Japanese breakfast. Despite the muscles screaming for him to go back to sleep, Akihito persisted on waking up early, successfully disengaging himself from the arms holding him captive, and labored on all of Asami's favorites—a move to butter the man up so he would be more receptive to his idea of foregoing the security and surveillance gig while on a visit to his hometown. After all, he was not yet ready—maybe even never—to explain to his grandparents why men in black suits trailed after him. Lying through his teeth was not an option he desired, so the only logical course of action was to deal with the source and cut his actual—and potential—losses.
However, the opponent in question was not an underworld boss for nothing as his nth attempt on bribery failed again.
"Tea."
"On your right." He snapped, and then bit back a groan realizing what he just did.
Nevertheless, the expectant stare Akihito received told him that Asami was waiting to be poured a cup.
Ugh, spoiled bastard.
Covering his irritation with a smile that looked like a grimace, he reeled his temper in and complied with the unspoken request. Task done, he slid the saucer towards to Asami, and then continued with another method of persuasion.
"Besides, I don't actually have a budget for another person's food and lodging so bringing any of your men will just give me unnecessary burden." In truth, he remained undecided on whether to stay at his grandparents' house or in some cheap hotel nearby. His salary that month had been spent on groceries and additional work supplies so he was really counting on the first option.
Apparently, pulling the 'I am broke and poor' card with Asami proved to be his most unwise decision.
"A bodyguard's job is to ensure your safety. It doesn't include an obligation to dine and board with you." A contemplative gaze. "But should expenses be unavoidable, feel free use my card to foot the bill."
"No way!" he fired back, incensed at the implication. "For your information, I have a paying job to handle those things so take your charity elsewhere."
Still grumbling, Akihito took his anger on the tamagoyaki, mutilating it into tiny and uneven pieces and picturing the same being done on Asami's Italian suits.
Hmmph. That man was lucky all his business clothes were sent to the cleaners, or else there was no doubt whose belongings would experience the wrath of bleach and scissors he kept hidden in the storage.
Unbeknownst to him, Asami's lips were smirking behind the teacup, apparently finding his lover's pout endearing.
The outburst was expected since the young man had always hated depending on him financially. To be honest, he wouldn't mind if the case was otherwise. His former lovers had no difficulty getting their own apartments or asking for spending money from him, because in the end, it was all simple business of supply and demand.
The momentary heat of their flesh against the weight of his fortune.
But Akihito was different.
With a spirit that refused to be broken and fire—never to be extinguished—dancing behind his eyelids, it was no wonder the first touch got him intoxicated, addicted, hungry and craving for more.
Indeed, despite all the men and women who had come and gone, it was only with him that he truly felt alive and human.
Finished with breakfast, he stood up, walked to the other side and pulled the griping man up on his feet. When blue-grey orbs avoided his gaze, Asami tilted the defiant chin and forced eye-contact. "What do you want me to do?"
The reply was clipped and determined. "Stop the surveillance. Just for a week, Asami. That's all I ask."
With an arm tightening around his lover's waist, he demanded for the reason. "Why?"
Standing chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis with the man who owned him, knew everything about him and endured several sleepless nights for him, Akihito was actually prepared to answer—
'Because this part of my life is not something I want my relatives to ever find out.'
—but his throat suddenly constricted, lips pressed shut, and the words unable to leave his mouth.
Shit.
He couldn't do it.
No matter how unconventional—undefined—uncertain whatever it was existing between them, there was no way he could simply dismiss the same as nothing and insignificant.
No promises, no labels, no boundaries.
That was how they operate.
A defeated sigh. "Because it's a grave, Asami. The dead can't do any damage to me."
Definitely a valid point but the older man was not persuaded. There was no room for compromises in their arrangement. Many times had he been close to locking the other up and throwing the key into the ocean because of his recklessness and utter disregard of self-preservation instincts.
Letting him wander aimlessly—like an empty and soulless shell—was a risk he could never take again.
"The guards will stay." Asami interposed, firm and unyielding. The resounding 'or else' needed not be spoken for the younger man to grasp his meaning. "They'll be more discreet, you won't even notice being followed at all."
A snort.
Somehow, Akihito really doubted that.
Asami tapped a finger on the pouting lips, smirking a little when they parted, showing teeth, and tried to bite him. "If you behave like a good little boy and not some delinquent child, they won't even contact you nor make an appearance."
Akihito stuck his tongue out in retaliation.
"See? Exactly my point."
An irritated huff. "Fuck off. Stop telling me what to do and not to do. You're not my father." The real one just came back to Japan after five long years of absence, thank you very much.
Casting a glance to the sulking and utterly childish form of his lover, Asami had to agree."I can tell." And he promptly squeezed the ample butt cheeks as if in emphasis.
"Hey!" Akihito squirmed within the hold, attempting to elude the roaming hands like some unwilling participant to the lascivious advances. "Cut it out, asshole. Didn't you have enough of my ass last night? Oh, wait. It was just this morning!"
The hands dipped inside his briefs, fingers ghosting over his balls and touching the velvety skin underneath. "There's no such thing as enough, Akihito."
A moan. "Argh…damn you. I want to face my relatives unmolested."
This was precisely why he attacked the older man and practically begged to be ravished in the first place. The only way he could ride the shinkansen and arrive in Kyoto without limping was to satisfy Asami's libido—and to be honest, his sexual drive too—hours, not minutes, before he left.
It was the least thing he could do to keep a semblance of dignity intact since he couldn't face his great grandpa's grave with a wife and child of his own.
At least for now.
At least for now that Asami's interest in him had yet to dwindle.
He scrambled for anything to distract the other man in order to avoid his inevitable fate. "How about a kiss?"
Zzziiippp…
And there went his pants.
"Fine! You don't like a kiss. What about a blowjob?"
Pop…pop…pop…
The shirt was thrown away.
"Seriously?! You don't want me to suck you off?"
At last, the limbs intent on stripping him bare stopped.
"Blowjob?" It didn't take a genius to tell Asami was having a field day.
"Yeah." Akihito nodded, really desperate. "A loonnnngg blowjob." His jaw could use the exercise. "Then you leave my ass alone. Sounds good?"
A smirk.
"If you promise to do just that and behave during your time away, then I can let you go 'unmolested' this morning."
Ugh.
Such a difficult and unfair bargain.
Where the prey had no choice but to play by the rules of his hunter.
He exhaled noisily. "Yeah, yeah. I promise to not get in trouble." 'That much,' he mentally added.
Akihito was not in his high school track team for nothing.
Following Asami's lead, he sunk on his knees, unzipped the bulging pants, pulled down the black briefs and finally grasped the long, thick flesh straining towards his face, as always finding himself amazed of how something that big could fit inside him. Then needing no further prompting, he opened his mouth, licked the shaft with his tongue, tracing up, up and up until reaching the engorged tip so he could suck on the slit now dripping with pre-cum—the taste so sinful, so sinfully delicious—between his wet and hungry lips.
And he worshipped Asami like bees to honey and moths to the flame.
Vaguely, he felt large hands ruffling his locks, and having completely memorized the drill, he obeyed and started bobbing his head—up and down, up and down, up and down—alternating between fast and slow strokes just the way his lover preferred.
"Hn..."
Stretching out a hand not occupied by the hard member, he reached for Asami's heavy sac—round and perfect—and rolled their weight on his palm, knowing that it would heighten the building pleasure.
With the hands clutching his hair tightening, he increased his speed—sucking the leaking cock and teasing the constricting balls in tandem—and upon meeting the other's piercing gaze, he swallowed around the whole length, his walls trapping it in tight, wet heat until Asami groaned in pleasure and spilled pearls of seed inside the awaiting throat and mouth.
And Akihito drank it all, even lapping the remains from the now half-erect cock.
When done, he grinned cheekily up at Asami.
"You like that?"
He suddenly found himself pulled to a strong chest, dry lips crushing against his and a hot persistent tongue demanding for entrance. Saliva mixed with cum as Asami delved into his depths, searching for traces of him that claimed—owned Akihito inside, and on the way adding more marks of his own.
Relaxing in the possessive hold, he allowed himself to be ravished, molding his body around the older man's, seeking the security that its warmth and strength always provided.
Asami's growl was clear to his ears.
"Mine."
To that, Akihito had long since agreed. "Yours."
Because Asami never liked to share.
But in the recesses of his mind, a place deeper than where his subconsciousness resided, he could hear and feel the cling of chains echoing louder, crawling in and trapping him—first the hands, the legs, his neck and then his feet—in a compact and fitting grip.
So he could neither run nor escape.
The path to liberty or captivity?
It was just a matter of time.
Akihito was ready to leave the penthouse when the front desk informed him that someone was waiting for his presence in the conference room. Suspicion crawled into his veins because only few and select friends knew of his living arrangement with Asami and of course, even they wouldn't be so remiss to forget telling him of their plans to visit. Kou and Naomi were definitely out given that those two had barely started their honeymoon. Whoever this person was must be really looking for him since the older man already left an hour ago due to an 'urgent meeting.'
Nevertheless, despite the warning bells ringing inside his head, he collected his things, walked towards the designated place and braved opening the fiberglass door.
"Good to see you, Takaba-san."
His visitor was a petite woman dressed in a tight-fitting blouse that clung to her voluminous figure and the shortest pencil-cut skirt he had ever seen. Her small face was fully dolled-up and the lips politely smiling at him were painted deep seductive red.
To Akihito's great surprise, as indicated by her business card, she was not a hooker.
"A paralegal." He repeated, tasting the word like powdered chalk.
"Yes. Fujisaki-sensei instructed me—"
Ah, he grimaced, wry understanding settling in.
She worked for the pervert.
"—to deliver a copy of the court's final judgment on your case."
Shit.
As simple as that, everything in his world abruptly came to a stop.
Feeling the rush of blood being pumped—thump, thump—by his heart, Akihito cursed the person who had called the older man for whatever urgent business—most probably illegal—leaving him to deal with this issue alone.
Like an animal trapped in a maze probably of his own doing, he grabbed the nearest chair, sat down, motioning her to do the same, and fumbled for his phone, trying to find a sliver of comfort at the thought that should worse come worst; Asami was just a phone call away.
"I never knew paralegals have so much time in their hands to play messenger with clients. Couldn't you just have mailed it to me instead?" he griped, hoping that irritation effectively concealed his distress.
"That's true, but sensei wants a personal touch on your situation."
Oh, she would.
That woman had invited him for dinner a lot of times already and so far he effectively came up with the right excuses.
As expected, his humiliation that day remained a bitter pill to swallow.
"Hmmph. I see."
The room's other occupant raised a brow, finding his dismissal unusual and a bit insulting. Fujisaki Nuriko was not an ordinary counsel and for her to have personal interest in a case must mean that the client was a high profile one.
However, surveying the blonde man wearing a simple shirt and ripped jeans, looking barely out of his teens—twenty at most—nothing of the sort was even remotely indicated.
Cute.
But definitely not her type.
Hence, without further ado, she handed him the envelope. "Here."
Akihito practically tore it open and scanned the contents. His hands shook at every statement, slowly losing grasp of reality with all the legal jargon crowding his brain. Only the words "DISMISSED" and "ACQUITTED" and their implications were absorbed by his head while the rest were purely a waste of ink and paper.
'WHEREFORE, premises considered, the demurrer to evidence effecting a dismissal, accused Takaba Akihito is hereby entitled to acquittal from charges of frustrated murder. SO ORDERED.'
Confusion, disbelief then cold seeping anger overwhelmed his senses.
He was caught at the scene of the crime holding a metallic baseball bat, hands and clothes bloodied yet nothing got him implicated?
The nightmares of five months back came flooding in again.
Chang Shen-Yi was a man old enough to be his grandfather—small, weak, thin-boned and practically harmless. Just what could have possessed him to beat the guy up until he was all black and blue to the point of comatose? Was it really him who did it? Why was he even there in the first place? Asami's penthouse, Kou's apartment or even his workplace was miles away. It was like someone took over his body and made him go somewhere to wreck havoc and fear.
Until now, he could still hear the screams.
Akihito put the paper down, leveling the woman with a long freezing stare.
"That's it?" He spoke at last, his voice trembling with every syllable. "Someone almost died that night and the case was just dismissed?"
She nodded proudly, mistaking his reaction for surprise and clarification. "It could've been worse though. If the demurrer didn't prosper, the judge would have exempted you from liability for unsound mental condition and ordered your confinement to the nearest institution."
Dread spilled from his gut at those words.
For some reason, her cheeky response sounded nothing like a joke.
"Is there any appeal?"
"None. As of today, the order has become final and executory." A pleased smile. "You're a free man."
Unmoving on her seat, she allowed the silence grow accustomed to the news.
'A free man?'
Akihito wanted to lunge forward and rip the paper to pieces.
What kind of bullshit were they spouting?
He couldn't remember any of the events that day; or even days beforeto be more accurate. Aside from the severely injured Chinese man, he could've hurt or worse killed many other people without knowing why and how he did it.
Oh god.
The mere possibility mortified him.
Hearing no positive response from the client, she peered at him, and then frowned at what she saw. "That's not a happy face you're making."
A thread of his thinning patience finally snapped.
"Because I'm not happy!" Akihito snarled, pent-up emotions exploding. "Someone almost lost his life that night and is still comatose at some hospital I'm not allowed to visit; and I can't even remember if I did it or what, but all the judge can do is fucking dismiss the case for lack of merit?"
"It's a demurrer to evidence," she corrected in a know-it-all tone. "The public prosecutor's information was insufficient to prove your guilt beyond reasonable doubt."
"Whatever! It's all the same thing!"
Fuck. He must be going insane. Why was he complaining? He's free! The charges were dismissed! If it was just money for the bills, surely Asami had already taken care of that.
But no.
His conscience told him everything was wrong.
"Where's your boss?"
She blinked, not expecting the question.
"Fujisaki-sensei is currently attending a veryimportant meeting."
"Call her."
Cat-like eyes narrowed at the order. "I apologize Takaba-san but that's not possible. She's a very busy woman. I, on the other hand, can assist you with whatever concerns you may have right here and right now." To be honest, she couldn't understand where this aggravation was coming from. They won the case. Why was he upset?
Akihito stood up and towered over her furiously. "You won't call her? Fine! Where's the meeting then? I'm going there to give her a piece of my mind."
The poor woman sputtered in disbelief.
"Y-You can't do that!"
"Yeah?! Try me. Call that pervert or I'm storming into whatever hellhole she is."
Five minutes later, impulsive behavior notwithstanding, the paralegal gave in and dialed Fujisaki's direct line at Sion, hoping and praying that her conference had not yet started. When the line was picked up after five rings, she sighed in relief and did a quick rundown of the events that happened. Then upon the latter's instruction, she handed the phone to the irate client, her smile professionally warm and fake.
"We're in luck, Takaba-san. Sensei is available to talk with you despite her busy schedule."
Akihito, in turn, snatched the device without a word.
The dirty look she sent him was definitely not missed.
"Fujisaki."
"Akihito."
The familiarity in her tone only increased his frustration. "It's Takaba to you."
"Whatever. I heard you're terrorizing my assistant."
"That's because you're not doing your work properly," he fired back, scowling at the cause of his temper. If his visitor flinched at the blasting decibels, he either didn't notice or didn't care. "A freaking dismissal for lack of evidence? Is the judge blind or plain illiterate? The reports clearly said I was there! What more evidence does he want?"
"Excuse me?" She answered incredulously, sounding annoyed and obviously tired. "If you want to be behind bars that badly, then get another lawyer, preferably a stupid one. Even I will have problems convicting a person not guilty of committing any crime."
His mind went blank.
"W-What do you mean?"
"You're innocent. Chang is in coma not because of you."
"I don't believe it!" Innocent? Who was she trying to fool? For weeks, he had woken up screaming from nightmares of being hanged in a death chamber with only the comfort of Asami's warm body assuring him that he was still breathing and alive. "What did you do? Bribery? Coercion? Grave threats? Shit. Even the legal system has been corrupted." His last words came out a whisper.
Akihito didn't know whether to be relieved or ashamed of this discovery.
Suddenly exhausted from pacing back and forth, he sank on the cushion and massaged his aching temples. Nothing was making sense anymore. No matter how he looked at it, the puzzle remained incomplete. They said the body was lying on the pavement with him standing—and armed—just a few meters away; hence, there was no doubt who could only be the logical suspect.
Then like a punch to his gut, bitter realization struck him full-force.
"You're hiding something."
Her reply was cold, direct and cautious. "You're off the hook, kid. Be satisfied with that and leave this issue alone."
"No!" Akihito, Akihito. Stop digging your own grave. "There's something you're not telling me. I just know it! This is my problem. Why are you withholding the truth from me?"
Papers and folders were shuffled in the background. "What the hell is your problem? We've done our job to save your ass. The least thing you can do is show some gratitude."
"Yeah? What do you want me to say? 'Congratulations for a job well done?' Or maybe, 'Thank you very much for proving once again that justice isn't only blind but also mute, crippled, deaf and dumb?'"
"So what if it is? Did you order my assistant to call just so you can whine useless poetics to my ears? What a laugh! Tell me the point of this conversation now. I have a meeting in three minutes." The sharp snap of a briefcase being closed emphasized her demand.
"The point?" Akihito wanted to go wherever she was and stab her with a fork. "Unbelievable. You're supposed to be smart yet you're asking me why I'm acting like this?"
"Three minutes, Takaba. Stop wasting it."
"Fuck. Hear this, Fujisaki. If I wasn't guilty, the least thing you can do is find the ones who actually did it and put them in prison."
A snort. "I'm a lawyer, not the police. Don't expect me to do something beyond my job description."
"Damn you. How can you stomach doing something like this? The victim is practically a grandpa. You saw him! I doubt he can even hurt a fly even if he wanted to."
There was a sound of doors creaking open. "You aren't paying me by the hour so quit complaining."
But her curt dismissal only furthered his ire. "Don't you know this makes you as horrible as those people? You're good as a murderer too!"
"Stop being a hypocrite—"
"—ha! Who are you calling a hypocrite, perv—"
"—Listen to me, you stupid brat!" Fujisaki could no longer hide the resentment in her voice. She was sick of being blamed for a burden that was not hers alone to carry. "Before you condemn me for the things I've done, look in front of the mirror, reflect on your situation and think! Just fucking think what kind of man you're currently spending your life with. "
"Shut up! Asami has nothing to do with this."
"Fool! Stop deluding yourself. Contrary to your beliefs, Asami is not kind. Why? You think you're special because he eats your food, sleeps on your bed and comes home to you every night? Newsflash, darling: In this world, that man's word is law. If you break it, he breaks you. No exceptions."
"W-What? Why are you telling me this?"
"How naïve, Akihito. If wives can be replaced, then bedwarmers can be too. As for the rest, figure it out by yourself."
Then she hung up.
Very professional, bitch.
Asami regarded the woman currently putting her phone away with his harshest glare. Despite hearing only the last parts of the conversation from behind the doors of his office, the words spoken in anger were enough to engender the belief that Akihito was upset by the situation.
So when she finally sat on the chair across the table, he warned acidly, "Stop filling his head with worthless things."
An eyebrow arched in surprise. "Eavesdropping now, Asami?"
Said man simply ignored the jibe, menacing look still in place.
"I'm only speaking the truth," she continued, unperturbed by the threat.
A snort. "Don't flatter yourself. Akihito is different from you."
"And from Kaori too?"
Casually lighting a cigarette, Asami's face remained blank at the mention of his second ex-wife. "Yes."
The tightening of Fujisaki's jaw didn't go unnoticed.
Bastard.
Without a doubt, she could never forgive this man.
"Your lover got the order," she reported flippantly as if it wasn't obvious enough. 'And he chewed my assistant to pieces.'
"Why did it even reach the court?" The question was thrown like an insult.
"I apologized already," she spat through gritted teeth, feeling disgraced by the reminder. The public prosecutor was a sweet-turned-bitter one night stand a few years back so her normal methods of getting the charges dismissed didn't work. Making him disappear, on the other hand, was a dicey option since Matsuura Keigo happened to be the incumbent Minister of Justice's only son.
Admittedly, it was a momentary lapse of judgment she never expected to bite her on the ass.
A huff.
What was he expecting anyway? It was a fuck, not a date. Surely he wouldn't spend time getting to know the stranger on his bed when he could be sucking cock instead.
But Asami was not one to easily forget mistakes. "Learn not to shit where you eat."
She was thirty-seven, not stupid. "I understand."
Paying no heed to the evident tension, Kirishima approached the pair with a tray of freshly brewed tea—the slight clang of teaspoons hitting the cups breaching the silence. Satisfied that they were set within easy reach, he moved on to handing Asami a document containing the agenda of that meeting.
The other man wasted no time and started browsing through it.
"Chang Shen-Yi woke up from coma a week ago."
A grunt.
Receiving no reply from the other man, Fujisaki carried on. "Born on March 18 in Hegang, Heilongjiang, China to farmer parents, Chang, sixty-eight as indicated by his travel papers, crossed the border with his two year old grandson while hidden inside a compartment in a Bolivian cargo ship. They were dropped off along the coast of Kyushu and then transported to the mainland by means of—"
Asami tossed the folder on the table, figuring its contents. When she phoned him earlier for something that demanded his attention, he left immediately, thinking the matter was connected to the Alrosa deal. This, however, was the least of his expectations. "You're wasting my time. I smuggle weapons. Not humans."
"Why, thank you very much for that useless piece information. I believe I know that best out of all your employees." After all, she made those transactions official in Customs. "In case you've forgotten, Chang was the victim in your lover's frustrated murder case."
Nevertheless, he ignored her, stood up and started collecting his things, apparently done with the conversation. "I just pay the bills. His life story does not interest me."
Fujisaki stopped the impulse to strangle him and steeled her nerves. "Then I strongly suggest you start having interest considering it was his testimony that saved Takaba Akihito's ass."
Asami was halfway to the door when those words caught his attention.
To protect that spirit was his only goal when he caged Akihito away from the underworld.
As his whole body froze, blood turning to ice, Asami remembered the sleepless nights—and finger marks bruising around that dainty neck—when the younger man woke up screaming from nightmares of being tied, drugged up and eventually sold only to be abused in ways inhumanly possible.
Akihito was almost broken back then.
Breathing heavily, he stormed back, golden eyes flashing dangerously.
"Explain yourself."
And all of a sudden, the tables were turned.
"When my daughter and her husband along with most of the villagers were forcibly taken to work on the mine, I wasted no time thinking of the consequences. I sold the farm to afford the fee, packed our meager belongings and just followed the directions of the kind city men."
Apart from his face, the speaker's whole body was covered in bandages—its pristine white color reflected on the bed sheets, on the wall and on the newly sanitized floor, aptly signifying the purity of his savior's (doctor's) hearts, untouched by human emotions of sympathy, compassion or mercy towards ailing patients. Only the smell of drugs, starched linen and nauseating disinfectant saturated the air of the place where care but never genuine affection was given for a price.
A hospital.
"Please tell me something about these city men."
"Ah yes, lǜshī." Fujisaki hid a grimace at the poor accent, but didn't comment lest it be included on the record. Meanwhile, Chang seemed really happy to have someone talking to him and not merely to check on his blood pressure. "They were good men who saved us. I didn't trust them at first because of the gruff exterior and imposing snake tattoo, but they must mean well since they got us out of my country and into yours safely."
The eyes imploring her to agree were optimistic, fully believing the innate goodness of his handlers.
But, no.
Even the corrupted soul in her didn't think so.
"Why bother going to Japan? Don't you have other relatives to stay with in the province?"
However, the old man was already shaking his head even before she finished her sentence.
"China's destiny is in Siberia, young lady. I'm one of the few who escaped."
That response filling her with a sense of foreboding, Fujisaki still ventured to ask for the reason though knowing she had to delete it from record. "Why do you say so?"
His short and honest answer was accompanied by a bitter yet wistful smile.
"Because I'm a liability. The Russians have no use for old men like me."
It didn't take long for Asami to figure out the connection.
Fujisaki was simply hinting territorial dispute against a smaller group that dared to run business in the area without depositing protection money. Their cooperation with the Snakeheads was not a concern since human trafficking operations of the clan ended at the fall of Asami Yoshirou, but it never hurt to collect a bit of pocket allowance.
At first, she took Chang's story as bizarre ramblings of a senile man.
Asami, on the other hand, was always several steps ahead.
Many of the Chinese illegal immigrants who went to Japan were natives of Fujian and Zhejiang provinces in southeastern China. Most of them came from Fuzhou or other cities and towns nearby, ranging from middle class to upper middle class.
Because the poor couldn't afford the smuggling fee.
So what could have motivated a sheer farmer from Hegang and some coal miners in Shuangyashan to abandon their homeland and seek refuge in another country?
The answer was simple.
They were avoiding a greater evil or injury.
"Asami-sama, the Triad leader is on the other line."
A narrowed stare.
That was fast.
"Feilong." he greeted when Kirishima passed the device to his awaiting hands.
"Asami." The voice was clipped and guarded after realizing that the number's owner was not the usually exuberant young man. For obvious reasons, the sudden phone call was not as welcomed anymore. He was recovering at the moment from his latest confrontation with Yan so dealing with another nuisance was just overkill. "What's the meaning of this? Where's Akihito?"
Asami dismissed the questions with another question. "Does your merchandise still include humans?"
A rhetorical statement needing no answer.
He fired another one. "Does your operation extend beyond the borders?"
A growl. "I have no time for this nonsense."
"Did you supply goods to a Russian mine?"
"Are you out of your mind?"
"It's a yes or no question."
"And that's hardly any of your business."
"Good." Asami was done playing riddles with him. Feilong knew nothing of the situation in Heilongjiang. "I'm tired of weeding out traitors for you."
There was no attempt to rebuke the comment but from his end, he could distinctly hear the sound of the other man's patience snapping.
Feilong had always hated being taken for a fool.
"What do you want, Asami?" The sharp edge on his voice indicated a warning.
Said man took the words in stride, thoroughly considering the map stretched out across his table and paying close attention to the notes written on the surface.
It was too easy.
Asami had no reason to feed him false information. Slave trading or human trafficking was not his profit-making industry; and although the matter at hand was separate and entirely different from the Alrosa deal, he could see the advantages of dipping his fingers in.
Like playing chess with a child.
"Look northeast, Feilong. Some kids are terrorizing your playground."
He called it a simple favor from a friend.
But when the dice started rolling, its payment Asami would surely collect later on.
Akihito arrived at the Kokusaikaikan Station a bit past dinnertime.
Predictably after his argument with Fujisaki, he rushed out of the penthouse and gave chase, doing everything possible to lose his guards. There was absolutely no way he was setting foot in Kyoto with Asami's men around. His family was normal, and he wanted it to stay that way.
The consequences would just have to wait when he got back.
Body still running on autopilot when he flagged down a taxi going to his grandparents' house, he thought back on the events that morning. Asami was intent on keeping him out of his affairs to the extent of screening the jobs he could accept and work on—and now, even to the non-disclosure facts and circumstances surrounding his favorable verdict, if his lawyer's rendition was indeed true. The gesture had its roots on the incident five months ago but he knew it had been boiling since the debacle in Hong Kong.
Asami wanted him safe, that much was clear.
But the bitter part of him was suffocating.
The doctor called it dissociative fugue when one of Asami's guards narrated his sudden and unplanned travel— even leaving his phone and treasured cameras lying around—before they lost him from sight. It was a reversible amnesia precipitated by some stressful episode. But as expected, he remembered nothing of the original stressor when he woke up in prison.
Dr. Sekijima said individuals usually had only a single episode in their lives; however, some cases might be refractory.
Asami, not wanting to take chances, had been paranoid since then.
He was on lockdown inside the penthouse during the first two months. It somehow got better on the third when he was allowed outside the premises but only with an escort, either Suoh or Akira—the guard who noticed his strange behavior—on his side. By the fourth month, with no potential triggers in sight, he was finally allowed to do groceries alone. And on the fifth, Asami felt at ease enough to leave him on his own while he did business in Venice.
But of course, he was not completely without guard as he spied Suoh amongst the crowd at Naomi's wedding.
There were eyes watching him twenty-four seven.
"We're here, sir."
Akihito blinked at the cab driver as if seeing him for the first time.
The other man in turn gave him an impatient look.
Ah.
Grinning sheepishly, he paid the fare and exited the cab, stretching out the limbs tired from the long journey. He inhaled the fresh rural air of Sakyō-ku and allowed his mind to dwell on recollections of his childhood—with parents, grandparents and great grandfather.
Nostalgia.
Before his mother's untimely death when he was six years old, the Takaba family was a huge and happy household.
But now, the traditional Japanese house standing in front of him was gloomy and dark.
Akihito briefly wondered if his father was already around. His grandparents were likely to be asleep at this time.
As the door opened after five knocks, he braced himself for the onslaught of questions about his tardy arrival and rapidly started thinking of the right yet believable excuses.
But the sight that greeted him was not of his father.
Rather, it was a man with enthralling violet eyes.
"Who the heck are you?"
"Here."
Akihito accepted the warm cup with a small 'thanks,' the English word rolling smoothly on his tongue. It had been while since he conversed with anyone in such language as his line of work only allowed him to deal with locals.
"Minoru and your grandparents went to bed early so I'm the only one awake to welcome you home."
Shivers ran down his spine at the deep masculine voice. But though the words uttered were kind and cordial, the violet orbs remained sharp and vigilant.
Like someone always waiting for an attack.
"I see," the reply meant to fill the silence as he contemplated the accent of his companion's every syllable. Russian. It had to be that blasted language. There was no way he could forget the cadence of Mikhail's dog—that monster almost choked him to death and fed him bullets.
Peering from his cup, Akihito considered the man who seized him up in the genkan as if debating whether to let him inside. Never had he felt like a stranger at his own house when he was ordered—not asked—to enter very quietly and wait in the kitchen—not the living room—for some milk because the house's occupants were already asleep.
He tried to search his memories to match the auburn hair, piercing gaze and imposing height but he came up blank not only as to the other's identity but also his relation to the family.
Who exactly was this man?
A younger lover?
'Akihito, Akihito. Your father is different from you.'
An illegitimate child? They were possibly around the same age, give or take two to three years. But this person was in no way similar to his father to support that claim.
A snort.
Who was he to talk? He himself resembled nothing of Takaba Minoru—having grown up with people telling him he was looking more and more beautiful like his mother each day.
Really.
'What a way to boost a man's ego.'
Alexandrei Mordinov, as he introduced himself earlier, seemed like a reckless and intense man, exuding the heady combination of cigarettes, vodka and testosterone.
And Akihito was irresistibly captivated.
When he saw him the first time, he felt a familiar shudder and excitement from the definite aura of power emitted by him. Dressed in probably his father's yukata, the fabric perfectly outlining the sculpted body underneath, Akihito had to force himself to concentrate on the handsome face but his eyes betrayed him.
"How was your trip?" Alexandrei asked, standing up straight and glancing at his watch. He was trying to initiate small talk despite his obvious intent to leave the newcomer.
"Long and hard," he answered, and then cringed, hoping that it didn't sound like some cheap porn line.
The slip-up was thankfully missed. "Are you married?"
"No." Akihito readily answered, heart skipping a beat, not once wondering where the sudden question came from. Those confident eyes were making him uncomfortable so he concentrated on the moving lips. "You?"
A secretive smirk that imitated Asami's provocative ones but the face in front of him maintained a look that could melt ice. "Not yet. But soon."
And without another word, the foreigner was gone.
Hopefully not off to his father's bed.
Tense shoulders finally relaxed at the sound of fading footsteps.
Taking a sip of the now lukewarm milk, Akihito remembered those days when his mother told him not to eat cookies before dinner. Greedy as he was like most kids his age, he didn't listen and came up with the brilliant idea of climbing the bar stool in order to reach the kitchen cupboard. Of course, the brilliant plan was doomed as soon as he fell off the chair and scraped his knees, ultimately getting the scolding of his lifetime. But though reprimanded—sniffling and all—the satisfaction of eating his treat comforted him in the end.
Akihito wanted to vomit.
Because right now, Alexandrei Mordinov felt like that cookie jar.
'You can look but never touch.'
And should he even think of dipping his fingers in, only bitterness would remain when ecstasy turned to salt and pain.
But fuck.
He glanced down at the member throbbing between his thighs.
As a healthy twenty-five year old male with a very active sex life, he was so dead.
Because if he ever decided to partake of the sweet forbidden fruit, there was no doubt—
—Asami's going to kill him.
Because Asami never liked to share.
END OF RUBY PART 2
NOTES:
1) First Scene (prison) happened before the drabble Hero. It's the prequel to the Jewel Universe.
2) I got confused reading the Translated Version of the Penal Code of Japan regarding Homicide, Murder and Injury and their attending penalties so I applied the penal laws in my country instead (except death penalty).
3) People who smuggle people from China to other countries are known as snakeheads. They are former drug smugglers who realized that smuggling people is more lucrative and less risky than smuggling drugs. Snakeheads are generally only sentenced to six months or a year in prison if they get caught.