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"A couple of days ago, Souta Sano tracked me down, and told me to get his package back. So that's why I'm here," I told him. "And, you know, to tell you to stop trying to murder me too."
Jia looked at me for a long moment, something hard in his face, but it fell right away again as he reached for another wedge, taking a bite before he spoke again.
"I think you might have my organization confused with someone else's."
"No," I objected, shaking my head. "I spoke to your brother directly. Many times."
"Did you now?" Jia asked, and there was something chilling in his voice as he nodded toward the man who'd come into the room. "Tell Shan we have company."
With that order, the man moved into the other room.
Che and I stood there silently as Jia continued to eat. He was the very definition of unbothered.
It was only maybe a moment or two before the door opened again, bringing the original man back, but one who was very familiar to me as well.
Shan Wú.
His gaze went to his brother first, who raised a hand, waving toward where Che and I were standing.
When Shan's gaze landed on me, I swear you could see a current move through his body, making him stiffen, making his eyes widen.
"Surprised to see me alive, Shan?" I asked, hearing the bitterness slip into my voice.
"Apparently," Jia started, "I hired this woman to steal from the Yakuza," he said, flipping open a separate styrofoam container, finding a salad there. Opening up the dressing packet, he spread it over the small pile of lettuce, tomato, and onion. "What do you know about that?" he asked, mixing his salad.
"I've been meaning to talk to you about that," Shan said, voice tight.
"Hm," Jia said, stabbing his fork into his food. "I wonder how that has escaped your mind. What did you want to take from them?" he asked, putting the forkful in his mouth.
"I had to get it back, Jia," Shan insisted, voice taking on a desperate edge.
"It?" Jia asked, brows furrowing as he glanced at his brother.
"It was our grandmother's first," Shan said.
"Hm," Jia said again. "And where is it?" he asked.
"I have it right here," Shan said, pressing a hand to his right breast pocket. "Always," he added, voice thick.
If I wasn't standing right there, I wouldn't have believed it if someone relayed the story to me.
One moment, we were all having a somewhat amiable conversation, considering the situation.
The next, Jia reached for something on his lap, and raised an arm out to the side.
I barely got a chance to register the appearance of the gun before it was blowing a hole through Shan's forehead.
The scream caught, choked in my throat, as I froze on the spot, forgetting my gun, my knives, my alert necklace.
Che's arm went around me, starting to drag me back.
But in front of us, Jia was putting his gun casually back on the table, taking another forkful of his salad.
And continuing to eat.
He was eating his salad after murdering his little brother.
My shocked gaze slid to the guard who seemed nonplussed at the bloody corpse on the floor either.
I felt like my heart was trying to escape my ribcage.
I felt like a hand was closing around my throat.
I felt like I was suffocating on the smell of spilled blood.
And Jia just casually finished his little side salad, then reached for his napkin one last time, wiping his mouth as he got to his feet.
Leaving his gun on the table, he moved toward his brother's body, reaching down to yank open his jacket, producing something from the breast pocket Shan had talked about just a few moments before. Jia's hand closed around it before I could see it.
And then he was making his way toward us.
Che was ramrod straight as he pulled me to his side, trying to move me behind him, but Jia was already across the small space, coming to stand in front of me, raising his hand, producing a gorgeous sapphire wedding ring.
"This belongs to the Yakuza," he said. "It was our grandmother's. Shan is the sentimental one. Well, he was the sentimental one," Jia said, sparing his brother's body one quick glance before turning back to me. "Take it back. I have no use for silly trinkets from dead people," he said as my hand rose, my fingers numbly curling around the ring because I didn't seem to have any other choice. "I don't want to kill you," he said, shrugging. "Now, if you'll excuse me," he said, holding an arm out to indicate the door behind us. "I have a funeral to plan. My brother's life was tragically cut short by, ah, what's it called when your blood vessels burst in your head?" he asked, clucking his tongue.
"An aneurysm," I supplied, monotone, maybe in shock.
