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ichigopanhpff · 2 years

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Sonata Ch. 6: Morendo

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I didn't proofread this all the way. Why did I write this much?! =A= The subject matter in this chapter is dark and very serious.

It's not NSFW, but I'll have to put an 18+ only label on this chapter.

Warnings: Scenes of sexual nature, non-consensual sexual engagement, mentions of drugs and drug usage, alcohol consumption, guns, mentions of underage human trafficking.

Note: If you see any notes messages being responded with ‘amaeichigo’, that’s my primary account name.

( \ məˈren(ˌ)dō \): dying away, with a gradual softening of tone and slowing of movement

Perspiration glistened at the crown of her head and nose bridge. Her heart pounded erratically in her throat while drawing shallow breaths and trying her best not to panic as the room slowly spun in her vision. Just as several Daruma grunts walked past and turned down the hall of the dimly lit club, (Y/N) carefully peered out. Swallowing thickly, she hastily walked in the opposite direction, trying her best to make the least amount of noise with her clicking Manolo Blainks. Looking through the crack of the velvet curtain, it looked like none of the staff were in the main club room.

If there was the time to get the hell out, this was it.

Gritting her teeth, she tightly gripped the thumb drive in her sweaty right hand and tucked it in the molded pocket of her strapless bra under her dress before making a dash for it. Halfway to the exit, she heard the hammer of a gun cock not too far behind her, making her freeze in her steps.

“Not one step further,” they calmly warned.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

She hyperventilated and felt every part of her body shake and perspire from the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Everything felt hot and cold at the same time and everything moved around her like time slowed down. Her vision swam like she was underwater, feeling whatever was in her system affecting her. The beating of her heart hammered loudly in her eardrums, practically hearing each individual blood cell traverse through her with the roar of a jet engine. Gingerly putting her hands up, she turned and faced Chono’s frigid glare with the barrel of his gun pointed at her chest.

“Chono-san,” she tersely greeted. “Why are you pointing that at me?”

“Oh, I think you know,” he quietly said with cold, steel-like eyes on her like a hawk.

“I… really don’t,” she lied to stall for time. Her jaw clenched tightly as she racked her brain to find a way to talk herself out of this.

“You do.”

BANG.

TWO WEEKS AGO

“Nervous?” Mizunori asked from behind her. She looked up to see his reflection on the vanity mirror, his hands resting on her bare shoulders while his thumb pads languidly stroked her back.

“A little,” she confessed, trying her best to not rip his hands off. “Just need a few minutes to myself to get in the zone.”

“Of course. Every musician has their own rituals,” the producer agreed and made his way out of the green room with a wink. “Good luck out there, angel.”

(Y/N) flashed him a faux grateful smile and immediately dropped it into a deep frown the moment the door clicked shut. She rolled her shoulders and silently shuddered at that slime ball feeling her up.

Why did she agree to this? It was too late to back out now. The cogs were already in motion. The next phase of the plan wasn’t as simple as getting her foot inside Dynasty. Bonten’s intel knew Mizunori was dirty, but how dirty was anybody’s guess.

Her goal is find whatever sort of information she could extract from him.

By any means necessary.

Inwardly grimacing at what it meant, she pushed it out of her mind for now. Tonight was her first solo performance; she had a supporting bassist, trumpeter, and drummer the past few times when she started here two weeks ago. To say she was nervous was an understatement; she’d already thrown up twice at Bonten’s HQ before making her way to the club.

Were it not for Kakucho’s quick thinking in buying a few cans of sparkling water ahead of time, she most likely would still be puking and possibly unconscious. Putting both her hands on her stomach, (Y/N) closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing before making her way out. Her dress tonight was a black and white couture gown from Oscar de la Renta, her neck adorned a simple diamond necklace from Cartier, courtesy of Kokonoi.

She may find the finance admin annoyingly overbearing, but she had to admit he had good taste. She personally had no use of things like these, but had to look presentable for the sake of her “job.” Every admin stopped what they were doing the moment she reemerged into the conference room after changing at his request to make sure the dress fit her. She was sure they all secretly took photos of her on their phones when she wasn’t looking for their own reasons before changing back into her own clothes.

With a soft rap of the door from the other side drawing her mind back to reality, she stood from her boudoir and left the room. Passing staff in the narrow walkway wished her luck as her Balenciaga Sequin Embellished Heels clacked on the painted concrete flooring.

She paused several feet away from the piano, her body still hidden behind the curtain as she took her last steady breaths before emerging onto the hot, searing lights. She could’ve sworn she had just stepped on stage; next thing she knew, she was hitting the last note to the song. Whether it was adrenaline, the retina searing bulbs or the smattering applause, her first solo set finished without any hiccups.

(Y/N) stood from her instrument and bowed to thank the audience before disappearing backstage. After a job well done, she hung back for a moment before heading out for the night while saying her good nights to the staff and cleaning crew still on duty after changing back into her street clothes. Opening the transparent umbrella to shelter herself from the light drizzle of the late spring evening, the clack of her regular heels were muffled on the damp concrete as she made her way to the train station for the second to last train of the night. Taking it a few stops, she got off at Kita-Akabane station from the Saikyo line and made her way back home. Making her way up to the third floor of the walk-up building, she let herself into the apartment and turned the lights on. She looked around the empty room and sighed, the clacking of her heels echoing in the small confined space.

Taking her phone out, she scrolled down her contacts and clicked on Kakucho’s name disguised as “Tanaka-san.”

“Otsukare-sama desu,” his deep voice spoke through the receiver. The engine of his car could be heard with a low rumble. “Were you followed?”

(Y/N) approached the curtained window and lifted the fabric just a sliver; her eyes scanned the dark street and saw a shadowy figure leaning on a utility poll not too far away, looking at his phone and putting it up to their ear.

“Right on schedule,” she frowned and walked away before the person outside noticed. “Dynasty’s policy in checking their employees ring true.”

“I guess it’s their way in making sure their investments don’t run away,” the Bonten admin assumed.

“It’s stalking and against the law.”

“Try to put up with it until you’re able to get what we need,” Kakucho mildly reminded her. “I’ll be there to pick you up in about 30 minutes. Traffic’s starting to clear up.”

Thanking him, they hung up and she pretended to go through the motions of turning in for the night. What Daruma didn’t know won’t hurt them, after all. Hugging herself into her cardigan sweater to stay warm from the draft, she glanced around the brightly lit room, to which Bonten installed the wiring in not too long ago to make it look occupied from the outside. This was one of their many places they took people for “aggressive negotiations” according to Haitani Ran.

Sanzu Haruchiyo put it in layman’s terms: it was a torture den.

As good as their quick paint job was, she could still see spots of old dry blood splatter on the fresh white walls and some small white and yellow-like items that looked like human teeth laying in the corner of one of the rooms, some of which were chipped.

Honestly, she rather not think about it and wanted to get out as soon as possible.

Five minutes before Kakucho was scheduled to arrive, she turned the lights off to let her observer see she “turned in” for the night. Sighing heavily, she leaned on the wall waiting for her chauffeur’s message. Like clockwork, the quiet buzz of her phone lit up the screen with a message notification. Grabbing the black hoodie hung on the wall, she draped it on and adorned a face mask before throwing the hood over to cover her head for another level of precaution before quietly opening the back door. Closing it in the same manner before, she tip-toed down the metal staircase at the back of the building without the umbrella. Not too far from her sat a car with tinted windows. Surveying her surroundings once more down the dimly lit streets looking for any moving shadows, she hastily made her way to the vehicle and sat in the back seat to avoid detection.

“I double checked and wasn’t tailed,” she affirmed and continued to lay low.

With a nod, Kakucho put the car in Drive and started moving. Once they made it back on the highway, she sat back up and let out a long exhale from a mix of exhaustion and stress the moment she rested the back of her head on the seat properly before removing her disguise. Kicking her heels off, she flexed her toes a few times before putting on a pair of slip-on sneakers he prepared for her. The ride went by in silence and pulled into a garage at the sub-ground level of his apartment complex. Turning the ignition off, the two vacated the car and walked towards the elevator. Her escort hit the button to call for it and the two rode it to the top floor.

His apartment wasn’t as luxurious as the Haitanis or Manjiro’s; if anything, it felt the most like home if she had buckets of money to splurge on real estate in Chiyoda.

It was also immaculately tidy.

His penthouse had a nice view with a wide veranda and floor to ceiling windows, but the interior was what drew more of her attention. His kitchen had soft periwinkle blue cabinets paired with stainless steel appliances and a decopus bronze metallic backsplash; cooking magazines were stacked neatly on top of one another on the white quartz counter tops. To the side, a small collection of Japanese, American and Irish whiskey could be seen on display in one of the few glass display cabinets. The living room sat a three piece black leather sofa set with a flat-screen TV hung on the wall. At the far end of the living area, a makeshift home gym with free weights and bench of the maple wood floors. A pegboard with a mounted rolled up exercise mat, hung resistance bands and paired with the ash grey painted walls.

“I’ve already placed your belongings in the spare room,” Kakucho pointed to the aforementioned area to her and tugged at his tie to loosen it before unbuttoning the top two buttons on his dress shirt and sighed in relief. “I’ll let you settle in before dinner.”

They went into their respective rooms to change and unwind. (Y/N) grabbed her toiletries to wash off her makeup in the bathroom and changed into an oversized blue and white striped tunic and a pair of black ¾ length leggings. She sighed contently upon exiting her room and saw Kakucho in a black fitted t-shirt and dark grey sweats cutting up some already peeled carrots in the kitchen. The dangling earring he wore on his right ear was removed.

“Can I help with anything?”

“Wash and peel the potatoes?” he requested.

Doing as she was told, she bathed the root vegetable thoroughly before taking a paring knife to peel the skin off and submerging it into a bowl of water to prevent it from oxidizing. Bringing it to his work station, she glanced at the ingredients laid out.

“Nikujaga?”

“It’s one of the few things I can make well,” he bashfully confessed and proceeded to dice a white onion into half moons. “I only eat out if it’s something I dunno how to make.”

“It’s a miracle you remember to eat,” she chuckled and took the snow peas to de-stem and wash.

With the prep work done, Kakucho got to putting everything together into a pot. The smell of cooked meat mixed with the seasoning perfumed the apartment. She found herself reminiscing back to the simpler times whenever her mom cooked this for her in the winter to stay warm in their drafty, rundown apartment. Watching the chef’s back from the counter island, she saw him dip a clean spoon into the simmering pot and blew on it a few times to taste test. Lightly smacking his lips, deep in thought, (Y/N) humored the idea of seeing Bonten’s number three as a chef. While she couldn’t picture him yelling at his sous chefs like Gordon Ramsay, he would certainly establish his dominance in the kitchen with his aura.

“Try this.”

She dumbly blinked a few times and found a spoon with some broth in front of her face. “I need a second opinion.” Lightly blowing on it, her lips met the utensil and sipped the brown broth, ruminating over the flavor on her tongue.

“Needs a bit more soy sauce,” she suggested. “Since you went light on the dashi.”

“So that’s what was tasting off,” he realized and took to her advice in adjusting the flavor.

“I thought you said this was something you could make well,” she teased with a small smirk.

“It’s been a while,” he admitted with a soft chuckle.

Just as the food and rice finished 30 minutes later, the scarred man took two cans of beer out and handed one to her while she plated up their respective portions to eat on the island counter. Opening it with a satisfying hiss, they lifted up in the air with a toasting gesture and drank the fizzy liquid.

“Beer definitely hits different after a long day,” she sighed contently before taking a bite of her food. A smile graced her lips when she bit into the sweet carrot and looked up at her companion. “It’s tasty.”

The corner of his mouth faintly quirked up, feeling an unfamiliar warmth bloom in his chest. The last time he made a meal for anyone aside from the Haitanis was when Izana was still alive. He’d often come to his place to hang out and in classic Izana fashion, he’d order his servant to make him food when he was hungry. Quietly relishing in each other’s company, he watched her enjoy the meal with a small smile for a beat as she bit into a piece of the meat before scooping some rice into her mouth.

(Y/N) offered to do the dishes after dinner, despite Kakucho arguing with her about it. She practically butted herself beside him at the sink and snatched the sponge from his hands. When the backs of their hands accidentally touched, he immediately flinched like hot cooking oil splattered on him and put some distance between them as he felt the tips of his ears go warm.

Removing himself from cleaning duty, he went to his whiskey cabinet and took out two crystal glasses along with a bottle of Yamazaki 25 year. Placing a perfectly clear ice cube into the glasses, he poured the amber liquid in and handed one to her after she dried her hands on a towel.

“… Isn’t that really expensive?” she asked with unease when she recognized the bottle sitting on the counter.

“Don’t you think you deserve a bit of reward after all that’s happened?” he countered.

“It’s not a matter of whether or not I deserve this,” she hesitantly murmured, still staring at the offered glass in his calloused hands. “I just wanna understand my mom better when she took this undercover mission.”

He held it up a little higher, signaling her again to take it, to which she did so meekly. Kakucho took a small sip of the smooth, earthy spirit, his piercing gaze not once leaving her.

“And what would you do with that answer?”

“I dunno…” she sighed and finally took a small sip of the expensive whisky, savoring the flavor of rich, sweet fruits on her tongue. “Maybe have some closure to these conflicting feelings of abandonment?” she shrugged. “Maybe… only pretending to love me made it easier for her to leave.”

“Do you have proof to show she was pretending?” he asked with half-seriousness while mindlessly swirling his glass. He watched her with a mix of intensity, attentiveness and curiosity.

“No,” she admitted and leaned on the clean counter pensively. “This is just me being salty and passive aggressive to mentally and emotionally cope.”

“Maybe you’ll find what you’re looking for to resolve whatever you’re trying to unpack, maybe not. Either way, what you’re doin’ will make a big impact for us, so at least try to enjoy it,” he advised. “How do you think we stay sane?”

“And here I thought Bonten admins only enjoyed extorting and torturing others,” she lightly retorted.

“Well, Sanzu definitely.” He swirled his glass for the ice to dilute the aged spirit a bit. “He gets too into it.”

“And what about you?” she asked. “Do you enjoy killing?”

“I kill out of obligation,” he solemnly clarified and walked to the couch and sat down. He lazily tilted his head to invite her over, to which she followed suit.

“Then…” She steadied her breath before continuing her thought. “Would you have killed me if I got the password wrong?” she asked with a quiet voice upon remembering the barrel of his gun pointed at her not too long ago with the iciest of stares. Both her hands firmly gripped the crystal whisky glass and swallowed hard.

“Sanzu or Mochi would’ve in my stead.”

“You didn’t answer the question,” she pointed out and glanced at her drinking companion, staring intensely at his side profile. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably with a conflicted look in his dual coloured eyes, the corners of his lips pulled into a slight frown.

“Between the two of us?” he stifled a sigh through his nose and hung his head low as if he was sitting in a confessional. “Small chance I would’ve hesitated.”

“Why?” (Y/N)’s inquisitive gaze was steady on the scarred man.

Kakucho swallowed thickly and felt warmth spread on the apples of his cheeks from the attention. “’Cus I actually enjoy your company,” he quickly murmured.

A short, amused chuckle escaped her lips. “Surely, any one would do.”

“You’re easy to talk to,” he admitted and set his glass down on a cork coaster on top of the vintage wooden California Redwood coffee table and finally met her peculiar gaze. “You’re like us.”

“How, exactly?”

“You’re a stray looking for where you belong.”

Her eyes widened with surprise at his introspection; she never realized that until now. Once upon a time, she thought she found her place before the rug was pulled from her and fell into the depths of society’s underbelly and it was her sense of responsibility that was her undoing. She could’ve ran away from her mom’s debt had she known sooner and she’d be free from the shackles of obligation. But what then? What would she had been able to do with Bonten tracking her every move? Anyone she’d been in contact with would be put in harm’s way while constantly looking over her shoulder.

In the end, she’d still be alone.

It was a Catch-22.

“And Bonten is where you think you belong then?” she asked while swirling her glass, hearing the ice cube clink inside from the motion.

“I have nowhere else to go,” he simply said and leaned back into the couch with a soft squeak from the leather. His line of sight landed on the ceiling with glints of nostalgia reflecting in crimson and cream. “My parents died in a car accident when I was eight and was sent to an orphanage after. I was bullied for this,” he traced a light finger down a part of the scar etched the left side of his face.

“You’ve had a tough time,” (Y/N) sympathized.

“I had a friend looking out for me…” A glimpse of Izana’s face flashed in his mind, pulling his lips up into a soft smile full of bittersweet emotions. He blinked a few times and tucked those memories back inside him, surprised at himself for letting his guard down for that brief moment. “But he’s gone now. I should’ve died with him, but here I still breathe.”

“You say this as if your life means nothing.”

“Bonten’s the only thing I live for now.”

“To throw your entire life into crime…” she trailed off and looked into her glass pensively, the ice cube cracked from the room temperature and slowly melted into the alcohol. “Has it helped you find your purpose?”

“Purpose huh…” Kakucho trailed off. “I wonder…” He sipped his drink and threw the question back at her. “How ‘bout you? Have you ever felt like your life wasn’t yours to live?”

“Looking back on it, my life’s been one of circumstance and at the necessity of others,” she replied dejectedly as she slowly unloaded her thoughts. “I’m only here because my birth mom decided to not abort me and then selfishly offed herself with drugs.” Feeling a dull pain radiate in her chest, she snapped her eyes close to prevent any tears from forming and swallowed the weighty lump lodged in her throat.

“Seems like we’re just two lost souls feeling their way in the dark huh,” the scarred man added.

“Perhaps,” she said flatly and played with her glass. The two finished their drinks in silence with the tails of awkwardness seeping in. She briefly glanced over at the scarred man who was deep in his thoughts. Beneath his marred skin and cold exterior, he was surprisingly warm-hearted and deceivingly handsome. Bonten’s number three was discreet and a wallflower; only those whose eyes wandered long enough would catch a glimpse of him.

Normally, something like this would never cross her mind and found it strange it was at this moment.

“I hope the Haitanis didn’t bother you too much,” Kakucho decided to divert from the heavy topic either one was clearly not ready to discuss.

“Their place was an absolute trash can,” she huffed. “And Ran-san was blasting his porn in the middle of the night.”

“I… am not surprised at that,” he lightly noted followed with a dry laugh. “You’d think with all the money they make from their clubs, they’d hire a maid or soundproof their walls.”

“Maybe they like hearing each other.”

“I… rather not think about that,” he grimaced and looked at his now empty glass with a half melted ice cube. “Think I need ‘nother to get this image outta my head.”

“Same.”

Rising from the couch, he walked to his cabinet and pulled out an American whiskey bottle and poured it into their glasses before setting the bottle down on the table. Compared to the Yamazaki, this one had more vanilla on the nose and thicker body on the tongue.

“The Haitanis collect wine, you collect whiskey…” she noticed and lazily swished her glass. “Criminals have such luxurious tastes.”

“We have more than enough money to know what to do with it thanks to Koko. I even have some invested in stocks and Bitcoin super early on with his help. Even though Bonten is my life, nothing lasts forever…” He looked at his drink pensively and took a sip from it. “And I don’t expect to live a long life in this line of work.”

“Would you want to?”

“I did once.” He set his glass down and turned to face (Y/N) with a softened unreadable expression and leaned back on the couch, clearing his throat. “Wanted a family n’ everything.”

“You say that in past tense,” she remarked and sipped her whiskey, feeling the warmth spread through her body. The tips of her extremities were staring to go numb from the strong alcohol.

“Who’d willingly date, let alone marry, a known criminal?” he pointed out with a scorn and a wry laugh as the tips of his fingers touched the tail of his scar. “Especially when I look like this…” he mumbled to himself.

“I think you’re fine as you are. Anyone who’s not willing to see beyond that is their problem,” she stated with honesty. “And whoever’s willing to accept your lifestyle are those who want a life of luxury and free of worries, thinking anyone who’d target their enemy’s family as leverage is cowardly,” she countered. “Little do they know…”

“See?” he smirked. “You get us.”

“Not willingly.” She set her glass on the table before adjusting herself to sit sideways to face Kakucho in hopes of sobering up a little. The admin shifted in his seat to get comfortable, his kneecap touching hers.

“You really think of us as cold-blooded, ruthless killers who only care about wealth and influence and anyone below us are replaceable pawns?”

“Yes.” She leaned her head onto the soft cushioned leather, her eyes slowly drooping from the whiskey.

“You think we’d off you that easily?”

“Or sell me off in sex trafficking, whichever,” she answered with a quick shrug. “Bonten don’t leave loose ends. Or so the rumors go.”

“Contrary to what you think, we have a proper discussion before doing anything.” He moved in a little more, closing the distance between them. She could smell the warm notes of Kakucho's cologne from his pulse points, with hints of orange blossom and coriander. “For what it’s worth, you’re still here.”

“… I’ll give you that,” she admitted and closed her eyes with a small smirk. “But we’ll see how long that lasts.”

“You really don’t like us, do you?”

“It’s not a matter of like or dislike.” She shifted in her seat before perching her arm up to rest her head on. “Despite what I’ve said, I find most of you tolerable.”

“Just ‘tolerable’?” he lightly teased and revealed, “The other admins and Mikey have taken a liking to you.”

“Even Sanzu-san?” (Y/N) asked with slightly raised brows and a tone of surprise.

“When he’s not high off his ass, yes.”

“And when is that?”

“Probably when he’s not stressed out or getting his OCD tendencies triggered by something.”

“And… when is that?”

“Who knows?”

An amused laugh escaped her, making Kakucho’s lips curl upward into an amused smirk.

“You’re prettier when you laugh.”

“You say this to every girl you talk to?” she shot back with quirked brow, noticing his reddened cheeks over his lightly tanned skin.

“Just the ones whose company isn’t overbearing or over-talkative.”

“Shocker.”

Kakucho let out a hearty chuckle that rumbled in his chest and ran his hand through his raven black strands. This was the first time she’s been with a Bonten admin with such a relaxed expression and aura; compared to the Haitani Brothers and Sano Manjiro, who were harder to read their intentions.

Was this how it felt to feel comfortable with someone?

How long has it been since she last felt like this?

“So how is it no one’s snatched you up?” he asked all of a sudden with a slight drop in the volume of his voice, feeling bravado circulate in his blood from the imbibed spirit and moved close enough to her that his face was now a respectable distance from hers.

“Attempts were made,” (Y/N) grabbed her glass to sip it.

“Only attempts?”

“The last relationship I was in… ended terribly,” she answered hesitantly and looked at her melting ice cube, seeing her vision swim in a pool of tan and orange mixed in with the intoxicating dizziness of his scent. “He was charming, but a selfish jerk and pretty much turned me off from any romantic relationships.”

“Tell me his name and consider it done,” he let slip with a serious glint in his dual-coloured eyes.

“He may have broken my heart, but I don’t want him dead! Well…” She paused for a beat, thinking back on the relationship. “Maybe for a minute when I found out he was cheating on me with two other girls…”

“The offer still stands.”

“I’ll have to decline,” she placated her drinking companion. “And it was six years ago, so it’s whatever now.”

“Were it me, I’d do my damnedest to cherish you,” Kakucho noted with a deep bass from his voice and took another sip from his glass. “I’d give you the world if you asked for it.”

“Will you now?” she challenged with a tipsy smirk.

“You deserve it after all you been through…” he lightly slurred and set his glass down. “Much more than this shitty situation. The fact you haven’t complained ‘bout it… you’re either brave or stupid.”

“Maybe a bit of both,” she quipped.

“It’s admirable… to me, at least.”

(Y/N) looked up and met Kakucho’s glossy stare, trying to read the intentions behind his words; he wasn’t lying. Be it the liquid courage coursing through his veins, he leaned in and lightly grazed his lips on hers before putting a bit more pressure into the kiss, deeply inhaling her scent through his nose. Her vision swam and her cheeks felt hot; she wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol, his spicy cologne, the kiss or a mix of everything.

“S-Sorry.” He immediately pulled back and shielded the lower half of his face with his hand, reeling in shame with what he just did. His gaze darted across the room from panic. “I-I—” he stuttered.

“I…didn’t mind it…” she bashfully whispered and looked away, her cheeks tinted a soft pink and bit on her bottom lip.

The admin slowly looked back up, his gaze locking with hers; blotches of red stained his face from a mix of the drunk spirit and what he did. Closing the distance between them on the couch again, his right hand reached up and tilted her chin up to him ever so softly like a gentleman. Their foreheads touched as his stare turned half-lidded. The distance between their lips were separated by mere centimeters, her nose caught a whiff of the peaty spirit on his tongue.

“… May I?” he politely asked with a breathy and barely audible voice this time.

With a small nod of agreement, they connected once more without hesitation. The raven haired man’s left arm wrapped around (Y/N)’s waist while his right thumb caressed her cheek. She steadied herself by resting the palms of her hands on Kakucho’s broad and muscular shoulders. Each touch felt like a white hot fire of desire; it was like they forgot how to breathe.

Their bodies and lips molded into one another perfectly like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Her hands traveled up and threaded her digits into his dark raven locks, gently massaging his scalp; he elicited a soft moan at the sensation as the tip of his tongue grazed her bottom lip, asking permission to enter. Opening her mouth, she allowed him to explore her, intertwining his burning wet muscle with hers, tasting their drunk whisky on each other. Letting out a low hum from his throat, the admin pulled her onto his lap, letting her feel him hardening on her heat. His tip poked her clothed entrance, eliciting a soft whimper from her as her hips unconsciously gyrated at a painfully slow pace. Kakucho growled to encourage her; his hands wandering down and firmly grasped her fleshy globes and massaged them in his palms.

They hesitantly released, their breaths ragged and light-headed from a mix of attraction and lust.

“This… is a terrible idea,” he uttered while running his thumb on her soft, reddened lower lip, wanting to taste more.

“The worst idea in the history of worst ideas,” she agreed between huffs. “I blame the whisky.”

“Might be.”

As he leaned in again, her hands resting on his chest firmly resisted his advances and rolled her lips in, breaking eye contact when she tilted her head down guiltily.

“If we continue this…” she softly panted. “Things’ll be too complicated.”

Knowing she was right, the admin huffed a slow sigh through his nose and pulled back out of respect. (Y/N) retreated from his lap and settled herself back on the other side of the couch with a respectable distance in between. Resting his elbows on top of his thighs, he stared at his empty glass while feeling the unsatisfied throbbing between his legs.

“When this whole thing’s done…” he began. “Would you consider… staying n’ being with me?”

She picked up her glass and finished the remaining drink before looking back up at him and humored his proposal. “Say I agree: How long will it take you to be bored of me? Three months? Six?”

“Contrary of what you think, I’m not a man who throws away things I consider precious,” he defended.

“Precious?” she repeated skeptically and looked over with an arched brow. “Just because you know my entire background doesn’t mean you know who I am.”

“I didn’t mean to come off like that,” he retracted with a soft stutter. “I apologize. For what it’s worth, I’d do my best not to do anything to hurt you,” he divulged his conviction to her. “Wouldn’t that count for something?”

“And what would you give me to show you’re a man of your word?”

“Are my loyalty, body, heart and soul not enough?” he uttered out with a slightly projected bass in his voice. “Didn’t picture you as the greedy type, (Y/N)-san,” he teased.

She lightly stammered and let out a small scoff as she turned away, doing her best to hide her burning cheeks. And why was her heart beating so fast all of a sudden? He let out a small, amused chuckle watching her get flustered; it was a first and humorous to him knowing he may be one of the few who’s seen this side of her. Standing from the couch, she felt her head starting to spin from the after effects of the alcohol and their kiss. She was reeling in shame for letting her guard down that much in front of Kakucho; were she to stay in the same room as him for a moment longer, she knew for a fact she’d find herself in a very compromising situation to which she didn’t know whether or not she’d have the willpower at the moment to turn down.

Of everyone from Bonten, he was the most dangerous to be with right now. The defenses she spent years building would crumble in seconds should she taste his lips again.

“Think I’m gonna wash up and turn in. Thank you for sharing your whiskey with me.”

Just as she made her way to the guest room, Kakucho called for her.

“If there’s another chance like this… would you drink with me again?”

She tilted her head with a wondering smirk as she put on a playful thoughtful gaze.

“If the chance presents itself… perhaps.”

Washing the used glasses, he retired to the darkness of his bedroom in hopes of getting some rest. After tossing and turning in what felt like an eternity, he huffed a frustrated breath and grabbed his phone from the nightstand with it still plugged into the charger. Scrolling through his gallery, he pulled up a video and laid it on his pillow on low volume close to his ear. (Y/N)’s voice singing “Lullaby of Birdland” could be heard through the phone speakers as it slowly broke through his insomnia. Kakucho impulsively took his phone out and recorded her private concert for some reason; he only realized later his ears were captivated by her singing voice.

His eyes felt heavy not long after, falling asleep to the sound of the angelic songbird soothing him into the quiet night.

—

Bonten continued spying on Daruma and their movements, planning each move like a chess game; the missing piece right now was the intel (Y/N) was to get. It’s been nearly a month since she started working at Dynasty and her progress had been slower than anticipated in getting close to Mizunori. Kokonoi reassured Mikey and the rest she had what it takes to finish the job.

“She wouldn’t have offered up her life if she didn’t,” the finance admin reasoned.

“You’re awfully protective of her, Koko,” Ran noticed and leaned his head on the side of his hand. “Don’t tell me you actually caught feelings.”

“I’ve been watching her carefully these past few years,” he argued back. “If there’s one thing I know ‘bout her, it’s that she doesn’t half-ass things, whether she’s forced to do it or not.”

“We’ll hear about the progress from her when she gets here,” Manjiro finalized before moving onto other meeting items regarding the Haitanis’ club earnings and Mochizuke’s underground fight club. Like clockwork, she entered the main conference room with Kakucho beside her. Bonten’s boss glanced over and noticed the sneer she wore adorned with pure disgust. She frantically scanned the room for something.

“Do you have any alcohol here?” she asked all of a sudden.

“We have some vodka in the lower cab—Oi!” Takeomi began and immediately saw her make a beeline for the storage area he pointed to and took out the decorative bottle.

Pulling the top off with a squeak, she poured herself a small shot in a whisky glass and threw it in her mouth. Her face winced at the burn with crocodile tears and went into the hidden restroom behind one of the walled panels. She could be heard gargling her mouth before spitting it out into the sink with running water before coming out a short moment later.

“That’s so un-lady like,” the advisor chided with a look of disdain. “And that vodka costs more than 5 months worth your paycheck.”

“Augh, I can still taste it,” she gagged out and covered her mouth with her handkerchief to cough, completely ignoring Takeomi’s commentary. The color of her face drained by the second.

“Did something happen?” Manjiro inquired.

“I caught Mizunori Daisuke’s attention and he asked me to stop by his office…”

“I’m not seeing the problem here,” the boss noted with a bored tone.

“He wants to offer me a “record deal” and will need to have personal sessions to “train” me properly before my debut,” she divulged with air quotes on specific words and exhaled through her lips, still feeling the burn from the vodka. Putting her hands on her hips, she casually paced and waiting for the sensation in her mouth to pass.

“When’s the first one?” Kokonoi asked.

“Not too long ago…” she hugged herself tightly and tightly gritted her teeth. “Perverted slime ball was feeling me up every chance he got and then…” (Y/N) choked back a disgusted dry heave. “He kissed me. Tongue n’ everything. God, just bathe me in a vat of acid, please,” she dramatically groaned out and visibly shuddered, trying to hold back the urge to retch.

“That bad?” Ran inquired with mild interest and a smirk to match it.

“His breath smelled like hot Shinjuku summer garbage. And someone needs to teach him how to floss and use mouthwash ‘cus I’m sure I tasted his lunch from two days ago,” she gagged, making everyone in the conference room audibly groan with revulsion, their faces scrunched up with horror save for Manjiro. “I need to get this taste out. I can feel it burning away at my tongue.”

“There’s a bottle of Fireball in the other cabinet,” Sanzu let her know and walked over to get it.

“Oh thank goodness half of you are highly functional alcoholics.”

Pouring a shot for each other, the bubblegum haired man toasted her and threw the amber liquid back with her.

“Wait, why are you drinking?” she asked and proceeded to gesture another shot was needed, her face still wincing from feeling the spirit burn her tongue and throat.

“After hearing you describe that shitbag’s mouth, I need to forget.”

“You and me both,” she agreed.

As another week passed, tonight was one of her private sessions with the music producer after her set at Dynasty. Requesting her to meet him in his production room within the club, she began to wonder how many more secrets this place held structurally. Softly rapping on the door, she heard Mizunori’s voice invite her in from the other side. To her right was a set of champagne flute glasses with a chilled bottle next to it. The room had a moderate sized mixing board with recording equipment on the other side of the glassed wall. The glaring item of interest right now was the sofa that was folded out onto a bed.

The taste of bile and other stomach acids rose up on her taste buds the moment she realized what today was going to be about.

“Sorry for the mess, Sachiko-chan,” the producer sheepishly apologized with a matching smile. “I’ve been cooped up in here doin’ some post-production work for an idol group.”

“Oh, not at all. I’m sure you’re busy,” she responded with a sweet smile she’s gotten too good at faking. “Thank you for taking time out of your schedule for today after my shift.”

“Of course! Come, sit! Make yourself comfortable,” he invited her in before making his way into the bathroom. “I’m gonna freshen up a bit so you’ll have my full undivided attention.”

She lightly bowed and walked in to set down her belongings conveniently near his open laptop. Briefly glancing at the screen, she saw some files of interest with a list of some sort. Hearing the shower turn on, she looked at the monitor with more purpose this time after setting her bag down; her eyes widened with shock after reading the contents, feeling her pulse increase as a sickening feeling reared its head.

This was a list of underage girls from overseas in a human trafficking ring.

Philippines. Malaysia. Thailand. Indonesia. Nepal.

The list went on.

Licking her dry lips, she scrolled down to see how far this rabbit hole went and the worse it got.

There were some whose ages were single digits.

Her pupils exploded in furious rage and wanted to grab the nearest sharp object to stab this waste of air of a human being. Just as she heard the shower head turn off, she quickly reset where the document was last and steadied herself. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she made her way to the champagne. Wrapping the bottle’s neck with the provided cloth towel, she filled the two flute glasses while he busied himself on his smartphone. Hastily glancing over to make sure Mizunori hasn’t come out yet, she took a small plastic bag from her boob pocket with a pill capsule; courtesy of Sanzu Haruchiyo. She’d approached him not too long ago requesting for some highly potent sleeping pills. If they weren’t going to let her have some sort of self-defense weapon, drugs were the next best thing. According to Bonten’s number two, one of these pills would knock someone out for at least 10 hours, depending on how fast their bodies metabolized the drug.

Cracking the capsule open, she dumped the powdered substance into the left flute and gave it a small swirl to let it dissipate before tucking the now emptied capsule and bag back into her dress; last thing she needed to do was any sort of evidence linking this back to her. The moment she turned back, the producer just came out of the bathroom, completely refreshed for whatever he thinks they’re gonna do in a white, fluffy bathrobe.

“Champagne?” she suggested with a thin, paper smile.

“You’re rather bold today, aren’tcha?” Accepting the glass, their glasses clinked and they drank from their respective vessels. While (Y/N) lightly sipped on hers, feeling the tingle of bubbles on her tongue, the producer downed his in one go.

“Let’s get to some vocal warming lessons today.”

Setting how now empty glass on a random table, he strolled over to her and pulled her into his embrace. His beefy left hand tilted her chin up while his right felt her backside up. As much as she wanted to kick him in the dick and run, she lightly gritted her teeth and tolerated his bold advances.

“I’ll get you singing so well, angel, your freshman album will hit platinum in weeks.”

“Weeks? Rather a bold statement, Mizunori-san,” she playfully teased with a lithe tone, her hands slowly roaming up his chest. She hated this, but she at least had to put on a show to feign interest. His usual amber gaze turned dark with carnal lust, letting out a low hum from his throat.

“Oh, you don’t know the magic I can do, princess.”

Crashing his lips onto hers, she could taste the mint from his recently brushed teeth mixed with the slight bitter tang of cigarettes he’s smoked on his tongue. She felt absolutely disgusted and sullied from his much too lingering touches and had to fight every urge to not bite down on his tongue to make him bleed out. Feeling him push her onto the sofa bed, she let out a soft yelp from the impact as the producer wedged his knee between her legs. He felt her whole body tremble from fighting the urge to throw up all over him.

“Don’t tell me this is your first time…” he teased with an underlying salacious tone with a saccharine smile, excited from the thought of deflowering her. “No matter. Either way…” He dipped his head down to the nape of her neck and started open-mouth kissing on it with loud sounds of sucking and slurping like she was a drop candy, making her body instinctively jolt from the sensation and squeaked from his lips and tongue on her skin. “I get to taste all of you now.”

She steadied her hands on his shoulders while he had his way with her and tightly screwing her eyes shut. Every time his hand palmed her right breast, her stomach muscles tightened and prayed for the drugs to kick in. His hardened member rubbed on her thigh with purpose, seeking respite inside her velvety and slick warmth. A sudden thought invaded her mind right at this moment.

What if Sanzu tricked her? What if the drug wasn’t what he said it was?

Oh, (Y/N). You naive idiot.

She suddenly gasped when she felt him pull her top and bra cup down, revealing one of her bare breasts to him. She tried to hide her exposure, only to have her arm pinned down. He lazily rolled his calloused hands over her pebbling nub, making her suppress her whimpers with tears prickling the corners of her eyes.

“Oh, you’re sensitive. Just my type,” he noted with a dark smile and gave her nipple a kitten lick as she shook in fear. “Don’t worry. Daddy’ll take real good care of you tonight.”

His mouth latched on sloppily and moaned out loud while making his way to unzip her dress from the side. He put more pressure on his knee to make her hips forcefully buck against him. Just as she was about to give into her fate, Mizunori lifted his head and held his temple.

“Mizunori-san?” she gently called with false concern and covered her chest with her forearm. “Are… you alright?”

“Just a little dizzy, is all, kitten,” he reassured with a weak smile. She looked into his eyes and saw his pupils dilating.

The drugs were working.

Before he could say another word, his whole body fell limp onto the bed with a muffled thud, making her bounce from the impact. Within seconds, soft snoring could be heard coming out of his orifices. Heaving a loud sigh of relief, she audibly shuddered several breaths to calm herself down while her body still shook from what could’ve happened. Not trusting how long the drugs would last, (Y/N) fixed herself up before hurriedly getting off the bed and made her way back to the laptop. Whatever she was feeling now had to be compartmentalized for now until this was all over. Rummaging through her handbag, she fished out a thumb drive given to by Kokonoi and plugged it into the machine. Scanning through his desktop, she found several folders of interest and grabbed all she could to copy.

If there’s one thing he should’ve done, it’s password lock his computer. Then again, who would be stupid enough to do what she’s doing without considering the repercussions? She extracted the drive after the loading bar successfully indicated the file transfer and left the room. Grasping her belongings tightly against her skin, her body started feeling hot and numb from a mix of adrenaline, nerves and fear. Just as she took three steps, she felt herself get light-headed.

Shit. Did he drug her? But how?

Was this how he trapped his “stars” to get another notch under his belt?

What she was feeling didn’t matter; she needed to leave now before anyone finds the producer unconscious and coming up with a half-ass alibi would rouse too much suspicion from the new girl. Steadying her feet, she palmed the wall to regain her balance and put one foot in front of the other. She had to keep moving. Suddenly hearing several footsteps coming her way, she dipped into the nearest open room by her and pressed her back into the wall as if she was going to melt into it.

If there was the time to get the hell out, this was it.

“Not one step further,” they calmly warned.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

“Chono-san,” she tersely greeted. “Why are you pointing that at me?”

“Oh, I think you know,” he quietly said with cold, steel-like eyes on her like a hawk.

“I… really don’t,” she lied to stall for time. Her jaw clenched tightly as she racked her brain to find a way to talk herself out of this.

“You do.”

BANG.

–

The air was cool, salty and heavy with rain while a warm breeze blew past the white chiffon curtains from the opened black framed balcony doors. Light, pattering footsteps on the cool, white marble floor carried the walker to his destination and sat on the edge of a white sheet California King bed. Dark, emotionless obsidian eyes scanned the body sleeping on it; his hand reached up and lightly brushed his thumb across her pale, dry lips.

She looked like a sleeping doll to Manjiro. Shifting closer, he rested his forehead on top of hers. Flashbacks of seeing his own sister’s limp corpse resting on the snow white sheets of the hospital seared his mind. He squeezed his eyes close in hopes of tucking them back into his vault of unwanted past memories.

“Hey, (Y/N)…” he whispered out with a shaky voice, his bony hand softly caressing her cheek. “You need to wake up… Please.”

His short, white hair moved with the breeze, in hopes of whisking away the worries weighing on his shoulders. Manjiro’s dead gaze slowly showed signs of life when he cupped both his hands on her sleeping face.

“Please…” he mumbled with trembling fingers. His cracked lips quivered and gritted his teeth. “Wake up. Don’t leave me like everyone else.”

Just as droplets threatened to leak out of his orbs, a soft knock from the door forced him to push everything back inside. Inhaling deeply to regain his composure, he signaled the person to enter.

“Mikey,” Bonten’s number three politely greeted and entered the room. “Has there been any change?”

He shook his head in silence before looking back at her and lightly sighed. Kakucho noticed his hand holding onto her limp ones.

“You’ve grown fond of her,” Manjiro remarked. “I saw how angry you got when she told us about what Mizunori did.”

“As have you,” he pointed it back at his boss, gesturing to his hand placement. “… She’s not Emma-san, Mikey.”

“I know that,” the white haired man snipped pointedly with a small glare at his underling. “I’m not insane.”

The raven haired man softly sighed and slowly approached the two listlessly, not wanting to argue.

“She’ll wake,” he assured. “She has to.”

–

An audible shiver escaped her wrinkled lips. Her throat was parched and coughed from the lack of liquids. Gingerly opening her heavy eyelids, her vision adjusted to refocus into an unfamiliar, darkened room. The top edge of the sun could be seen peeking up from the horizon with clear skies. A soft groan vibrated from her throat as she found the strength in her arms to sit up from the plush bed and saw a jug of water sitting beside the nightstand with an empty glass. A piercing pain shot up from her abdomen the moment she inhaled, making her let out a sharp seething breath and rested her hand on top of it. Just as she rounded her back, the soreness of her muscles there jolted her back up into an endless cycle of body aches, letting out a soft groan of discomfort and shallow huffs of exhaustion. She looked down to see she was in a white cotton tank top with a pair of matching bottoms.

Wasn’t she wearing a dress? Confused by the wardrobe change, she lifted her top up and saw blotches of purple, black and brown bruising expanding out from her chest down to the solar plexus.

That’s right: Chono shot her.

Lazily shifting herself to reach for the vessel with minimal effort, her knee softly touched something solid; she looked down to see a man with short white hair sleeping on his stomach near the edge of the bed also draped in an all white wardrobe.

Sano Manjiro? Why was he here?

Trying to rid the fog in her brain, her trembling arms grabbed the heavy pitcher and nearly spilled water all over the bed from the lack of strength. Just how long had she been out? Bringing the cup to her lips, she gulped down the clear liquid with reckless abandonment with streams of it dribbling off the side of her mouth and down her neck. Letting out a sigh of relief, (Y/N) suddenly found her face to face with a set of widened dark orbs.

“You woke up…” he uttered out in a barely audible voice with softened eyes and pulled her into his embrace, feeling her body warmth. “Oh thank goodness… Thank goodness…” Manjiro mumbled out on repeat into her shoulder. She could feel him shaking like a leaf and slowly wrapped her arms around him. Just as he squeezed her tighter, she let out a pointed whimper and felt her entire frame jerk to his touch; he remembered her injury and hesitantly let go.

She looked around the unfamiliar room; it was white top to bottom with a few pieces from Basquiat hung on the far walls. The only splashes of color were the light oak dresser with warm hidden lighting glowing behind the panels. Speckles of the rising sun bled into the room, illuminating the two in its warm, crimson orange glow.

“Where… are we?”

“Koko’s villa.”

(Y/N) looked down and her hands and slowly flexed her fingers with lightly furrowed brows. “Manjiro-san… Why… am I here?”

“There’s no way to break this to you, but…” Manjiro took a breath before continuing. “You’re dead.”

Taglist: @xngelsau @shizunxie @mikeysbabygirl @im-a-mf @garlicgarlicgirl

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