Chapter 30

We come out of the back entrance.

Simultaneously, we dump the shopping bags on the ground.

The three of them whip out their guns, positioned in a triangle formation around me. Two groups coolly approach from the front and rear in an arc shape. The one ahead steps a bit faster to be in the front.

“Gaza sends his regards,” he shouts, rubbing his tattooed hands together. “We’ll make this simple. Jefe wants the book and the girl.”

I look at the narrow alleyway just past Chimon, a straight line from where I’m standing.

“I don’t have it anymore,” I yell back.

“Don’t worry, baby girl, he’ll settle for you.”

He makes the mistake of coming too close. The lead gunman goes to pull his pistol and is disabled with rapid fire movements. Riku double taps two others, dodges as a gunman sprays bullets into his comrade. Touma charges the gunman, strikes the throat, double-taps under the chin, blood splattering everywhere.

“Go!”

I dash down the slender alley. Halfway, a fist grabs my hair, yanking me back, crashing to the floor only to bounce back up again. He takes out a pocket knife and crouches before releasing an onslaught. I dart back, falling into curt and evasive maneuvers. The knife slashes into my arm, blood spurting out. I stagger back with a groan. Bent over, I glare up at him, clutching my right arm with a lesion weeping blood.

He holds the knife to my face. “Come alive or dead, makes no difference—”

I jerk up, snapping the knife out of his hand. It goes flying sideways, hitting the brick wall. I strike at his groin; he doubles over; I seize him in a chokehold. A gun in his waistband. I snatch it out, holding it to his temple.

“How did you find me?” I ask through clenched teeth.

Men start hollering. I force the man to turn, using him as a body shield as one of his comrades empties their clip into his torso. He drops. Switching the safety off, I fire three shots; two collapse, the other runs back for cover. Buying me time. No time to dwell on the fact that I just killed two people. I sprint out of the alleyway, taking a sharp left turn. I start screaming for them to run and take cover, but they hustle away as if they can’t hear me. Seconds later, screams shatter the atmosphere. The bellow of gunshots sends the masses into a stampede, Gaza’s men opening fire.

An oblivious Japanese school girl takes off her headphones. I leap, diving into her, tangled around her lanky frame. We roll over the table, taking cover behind the stall. Showered by bullets. I’m on top of the screaming girl, keeping her head down on the ground, the gun still in my other hand. On cue, I hear a car rocketing towards us. The bullets are lured to another target. Cautiously, I look out with a trembling gun aimed forward. A black Range Rover rams into the horde of Gaza’s men, and like bowling pins, they all go sprawling.

“Stay here.”

Not sure if she understood, but I get back up, vaulting over the table and sprinting in the opposite direction. The crowd disperses as fast as their legs can take them. The adrenaline dulls the pain in my arm. Still running, I perk up at the sound of a racing bike. Orian emerges on the horizon, dashing towards me, he outstretches his arm out.

Fear loaning fuel, I speed up.

Another gunshot ricochets, Orian swerves sharply before straightening out again, glancing at his stomach once. His eyes train on me.

Once we’re side by side, we grip each other’s forearms and he swings me onto the back as he makes a U-turn. Clinging on to him, I free one hand to glimpse my bloody palm. Terror vaporizes the adrenaline, and every ounce of pain barrels back at me.

“You’ve been shot!”

“I’ll live,” he shouts over the rushing wind.

My head whisks back and a Mercedes Benz g wagon hurries in from a side street.

“Turn!”

Orian veers off the road and into a slim passage that a car cannot pass through.

Once we make it out of there, people are sprinting out of our way.

A twin vehicle is already hot on our tail.

“For fuck’s sake!”

A peal of bullets pursue us, the ceaseless cacophony of gunshots banging, miniature explosions going off each time, destroying my eardrums. Ahead of us, the street lights go red. A truck with a large cylinder tank comes in from the right. He rushes forward to pass, expertly evading the oncoming traffic. The moment he does. He turns sharply to stop at the flank.

“Give me the gun!”

I give it to him and he shoots out the tyre. The truck skids, falling on its side—the ground quakes on impact—leaking, what looks to be liquid gasoline. He fires at something else and the whole truck erupts into a gigantic ball of fire, consuming everything in radius: the ones in pursuit of us and the unknown amount of innocent people as collateral.

He shoves the gun into his waistband and dashes down the road.

Before we can even think that our trouble is over. Two more silver cars hurtle towards us from different directions, looking to run us over. Orian zigzags past them like a pro motorcycle racer whilst avoiding other vehicles like he’s untouchable.

Out of nowhere, a third hostile appears in front of us at an inescapable speed. The bike comes to a jarring stop, the back inches off the ground. In a nanosecond, we’re surrounded, boxed in by three 3 g wagons. They flood out of their cars, shouting orders, weapons leveled on us.

“Orian moon.” The man ejects the clip, calmly reloads - chamber has a new round. “Gaza wants what’s his.”

“This is the time where you make one of your dramatic entrances.”

“What?”

He turns his head to point at the earpiece. At that moment, two Range Rovers come from the north, and the other from the west. They start hailing down on them, but the cars are bulletproof. BANG—shoots the man through the hand, gun falls to the floor, it’s quickly kicked out of reach. Orian elbow strikes, tosses the gunman over his shoulder... slamming him into the ground. The one behind him rushes at Orian, he kicks the other, wind knocked out of him. Orian twists and head clinches. Devastates with three knees to the face—the other gunman stands up as Orian pulls a side piece from the guy’s waistband and double taps them both.

Ambushed from behind, he hooks his arm around my throat. I let him. I arc my head to the side. A bullet blazes right through his forehead. One man attacks him from his rear. Orian takes him down with a back kick. Another, he pistol whips in the face.

Nearby, Torin rakes our assailants with bullets, leaving their bodies riddled with holes.

Instincts dominating, I swoop under a right hook, launching a jab that sends him stumbling. Blocking a kick—grabs me by the blouse. I break free, my fist connects once, twice, three times....

He counters, propelling a strike into my gut. My back hits the ground.

He dives down, grabs my face, struggling for an advantage.

He unclips his knife and plunges it down. I block. Leveraging his weight against him, I upturn the knife in a flash; the blade punctures his throat. Gurgling and gagging, a cascade of blood falls on my face. I turn away, throwing his heft off me. I get up gasping—and not from fatigue. The wailing sound of sirens saturates the air.

I look at Orian. He hobbles to the closest wagon, planting his hand on the hood for stability. His other hand clutches his side, standing on the flank. Beside an open door, on the ground, a half-dead thug raises his gun at Orian. I catapult myself to him.

Horror surges through me.

“Orian!”

I jerk him around, pushing him against the car, my body in front of him.

BANG-BANG!

I suck in a shearing breath. Agony explodes in my gut, searing and boundless. Orian gawks back at me with crazed eyes. I look down at the hole blasted right through me, a growing blood stain in my blouse. Coughs wrack my frame, spewing out blood. I drop. Orian collects me into his arms with a wrathful roar that reverberates through my quivering bones.

“We gotta go!” Torin.

Orian runs with me in his arms, silencing his own suffering. Torin opens the backseat door and he hops inside. My whole world is engulfed in pain, eternal exhaustion clawing at me. Seconds later, we’re on the move. Orian cradles me to his chest, rocking back and forth, patting my cheek anxiously.

“Stay awake for me, Sakura.”

My head lolls, grasping at threads of breath. Grappling with death in a tug of war for my life.

“I—tired.”

"Hey!” He cups my cheek, his thumb brushing across my skin. His warmth drives out the inner cold. In his embrace, the chill within dissolves, swept away. “You are strong, strong enough to fight, to fight death and win.”

With a feeble grip, I hold on to his wrist. “Promise me. Protect—my mom.”

“No!” he barks. “Do it yourself.”

My hand goes limp.

He pats my cheek again. “Obaasan had the story wrong. The sun and moon never had one, but they had endless moments to revel in their love. The moon would die every day just so the sun could rise. And I would die a hundred thousand deaths to see you rise, and you will rise.”

He looks up, the veins in his neck prominent, muscles tense.

“What the fuck were you thinking? You shouldn’t have taken the bullet. It was meant for me!”

I never wanted to. I didn’t want to... I just did. Without thinking, without hesitation.

I now understand what Obaasan meant.

My mouth is arid, tears spill from my eyes. “And sun-dies—so moon rises.”

Unable to keep them open, my eyes droop close. An insurmountable weight dropping on top of me, clamping down like it’s strangling the last morsels of life I clung to. Unable to do any no more. I let go.

And the last word I hear is my name.