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

Chapter Six

Tsumibito's P.O.V

The vintage wall clock chimes; the time reads two o'clock in the morning. Fleeting quiet laces every dimly lit floor of my pagoda -one should think it a graveyard. Lightning flashes through the drapery dangling by the high windows, thunder booms so deafeningly, and the rains; they continue to slap heftily against the tarmac earth outside.

I climb down the fleet leading into the basement in boredom, palms shoved into the pockets of my slacks, tiny hairs pouring down the skin of my forehead.

It has been a gracious four days or so since I last saw or spoke with Obal, a glorious four days or so, might I add. She avoids me like the plague, while I act oblivious to the mere mention of her name. She keeps to herself -locked up in her chamber or sat inside the vast libraries, her head buried in books for most part of the day under the keen eye of a maiden, of course.

Father and daughter are both like a thorn to my side. Father a treacherous fucker, daughter possessing sharp tongue, one that should have her dead quicker than she has knowledge of. Mr Hanain took liberties with me, the fool, broke a code of conduct; chose deceit over family. The kobun are a single unit, a ménage, and so, treachery becomes sin.

Act in insubordination to whomever holds title of Kumichô, act in contempt towards fellow subordinates and brothers of the Zaiaku Clan, pay with a finger, with your own blood, or with an actual blood relative becoming the sacrificial lamb for your witlessness. In this case, Obal received and continues to receive punishment for the foolery of another.

This should be the ultimate sanction for the man Hanain, a perpetual loss that he should forever suffer. I discard all thought pertaining to both Obal and her father to the very back of my brain, gliding past the doors leading into the basement. I shut them, proceeding further down another series of short steps where I come up to a sight so amusing, one that has the adrenaline coursing through my blood -setting my body aflame.

Traitor is sat in the middle, arms and feet thoroughly roped in thick sisal straps, lips and nose dribbling with dense dark scarlet, eyes blindfolded, and two of my kin stood to his left and right sides.
"Leave my home, both of you," I speak in the tongues of the mothers, and each man bows his head in submission, exiting shortly after.

Calmly, I reach for the sleeves of my blazer, shrug the garment off, hang it by the hooks of one of the walls. Then, I fold the sleeves of my shirt to slightly below my elbows, proceeding to slip on the spiky iron rings perched atop the smooth surface of the stool stood centimeters to my right.

"Okabi, you assisted Mr Hanain in wiring money from one of my accounts to an offshore account in Spain."
"No idea what you speak of, brother."
I inhale deeply, exhale softly, rolling my eyes and tilting head to the side.
Deliberate steps I take in his direction, up until I am rooted before the man. I lean in to be face-to-face with him.

"I want you to look me dead in the eye and lie. Deceive me, Okabi," and as I taunt in a monotone, I reach for the blindfolds and pull.
He squints then smirks a subtle smirk.
"We grew up together, trained together, Okabi. You took advantage of the confidence I chose to employ in you. My heart bleeds at the fact."

Your were akin to a brother, Okabi. Sad it has to end this way.

"Tell me something. Did you handle the laundering all on your own?"
His eyes burrow into my own; into the darkest pits of my soul, his breathes ragged, laboured, uneven. But never, not even once, does he crack, spill the truth of his transgressions. And that is enough to tick me off.

Hefty blow lands square on his left cheekbone, and thick crimson spits from his mouth and onto wall. The scarlet dribbles down his chin a mix of saliva as he snaps his head to face me. I thread fingers through my hairs, shoving the ones obscuring my vision  back.