3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I get the third guy with a headshot.

Then I run out of bullets.

"Shit."

His two buddies look at each other. I swallow, flexing my fingers and regretting not having checked my clip. They charge at me.

I throw myself to the left and dodge, putting some distance between us. I could take them on. They are massive and have bulging arms, but I've beaten up stronger opponents. The problem is the second SUV that just parked about a hundred yards behind them, at the opening of the alleyway. The four or five armed men riding in it? Yeah, that's a bit beyond even me. I am good, but I am not invincible.

Cursing under my breath as one of them uses the millisecond of distraction I allow myself to lunge at me, I spin sharply on my heel and duck, propelling myself past him. The second guy is waiting for me, ready to punch me in the face, but I kick out with one leg and trip him over before he can ruin my handsome face.

Then I reassess my options. As much as I hate the conclusion I reach, my best bet is to leg it out of Sakae's gang-infested back streets. I can't go the way I came, so I head toward the opposite end of the alley, hoping that the Nebisu Gang didn't send more of their hitmen after me.

I'm in luck, but just barely, as the SUV revs and starts chasing. Kicking garbage cans and bags, I sprint as fast as I can. I take a left just before the opening, darting into a passage where the car can't fit. Behind me, my pursuers get out of their vehicle, swearing and yelling. They don't have a good view of me because of the old furniture littering the small street, otherwise I'm sure they'd have emptied a few clips my way.

I reach the end of the passage and take a right. I can hear the bustle of the main street, but I must be a few blocks off because there are still no signs of people. Trash and flickering lamps guide me toward the noise, but before I can slip out into the relative safety of the crowds and tourists enjoying a Saturday night out, that second SUV I hoped I won't encounter makes its entrance. It cuts me off as I catch its custom number plate with the numbers four-six-four-nine, pulling a snort out of me.

My appreciation for the plate doesn't last as the guys inside the car waste no time jumping out and shooting at me. I duck behind a foul-smelling container, just barely avoiding getting hit. I'm a sitting duck here though, and the gang is closing in on me from both sides.

Squeezing my useless gun, I evaluate the surroundings. Across from me and about fifty feet away is a fence I can jump over. I don't second guess myself; I just act, darting out from behind the bin when the shooting pauses so my enemies can reload. My blood thrums in my ears and I feel hot all over, but I grit my teeth and don't stop. I grab onto the top rail of the chain-link fence and pray I'll manage to pull myself up and over before they get to me.

I somehow make it, not pausing to see exactly how much the gangsters are struggling to follow me. Their swearing gives me an idea, but I know that it won't be long before they've either cut their way through it or gotten over.

My breathing turns labored as I press on. I keep turning right in hopes of getting to the main street and losing them, but I hit a dead end—a concrete wall and a metal door with a chain.

"Great."

Yelling tells me exactly how fucked I am if I don't get moving, so I backtrack to the last intersection and carry on straight. I end up at another dead end, but this time, the smoking back area of a night club offers me a way out.

My heart gallops as I stalk over to the door, the promise of safety on the other side slowing down the adrenaline flooding my veins. I grab the handle, twist it, and freeze. The damn door is locked.

"Today really isn't my day."

This was supposed to be a quick drop-in to one of the front companies, but clearly someone tipped off the Nebisu or those assholes wouldn't be here. I really need to do a purge and figure out who's stupid enough to sell me out, but my father is being overly difficult about it. Before I worry about any of that though, I need to survive tonight.

I squeeze the handle as hard as I can and shake it, trying to force the door open. If only it would budge. Seriously. Who the fuck locks the door leading to the smoking area ?

A shot that flies by too close for comfort sends me scrambling away.

"Akiyama! Come willingly or in pieces," one of the six men who's caught up to me threatens. I can't tell which one; they all look the same with their shaved heads, gray suits and sunglasses.

I take a defensive stance, letting them surround me. Only the one who spoke and the guy next to him have their guns up and pointed at me. I quickly scan the rest of my opponents, finding no bulging vests or telltale holsters. Are they trainees? I heard that the Nebisu doesn't allow its members to carry until they prove themselves, but I didn't think it was true.

Before the guy who spoke can say anything else, I'm onto his buddy, yanking the gun out of his hand. Using the momentary shock my actions cause, I shove him at the still armed man, dropping the weapon in the process. He stumbles in an attempt to catch the huge body, and I snatch the remaining gun, kicking it out of the way. It ends up somewhere under the dumpster where the first one went.

With no weapons to threaten me anymore, I go for the nearest guy, knocking him out with a jab he doesn't see coming. He sprawls on the ground, but I have no time to celebrate, moving onto the next one. This one goes down too, but that's where my luck runs out as the rest have had enough time to recuperate.

"You little piece of shit," the one with the smart mouth growls, murder in his eyes.

He throws himself at me and tries to grab me by the neck, but I block him with my arms. Ducking to the side, I elbow him in the flank. He shrieks in pain and anger, but before I can finish him off, someone clutches my sleeve and sends me crashing into the dumpster. My shoulder takes the brunt of the hit. Fire explodes along it and slithers down my arm. I clench my teeth, cutting off a groan as I blink to regain focus.

I don't see the kick coming until it's too late. I also don't see where the man who collides with said kick appears from, but I also don't care. He just saved my life. Jumping to my feet, I take on two trainee gangsters as they charge at me together. Despite their obvious inexperience, they put up a bit of a fight. Under different circumstances, I'd have toyed with them, but the rest of the Nebisu men will be here any minute, so I have no time to waste.

I turn to the last one standing just as my savior punches him in the nose. He goes down without a fight, either too slow to react or too distracted by his bloodlust for me to notice I've gained an ally.

Heaving, I prop myself against the dumpster and study the man who helped me. He's a foreigner. More so than me, even if I'm half-Thai and half-Japanese. He's what you'd call a proper gaijin . American, if I had to guess, but he could be mixed. He's panting as hard as I am while he shakes his hand like he got burned. His blue eyes look a little confused, like he's not sure exactly what he's done or why. His dirty blond hair is a mess, but in that way which makes me want to run my fingers through it to feel its texture. Or pull on it during sex.

The sudden thought gives me a pause. I blame my adrenaline-fueled body for it.

"You should probably go back inside before the rest get here," I say in English, fishing for my cigarettes.

He frowns at me, then glances at the dark alley and crosses his arms. The movement stretches his navy shirt, making it cling to him in a way that gives me a pretty good idea about how diligent he must be about keeping fit. "The rest ?"

His voice is a nice, deep tenor. And I also can't find my lighter. Did I drop it? "Trust me, you don't want to know."

He opens his mouth to say something—or argue with me, if the scowl he flashes me is any indication—but before a single word can leave his full lips, a dozen or more Nebisu hunks appear around the corner.

"Oh fuck," I yelp, shoving off the dumpster and bolting for the door.

The man is right on my heels. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Trouble," I hiss, charging down the red-tinted corridor with its two restrooms along the left wall.

I emerge into a packed club, the music blasting so loud my ears feel like they'll explode. Zeroing in on the door, I march through the swaying bodies. I lose the man, but I don't have time to search for him and thank him when this is the only chance I'll get to escape my pursuers. I'll look him up later.

Commotion stirs at the back of the club, but the only thing I catch when I look over my shoulder is that blond head near a bunch of angry-looking men trying to make their way past the dancing and inebriated young people.

I chuckle and slip out, boarding the first taxi I see with the Herald's logo.

"Mr. Akiyama," the driver greets, clearly recognizing me.

"You know the Shinsei Garden?" I clip, anxious to get moving. "Drive there. And don't inform the reception I'm coming. "

"Kwanchai Akiyama!"

I wince at my father's booming voice. It reverberates through me, putting me on alert. I knew I'd have to face the Akiyama Group's leader, but I'd hoped it would be in his private office and not in front of our men as soon as I stepped off the car. There goes my attempt to sneak in and save myself the incoming embarrassment.

I turn toward him and square my shoulders, feeling like a soldier about to get an earful from his drill sergeant. Aran, my closest friend and the Chief of Security for the Akiyama Group trails behind my father, the two of them approaching me with authority.

"You went out without your security detail," my father accuses, not one to beat around the bush. He grabs me by the collar of my shirt and forces me to meet his gaze. "You're lucky the Nebisu have such incompetent men in their ranks."

I hate this. Being scolded like some unruly child in front of the men who I'll be leading one day.

"I had things under control," I protest, gritting teeth.

It's mostly true. It was supposed to be a quick stop, but if anything came out of my scuffle with the Nebisu, it's the fact that it confirmed we have a mole among our ranks. I've been suspecting it for a while, but my father wouldn't believe it. Honor and loyalty and all that stuff old geezers like to flaunt around.

He flares his nostrils. "You do not go anywhere without your detail. Am I clear?"

"We need to talk—"

" Am I clear ?"

I clench my hands into fists. I really want to punch him right now, but I keep myself composed and my arms at my sides. "Yes. "

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I will not go out without a security detail."

I aim a death glare Aran's way, because he's supposed to be helping me convince my father there are more important matters than my slight slip-up. Especially since I had things under control… Mostly. No one needs to know about the blond foreigner who I'll be tracking down as soon as my father is off my case.

Aran ignores my silent plea, clearly siding with my old man. I glare at him. He's so gonna pay for this.

"Can we talk now? Please?" I say, casting my gaze around. The Akiyama men around us look like they don't really know what the appropriate way to act is when the leader's son is getting shit for being a little reckless.

My father lets go. He dismisses everyone with a wave of his hand and leads me and Aran to the outdoors pool bar out back. His eyebrows remain knitted the whole time, only relaxing once he's poured himself a glass of whiskey.

"You know I am doing this for your own good, Chai," he says, the sternness in his voice mellowing out. Not fully, but enough to tell me that his concern is real. "You are not a child anymore and in the near future you will become the Akiyama Group's leader. Learn to act like one."

He cut me some slack while I attended business college in London, but since I turned twenty-four upon my return last year, he's gone full Spartan style on me. Part of me can't blame him—he's not been the same after we lost my mom when I was in high school.

"I know. But I wish you could trust me to handle myself," I argue futilely, cringing at the look of disbelief he gives me.

"What did you want to talk about? I'm leaving for Tokyo in twenty minutes." The change of topic makes it clear he disagrees with me and is not willing to give me a chance to prove him wrong.

If he's going to Tokyo, then Herald Security, which is a subsidiary to the Akiyama Group, must've won the contract for the foreign conference in Thailand. I'm supposed to be involved in that once everything has been officially signed.

Taking a deep breath, I look him in the eyes. "I think we have a mole."

His scowl immediately deepens. "This nonsense again?"

"How else do you explain the Nebisu Gang knowing I'd be at the Kouen Baths? The only way is if one of our men heard me and Aran talking about it earlier."

My father turns his sour glare to my best friend. Aran doesn't even flinch. "I was under the impression Kwanchai was going there next week," he rats my lie out.

"Or someone saw you went without your bodyguards and informed the Nebisu?" my father suggests flatly. He does have a point, but I am ninety-nine percent sure that's not it.

We slip into a back-and-forth for the next five minutes, getting nowhere. He has to go then, so that's that, leaving me annoyed and frustrated.

Why wouldn't he just believe me? It's not like I'm saying it just out of boredom. Besides, if he considered it just for a moment, the few recent hits we've had on some of our warehouses make total sense.

"You could've taken my side, you know," I hiss at Aran when he sits down on the stool next to mine.

He taps his slender fingers on the marble counter and gives me one of those looks which make his brown eyes look cold and disappointed. "Don't be an idiot next time. "

I scoff.

"I'm serious. If not for the clubber stepping in, what do you think would've happened to you?"

I scrunch my nose, suppressing a wince. So, he's already found out about that little incident. But my father didn't bring it up, which means Aran didn't tell him. Yet.

Being reminded of the foreigner gets me thinking about him. I've survived the scolding, so it's time to get some intel on him. "You at least believe me about the mole?"

Aran swivels in his chair, facing the front. The light from the fluorescent strips along the awning above us gives his black hair a shiny finish. It's longer than mine and he sometimes ties it in a bun at the top, whereas I stick to a slicked to the side style.

"I've not been able to ascertain anything. It could well be as Daichi said. Someone could've seen you and decided you'd be an easy pick with no bodyguards."

Daichi is my father's first name and Aran is the only one allowed to use it. He's about fifteen years younger than my father's fifty-four, though I don't know his exact age. He was my personal bodyguard while I was growing up and we sort of became friends. Sometimes, I still wonder how father allowed it, seeing as back then Aran was still new to the organization, but then again, the two of them go way back and he's always called my dad by his first name, so what do I know?

"Are you just going to ignore the shipment hits like he does?" I counter, huffing air out of my nose.

He shrugs. "This is not unusual. Strife between groups causes goods to get stolen all the time."

Sure, but not so many occurrences in the span of just six months. Initially, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity for me to prove to my father I'm ready and more than capable of being his successor, but so far all I've gotten are dead ends.

All the more reason it has to be an inside job, if only someone would listen to me.

"Fine. Whatever. I'll prove it to you too, and when I do, you'll wear the pig onesie for an entire week and tell everyone that I was right."

"I didn't say you weren't rightfully suspicious. I just pointed out that there is no evidence to support your claim."

I hate how smart he is with words sometimes.

Waving Aran off, I slide my arms forward on the counter and prop my head on one of them. "I want to find out who that guy at the bar was," I say, replaying the encounter. I was a little occupied to pay full attention, but that punch he pulled? He's got to know a thing or two about fighting.

"My sources couldn't give me a description other than him being a foreigner," Aran states as if that is the most natural response to give. Because having your sources know who the man that saved my life is before I've even asked is definitely the norm.

"Can't you identify him via the surveillance?" I pout. I'm sure Aran has tried that already and if he couldn't identify the guy, then that means there wasn't a good shot of him on camera.

The narrowed look I get is answer enough. I consider my options. Going back now is probably a bad idea, but there is no guarantee he'll go to the same club again. I should probably let this go, but he piqued my interest and I want to at least know who he is .

"Can you ask your artist friend to come by? I'll tell him what I remember, and he can do a sketch."

A subtle curve of Aran's lips softens his expression. "He'll be here tomorrow morning."

Honestly, sometimes it's scary how well he knows me.

I shoot up from the chair and clap my hands, nudging his shoulder with an elbow. "As expected of my best friend. It's like you can read my mind before I've even realized what I want."

He shakes his head, some loose locks tumbling to the front. "Yet, I believed you when you said you weren't going there until next week, and let you slip out without a detail."

"Because I don't need one," I protest.

He sighs. "Daichi is right to worry, you know. You need to start acting like the next leader or you'll get yourself killed."

"Then find me a bodyguard who's at least good. Most of these men can't take me on in a fight, let alone defend me. I don't need them getting in my way for no reason."

Aran presses his mouth in a line. He knows there is some merit to my words, but it's not like finding a capable bodyguard is an easy job. It's why he still accompanies me most of the time, despite no longer being my personal bodyguard since he took on the Chief of Security title. We've been searching for someone to replace him since then.

"I'm working on it."

"Well, work faster then," I spit back with irritation. I probably sound like a petulant child, but between being scolded in front of our men and my father not believing me about the mole, I'm a little annoyed. "I'm going to bed. Wake me up when your friend gets here."

I wait for his exasperated good night and enter the main building, taking the elevator to the thirty-fifth floor where my penthouse is.