The name is fittingconsidering the abundance of lives I’ve taken—the abundance still left to be reaped.
I’m no Batman. He cared about the betterment of people.
Me?I could give negative twenty fucks about anything that doesn’t impact me and mine.
Parking my bike, I take off my helmet and switch to my earbuds. “I know you have more, Haruki. So, spit it out.”
“Chill, mon capitaine. I need to verify that the information I’m about to provide is accurate.”
All the possibilities swirl before me.
Is this the same group that took my sister?
How does a no-name slumlord get access to such a powerful group that a U.S. Senator is willing to pimp his daughter?
As if he can anticipate my questions, Haruki states, “Keres’s backup team exterminated everyone except the daughter. Their other team intercepted Senator Rourke. If there’s hope in the world, he won’t leave there alive.”
Humming my agreement, I imagine all the ways Tati will be involved, and my cock stiffens.
Now is not the time to get a hard-on, asshat.
Does my dick care, though?Not in the slightest.
Adjusting myself, I listen as Haruki continues. “This is tied to Serge Volkov.” There’s a pregnant pause before he speaks again. This time, more somber. “It was a setup from the outset.”
My ears perk— my body taut. I know the words before he says them.
“They were after your girl.”
“They were after my girl.”
We speak in blurred unisonance. Neither version—what I want to hear. But it does confirm what I already know. Tati is in danger.
The blood in my veins turns to ice. Crisp fall breeze—lashes like a whip as I make sense of his words.
I knew he would be connected. There isn’t a sex or organ trafficking ring he’s not directly or indirectly running. I was holding out hope that Tati wasn’t on their radar.
Mind scattered—I end the call,but not before giving Haruki specific instructions to ensure Tati’s safety. I will kidnap her and lock her in a tower on a deserted island, unknown to Google Maps.
Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I kick off my shoes, replacing them with house slippers before heading to the living room to greet my parents.
“You look tired.” My mother’s concerned gaze bores a hole into my skin, tracking every potential problem visible to the naked eye.
“I’m good, Mom. It’s just been a very long day,” I offer, kissing her cheek.
I wave to my father, and the look he gives me says he’s going to mention marriage.
“We need to talk, Braxton. Have a seat, son,” he instructs, and my filial piety toward my family is at odds with my obsession—the only woman I’ll ever allow to carry the Oshiro name and continue the bloodline.
Sitting across from him, I cross my legs and lean forward, waiting for him to continue. “How is the investigation going?”
The tension gripping me ebbs, and my shoulders relax. Not because my sister’s death isn’t important.
My brain is just too fatigued to have to verbally spar with my parents on this issue.
They want to fulfill a promise—a blood oath between comrades—that should anything happen, my father’s friend’s daughter would be protected.
“There aren’t any new viable leads, but I do get to kill the fuckers who killed her very soon.”
