AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Now, hours later, let’s just say the mood amongst Orochi’s men is elevated.
They’re having a good night. They’re relaxed. They know someone’s playing pranks, but it’s all obviously in good fun.
It’s exactly what I want them to think. I want them to be at ease. I want their guard down. I want them thinking of that beer the guard captain probably confiscated, or the three pairs of tits they just had giggling past them.
I want them unprepared for when the wolf slips past them.
I hug the shadows at the base of the wall as I draw from its lacquer scabbard the sword Hideo gave me before I left his apartment. It’s his, from his time in the Yakuza. Japan has very strict gun control. As such, the leaders of the underworld here use older ways of enforcing their will or waging war on their enemies: simple honed steel.
Something dark and sinister ripples like fire through my veins as the etched blade of Hideo’s elegant, curved samurai sword catches the light of the full moon.
Tonight, I’m not just a wolf. Tonight, I’m death. I’m vengeance personified.
I’m a man who’s willing to soak the ground in blood to take back the woman who was stolen from him.
My wife. My love.
The dark heart that completes mine.
I move quickly, keeping to the base of the wall as long as I can before I dart across an open area into the black embrace of a Japanese Maple tree. There’s an almost medieval feel to the old city of Kyoto, and I breathe it in like a samurai going to war before I continue toward the main house.
“Sore wa daredesu ka?”
Who is that?
But the guard whose attention was pulled by the rustle of maple branches against my arm doesn’t even see me before my blade slits his throat. He falls to the ground, wide-eyed and gurgling as he drowns in his own blood.
A second armed guard also falls to Hideo’s sword before I scale the latticework at the side of Orochi’s mansion. I slip onto the balcony on the second floor, prowling as silently as I can around the perimeter of the traditional style home.
Another of Orochi’s men dies in silence before I stop at a set of open shoji screens. The light from inside floods out onto the blue-black inky darkness of the perimeter walkway. I glance inside, and smile.
Orochi is alone, sitting on a sofa watching soccer on TV, his back to me. I slip inside silently, vengeance in my heart, viciousness in my eyes, and Japanese steel in my hands.
He tenses when he feels the edge of the blade against his jugular.
“Konbanwa, Ito-san.”
To his credit, Orochi doesn’t panic. He doesn’t scream, or beg for mercy, or offer me money. He just sits there, still and quiet, slowly breathing in and out.
“Good evening to you, too,” he finally growls. “American?”
I ignore his question.
“Fumi Yamaguchi,” I hiss. “You have her. I want her.”
He nods carefully, so as not to nick his throat.
“She’s not here. She?—”
“Where.”
His eyes drop slightly. His brow furrows.
“I know that blade,” he says quietly. “Or at least, I used to.” His hands raise. “I am unarmed.” Slowly, he turns his head, letting his gaze focus on mine.
I keep the blade against his throat.
“You’re the husband,” he murmurs. “The lawyer.”
