“No, it’s something a little more personal.”
“Well, can it wait? I’m really busy.”
I navigate to my bank app, add a few zeroes and tap the “SEND” button. Bailey’s phone pings in response. She fishes it out of her pocket and sees the notification her bank sent.
“Can you help me now?” I ask pointedly.
Her jaw drops. “Did you just… wait, how do you… why did you send me so much?—”
“Will you help me or not?” I insist.
Time is seeping through my fingers. We need to actnow.
“W-what do you need me to do?” Bailey asks.
Finally.
I show her the live footage of Shawn jogging down the stairs. “Get that man in an elevator by any means possible.”
Chapter Five
FINN
I push to my hands and knees as the room spins around me. Blood fills my mouth, so I spit to the side. A spray of red hits the ground.
Kurosaki’s men lift me up and drag me to the door. Halfway there, I wrench out of their grip. Every move hurts like hell, but I refuse to let them cart me out of here. I’m leaving on my own even if it kills me.
The men release me after I put up a fuss. I have my back turned to Kurosaki, so I can’t tell if it’s my own stubbornness or the yakuza boss’s instruction that made them back off.
Every breath hurts, and I sling a hand around my midsection. It feels like I might have lost a tooth.
So much for being the son of the boss. None of those goons held back.
“Musoko.”Kurosaki’s voice hangs in the air.
He’s called me that before.
It means “son” in Japanese.
I ignore him and keep limping to the door.
“Finn.” Kurosaki’s voice isn’t loud, but it holds a hint of a bite, rolling like thunder, wrapped in the authority of someone who commands countless men.
I freeze, but I don’t turn around.
“Before you lead, you must learn to follow.” He pauses. “Do not interrupt my meetings without permission again.”
The urge to fight roars within me, but my body can’t take another beating. Not so soon.
Embarrassed, I storm to the door, powering through on pure hatred and adrenaline. Outside, a tall, thin man with a scruffy mustache and glasses is waiting for me. He’s wearing a white coat and has a bag of medicine in his right hand.
He looks Asian, so I assume his voice will hold a heavy accent like all of Kurosaki’s men, but he has no distinct accent when he speaks.
“Come with me,” he says.
I stare at him dully. Kurosaki let his men beat me up and then sent a doctor to fix it. It’s psychotic, and if he thinks I’ll fall for that “beat him with a stick then dangle a carrot” act, he’s an idiot.
Brushing past the doctor, I limp to the stairs. The staircase looms like a giant mountain in the middle of a snowstorm. I take it one step at a time, but it hurts so much that I have to turn sideways, hold the railing, and inch my way to the first floor.
