05

I shouldn’t trust her. I shouldn’t follow her.

But what other choice do I have ? I can’t go anywhere without her, and she can’t go anywhere without me. I have to put my faith in her, or risk getting shot by the people downstairs.

Who are they ? What do they want ?

There is no time to think about it. Veah pulls me into my room and closes the door. I am breathing hard, but she hasn’t even broken a sweat.

Who is this girl ?

It comes back to me. Her costume.

Last night, she opened the door. Breathless. And the sound of fireworks outside . . . wasn’t fireworks. Gunshots.

People chasing her. Even then.

Her jacket. The tattoos on her arms, on the back of her neck. Her missing pinkie finger. Her swords.

I had said, Let me guess―Yakuza, right ?

The Yakuza. The Japanese Mafia.

I stumble back from Veah . . . as far away as I can go, at least. Everything in me screams, Run ! But I can’t : we’re handcuffed together.

« Back at the accident . . . » I start.

Those people on the street who I thought were watching us. And later, the truck driver―could that have been a coincidence ?

She nods briefly. She cocks a gun in each hand, and then she hands me one.

« Can you shoot ? »

My eyes widen. « I’m a computer science major ! Not a damn assassin. »

She curls the gun into my palm anyway. « Safety’s off. Point it towards the door. When they come, pull the trigger. Simple. »

« When they come . . . we’re baiting them. »

Her storm eyes glitter. « I’m sorry you had to be a part of this. I’m sorry I put you in danger, Kaya. If there was another way . . . » But there isn’t. The handcuffs between us clink in response.

I hear the sound of them coming up the stairs.

My heartbeat roars in my ears. An ocean.

Can I shoot someone ? Can I kill, if I have to ? My hands begin to tremble, and the gun’s aim wavers. Beside me, Veah is steady. Calm.

A Yakuza member. She is a part of the Japanese crime syndicate.

One of the oldest, most powerful crime organizations in the goddamn world.

Who is she ? For all of these men to come chasing her down, to want her dead . . . she must be important. She must be powerful.

The door is flung open by an Asian man in a black suit with red lapels. His hair is slicked back, and the moment he sees us he smiles, like we’re easy prey.

Veah shoots him. His chest spasms, and he falls.

They enter the room, around ten of them, surging towards us with guns of their own. They don’t even bother to look at me―Veah is the target here. But even still, I know that as soon as she is eliminated from the picture, they’ll kill me.

No witnesses. No evidence.

Veah protected me. The least I could do is give her some kind of help.

With shaking hands, I see Veah fighting off three men. All using one hand. She moves so fast she is like lightning, with razor-sharp strikes and fire-hot movement. Trained in the art of war. Through and through, she is a fighter.

From behind, I see a fourth man lunging towards her. Where our hands are connected.

He is aiming for her weakness. Coward.

I don’t have it in me to shoot, but the moment he approaches close enough to tighten his fingers around Veah’s wrist, I slam the butt of my gun onto his forehead. Hard enough to make him see stars.

His grip on her slacks, and Veah has a precious millisecond―she gives me a dark, dangerous smile. And I get the feeling she is impressed.

That shouldn’t make me feel good. Warm with pleasure.

One by one, the men fall down at her feet. Slumped to the floor, dripping blood and bruises.

Christ.

There is no way she’s an ordinary Yakuza member. No . . . if they sent that many men after her, she has to be someone with power. I know how the Mafia works.

And yet. If a crime organization wants her dead, then what is it that she did ? What could someone do to make the Yakuza want them out of the picture ?

Something bad. Something very, very bad.

Veah meets my eyes. In them, there is something dark and hard, something that glints like steel and obsidian. I should have the sense to be afraid of her right now―I should be afraid of someone who singlehandedly destroyed ten men in a fight.

But I take a step closer to her. As though drawn by some kind of magnetic attraction.

« We have to get out of here, » she says, and I am reminded of the handcuffs. The iron that binds us.

What choice do I have ?

« You’re bleeding. » It’s quite possibly the most ridiculous thing I could point out. Because, of course, she knows she’s bleeding.

But she doesn’t act like she knows she has a bullet wound. And I am thinking that perhaps I should inform her.

We sit in a stolen Jeep from my next door neighbours. As Veah leans over, I’m reminded of the blood that is soaking into her leather jacket. The bullet that she took for me, protecting me―when she didn’t have to. When it would have been so much easier to just escape on her own.

Veah grimaces, a twist of her beautiful mouth. My eyes flick down unwillingly as she smooths her tongue over the curve of her lower lip.