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Chapter Seventeen
Lara was straddling a man's waist, a long curved weapon in her hand was held to his throat. “You will pay for killing my brother,” she said in Japanese. Japanese?
She was thrown backwards as the man scrambled to his feet. She lifted her weapon just in time to deflect the blow from a long-bladed sword. The Japanese man hesitated and then lowered his weapon. “Lara?”
“Reece?”
She sprang to her feet with limber precision, her weapon slashed outward of its own accord. “I will enjoy spilling your blood, you rat,” she spat angrily.
Reece deflected her attack, but did not fight back. “Lara, why are you attacking me?”
“I despise you,” she said. “You will die by my blade. Meet your ancestors in the afterlife, Kojiro-san.”
“That is Kojiro-dono to you, Ninja wench,” a voice said from behind her. Before she could turn her attack on the new arrival, she was captured from behind, her arms forced painfully above her head with the man's arm locked behind her neck. “Should I snap her neck, Kojiro-dono, or would you prefer to do so yourself?”
“Disarm her and release her,” the man she’d been attacking said in a deep, commanding voice.
The weapon in her hand was wrenched free and she was tossed flat on her face on the woven mats in the room. The man put a knee in her back while he removed various weapons from her person. When he was finished, he hauled her to her feet by the back of her black shirt.
“Let go of me,” she demanded. She kicked behind her, landing a solid blow in the man's knee. He grunted in pain but didn't fal . Instead, he grabbed her in the painful full nelson hold again.
“Are you certain I should not just snap her neck?” the man asked Reece, erm, Kojiro.
“Tenji-sama, I will deal with her myself,” Kojiro said in a cold voice. “Leave us.”
“Do you want me to bind her?” Tenji asked.
Kojiro sheathed his katana. “Yes, that would be acceptable.” Lara found herself slammed onto the straw mat again and her arms were tied behind her back at the wrists and the elbows. She struggled, but to no avail. The man was stronger than she and her stealth was of no use in this circumstance. It had gotten her into the enemy camp, but it didn't seem as though it would get her back out of it.
And that was fine as long as she took out the samurai who killed her brother before she met her end.
Tenji spoke to her in a growling whisper. “I'm not sure what an honorable samurai wants with a vile shinobi, but I'd guess you'll be wishing I snapped your neck when he's finished with you.”
Lara whimpered. The man was none too gentle with her as he pul ed her back to her feet. He tied her ankles together so that she could walk, but could not kick, and then forced her down onto her knees in front of the imposing figure of Reece, who she was still seeing as the Japanese samurai, Kojiro. Her disgust over being in his presence was only overshadowed by her hatred for him.
“Thank you, Tenji-sama. You may leave us now,” Kojiro said.
Tenji bowed at the waist and stepped backwards before sliding open a door and disappearing from the small room. The room was sparsely furnished. A low wooden table sat in the center of the room with food, still steaming hot, at its center. Flat cushions were scattered around the table on the floor. Kojiro sat on one of the cushions and continued eating from a bowl with a pair of chopsticks.
“It seems you interrupted my dining when you crashed through my wall,” he said.
He pointed to one of the thin walls made of bamboo and paper. It had a human sized hole through it. “What is your name?”
“I do not want my name to cross your vile lips,” she spat. Why couldn't Lara see Reece, and why was she so entrapped in this woman's thoughts, feelings and actions?
“Then I will call you Ninja Whore. Do you like that name?” She shook her head.
“What is your name? I will not ask again.”
“Hana,” she said. Flower.
“Hana?” Kojiro chuckled. “Too delicate a name for an assassin.” He paused reflectively. “Onihana seems more appropriate.”
“Demon-flower?”
“Yes. You’re more oni than hana. Though you do have the beauty of a delicate sakura blossom.”
“Call me whatever you like. I hope you choke on your own tongue.” He chuckled again. “Excuse me while I finish my meal, Onihana-chan. I was about to eat when I was rudely interrupted by your sickle to my throat.” Her eyes narrowed. How dare he address her with such familiarity. -chan, indeed!
“What do you want with me? Why didn't you just allow your man to kill me?” Kojiro's obsidian eyes bored into her. “I am not sure. My katana refused to end your life. By the code of Bushido, one must listen to his soul.” Samurai are strange creatures, she thought. Thinking their sword was their soul. “It did not refuse to end my brother's life.”
He took a bite of his soba noodles, slurping noisily as he drew them into his mouth.
He chewed, swallowed and continued to watch her thoughtful y.
“It has never refused to kill before today. Perhaps if it wasn't such a rare occurrence, I would not feel so unsettled by this.” She frowned. This man made no sense. “What do you think it means?” He pointed at her with his chopsticks. “A red string connects your soul to mine.” Her eyes widened with shock. “You think I am your soul mate?” He nodded once and then moved more food to his mouth. For lack of anything better to do, she spat on the floor. His eyes narrowed. “Do not make me beat you so early in our acquaintance, Onihana. Rudeness will not be tolerated here.” Her mouth went dry, making it impossible to do what she really wanted to do, and that was spit on his floor again.
“Tenji-sama,” Kojiro called.
Tenji peaked into the room through the hole in the wall he was fixing. Kojiro pointed his chopstick in Hana’s direction. Tenji nodded and then disappeared from view. A few seconds later, he slid the door open and entered the room. “Yes, Kojiro-dono.”
“The lady has made a mess on my floor,” he said, nodding to the drop of spittle on the floor mat. “Have her clean it up.”
She thought she would have her hands untied so she could clean up her disrespectful mess, but a foot between the shoulder blades propelled her forward and she fell flat on her face on the mat.
“Clean up your mess, Ninja wench,” Tenji said.
She wheezed unpleasantly, having had the wind knocked out of her. Her mess was somewhere beneath her body, so she squirmed slightly, wishing she had her weapons so she could be spared this humiliation and bathe in the blood of these men instead of her own spittle. Tenji grabbed her by the back of her tunic and set her on her knees again. The spit was gone, lost somewhere on her clothing.
“Does this please you, Kojiro-dono?” Tenji asked.
“Yes,
thank you. That will be all for now,” Kojiro said and continued with his meal.
Tenji bent close to Hana's ear and whispered, “When he is finished eating, I am certain Kojiro-dono will deal with your disrespect in his own way. I look forward to hearing your cries for mercy from my post outside the hole you made in his wall.” She jerked away from him and almost toppled herself onto the mat again. She regained her balance and sat on her heels. Tenji left the room once more, sliding the door shut behind him.
Hana scanned the room, trying to be as subtle as possible as she looked for weapons to use against her purported soul mate. She could feel Kojiro's eyes on her, but she refused to look at him. She didn't locate any obvious weapons, except the katana at Korjiro's side, but she could probably improvise a few just by breaking pieces from the wooden frames that surrounded the paper windows. A nice, sharp spike of wood could do the trick. She had to get loose.
“Lara,” Reece said.
She glanced up. She saw Reece's image for a few seconds, but he reverted to Kojiro almost at once. “I can't focus on you, Reece. Her feelings are too strong,” Lara said in English.
“I'm having the same issue,” Reece said. “What a crazy situation these two are in.
I'll try to remember it isn't you who is wishing my death.” She smiled at him. “I guess making love is out of the question.”
“Do you want me, sweetheart?” Reece grinned, and then she was seeing Kojiro again. This was maddening.
“I want you dead,” she spat in Japanese.
“Of course.” He pointed at his bowl with his chopsticks. “Would you like some soba noodles?”
Her stomach growled at the prospect of food, but she didn't want anything to do with this man or his strange notion of hospitality. “I would rather eat your still-beating heart.”
“That is not on the menu.”
