The Undertow (The Kuroda Yakuza Series Book 2) Read online

  Where the hell is Kaito?

  I can’t hear anything else apart from the slight creaking of wood underfoot as I feel my way down the stairs with my bare feet. The stillness is unnerving, and this big, old house suddenly feels endless in the darkness.

  I shiver, even though it isn’t that cold.

  Thud.

  There it is again, that sound.

  My breathing is loud in my ears as I feel my way towards the kitchen. I reach the old, empty fridge.

  I never thought I’d be fumbling around in the dark for a weapon.

  But the thought that Kaito might be in trouble spurs me on, and I ease open the freezer door, my fingers curling around the hard, unfamiliar shape of the gun.

  With the weapon in hand, I feel a little bit braver. I’m half certain I can point the thing and shoot if I have to.

  But I’m no fighter. The gun feels awkward and unfamiliar in my hand.

  I edge across to the entrance hall, my feet gliding over the smooth, worn reed mats.

  There’s no more sound, apart from the rasp of my breathing and the pounding of my heart. I step forward slowly, taking care not to brush against the walls, treading on the balls of my feet.

  Then I hear it; a faint scraping sound, like cloth rubbing against something. It’s subtle at first, and then louder, heading in my direction.

  I step into the hallway and see a dark silhouette. A man. I freeze.

  “Kaito?” I whisper.

  The figure turns towards me, but doesn’t say anything.

  I point the gun at the shadow in the darkness. “Don’t move or I’ll shoot.”

  “Take it easy, Adele.” Kaito’s deep, low voice wraps around me, and I feel a surge of relief. But something’s different. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  “Don’t turn on the-”

  I flick the light switch.

  A warm glow floods the hallway.

  At the sight of Kaito, I draw a sharp breath.

  In the dim, artificial light, he stares back at me like some kind of terrifying, mythical creature. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose, cotton trousers. My gaze travels from his chiseled torso to his arms. The tattoos covering his skin from wrist to shoulder seem to merge with the shadows, and I can almost imagine them coming to life, writhing along his corded, muscular arms.

  But that’s not what sends chills through me.

  In his hand is a long Japanese knife, its blade darkened with crimson. Blood streaks his skin, glistening on his hand and merging with the ink on his forearm, becoming part of that colorful tapestry.

  My gun hand trembles.

  “What the hell, Kaito?” I whisper.

  Our eyes meet, and his gaze is black and depthless. He seems to look straight through me.

  For a while, he doesn’t say anything, the silence stretching between us like a void. I don’t know why, but I’m still pointing the gun at him, unable to lower my arm.

  Because, despite myself, a sliver of fear worms its way into my thoughts. If the gun bothers Kaito, it doesn’t show. His face is a blank mask.

  “Go upstairs, Adele.” His voice is low and devoid of emotion. I don’t know what’s scarier; the blood on his hands or the emptiness in his eyes.

  I realise there’s something beyond him, in the shadows. It’s a dark shape on the floor, and it’s person-sized. A body? Is there more than one?

  Holy shit.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Kaito murmurs. I stare at him with a mix of fascination and dread. He makes no move to approach me. “I’m glad you had enough sense to pick that up.” He nods towards the gun. “But you don’t need it. They’re dead.”

  “Who’s dead, Kaito?”

  “Intruders.” His tone is so matter-of-fact, so dispassionate, that he could be talking about the weather. Intruders? So there was more than one? I shudder.

  “Aren’t you, uh, going to call the cops?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel stupid. Kaito lets out a small, humorless laugh. Of course he isn’t going to call the cops.

  I stare at the sinister, lifeless form on the floor behind him, thankful for the inky blackness. And then, slowly, I start to back away.

  "They were bad guys, right?" My question comes out sounding a little choked. "Right?"

  Kaito just nods, slowly. “Take the gun with you, if it makes you feel more comfortable.” He never breaks my gaze. “But there won’t be any more intruders tonight.”

  In that moment, I feel as if I’m staring into an abyss. And if I look at the darkness for too long, I’m going to fall.

  “Go back to sleep, Adele,” says Kaito, shifting his body so his knife hand is hidden. “Forget you ever saw this.”

  With a trembling hand, I slowly lower the gun. The harsh reality of what I’m seeing hits home, twisting like a knife in my gut. This is what he tries so hard to hide from me. This is what his world was like, before we met. This is his true nature.

  And I chose to be with him.

  I still want to be with him. He would never hurt me. He makes me feel safe, needed, protected. I trust him.

  What does that say about me?

  “Good night, Adele,” Kaito whispers, his low voice resonating in the stillness.

  My mouth has gone dry; I can’t say a word. But I can’t tear my gaze away from him. In the dim light, his lean, muscled form casts a deep shadow, and the intricate motifs inked on his body seem to come alive. He looks very much in his element; a creature of the darkness.

  A momentary stranger.

  “Good night, Kaito,” I rasp, turning away from him, the gun heavy in my hand, images of deadly blades and bloodstained hands seared into my mind.

  I won’t be getting much sleep tonight.

  Kaito

  I watch her disappear down the hall, her footsteps light and uncertain. She carries the Glock like someone who hasn’t handled a gun before, her delicate fingers curled awkwardly around it. It’s wrong; so fucking wrong. I curse the bad timing of the whole situation.

  Mixed emotions surge through me.

  I’m angry at the assholes who dared to break into my house in the dead of the night. Luckily, I’m a light sleeper, and I know the sound of every single creaking floorboard in this old house.

  I’m proud, that my woman had the common sense to go find a gun before she came to investigate. But she shouldn’t need to think that way in the first place.

  I’m shattered and full of self-loathing. When I saw the fear in her eyes, everything felt wrong. She shouldn’t ever feel that way in my house, or in my presence. She shouldn’t be afraid of me.

  But it took her a long time to lower that gun.

  As if I was somehow a threat to her.

  Maybe I am.

  No-one should have to live like this, constantly surrounded by fear. The paranoia and heightened state of awareness is second nature to me. But for her, it’s a nightmare.

  She never should have come here.

  Now, I can’t let her go.

  I glance down at the body beside me. Drying blood coats his neck. His partner has a vicious stab wound to the base of his skull.

  The coppery tang of blood swirls around me. It’s everywhere, covering my hands and arms.

  A messy kill. Not my favorite style.

  If anyone threatens my house, my people, my woman, I will react the same way, each and every time.

  I don’t recognize the faces of my victims. They’re wearing black, and one of them has a telltale missing finger. I slide up the sleeve of his jacket, revealing irezumi tattoos, so similar to my own.

  So the Shibata-gumi know where I live.

  How the fuck did they find out? And what the hell do they want with me, that they can’t just kill me outright?

  Osamu Genda seems to be playing with me. I can’t fucking understand why he would mess around like this.

  I’ll call Erika’s people. Someone’s going to have to make a very early morning trip to an empty bridge over the Tokyo Bay. Bodies
disappear in those murky waters all the time.

  But first, I need to make sure a certain young punk didn’t snitch. Because if he’s stupid enough to be a snitch, then he’s a dead man.

  I felt sorry for the kid after what I’d done to him. Decided I’d take him in. I must be getting soft, because there was a time when I never would have thought of such a thing. In this line of work, pity is a dangerous thing to have.

  It’s Adele’s influence; she’s liberating me from the man that I am. Trying to shape me into someone better. But I always get dragged back to square one.

  I am, by nature, a killer. Nothing’s ever going to change that.

  I leave the bodies in the darkness and go wash my hands in the kitchen sink, holding them under the tap until the water runs clear.

  Then I find the small room at the back of the house where Ryuji is fast asleep. I switch on the lamp in the corner. He doesn’t stir until I touch my blade to his neck.

  I hold my other hand over his mouth, keeping his head still as he stirs, his eyes fluttering open.

  “What the fuck?” He flails wildly.

  “Easy, brat. Unless you want this blade to accidentally kiss your carotid.”

  “I knew you were going to off me,” he gasps, as I release my hand. “But why go through all that bullshit of pretending to save me? Why not just kill me straight away?”

  “That wasn’t my plan,” I counter. “But there are three bodies downstairs. Shibata people. I don’t know how they found the place.”

  “What?” Ryuji is stunned into silence.

  “They knew where we would be. Tell me why I shouldn’t just kill you right now.”

  Ryuji goes very still. But he can’t stop the slight dilating of his pupils, the trembling of his lower lip, the faint, acrid tang of urine that permeates the air.

  He’s pissed himself. He’s terrified.

  He takes a deep breath and speaks very slowly, his voice cracking. “Kaito-san, I swear to Buddha I had nothing to do with that. I’d be stupid to contact them after what you did. After I fucked up. I’m not even a member of the Shibata-gumi.”

  I keep the tanto at his neck, maintaining the pressure, weighing up his words.

  “You have to believe me,” he whimpers. “I don’t have any reason to sell you out, man. Apart from locking me in the trunk, and the pistol whipping thing, you’ve been decent to me. I know you could have killed me at any time. And I’m more scared of you than I am of the Shibata-gumi.”

  I pause, trying to measure the truth in his words.

  Either the kid’s a very accomplished liar, or he’s being genuine.

  “What’s your story, Ryuji?”

  “Huh?”

  “Why do you want to choose this life? There are other options.”

  Ryuji gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Not for me.”

  “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

  “You don’t understand. I’ve got responsbilities.”

  “Oh?” I ease the pressure on his neck, just a little.

  “I’ve got a father who’s sick. A sister who needs to go to school. I didn’t finish my education, so what else do I have? I need to make cash, quickly. Otherwise nothing in this life will change. In a few years, my father will be dead. My sister will drop out of school and go work as a hostess, or a whore. Then everything stays the same.” Ryuji’s gaze turns hard, all traces of fear washed from his face. “You asked me before if I wanted to die. I told you to kill me because I thought you were gonna do it anyway. But that was all fake bullshit. Truth is, I don’t want to die. So why the fuck would I sell you out?”

  “Hm.” I say nothing for a while, thinking. I can’t detect a lie in what Ryuji’s telling me. Usually, I have a sixth sense that gets triggered when someone’s lying. I watch for the small tells; a slight twitch of the eye, a nervous glance here or there, a change in the tone of voice.

  I get none of that from Ryuji. There’s only fear, and desperation.

  I take the knife away. “Get up,” I order.

  He sits up, gasping.

  This might turn out to be a big mistake. But as much as I hate to admit it, the kid’s story strikes a chord with me. He reminds me a little bit of myself when I was younger.

  A young, naive idiot. Except I had a lot more anger inside.

  I’m turning into a sentimental bastard in my old age.

  “Listen carefully now, Ryuji.” I lean closer. “Based on what you’ve told me, I don’t think you’re stupid enough to give away our location. Any chance you had at a position within the Shibata-gumi is gone, so there’s no point, and you know that. But you also know what will happen to you if I find out you’ve betrayed me.”

  He nods, swallowing.

  “Still with me, kid?”

  “I’m all about survival, so yeah.” Ryuji finds his voice. “I haven’t snitched on you. I swear.”

  “You placed your bets with the wrong clan, anyway.”

  “What?”

  “The Shibata-gumi have the street presence, but the Kuroda-kai hold the strings. They have the true power. Stay alive long enough, and you’ll learn what I’m talking about.” I leave him sitting in his futon, shaken but alive.

  I almost feel sorry for him.

  But I had to be sure. And I don’t think he’s dirty.

  Now more than ever, I’m trusting the instincts I’ve honed over so many years. And those instincts tell my Ryuji’s not lying. But it’s been a while since I’ve done this kind of thing, and I just hope I haven’t made a mistake.

  Sometimes, sparing a life can be much, much harder than taking one.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Adele

  On my way back to the room, I stop by the bathroom, feeling sick. It's a visceral reaction to the sight of death and the smell of blood. A wave of nausea hits me and I throw up, my body's reaction erasing all my self-control.

  I go back to the room and try to sleep, but my head is filled with visions of bodies in the shadows, and Kaito’s cold, dark eyes and bloodstained hands.

  He doesn’t come back to bed in the night. The futon beside me remains cold and empty.

  What is it called, when your feelings for a person run so deep that you can forgive their darkest sins?

  I’m too far gone to care.

  In the early hours of the morning, I hear a car pull up outside, then faint, muffled voices. There’s the sound of a trunk, slamming shut.

  Then the car pulls away.

  I toss and turn with the gun by my side, within arm’s reach.

  In the space of less than a week, we’ve gone from swimming in the azure waters off the coast of Southern Thailand to hiding in an old house in Tokyo, where men are murdered silently in the dead of night, and my perfect, passionate lover shows me his other side.

  It comes to him too easily. He’s ruthless; vicious. For him, this is life.

  And because of that, I’m trying to sleep with a gun at my bedside.

  Now I truly understand why Kaito tried to keep me away. And part of me knows I should have listened.

  The danger is ever-present, pervasive and hidden. I still can’t comprehend who would want to try and harm me, or Kaito. But being his girlfriend has somehow made me a big, juicy target.

  They think they can use me against him.

  Who the hell is Kaito, really? How is it that someone like me, who’s insignificant in this world, has suddenly become such an important piece on the chessboard?

  Who? That’s a damn good question.

  He must be someone damn important in the yakuza hierarchy. He must have enemies. I don’t think he’s telling me everything.

  I must fall asleep at some point, becase the next thing I know, I’m jolting awake, gasping, my heart hammering.

  I dreamt that the dragon tattooed on Kaito’s right arm had turned into a demon, devouring first me, then him, as we embraced, feeding on our blood.

  What a gruesome, messed up nightmare.

  Faint, morni
ng light starts to filter through the large, screened windows. In the distance, I hear the twitter of birdsong. Now and then, a car rumbles past on the otherwise empty street.

  I roll out of bed, hiding the gun under a pillow. Now that daylight’s here, it seems as if last night was just some terrible, surreal dream.

  I go downstairs and take a long, soaking bath in the huge tub, alone and fragile in the silence. Kaito’s nowhere to be seen. Ryuji and Madoka aren’t up yet. It feels as if I’m the only person in this big, old, house, and it’s swallowing me up.

  There are memories here. Kaito mentions his mother from time to time, but never his father. I wonder if he even knew him? What suffering has passed between these wood and paper walls?

  I step out of the bath, my body warm and tingling. I slip on yesterday’s jeans and t-shirt and make my way to the front of the house, exploring silently.

  The bodies are gone. There’s not even a single streak or drop of blood on the floor. There’s no clue as to what happened last night. Not a single one.

  I may as well have been dreaming.

  I look out the front window, watching the empty street. In the crisp, early morning, it’s quiet, save for an old woman sweeping the pavement outside a small shopfront. A cat slinks past, winding between an assortment of potplants.

  One would never know what goes on behind closed doors here.

  I put the gun back in the freezer and go to the small courtyard out back, pouring some water onto the roots of the withered Japanese maple tree. As I stare at its green-tipped shoots, appreciating the contrast between the virgin growth and its old, gnarled surface, I sense a presence behind me.

  “I used to care for that tree when I was a kid.” Kaito comes to stand beside me, moving on silent feet. “But the house has been empty these past few years. It’s become neglected.”

  “It looks old.” It’s roots have burrowed underneath the grey, moss-covered paving stones, lifting them slightly. The tree has been surrounded by man-made structures; it’s hemmed in on all sides by rock, concrete and wood.

  Yet it survives, defying the barriers around it.