A/N:
Happy New Year! Hopefully 2015 brings another year of great stories, great angst and lots of fluff and smut! Especially from the manga itself!
This chapter was a lot of fun to write, mostly because I was drinking the entire time. Seriously, we started on the 30th, and went until the 1st. It's a great way to start the new year, though my liver and my beta were seriously tested because of the binge!
A million thanks to Miyanoai! Drinking should never be mixed with writing, unless you are Stephen King writing The Shining. I think I typed Matsuhara about a hundred different ways, and never noticed. Poor Miyanoai had to go back and fix them all! To be fair, my computer tries to autocorrect, but since I never put Matsuhara into the dictionary, it would just make a guess. It corrected it to masturbate several times. Each time, I found it wildly inappropriate and hilarious. I laughed every time until I cried. Every single time.
Just a friendly warning, this chapter is a gory one. Lots of psychological and physical torture. You know, the best kinds haha.
Enjoy!
Akihito sat next to the recumbent girl in the hospital bed, her chest rising and falling slowly while the machines hummed quietly. Helpless anger stirred in his gut, and though the photographer longed to turn his gaze away, he could only stare at her battered and bandaged face. Hisana looked so much like Asami with her ebony hair and moonlight skin, but where his lover was strong, solid, and implacable, she looked fragile.
He found himself memorizing the lines of her face, lest a gust of wind blow her away. The right side of her face was bandaged tightly, keeping her reattached ear in place. Yamagi-sensei, a plastic surgeon, assured Akihito that there would be little to no visible scarring. She would still be as beautiful as her father. Still, the photographer could only see the mottled bruises, the pink crescent cuts and abrasions as soft skin yielded.
Was this how Asami felt? This raging inferno that melded into icy terror consumed him. There was nothing he could do: heal her wounds, or wipe the experience from her memory. He could soothe the aches, help her walk until her hip healed, but he could not fix it. Could not make it all go away.
Asami certainly was trying to. His lover was somewhere in the bowels of the city, avenging every drop of her blood. Matsuhara's screams would echo in the warehouse, his goons lifeless statues as dead eyes watched the horror. Akihito didn't need to see that, didn't want to see it. He took comfort in the fact that Matsuhara would not target her again.
The scene was so familiar to Akihito, and the mimicry was not lost on him. He had been the one so frequently unconscious in a hospital bed as Ryuichi slaughtered the enemy. It seemed to comfort the crime lord during the long hours of narcotic induced sleep. Now, Akihito could see the roles reversed: the fixer sleeping away wounds while he kept a silent vigil. For one day, that would happen. His love would be attacked, would be injured or worse, and Akihito could do nothing to stop it.
Worst of all, it was only a matter of time before it happened.
***Sunshine***
Asami crossed his legs, as the motorcade drove in the darkness. They were nearing the Matsuhara estate, but his mind was forty minutes away in Tokyo. He had sent Hisana to the hospital, choosing to pursue Matsuhara rather than hold her hand after the surgery. Akihito was there. His lover would stand by her until he destroyed the ones who dared stand against them. Kirishima was sitting across from him, searching the internet. Asami needed to make a phone call.
"Abbas Al Madani's private number," Kirishima handed Asami his phone, with the number already queued in.
The fixer accepted it, and with a deep sigh, pressed call. This was not a call he wanted to make. It rang twice, before a deep voice answered, "Salaam."
"Abbas, this is Ryuichi Asami," Asami said in crisp English.
"Ryuichi," the man's voice was very deep. It rumbled in his chest like the ocean after a storm. "I expected this phone call eventually. Has Mahdi become too much of a consort to your daughter?" Abbas chuckled thinly. He knew that the Japanese crime lord would grow weary of the couple, and put out a hit on his nephew. Allah knew that fathers were protective of their daughters.
"No," Asami's words were tight. "Your nephew is a runt, but he has ingratiated himself to me."
"Now wait just a minute," Abbas interrupted. That was a problem. Asami was not supposed to like Mahdi. The kids were young and stupid, but worldly enough to know that nothing could come of the relationship. Families of crime were, in essence, modern day royalty, and marriages formed unbreakable alliances. Abbas could not afford to be attached to a man as loathed as Ryuichi Asami. "We both know––"
"Abbas," Asami cut him off. His fingers itched for a bourbon but only found his gun. In this moment, he missed his family, and wished to hold Akihito's hand rather than the Ruger. The Arab stopped talking. "My daughter was kidnapped earlier this evening."
"And Mahdi?" Abbas was almost afraid to ask.
"Your nephew helped me retrieve her," Asami hated being interrupted. Now was not the time to try his patience. "He saved her life, but was shot multiple times. He's on his way to Keio University Hospital right now."
Abbas swore. Mahdi was his sister's boy, born from her short marriage. Her husband had died suddenly in a car crash. Her son had only been two. She doted on him, and was increasingly protective of him. Sending Mahdi to Oxford had caused her weeks of anxiety. This would send her into conniptions.
Asami's words flowed quicker, now. He knew as well as Abbas what was in store for the lovebirds. "My doctors are in charge of his medical care. Of course, I will cover all of the expenses and the funeral arrangements for your men. Several of them died tonight." Though they were under Mahdi's command, they ultimately worked for Abbas, and Asami would be remiss if he did not inform him of their deaths.
"That won't be necessary," Abbas was not fooled by the offer. "My coffers are just as full as yours. I will have someone from our embassy collect him immediately. He will be in my house before he regain's consciousness."
Asami swallowed the knot in his throat. Hisana would be upset if Mahdi were to be ripped from her. "My daughter has grown fond of him," he started.
Abbas sighed so loudly that Asami had to pull the phone away from his ear. "My nephew is a smart boy, but he is a romantic, and loses his head when he sees a pretty girl. I have seen your daughter. She is beautiful, and I am sure that Mahdi cares for her. He will be devastated by my decision as well."
"Then don't force him back to Abu Dhabi," Asami argued.
"I will not leave him in your care. You may tolerate him today, but tomorrow, he will be your daughter's suitor. I have daughters, Ryuichi. I know what it's like."
"Oxford, then. It is on the other side of the world, out of my reach and yours. Let us let them return to their apartment, and play pretend for a little while longer. We both know that this is infatuation. They will be sick of each other by the end of the year."
"Six months ago, I might have agreed with you. So many of our peers have children there. My eldest son is even set to begin classes there next month. It would only be natural that their paths cross and diverge. But, it seems that my nephew's feelings are becoming quite serious. He has already asked if my sister would like to meet your daughter. This relationship is bad for business. Broken hearts can heal, but business cannot."
"Hisana has nothing to do with my business, legal or otherwise." Abbas Al Madani usually dealt with black-market trades and human cartel. To him, that was the only side of business that mattered. "There should be no ramifications because of that," countered Asami.
The middleman chuckled derisively. "That girl has been groomed in your exact image from the moment she was born. You are lying to yourself if you think that she won't follow in your footsteps. She is your heir, after all."
"This isn't about business anymore, Abbas," Asami snarled into the phone. The Emirate man was slowly caving to his demands, slowly breaking. Just a little push, and Asami would get what he wanted. The things he did to keep Hisana happy.
"What do you want from me, Ryuichi? We both know that my hands are tied on this."
They were. His every argument was logical. The criminal world would distrust Abbas's every word and deed if he were publicly tied to Asami. It was a miracle that no one had discovered the relationship yet, but Asami credited that to how well he had hid Hisana. "Release Mahdi from your service. Give him to me."
"That is out of the question, Ryuichi. Never mind that he is family, he is crucial to my business. He holds the West in the palm of his hand. He even knows the royal family! No, I have invested too much money and time into that boy to hand him over to you to be your daughter's plaything."
"I'll buy him from you," the fixer played his last card. He would reimburse the sly Arab every penny that he invested into his nephew. Conditioning perfect lieutenants took an extraordinary amount of time and money, but Asami would bite the bullet and pay for the boy to come to Tokyo.
"My decision is final. Mahdi will be here by first light."
The line went dead. Asami tucked the phone into his suit pocket. Kirishima's face was blank, waiting for Asami to say something. To send men to the hospital to fight the Arabs back, or to move Mahdi and Hisana all together. Yet, Asami had once sworn that Hisana would love only him, and that thought reverberated in his mind as he met Kirishima's gaze. "ETA on Matsuhara's house?"
"Seven minutes," the secretary answered as he pressed his glasses further up his nose. He could accept Asami's decision.
Asami nodded, and settled back into his thoughts. He had been his daughter's world for years, but now he wondered if that was a mistake.
***Sunshine***
The heart monitors beeped a little louder, the pulses coming closer together. Akihito scratched the side of his head and yawned. It felt like Asami had been gone for hours. It was almost four in the morning, and exhaustion was creeping up. Akihito really wanted to go to sleep. Maybe he would close his eyes for just a moment. The nurses had brought him in a pillow. It fit perfectly between Hisana's stationary body and the bedrail.
He was just getting settled when gold eyes snapped open. "Mahdi!"
Akihito jerked back, adrenaline pumping through his body. Hisana grabbed the metal rail and gasped sharply. She was transfixed by the IVs taped to her left hand. The right one grabbed at it, pulling at the starched bandages that kept it in place. "Mahdi!" she screamed again, as she tried to rip of the bandage off.
"Hisana, calm down!" Akihito shouted right back at her. He jumped to his feet, and tried to grab her flailing hands. She slapped him away, but when her right hand collided with the IV, she grabbed it tightly and yanked. "Stop that!" Akihito grabbed both of her hands.
"Mahdi! Where's Mahdi?" she kept shouting "He's hurt! He needs help! Mahdi!"
"Asami-san!" nurses came running in. Hisana's heart rate monitor was going crazy, and her vitals were elevated. It looked like she was going into cardiac arrest. "What's wrong?"
Hisana wheeled on the nurses. "Get out!" she screamed. "Mahdi!"
It was the head nurse. She balked and her eyes darted to Akihito, who struggled helplessly. Hisana was shouting for her lover, as she pulled at the IVs that kept her stuck in the bed. He motioned for the nurses to come help him hold her down. She needed to be reasoned with, and he might need some assistance with that.
"He's in surgery!" Akihito said loudly. He gripped both of her arms, though his shoulder protested as she violently struggled. For such a little thing, she had her father's strength. "We've got him, Hisana! He's here!"
"Pushing 200 mg of phenergan!" the head nurse shouted. Two more nurses appeared out of nowhere. They each pushed down on Hisana's shoulders, allowing the head nurse to slip a needle into the clear IV. They pushed her down for several more seconds, until her eyes fluttered shut and she fell motionless on the bed. The tight grip she had on Akihito's hand fell away.
"Will that happen again?" he heard one of the nurses ask.
"It could," the head nurse sighed softly. "Maybe if the father were here, he could keep her calm."
Akihito resumed his position by her side. He took her hand once more, his heart still racing. "It's okay," he gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I'm here. Mahdi's here. You're safe."
Hisana was unresponsive, but Akihito held her hand the rest of the night.
***Sunshine***
Matsuhara, the old fool, was still in his mansion. The Serbs had killed the two men he left behind, and it seemed that Hashimoto had not contacted him about the exchange at the Crimson Rose. Asami walked straight into the man's three story, European style home, shooting the snarling mutt that had come charging.
Guns drawn, the fixer's company followed the innocuous moans and squeaking mattress springs. Matsuhara was balls deep in his wife. His pale, flat ass was high in the air, butt covered with sparse, dark hairs that curled upwards. That was a sight that Asami wanted to burn from his memory. Nonetheless, he announced his presence with startling brutality. "Am I interrupting something?"
The woman's feet flexed and Matsuhara looked over his shoulder. The warm barrel of Asami's gun pressed into his forehead. "You can finish if you would like. It's going to be the last pleasure you will ever feel."
***Sunshine***
She stirred once, making his chest swell with bated breath. Then her head flopped to the side, her breaths still even. Akihito stroked her hand. They alone seemed to be unscathed. He wondered about her mother. Kokoro must have been a petite woman for Hisana to be so small. Asami swore it was a side effect of her premature birth, but Akihito was dubious. His thumb rubbed small patterns as he imagines what his child would look like: a boy with Asami's hair and his eyes? A girl with Asami's mind but Akihito's moral conscience? The generations would span for eons, and the possibilities were so infinite that he could not comprehend them all.
"You look so serious."
He jumped, startled out of his reverie. "You're awake!"
"Yeah," her voice was brittle, so dry it got stuck somewhere in her throat. She tried to lick her lips, but no moisture could be found on her tongue. "Do you have some water?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah!" the photojournalist jumped up. Grabbing the pitcher by the bed, he filled a Styrofoam cup with the icy liquid. "Here," he held the cup to her mouth. "Drink slowly."
Cracked lips parted, and she gulped down more air than water. The cold drink sloshed in her haste, spilling over the edge. Hisana gasped as the water splashed on her face, running down her cheeks like tears.
"Shit!" Akihito literally threw the cup over his shoulder. He used his sleeve to sponge up her face as she sputtered and coughed. "I'm so sorry! I should have propped you up or gotten a straw!"
"S'okay," Hisana murmured, already enunciating more clearly. "I just wanted to get my mouth wet."
"Well…at least you did," he chuckled uncomfortably. He had no idea what to say to her. It was too late for reintroductions, too far gone for first impressions and he had invested so much emotion into her that he was sure she had imprinted herself on his soul. Ryuichi bound them together irrevocably, for neither was liable to disappear. No, this was family and family was forever. Right now, they were awkward in-laws meeting at the wedding, but it would get easier soon enough.
"Feels good," Hisana tried to grin, but it looked more like a grimace. Akihito could barely nod, and when her smooth fingers slid across his palm, he startled. She gave a reassuring squeeze, making a genuine smile grow on the photographer's face. "Thanks."
"Always," he said so fervently that they both were surprised.
She swallowed hard. "I know that it must have been…hard for you––I mean, I am sure that you were embroiled in this. That you didn't stay at the Club, or if you did––"
"Hisana," he cut her off. Owl eyes blinked at him, as he softly told her, "I mean what I said. I'll always be here. We're family now."
She understood what he was trying to say. He would be there the next time this happened. There for Christmas, birthdays, graduation. Grandchildren. And he would be there the next time someone attacked their family. They were family now, whether or not they liked it. Hisana squeezed his hand before settling deep into her pillows. "So," she chirped lightly. "How bad do I look? Or, you can just hand me a mirror."
"Uhhh…"
"That bad, huh?" Hisana tried to let out a self-deprecating chuckle. "Never mind."
Akihito would give her ignorance a little while longer. She looked terrible, and he felt sick every time he looked at her. The crescent cuts on her face were beginning to bruise, as the first layer of deep purple grew beneath porcelain skin. Kou had called twice, asking when it was okay to come visit Cinderella.
Her limp hand that had been gently holding his tensed. Her claw like nails bit into his palm, and she looked at his grimacing face. "You still haven't answered my question."
"Your question?" Akihito blinked, confused.
"From earlier," her eyebrows crossed. "About Mahdi. Where is he?"
"Oh," the photographer squeezed her hand right back. He had forgotten about the boyfriend who had spoken so kindly to him. "Mahdi's in surgery right now. Reiko-sensei is operating on him." He added, trying to be helpful. "Yamagi-sensei was the one who put your ear back on."
She sniffed. "It itches. I don't really care about me. How bad of shape is Mahdi in? Is he going to be okay?"
He did not want to make promises and then have the boy die on the table. Reiko-sensei had looked panicked when the Arab was wheeled into the OR. There were so many white sponges soaked with crimson, and they were using an oxygen pump to inflate his lungs. Akihito had absolutely no medical training, but it didn't look good. "He was shot," Akihito saw no reason to lie, but he could sugarcoat his words. Yamagi-sensei said that she would remember everything. "A couple of times. Like I said, he's still in surgery, so I don't know much more."
Hisana grabbed the hand that pressed her down. She did not realize that she had been trying to get up this entire time. "I need to see him. Please!" Hospitals had observation decks, places where she could watch. Mahdi would sense her presence. He would fight to stay with her.
"As soon as he gets out of surgery, we'll go see him," Akihito said firmly. "I promise."
Gold eyes glistened with tears, and Akihito realized that was the closest he would ever get to seeing Asami cry. Still, she listened to him, settling back into her pillows, her body tensing as the long minutes ticked by.
***Sunshine***
Matsuhara's foyer was wide open, covered in shining tile. It was as secure as a warehouse, with the security systems disabled and the staff not due for several hours. Matsuhara was strung up similarly to Hisana, the rope wound tightly around the banister. He was still naked, and in the cold moonlight, looked like a wraith, not a man.
Matsuhara Nobuko was tied to a chair, her legs splayed open. She was as bare as her husband. At the moment, the worst thing she feared was rape. Soon, Asami would show her what real fear was.
"Asami-sama," Nakano said from the landing, his arms full of a limp, swaddled thing. "We found the son."
In his arms, he held the limp body of Matsuhara Tamaki. Even from far away, Asami could see the bandages that wrapped most of his body. The comatose boy was rapidly decaying, even though his heart still beat. "Bring him down," ordered Asami. If only the punk ass had died sooner, then all of this could have been avoided. "He won't want to miss the show."
"Leave him alone!" Nobuko snarled, her old eyes blazing. "He hasn't done anything to you!"
"Oh, but he has," Asami bent down to meet her gaze. "The moment her dared to speak to my daughter, he asked to be beaten. When he dared to strike her, to parade her around like a sex trophy, he signed his death certificate."
"You!" the woman shrieked as her husband whimpered. The man's own stained boxers were used to gag him, so even if he were allowed to defend his family, he couldn't. The woman, it seemed, was more courageous than her husband. "You did this to Tamaki!"
"Actually, I did," Kirishima stepped forward, not about to let someone else get the credit for his work.
Asami did not bother to stop the cruel sneer the curled his lips. "I only gave the order. Now, I see that I let him off too easily. He should have died then."
"You bastard!" Nobuko screamed.
"Now, you can blame your husband for tonight's festivities," the fixer taunted the woman. They both looked at the rat like man drawn up on the wall. "I had been content to let sleeping dogs lie, but he––" Asami drew a deep breath. "He was not so easily satisfied. He arranged to have my daughter kidnapped tonight. Did you know about that?"
Nobuko's jaw tensed, and Asami drew away. "You did. Both of you knew what it meant to cross me, yet still you dared."
Matsuhara tried to say something, but all Asami hear were indistinguishable grunts. "Saburo, I am trying to have a civil conversation with your wife," he chastised the man, enjoying the terror the drowned the room. The tension was suffocating, and it was going to get much worse. "Drop the boy, Nakano. He won't feel it."
Tamaki's body hit the floor, slapped loudly on the tile. Asami watched the arm, severed just above the elbow, it flopped like a dying eel. It was the arm that had struck Hisana. It was only fitting that it was the first to fester and rot.
"They say that talking to a coma patient is good, that they hear everything you say," Asami motioned for a small trashcan to be brought into the foyer.
"Leave him out of this!" Nobuko jerked on her restraints. Thick ropes burned her wrinkled skin, only tightening during her struggle, binding her tighter. "He's suffered enough!"
The fixer pulled out the very puukko that Matsuhara had threatened Hisana with. "Not nearly enough," he knelt down by the body. Pinching thin eyelashes, Asami pulled the eyelid up. The puukko was sharp; it quickly peeled the skin away. A sightless eye, it's pupil a wide hole, stared back at him. Asami's laugh drowned out the mother's sickening screams. He made quick work of the second eye lid.
Standing, he dropped the strips of flesh into the trashcan. "String her up by her feet."
Matsuhara Nobuko screamed and kicked, but Nakano and Suoh were too strong for her. Within minutes, she was hogtied, her feet in the air. "You are a good mother," Asami told her blandly while the trashcan was moved just below her head. She stared at her son's eyelids. "You still protect your son after all of this time."
The fixer motioned to his secretary. He dabbed the woman's tears with a lacy handkerchief as her son's body was dumped head first into the trashcan. It fit mostly in, with his feet dangling out. Suoh quickly solved the problem by snapping the boy's legs. Now, he fit neatly inside, his lidless eyes staring up at his mother's face.
"I was considering having you raped," Asami kept talking to the woman. She was much more interesting than Matsuhara. There would be no greater pain for the husband and father than to watch his family suffer. "Every deed your husband planned to act out on my daughter's body, I would take from you and your boy tenfold."
"It wasn't Tamaki," the mother could not tear her gaze from her son, whose ribcage slowly swelled and deflated. Even his limp body struggled to breathe in the tight confines of the garbage can. "It was me. My idea. Please…"
Asami looked at Tamaki's crumpled body. "I believe you," his warm breath ghosted on her cheek. "So you will be punished first."
"Please," she whispered again. Not her child. She had been furious when her handsome boy began to rot, betrayed by his own butler. Tamaki had been an idiot whilst dating Hisana, but his punishment had been too extreme. All she wanted was justice: an eye for an eye, a child for a child.
"Your son will drown in your own blood."
The knife flashed in the night, sharp steel glinting. He slit her pulmonary vein, full of pressure less blood. It splattered into the plastic can, sounding like hail on metal. Nobuko screamed loudly. "And you will watch," the crime lord continued. "Watch as you kill your son. He's looking at you, Nobuko. Can you see him? Your precious child is watching as you kill him. You'll be the last thing he ever sees."
Asami glanced at Matsuhara. The man on the wall was wailing, his teeth tearing into his underwear. He struggled to get free, to fight against the man who had come to kill him. But he was powerless against Asami. "Gag her," he ordered Nakano.
"Sabuko, you did surprise me. The world knows that your wife has the balls in the marriage, but you were stupid enough to listen to her. You have a daughter as well, no? It is rather fortunate that she is not here, but don't you worry. I will find her," Asami promised.
Matsuhara watched in horror as his wife's blood streamed from her neck, quickly filling the small trashcan. It was nearing Tamaki's eyes already. Just a few minutes more, and they both would be dead. The father shouted furiously, but it still was a mumbled mess. Asami ignored him. "You should never have gone after mine, when your's is vulnerable. I'll put her to work. Her cunt is sure to be stretched and sloppy, but some junkie will pay a few thousand yen for a round with her."
"You piece of shit!" Matsuhara finally managed to spit out his underwear. "You'll never touch her!"
"She'll eat men's shit, and drink their piss," Asami quoted nonchalantly. Flicking Nobuko's blood off of the knife, he pressed the blade into the juncture of Matsuhara's leg and groin. "Who financed you?" he demanded. "Someone had to put you in contact with the Serbs."
"No one," Matsuhara's eyes narrowed.
The knife dug into his hip, slicing tendons. Matsuhara's head reeled back as he wailed. "Try again," Asami sneered. "You're too stupid to pull this off by yourself. Who helped you?"
"I'll never––"
Asami twisted the puukko, making the man howl. Tears of pain rolled down his face, dripping onto his saggy chest. His voice stayed strong. "I'll never tell!" he wheezed.
Pulling back, Asami turned on his heel. "Gut them," he tossed the knife to Suoh. The man deftly caught it. He quickly strode out of the house. "Find the girl, Kei. She's with whoever masterminded this.
"And kill the entire staff. I want anyone who might want revenge dead."
He waved his secretary away, opening the SUV door himself. Asami paused for just a moment. There was an anguished caterwaul and the then sound of slick, wet entrails slapping the cold floor. He allowed himself a small smirk as he slid into the car. Revenge always felt orgiastic.
A/N:
I'm going to finish the next chapter of Hyacinthus Bloomed, before I do anymore for this. It's been almost a month, and I feel bad! The poor story thinks it's being neglected or something. (I know stories aren't sentient, but mine do seem to have a mind of their own!) Only two chapters left in this one, and while I'm sad to see it end, I have a secret project that I have been working on that I can't wait to start publishing!