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“No, Master,” he said, sharply.
“N-no, Master.”
“You will spill blood for me tonight. You will spill it many nights. You’ll spill it on that tapestry, and then I will hang it on this wall. When every wall is covered in these tapestries, the full weight of your enslavement to me will have sunk in.”
* * *
Brian crouched behind a bush on a hilltop two hundred yards from the house. Matsumoto’s property stretched for thirty acres or more. Brian had already taken out the few patrolling guards outside. He’d made an extra few circuits over the path he’d watched them walk to ensure no more were coming.
When he was sure it was only him and the local wildlife, he set up equipment. He’d had night-vision goggles on since he’d reached the property. He took them off to switch out the batteries, then put a suppressor on the sniper rifle.
He’d picked this spot because there was a large flat rock and a clear view of the house. It was as if Matsumoto had gifted him with it specifically to eliminate his men and take down his well-guarded fortress. Perhaps the man had a guilty conscience and was begging for pain to absolve him of his misdoings. Brian was happy to oblige him.
He adjusted the scope on the rifle. He’d considered cutting the power and going in and doing a clean sweep, but Matsumoto’s men would have night-vision goggles or a backup generator. Cutting the power was what you did on a B&E in middle class neighborhoods where people were too comfortable to understand the street but too poor to be able to afford much in the way of tactical equipment.
Brian shot out the two video cameras on the front of the house—and the one on the side—from his perch. Then he waited.
Predictably, two men spilled out the front door to investigate the sound of shattered glass. They must not get visitors like this often. Had it been Brian, he would have gone to the control room and checked the surveillance screens to make sure the video feed was operational before walking right out the front door like a bright and shining target.
He eliminated the two guards and waited. When they didn’t return to their posts, more would arrive. He grabbed his bag and changed his position. The next three that came out were smarter than the first two. They were armed and crept around the side of the house, thinking whoever was out there was still at the front.
Nice try but not good enough. Brian killed the first two as they crept around the side of the building. The third spun around and shot into the night. Brian flattened himself against the ground as the bullet whizzed by. He returned fire.
And then there were none.
Except that wasn’t quite right. There were always more. Especially with a guy as paranoid as Matsumoto. Brian almost had to respect that level of paranoia.
He made his way closer to the back of the house, then pulled a grenade from his bag. It had a fifteen meter blast radius. He moved far enough away to ensure he wouldn’t get the house. Minutes after the explosion went off, all the rest of Matsumoto’s little army men came pouring out the back door. Right in the direction of the explosion.
Idiots. For a man with so much money, Matsumoto could afford to hire a better security detail. He lobbed the second grenade at the same place as the first, and body parts went everywhere.
By now Matsumoto knew someone was coming. Brian could have crept around the house like a ninja, taking them one by one, but the risk was higher that way, and if he didn’t keep himself alive, he’d be of no use to Mina.
He slipped the smaller guns and knives and extra magazines into various holsters, leaving nothing behind that could be turned on him, later. Except the rifle, which he hid along with the bag.
He walked in through the front door. If anyone beyond Matsumoto remained in the house, they knew he was coming, though they’d probably still default to the expectation he’d try a side entrance because it was more covert. Brian had given up covert with the grenades, but he’d saved himself a lot of work. He screwed a suppressor on his .22 and stepped inside.
He was down to servants huddled in corners. This was the group that begged—the group who thought he might spare them. But that wasn’t how this went. Witnesses were a no go, and it was impossible to tell which intrepid cook or maid might sneak up on him later to try to be a hero.
He took them out one by one. Unarmed fish in barrels. At the back of the house were a set of stairs that went down into what he could only assume were Matsumoto’s dungeons. Even below ground they would have heard the explosion above. It wasn’t as if grenades were subtle.
But he’d cleared the main floor, and it was the only place remaining. Brian had left empty magazines all over Matsumoto’s home. He holstered the gun and pulled out a larger caliber.
He crept down the stairs. It was silent, but he wasn’t fooled. He checked each room in turn until he got to the one at the end. He kicked the door in and leaped out of the way in case a bullet was coming. Even with body armor, he wasn’t taking chances. Instead, a throwing star came at him at just the right angle to get his shoulder. Motherfucker!
He stormed in, infuriated and caught a bullet in his vest. A few inches another way, and he might be in trouble. He returned fire, and took the bodyguard out with two in the neck. Elsa screamed and threw herself on top of the man. Brian remembered her from her time in the house.
Matsumoto stood behind Mina with a knife to her throat. She was tied naked to a Saint Andrew’s Cross and bleeding. She appeared unconscious already. Maybe dead. He tried to shut out that last possibility.
As if reading his mind, Matsumoto said, “I just whipped her unconscious. She’s not dead.”
He moved closer and looked her over. There was too much blood. He grasped her hand. Her ring was gone, probably taken off her. She always wore it.
Brian felt himself go cold. The rage and indignation he’d felt when the throwing star had nicked him was forgotten. Now he was really angry. The kind of angry that got quiet and still and felt like a subzero freezer. The kind of angry that doubled back until there was no discernible emotion to be detected anywhere.
He shrugged. “What do I care if she’s alive or not. I came here to kill you for stealing our property and obviously breaking the contract you would have signed had you bought her properly. Kill her, don’t kill her. Either way, you’re a dead man.”
Matsumoto must have bought the bluff because he darted to steal the fallen bodyguard’s gun, but he couldn’t get to it in time before Brian shot him in the leg and took him down. He didn’t want him dead yet.
