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“Aye!” Poboy called into the living room. He got out of the bed and Angel rolled off onto the floor. She crawled under the bed, hugging herself and trying not to pass out. Poboy had choked her up ferocious.
“What the fuck?” Shoney whined. “My head hurts, man.”
“Shut the fuck up, bitch!” Poboy roared. “Shut up! Toby! Screws! Where the fuck y’all at?”
Thumps and mumbling came from the living room. Whoever was left in the house must be assed-out drunk.
“Boss?” came Toby’s slurred voice. “You need somethin’?”
A door slammed distantly in the house.
Screws hollered, “Boss, cameras! Cameras!”
The house exploded.
From under the bed Angel couldn’t see much, but she heard it all. The rapid rat-a-tat-tat-tat of an automatic. Shoney screaming. Pitbulls yelping, then silent. Poboy bursting out with his Glock 9, bow-bow-bow, and then the heavy slam of Poboy’s body hitting the floor. What sounded like dozens of heavy footsteps.
Angel huddled under the bed in terror as more men filed into the room. Another language— not english, not spanish— flooded her ears. She clapped a hand over her mouth.
A face appeared in the gap between bed frame and floor. A Korean face.
“Found you,” he said.
2
ROSS
Thousands of miles away, Ross McCall was casting his gaze over the glittering sprawl of Tokyo.
“You should let Mangjeol fix you up, Ross,” said Chauncey Quinton III. “I mean it. You want a girl, Manny’s got you.”
The two men had been good friends since Everdue Prep, and both rowed Crew at Princeton. The third member of the party was a slight Korean-Japanese man, the odd one out between the two foreigners. He had also attended Everdue, but as an international student. At Princeton he’d been treasurer of their frat.
It had been nearly a decade since the friends had seen each other.
Quinton polished off the rest of his squid with a big greedy bite. The man was built like a linebacker, a yellow-haired giant who lived in Japan off a family inheritance. Like Ross McCall, Quinton was heir to a great Southern fortune. Tobacco money.
“You need to think about a legacy, Ross-man. You got all that fucking money and no wife. Fucking crazy if you ask me,” Quinton drawled. “I wanted to be the last bachelor in the frat. All these other dickheads went and got married. Even Jonah, fucking fag.”
“Jesus, Quint.”
“Well I always knew, Ross. Remember that time in the bathroom? He totally tried touching my dick. Not that I blame him. You know I always had a big sweet cock. The bitches over here can’t keep away from it, you know. I’ve about fucked half of Tokyo by now, ain’t that right, Manny?”
A woman in a silk dress came up to their table and lit his cigarette, then Ross’s. She smiled at Ross, just a slight curve in her lips. Ross smiled back.
“You’re pretty,” Quinton barked at her in bad Japanese. “Free later?”
“Um, sorry, don’t understand,” the woman said, still smiling politely.
“I’m sorry, Shumi-san,” Mangjeol apologized, cutting his eyes at Quinton. “He’s very drunk.”
“Oh, I see. It’s no trouble,” the woman said.
The woman left the table, moving on other customers. Ross caught her eye again. This time she met his gaze.
And held it.
Ross shifted in his seat. She was pretty, with a small face, large eyes and jet-black hair long enough to sweep the top of her ass. Would be nice to hold onto while he…
