1.1 | The Yakuza Bride

Chapter 46

The car had stopped. She didn't know what was happening but her abductor had left the car to chat with someone outside. She could just hear their muffled voices conversing in Spanish. Her knife, phone and money had been confiscated, and her bag searched.

The door was tugged open roughly. A different man stood there.

'The Boss wants to see you.'

Hana stared mutely at the hulking figure. She noticed the outline of a revolver under his fitting shirt, then cautiously swung a foot onto the pavement. Apparently, her movements were too slow for she found herself being grabbed by her arm and dragged out of the vehicle.

'Hurry up!' he snapped.

Hana scrambled to catch up. She vaguely realised that they were at the back of some buildings. The stench of trash and the heat from vents made her giddy.

'Let go!' she exclaimed. His hold was too tight and his gait too fast. Her arm was about to be wrenched off its socket and her skin was about to be ripped off.

She brought her face to the man's arm and bit down hard.

His reaction was instantaneous.

'Bitch!' he snarled as he grabbed her by her coat and flung her to the ground.

Her hands instinctually flew to her belly

'Do that again,' he growled, 'and I'll do more than just throw you.'

~

A live jazz band was playing on a stage to groups of well-dressed men who sat around polished wood tables, smoking and drinking, and appearing to discuss important matter with their equally important looking counterparts. Dim strobe lights hung from the ceilings, casting a soft glow around the space. The atmosphere was almost classy, as if she had stepped into a gentlemen's club, and the girls dressed in identical skin-tight outfits were merely servers and nothing more.

That was all she could take in before she was shoved up the stairs and into a dark room on the second floor. The air was doused in a combination of cologne, alcohol and cigarette smoke. She wrinkled her nose as she was prodded further into the room.

A large semi-circular sofa took up most of the space in the room and sprawled on it was Juan Gonzales with a glass in one hand.

'The girl's here,' the man said before he stepped out and shut the door behind him.

Juan's eyes slowly opened as he lazily pushed himself up into a sitting position. As her eyes adjusted to the lighting, she realised how his cheekbones were jutting out from his skin and how dark the circles beneath his eyes were. He didn't appear well.

'Hana,' he said, his voice heavy as if it had taken him some effort to speak. He didn't even lift his head. 'Come sit here.'

She gingerly sat herself on the edge of the sofa. Somehow, seeing him so exhausted and weak didn't scare her.

He reached for a bottle on the table, then tipped its contents into his glass.

'Want a drink?' He shot her a glance. His green eyes were bloodshot.

'No,' she mumbled.

'Not even a cola?'

'No.'

'More for me, then.'

Juan took a sip of his drink and slumped back onto the couch. Then he passed his free hands over his eyes and scrubbed his face, as if trying to dispel some invisible ache. He groaned something in his native tongue but she quite ignored him.