Chapter 15

“Orian.” Torin reappears, buttoning up his blazer. ”*Kare wa koko ni imasu*.”

Orian lets me go, slowly. A deep shadow falls on his face.

“Well, I need the bathroom.”

Orian glances at me, then looks away. I follow his line of sight to one of his guards. When did they get inside? Orian nods to me, motioning for him to pursue.

“Don’t try anything,” he warns.

I take a gentle hold of his blazer, my hand running along the lapel, straightening it out unnecessarily. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” I’m not going to have to.

He stares down at me with mute potency, his jaw locked in a clench. I spin around, sashaying away with exaggerated hip sways. I sneak a look over my shoulder. The guard makes a brisk approach. I look forward, speeding up, dissolving into the crowd. My aim is the Tudor archway that seems to be a secondary entrance or exit. Whatever it is, it’s my way out of here.

My eyes dart to a vacated table, belongings carelessly left on display. I look around furtively. Breezing by, I pluck the suit jacket off the head of a chair, sliding my arms into the sleeves. Once I pass through, out of the ballroom, and in the clear. I move on. I zigzag through the maze of cream-coloured corridors, passing oblivious servers. Finally, I make it to the back entrance that’s protected by security guards. I slow my pace and calmly make my way to them.

When I make my pass, they don’t look at me. They look at each other as if in confirmation. I push the door open, greeted by the sweet scent of escape. Even though I’m still on the property at some outdoor deck area with artificial shrubbery. The gate that leads out to my freedom is under a hundred meters away. And I head for it. But seconds in. The doors reopen behind me and I look back. The ‘security guards’ follow me out. I accelerate my pace. I come to a jarring halt.

Two more men materialize out of thin air, blocking the gate.

One of them comes up behind me and snatches the collar, yanking me back. Deftly, I maneuver, slipping out and spinning around to face him, holding an empty, oversized jacket. He tosses it aside.

“You could’ve just asked.”

“We are not asking,” his partner says in a thick Japanese accent. “You are coming with us.”

“I’m really not in the mood to be kidnapped... from my kidnappers.”

With superluminal speed, he has a pistol in his hand. The barrel inches from my forehead. My hands fly up to my temples, palms exposed. Dread twists my insides into a thousand knots.

"Okay!” I exclaim. “Okay, okay, whatever you want—”

Swiftly, I grab his wrist, redirecting the line of fire, thrusting the barrel to the left. And jerking aside to have my back to him, distracting him with an elbow to the chest. Disarming him, I swivel around to point his own pistol at him, then at his partner. In a microsecond, the weaponless one jump kicks the pistol out of my hand and it goes flying, clattering on the ground. Shaking out the flare of pain in my hand, I duck, evading a kick that swoops overhead. I dart back. A hand grabs my shoulder from behind. I weave under it, elbow connecting with his gut. He doubles over and I smash the same elbow into his face, sending him staggering.

I move into my first stance, speed and agility hampered by heels.

“You’re lucky he needs you alive,” one of them say.

“You’re lucky I’m wearing heels.”

He looks over my shoulder. I lunge at him but something tight coils around my wrist, restraining me. One tug forces me around to see the assailant holding onto a dark blue tether like a lasso, but it’s not made of rope. What in the wonder woman?

I try to pry it off, but that is the dumbest thing I could do. Suddenly, he does these rapid trapeze movements and the lasso thing binds around both of my forearms. He yanks me to him with brute force, capturing me. Another bounds my mouth. The third comes at me and I lift my legs, launching a heeled kick into his chest. He drops to the ground. The fourth seizes both of my legs. Violently thrashing, they haul me out of there together.

Outside the gate, a van pulls up, followed by a black car. Another slides the van’s door open, allowing the ones that are carrying me inside first. They chuck me on the floor and I shuffle rearwards until my back hits the metal divider that separates the rear from the front. Squirming to sit upright, I watch the other two enter, seating themselves on the metal benches at the sides. When they’re all inside, one of them pounds their fist on the divider. The van lurches forward, speeding off.

My forearms stuck together. I heave them up, fingers snatching the gag out of my mouth.

“Where are you taking me?”

None of them respond.

Let’s try this again. “If you want the book. It’s gone. I burnt it.”

The talkative one spares me a cursory glance. “Then why would Orian keep you if you don’t have value?”

“Because he’s lonely. I don’t know!" I scream back. “All I know is that your boss is going to be pissed he sanctioned an extraction that was a wasted effort.”

The other one nudges him hard in the side. ”*Watashi ga kanojo o eikyū ni chinmoku sa seru mae ni, kono meinu o damara sete kudasai*.”

They all let out a collective chuckle. The talkative one rises in a crouched position with a vile smile on his face, creeping towards me. My stomach clenches. My back pressed into the divider.

He outstretches his hand to me—a cataclysmic force rams into the flank of the van, turning the vehicle on its side—pain slams through my face—a tornado of limbs. Bodies sprawled everywhere. Light splintering my vision, agony throbbing everywhere all at once. Consciousness flits in and out before I am able to hold on to it. Bombarded by the bellow of many cars, screeching tyres and hollering voices. I lift my head.

The four men inside assemble themselves, unsteady but coherent. One of them kicks the unhinged door, and it bangs open. They start pouring out. Summoning every slither of strength, I scramble up, cradling my right arm to my chest. Not broken, but for sure bruised. One of my shoes fell off during the crash.

I tear off the other as I make my way.

Wincing from the glaring light, standing in the rotated doorway. The car wreck is in a secluded area, close to an underpass. The men belonging to the Yakuza stand in a defensive arch formation. Three cars are parked in front of them. Two Range Rovers and Mercedes Benz Maybach. Headlights are all on like a show is about to commence.

Orian prowls forward like a panther in slow-mo. He moves to stand at the front, in the center of the cars, wielding a Katana sword in his grasp. He rests the blade on his broad shoulder. Torin follows, holding two guns. He stands beside his brother, crossing theone gun over the other. Their entire guard floods out of the cars, rifles ready in hand, grouping up behind them like an all-black mafia entourage.

“You have what belongs to me,” Orian says with hair-raising calm.

The Yakuza all level their weapons on Orian. Simultaneously, his guard of men train their rifles on them.

Torin says something in Japanese with such cold collectiveness as if he’s striking a deal. Impatient, Orian looks for me and our eyes lock. He marches to me. One of the men yells something. Before he can even fire a shot, one of Orian’s men blasts a hole through his forehead. He collapses on the ground with a thud. Brandishing his sword with an expert flourish, Orian drives the blade into another. He rips it out with a squelch, blood whipping out. I look away immediately. Before their men can engage, Torin tells them to stand down with a flutter of his fingers. And he shoots down two assailants before they can even thumb the trigger.

Orian slices his way to me, carving a path, streaks of blood flying, moonlight glinting off his blade. Executing a series of diagonal and horizontal strikes with fatal precision and liquid movement. Torin turns a gun on his brother. And without him even saying anything, he whips down and Torin fires a bullseye shot. The assailant drops.

Torin sends him a kiss. “Thank me later.”

And before it even began, it was over. The Moon brothers are the last ones standing, surrounded by carnage. Sudden shifting grabs my attention. My eyes dart to one of them. A groan trickling from his lips. One of them they left alive.

Orian dashes to me. He scans me, assessing me quickly before he takes me by the waist and brings me down before him, my feet meeting the asphalt. I look up into those devoid eyes that I once saw nothing in. But now they are brimming with something... unexpected. His hair is damp, blood speckling his lips, and his cheek is stained with a spray of red. It would be insufficient to inquire about my current state of being. But he doesn’t. Instead, he reaches out to touch me. But then decides against it and starts unbinding my bonds.

"Oh, brother," Torin beckons in a merry voice, looming over the lone survivor. He steps on his neck, adding slight pressure. “I have a souvenir for you.”

Orian looks at him, then back at me. “Get her out of here.” Then he looks to his men and signals to the splayed corpses. “Clean this up.”