6

"Life was tough, it could be dangerous, but it made sense. The problems it threw at you could be solved rationally."

Scott Westerfield

Z

There were always two things I could count on in the center of Tokyo; bright lights and swarms of people. The lights were always blinding and I was always being bumped and pulled like I was in a rip tide by people hurrying off to wherever they were going. But the further you got from Tokyo, the more that changed. The lights started to turn dim, and while there was still people, they were spread out. Not much was creepier then standing at the dark entrance to a side street totally alone.

One of the few things that creeped me out more than the back alleys was the Yakuza's office. It was down a dark side street on the back side of a couple of legitimate businesses. The buildings on either side were empty and boarded up. A single street lamp illuminated the dingy door with peeling paint. The rest had been allowed to go out.

I pulled on my jacket as I walked down the tiny corridor of a street. I shivered slightly and it had nothing to do with the cold. The happy, warm and fuzzy feeling I had from making out with Han had disappeared and I was left feeling like I had ice water in my veins. I was forcing my feet to keep moving as I watched for any sign of a person. This alley looked like a perfect place for someone like Jack the Ripper to hide.

A guard beside the door who was shaded by the light from behind him tossed away a still glowing cigarette and stood up from his leaning position on the wall. I made it almost to him when he opened the door for me and stepped aside. I nodded at him wordlessly as I stepped inside.

The inside was just as bad as the outside. It had a bare wood floor and was almost devoid of any furniture except for a beaten old couch and a table. The whole place smelled like cigars, old money, and alcohol. I moved through the first room, which was obviously once the waiting room for an office, and through a side door which took me through a creepy hallway into Kamata's office.

This was a satellite office. The main office of the faction was absolutely beautiful with polished wood floors and expensive furnishings. There was a sign on the door loudly proclaiming it to be a Yakuza building. I had been there very few times. The sketchiest part of Kamata's drug trade was a shadow operation, so it wasn't exactly done in the light.

Kamata's office was relatively nice compared to the rest of the building. His desk was very old and ornately carved. A few other antique pieces of furniture were spread throughout the room with various decorations on top. They were still covered in a layer of dust and had the look of being abandoned.

Kamata was sitting back in his desk chair waiting for me when I was ushered in and the door slammed behind me. He was wearing a simple black suit today, but I could see his trademark hat and coat behind him on a coat tree. He gestured for me to sit in the single chair in front of his desk with the hand that held his lit cigar. He savored a few more puffs before acknowledging me again.

"Ms. Gonzalez, the war is getting worse. You will be going directly through enemy territory and it is unlikely that they will allow it."

He waited for me to react. I had had several almost mishaps because of cops or other Yakuza trying to intercept the shipment. When I didn't comment, he continued.

"What you're running is a significant investment; I trust you will remember this." He set his cigar down in his ash tray and slid open a drawer. He withdrew a black pistol and a clip of ammunition. My heart started to thump against my sternum and my eyes unconsciously cut to the door as he loaded it and set it in front of him.

"I rather hope you don't have to use this, but I trust you will be able to if it comes to that. If you are not, I will replace you with someone who is."

Z

I took every curve with vicious ferocity. A quick glance at my rear view mirror revealed that the black Civic was still behind me. The war will be worse? He probably should have should have mentioned the top street racers of Osaka will be paid to run you headfirst into a tree. I thought bitterly as we were slammed into again.

I grumbled in Spanish under my breath as I jerked the gear shift and yanked on the e-brake. I looked over at the Yakuza next to me. He was gripping the armrest on the side of the door so hard he was leaving marks.

After a lot of turns onto random side roads and doubling back through pedestrian filled neighborhoods and skinny back alleys, I managed to lose him. I pulled through the doors of the warehouse and killed the engine of the Z I was driving that night. I leaned back into my seat with an exhausted sigh. The gun I had carelessly shoved into my waistband jabbed into my hip bone uncomfortably.

The Yakuza muttered something that sounded like "good job" and stepped out to grab the bags. I watched him lazily from the side mirror for a second before getting out myself to stretch my legs a little.

I still couldn't shake the feeling of paranoia. It was dark on the inside without the light from my headlights, but there was obviously no one here besides What's-his-name and me. I checked my watch and started unconsciously fingering the smooth, cold metal of the gun at my hip. We only had to wait there a couple of minutes for the Osaka runner to take the shipment from us. Unless something had happened to him, of course.

"Give me the keys." I said in very slow Japanese. This didn't feel right. I wasn't allowed to have them when we were stopped and I was probably going to get slapped for my insolence, but I didn't care. To my absolute surprise, he wordlessly handed them over and motioned for me to hurry and put them in the ignition.

An icy cold chill of paralyzing fear shot down my spine as I caught a bit of movement in a corner. My eyes shot over to the Yakuza who had noticed it too and was reaching for his hip holster that had been hidden by his jacket. The crack of a shot rang through the building before he could get it drawn. I threw myself down as on the concrete floor a second later as the second bullet shattered the window above my head and rained glass down on me.

I scrambled for the gun as the shadow of a man stepped out from his hiding place with a gun by his side. He approached me with smooth, long strides as I tried to free the gun from the hem of my shirt. I had landed awkwardly and was having an awful time trying to get it and keep it hidden. The element of surprise couldn't hurt here, right?

He grabbed my collar and forced me to my feet the second he got to me. He pushed his fist up against my throat and held me against the side of the car while I struggled fruitlessly. He kept muttering menacingly at me in Japanese with what I was sure was threats of what was going to happen later, but I couldn't make out a word because I was too focused on the gun an inch from my nose. He let go, which knocked me off balanced, before he grabbed a fistful of my hair and into the slightly cracked open top of my door. I felt my head spilt open on the edge.

The pain snapped me out of my stupor and I forced my index finger around the trigger. He dragged me up again and turned me to face him as he landed a solid hit on my cheekbone. I shoved the gun against his sternum and pulled the trigger.

I braced myself for the feeling of recoil, for the loud boom, for the feeling of hot blood spattering on me, but none of it ever came; something went wrong with the gun and it wouldn't fire. I felt panic rising in my chest as I tried several more times. The man stiffened in shock from having the gun knocked against his chest and I took that opportunity to raise my arm and slam the part of the gun that held the clip directly into his nose. He stumbled backwards and another shot echoed through the building, splattering hot blood all over me.

Oh, God. I'm dead. I'm dead and it didn't hurt that much. I opened my eyes slowly and took in the sight of the Osaka yakuza sprawled on his side. There was a wound on his neck that was pouring blood all over his now disheveled suit. Some of his tattoos were showing where his shirt was moved to the side in the struggle. I didn't know if I needed to be disgusted or relived.

I heard my Yakuza fighting to stand somewhere near my back bumper. I couldn't look away from the body long enough to see where he'd been shot. After he'd managed to stumble over to me, he grabbed my chin and jerked my face towards him so he could see check my head wound. It stung, but aside from the annoyance of hot blood dripping beside my right eye, it was nothing. I could see blood starting to slide between the man's fingers that were pressed against his left side. It was not a fatal shot; it hit more towards his hip bone that it did any organs.

Not knowing what else to do, I picked my way around the body and the growing blood pool to my trunk. I pulled out the bag of spare clothes I kept in case of emergency and grabbed one of DK's old shirts off the top. The Yakuza snatched it out of my hand and pressed it firmly to his side. The wetness on the black shirt was obvious.

I moved to get in the driver's seat so I could get us out of there, but he snagged my wrist and pulled the gun out of my hand.

"Safety." He said in heavily accented English as he flicked it off and then back on again before he handed it back . Of frickin' course.

The Yakuza dragged himself to his side and limply sat down. He pulled out his phone and started blathering in Japanese. I started the engine and flew out of the building. I tried to stay calm and take the curves just like I could any other day, but as the adrenaline wore off, the blood loss started to make my head spin.

"Back to Kamata." The Yakuza said when he hung up. I looked over to check his condition; he had started ripping off his shirt sleeves and uses them for bandages. I wished he had done that sooner; despite the shirt I gave him, he was bleeding all my seats.

Z

The fumes of adrenaline got me back to Kamata's office in one piece, but I was in a lot of pain and almost physically sick from the dizziness. I was expecting to get an angry Yakuza boss and a shot to the head when I got back, but instead there was a middle aged doctor with medical supplies already laid out.

After I got my head stitched back together, I spent the day sprawled on the lumpy, misshapen couch with someone's tie around my head to keep my bangs out of my stitches. The events of yesterday swirled around in my concussed head.

I couldn't decide what to feel. I was a Gonzalez; we buried our feelings deep, and if we ever started to remember them, we took a shot of tequila and buried them deeper. I felt tired of being sad and afraid. I was tired of cowering in my apartment. I made the decision that I done and that I was going to start living again.

What was the point in being disappointed in my uncle and feeling disgusted at his betrayal? He'd probably already been murdered and thrown in the ocean by the loan shark. Even if he wasn't, I knew he was too much of a coward to ever approach me.

That got me thinking about Sean. His words finally started to sink in and before long I was burning with anger. Who the heck did he think he was anyway? He had the worst temper issues of anyone I had ever met. He had no right to lecture me about my bad habit of skipping town for the weekend and doing something reckless when he handled things by picking fight with the most well connected person he can find.

I was mad as hell at Sean, but I was going to end this fight. Dad would be furious at us for fighting when we needed each other most. I loved him just as much as I did Brent, and I needed him just as much as I did Brent. When something catastrophic happened, I always had those two and they always had me. Sean's hard headedness was ridiculous and all I had to do to get my brother back was give him the reality check of a lifetime.

By the time noon rolled around I was pacing like a trapped tiger and ready to go give Sean a piece of my mind. Kamata had almost refused to let my go without calling someone to drive me, but I insisted it was a flesh wound, and I'd be fine. It didn't work, but as soon as DK dragged his lazy ass out of bed at around one, I was able to get a ride home. He made me wear someone's undershirt because mine was blood soaked after I had to stop and help the guy with me. If I didn't change, he was going to refuse to let me in his car.

I looked like death on a cracker when I stumbled into the back door of Han's garage after finally getting back to my own car and driving myself. I still had the tie as a head band, the entirely too big undershirt over my black sports bra, and a bruised and still a little blood stained face. Han was entertaining a small group of people when he heard me come in.

His smiling face appeared over the railing only to change to concerned shock. He was down the steps and inspecting my head before I could blink.

"It's not that bad." I shrugged him off. "Where's Sean?"

"What happened?" He ignored my protests at his mothering and kept inspecting my new stitches.

"You were right. About everything. An argument got a little out of hand." He hummed while he felt of my head for any non-visible bumps hidden by my hair.

"We got attacked over the shipment. Guy with me got shot, but he saved my ass. I want to fix things with Sean. I don't want to die without finishing this."

The sound of the Hulkmobile pulling up echoed through the garage. I could hear Twinkie and Sean start walking towards us. I gave Han an I-got-this look and he let me go.

"Wha-" Sean stared at me like a fish out of water when he saw me. I attempted to storm up to him, but it probably wasn't very threatening considering how much the floor was spinning.

"Get in the car." I told him flatly as I stopped and drew myself up to my full height of 5'2".

"You're hurt." He whispered guiltily as he reached out to touch the side of my face. I slapped his hand away.

"Boy, get in the car. We're going for a ride." It felt good to mess with him. I always won our fights by screwing with his head. He started to visibly pale from what he thought was a threat. I was Yakuza after all. I might as well start owning it.

"Oh, so now you're scared of the Yakuza." I taunted as I walked over to my Rx-8, which I changed into while my Z was getting fixed.

"Where are we going?" He asked cautiously.

"You're going to see exactly what this family messed with." Pure horror spread across his face. "Chill out, papi. I'm bringing you back just as you are now at the end."

He flinched at the word papi. That was the sarcastic term I used when I were arguing with Brent or my dad. It was a habit I got from my harpy of a grandmother who made Sean cry every time she visited.

"You hit your head." He stuttered.

"That's why you're driving."

AN: Slowly but surely, it's getting reposted. This is a lot cleaner, but not as much changed. I'm going to start placing my oneshots in where they would go chronologically and it's drastically changing the story in some places, so watch out for that. It

If you could, please review. It makes me feel like reposting everything after getting hacked isn't totally pointless.