I’m in front of Kurosaki and push the goggles on top of my head. The ceramic teacup makes a light, clinking sound as he sets it back on the table. He swings his body toward me and sees my goggles. Deep wrinkles spread from the corner of his eyes as a smile stretches his mouth.
“Oyabun!”Kurosaki’s men charge at me.
The old man shakes his head slightly, still looking up with the proud glint in his eyes.
“I do not have them,” the yakuza boss tells me in a low, gravelly voice.
My scowl deepens. “I don’t believe you.”
“What you believe has no weight on what is.”
My fingers itch to tighten around his collar. Somehow, I don’t mind flowery language from my sensei, but Kurosaki’s attempts at poetry curdle my blood.
“If I find out you have anything to do with this, I swear I’ll?—”
“You have no power to threaten me. Not yet.” He flicks his fingers, barely, like I’m not worth raising his hand all the way.
Immediately, his men grab me by the arms and shoulders and drag me back.
The one I kicked in the head speaks roughly to Kurosaki. I can’t interpret the words, but the tone is unmistakable. He wants revenge.
My birth father looks at me thoughtfully and then dips his chin.
I’m not prepared for the fist that lands in my gut. It’s swift. Sudden. Pain rattles my bones, and I double over, gasping. The next hit comes out of nowhere and it’s aimed at my face. Thegoggles fly off. I hear the glass crack loudly. Or maybe that’s my jaw when the third hit comes.
This time, the wind knocks out of me, and I crumple to the floor.
The blows don’t stop.
Kurosaki’s lieutenants kick me while I’m on the ground. Pain explodes in my head and ricochets through my skull. I throw my arms over my head to protect me the way Sensei taught me, and I look through the chaos of shiny black shoes to the table.
My father is impervious to the sounds of my beating as he picks up his tea and documents and continues to read.
Chapter Three
J
Kelly is a sweet girl. I was there when the nurses brought her into the recovery room, and I was there when she opened her eyes after the anesthesia wore off.
She has bright hazel eyes. Well, most of the time.
Right now, they’re a mottled yellow and green from the bruises.
“Done.” I shove Kelly’s phone back into her hands.
She blinks at me, her long lashes flapping up and down. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“But how?” Her voice still holds a hint of awe. “I was sure those photos couldn’t be recovered. Every repair guy said it was impossible.”
“You saved it in the cloud,” I remind her.
“Yeah, but that was deleted too.”
“That’s the thing about the internet,” I say vaguely. “Nothing’s ever truly buried.”
Kelly gives me a grateful smile and swipes through her phone. I lean away to give her privacy and run my finger over the bump on my collarbone.
