Red As Snow...(BWAM, Yakuza Romance, 18+)

Chapter Two

The Pic Above Is Of Obal...

"Love, are you sure you're okay? You've been a little off since you got home," Cush, my fiance, whispers into my ear, drawing me from the hole of my recent past and into reality.
I turn my head slightly, grant him a subtle smile, nod my head in affirmation whilst resting my palm against his left thigh and squeezing lightly.

My mother, who's sat by my father's side on the table swirling white wine in a flute, spares me a glance, brings the glass to her lips and sips, rests it against table and dubs her scarlet lips.
"Sephar, are you alright, darling? Anything you need to get off your chest, sweetie?"
"No I'm..."

Even before I have the chance to finish my thought, Salva my twin brother chimes in, eyes glued on the screen of the tablet clutched in his palm.

"Papa, would you look at this? Isn't he the man you prosecuted against? Tsumibito was his name, no? They say he escaped from the hospital facility that hosted him, slaughtered several guards and two surgeons in his escape. Left a trail of red is what he did. Sixty grand for anyone who catches the lunatic," he continues, stretching an arm so his phone is now sat before our father's eyes.

Bile, raw and scalding, combusts its way up my throat, and I find myself near hyperventilation.
"See you on the other side," he'd said to me earlier, but my goodness I hadn't expected him to escape so effortlessly or at all, for that matter!
My vision becomes hazy, and Cush's arm snakes my waist, holding me to him as he commands me to breathe.

Fucking anxiety attack!

My mama stands with haste, rounds the table, rubs my back in attempts to cool my raging spirits.
"Baby, breathe with me, just like that, breathe, honey, breathe."
I take in large gulps of air, exhale, inhale some more, effectively feeling my spiked nerves calm.

In a matter of minutes, eery silence returns to the dining arena, each one quiet in patience and waiting; awaiting me to make sense of my reaction.
"Uh, he was the man I-uh-interviewed earlier this afternoon."

"Obal, what? I comprehend your line of work but Jesus! You are only new to this!" My father's gruff voice booms, his palms slamming into the polished surface of the table.

"Papa," I coo, watching him watch me with furrowed brows.
"This man is not danger, he is the devil incarnate. You should have left the more experienced of your colleges handle the interview for heaven's sake, Obal. You do realize that now you are a target for more than one reason?"

"It was not my intent to offend you by conducting an interview with him."
"And yet you still took up the commission, did you not!"
"Can we all just take a minute to breathe and contemplate our words more rationally? Yelling will get us nowhere," my mother's sharp tone slices through the suffocating tension, effectively hushing my father and I.

"Both you and Cush spend the night, that's final. Goodnight," he speaks with finality, proceeding to drag seat against tiled floors, rising and leaving without another word.
I sigh heavily, pinch the bridge of my nose as a new kind of terror begins to rear its ugly head.

They'll catch him, the authorities must catch him, dear grace...

In bed, it takes me a perfect two or so hours before I finally give up on sleep, the paranoia clinging to my heart like a fucking leech. I toss, turn, toss, turn despite the buff figure of Cush lain right next to me in peaceful slumber, his breathing shallow.

The seconds convert into long minutes fleet into even longer hours. The clock continues to tick, the noise of it growing more profound with each tick and tock, and the shadows of objects elongate against the carpeted grounds of the room.

Finally, as the clock strikes midnight, I get from under the silk covers, slap on a night robe, slide my flip-flops on, and glide past the doors of the room, shutting them behind me with a soft click. I pad down the hallways, down the spiral fleet of steps, further down the halls, and into the kitchen where I proceed for the fridge sat in the corner of the room.

I reach for a bottle of milk, stand erect, pour myself some. Then, my ears pick the soft sound of footsteps. The adrenaline, the paranoia, raw unfiltered terror all battle for dominance, and instantaneously, my eyes rake the counter for the knife block.

I let my arm travel the little distance in attempts to grab the largest; a butcher knife, but my attempts prove futile as a palm wraps around my wrist tightly, effectively cutting my blood circulation.

"I promised to see you on the other side, did I not?"
Cool breath fans the flesh of my neck, a trail of unpleasant goosebumps eliciting from the contact. Arm of muscle slithers around my waist and without so much as pondering any further, I elbow the figure in the gut.

He grunts, but does he budge? Fuck no! The muzzle of a gun tenderly kisses the small of my back, causing all thoughts of fight or flight to dissipate. My hairs are yanked on harshly, too harshly, a palm pressing against my nose and mouth whilst I begin to wiggle and wriggle my body violently.

"If you move any more than you have, Rosa, I swear on your family I will wipe both you and they out clean."
It's the deathly coldness of his monotone that sends me calming myself. The tone holds truth, holds promise.

"Just like a good Rosa. Come, we need to get you out of here. Any last words to family?"
I groan into his palm, eyes bulging, body violently jerking.

Please, not my family, heavens no!

"Now, you are a pretty little thing, so don't let me be your death, yes? Be still."
His palm glides around my neck where he holds firmly, muzzle of gun still intact against my clothed back as he begins to walk us out of the room. One minute, two minutes, three minutes, and we are gathered in the dining room where each member of my family is strapped to a wooden sit, mouths tapped and fear etched on faces.

"Mr Hanain, you know me so well, do you not?" He begins, now caressing the skin of my cheek all the way down to my jawline with a bloody index.
Hot tears leak from my eyes, dampen the front of my robe, my lips trembling profusely. So, this is how I drink the bittersweet cup of demise, how I meet my Maker?

"Mr Hanain, I am not even upset at the fact that you moved heaven and the fucking mountains to send me behind bars, no. In fact, kudos to you for that. I am, however, so fucking upset that after working for me for years, you would deem it fit to launder money from me and into an offshore account, then have the fucking audacity to both frame as well as prosecute me. Did your family have knowledge of this? Because your wife over there is fuming like her life depended on it."

With every poisonous syllable of each word that tumbles so calmly from his mouth, his hold on my jaw grows a tad bit firmer. And he chooses now to burst into hearty laughter, the lunatic!

Then, he quietens down, stretches out an arm in my father's direction, aims and fires; fires thrice! I choke on the tears, hiccup, jerk myself out of his vise-like grip, sprint in my father's direction, kneeling before his groaning and grunting figure in despair.

Both his left and right legs have a gunshot wound; right on the calves, sipping and oozing out thick crimson, while the other bullet shatters the alabaster vase far behind him.
I snap my head to spear glares at Tsumibito, just glare, as the unholy rivulets continue to obscure my vision and cascade down my cheeks.
"What, Rosa? That vase looked horrendous."

I have no idea where the foolish bravery sprouts from, but in under a minute, I am stood right in front of him, lifting a well-folded fist in attempts to punch some remorse into his thick skull. He works with fluidity to evade the blow, and my fist ends up striking hard into the walls behind,  followed closely by the mild sting of needle piercing into the flesh of my neck.

I want to shriek on the very top of my lungs at the excruciating ache pulsating through my entire arm, but the drowsiness, the dark emptiness takes its place faithfully. Oh grace, I cannot pass out at such a minute as this. Jesus, no!
"Alright, play time is over, Rosa. Goodnight..."

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