The bastard was still running.
But now I was faster.
Now I was hunting.
Out the corner of my eye, Yuki dropped low, his silhouette slicing through shadow. “I see another coming in from the right to help him.”
“Get the new guy.”
Yuki slid feet-first under a fallen trunk, his movement so smooth it looked rehearsed. At the last second, he twisted his hips mid-glide, one hand bracing the dirt, the other ready to draw. Then—fluid as smoke—he sprang upright again, blades flashing in both fists, never losing stride.
To my left, Aki launched off a rock like it was spring-loaded.
“Other one must be east and coming up on your right,” I called out.
He didn’t answer—just leapt trunk to trunk, arms out for balance like a tightrope assassin, disappearing into the thick.
My target kept limping forward, fast but unsteady now, shoulder dripping blood from my last shot.
He looked over his shoulder once—eyes wide, panicked.
Big mistake.
Because I was right there and I saw his face.
Watari. Yes. You were the main one I wanted to personally kill.
I dropped my weight, boots slamming the earth, sliding under a bamboo arch with one palm pressed to the dirt for control. My knees bent, coiled like springs.
I exploded up just as he turned forward again—too slow, too late.
My fist caught his ribs hard.
He gasped.
And then we collided—limbs grappling, knees twisting, guns still held but forgotten for the raw brutality of bone and knuckle.
No more running.
Now it was just violence.
I was on him.
With his gun up, he twisted out of the way.
Fired.
Missed.
I didn’t when I fired and got a bullet in his fucking knee. I could have shot him some more, but he’d helped put my men in a fucking circle of death. He wouldn’t get off that easy.
I dropped my guns, grabbed his wrist, slammed it into a bamboo trunk.
His pistol scattered from his grip.
He threw an elbow and caught my jaw.
Blood filled my mouth.
