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In hindsight, she should have taken more precautions before vanishing.
“Found your rat, Taka-chan.” She’s tossed down before him, landing hard on the floor, ears ringing from the impact.
His dark smile glitters in the dim light of his living room. The view behind him through the picture frame window, a spatter of gold and white dots across the midnight cityscape, would have been beautiful to take in any other time. Right now, all she can think about is how high up they are and how no one will come to her aid or hear what’s about to unfold.
The lazy tap from slow circling boots echoes in the silent room. It flaunts foreboding patience, a twisted mind at work. One last sip of whiskey and the clink of glass is set down on glass. He gets on his knees to stroke her jaw. Her breath hitches. Mitsuya’s touch is gentle. His cool fingers caress her cheeks, a stark contrast to the dangerous glint in his hooded eyes.
“Welcome back,” he croons. “It’s such a shame. You were finally starting to find your place amongst us, but then you made the most peculiar decision to steal from me, and had the nerve to leave without even saying goodbye.” Mitsuya shakes his head and tuts. “Bad move, little dove.”
She swallows in his hold and tugs at her bound hands, bottom lip trembling as she looks up into his angelic features. “H-how’d you find me?”
Her captain was careful to place her under strict surveillance while she remained in hiding for however much time needed to pass until Bonten considered her capture a lost cause. She should’ve known he’d track her down. There’s no hiding from him—ever. He made that crystal clear.
Mitsuya chuckles under his breath, the sound soft and warm like summer rain. “Oh, it was pathetic, dove. Shameful really, how easy it was for my men to break into the precinct you squealed to and pull up your location. I told you before, didn’t I,” he nuzzles her nose and brushes his lips against hers, his touch feather light. The bitter tang of whiskey in his warm breath fans her face.
It’s too close, too intimate, and it’s all she can do to not whimper from fear and reluctant arousal as a wound coil tightens in her core, hot moisture pooling between her legs.
“This city’s mine and I’m gonna rule it with you by my side,” he whispers in a honeyed voice.
A vow he has every intention of fulfilling, no matter the consequences.
/
It wasn’t unusual for executives and high-ranked members to come in and out of Bonten’s headquarters at odd hours of the night—neither of which she was. Near four in the morning, she’d slipped inside the elevator and followed the floor numbers increase before the rhythmic ding signaled her exit.
The office was vacant save for one lone secretary staring at her computer screen, passive boredom etched into the lines of her face. They nodded at each other in quiet acknowledgement before she’d made her way to Mitsuya’s personal office.
It was stupid how easy it had been to get in. The man had insisted she have a copy of his key, uncurling stiff fingers and placing it in her hand with a disarming smile she’d wanted to claw off. His computer, on the other hand, presented a challenge. She’d only had three shots before it locked her out and then he’d know she deceived him and that terrified her more than failing this mission.
The thought of him discovering where her true loyalties lay before she could disappear chilled her blood down to the marrow in her bones. It dredged up scenarios of prolonged torture and manic laughter she dared not dwell on and kept moving.
After guessing his password, ManaLunaa, finding the names went without a hitch. She’d found them listed out on a spreadsheet, hiding in a sub folder on his desktop.
It had then struck her how the entire process to get this information, a potential heavy blow to Bonten’s thriving criminal empire, was far too effortless, too convenient, too… easy.
(She’d come to learn later that ease was not without sacrifice)
The empty, deafening quiet of his office, with only the low whir from his computer’s overdriven fan cooling baked metal, added to her nerves and paranoia like tendrils that slithered up her body and constricted, paralyzing her with dread (she knew there was a camera somewhere). There was nothing that could have been done about it, though. Focusing on slowing her breathing and the beat of her heart helped a bit. Her hands hadn’t shaken as much while she forced her fingers to flit across the keyboard.
After she’d saved the document to her flash drive, she’d hightailed it out of there without raising suspicion that foul play was afoot, her gait languid as boots clicked across the rich mahogany floor.
Her superiors had chosen her, a fresh graduate straight out of the academy, to secure the names of Bonten’s informants planted in Tokyo’s police system. It was baffling why. Sure, she’d graduated at the top of her class, but going undercover was, put lightly, a lot for a new detective’s first assignment. She was more than afraid, and rightfully so.
Mitsuya Takashi was the executive whose division she had to infiltrate since he oversaw the dirty cops working for Bonten. She’d read his file and what all he was involved in but had no transparent evidence for: sex trafficking, smuggling military grade weapons and illegal narcotics overseas. It turned her stomach yet enraged her enough to work up the determination to take on the job.
Once she’d accepted, her captain emailed her new identity in an attached file. It was fitting for a woman desperate and willing to do anything to survive. She’s twenty-five, single, and living alone with no immediate relatives able to support her. A distant uncle lives in Hyogo, but he can’t afford to take her in. She’s better off on her own working multiple jobs to make rent. However, she’s been short these past few months and needs money fast before her landlord kicks her onto the streets. Bonten was her best shot.
She’d assumed it’d be difficult to join because despite being Japan’s largest gang, they were exclusive about who they accepted into their ranks. Their leader, Sano Manjiro, is said to be a cautious man. He’s picky about who they conduct business with. Even then, she’d landed an ‘interview’ with one of their executives without trouble. It was just her luck that the executive was Mitsuya himself.
She spots him at one of Bonten’s strip clubs, lounging in a booth in the far corner of the room where the occasional sweep of fuschia pink rays cast light on the thin layer of smoke and dust saturating the stuffy air. Particles suspended, floating in limbo.
He’s alone, arm draped over expensive black leather while he sips his drink. An opportunity like this wouldn’t present itself again, so she takes a deep calming breath and pushes her way through the crowd of ambling bodies, making sure her hair is fixed and her dress straightened once she’s in the clear.
She knows better than to invite herself into his space by sitting across from him. Instead, she approaches his booth and asks, “would you like some company? I couldn’t help but notice you here alone.”
His gaze flickers to her, and she’s caught by how he gives her a not-so-subtle once over. Her skin prickles under his sharp appraisal, keenly aware of how the fabric of her dress clings to her waist. She swallows and steels herself, batting her lashes, and offers a warm smile. He returns it with a boyish one of his own, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Sure, why not. It’d be a crime to say no to a pretty thing like you,” he says, patting the seat next to him. “Come. Sit.” His tone, though cordial, is nothing short of an unquestionable command.
Anxiety swirls in her gut, but she slides in, nonetheless, careful to maintain at least a few inches of space between them. It doesn’t stop his cologne, something woody with a bit of spice, from wafting up her nose. A pleasant musk that has her wanting to scoot closer to the mobster, just to catch another whiff.
A few moments pass where all she can hear is the upbeat rhythm of dance-pop pounding in her ears. From her peripheral, Mitsuya studies her. Slit-brow arched with an amused smile playing on his lips. Her muscles tense as her fingers dig into her knees. Why’s he looking at her like that? Is her cover blown? He can’t have figured her out already she—
“You do know who I am, don’t you?” The teasing lilt in his voice burns her cheeks. She glimpses the slim rectangular tattoo on his right hand, wrapped around his glass. It’s impossible to ignore, and she resists the urge to fidget under his gaze.
Remember, be honest if you can.
“I do, yes. I actually wanted to talk to you.”
That catches his attention. Mitsuya turns to face her, arm propped on the table under his chin. “About…”
“I want a job,” she says, meeting his strange pale half-lidded eyes. She hopes the urgency in her off-kilter voice is convincing. “I, uh, really need the extra money.”
He scoffs, “don’t we all.” He takes another sip of his scotch before asking, “well, what do you have to offer? We don’t hire every single person who comes looking to make a quick buck.” And it’s the way he looks over her again, sizing her up with a shrewd eye, that reminds her she has few options in the ways of occupation in his world.
They can’t know she can be a hired grunt, that she can fight. It would raise suspicion she could’ve easily avoided. However, selling sex doesn’t personally appeal to her either. That leaves the only other option she can think of, and it wouldn’t be terrible. She considers herself to be a fairly skilled dancer thanks to years of training under her instructor.
“I can be one of them.” She nods toward the women gliding along the poles at the center of the room. Smooth muscled legs twist straight out and arms stretch, the graceful snap of their hips and spread of their thighs as they feel up the dips and curves of their own bodies provide their audience with the sensual show they crave to see.
“Really,” he says, dryly, a lazy roll of the tongue. “Forgive me for saying this, gorgeous, but you don’t strike me as the type.”
She reels back as if he slapped her. A hot flush spreads down her neck and he chuckles and leans in. Soft lips ghost the shell of her ear. His hand snakes around her hip and squeezes ever so slightly as his teeth graze her lobe.
A sharp inhale. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She asks, trying to sound affronted, but it comes out as more of a breathy sigh.
He wets his lips and whispers, “it means you don’t belong here.”
Her stomach drops.
“The way you carry yourself, all prim and proper. This pretty dress, modest for the clothes I usually see girls this side of the city wear. If you can even call them that…” he tugs at the sweetheart neckline of her dress and bites down an impish grin when her hand shoots up and grabs his wrist. A warning. Fuck.
She squeezes her eyes shut in regret. It was instinct. She didn’t mean to stop him. Mitsuya laughs, the sound like chiming bells. “You just don’t seem like someone who dances, that’s all I’m saying.” He retracts his hand, broad thumb coming up to trace her bottom lip as he murmurs, “but I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
Her head snaps to him in surprise. “I’ll introduce you to Kazuma, one of our club owners. He’ll evaluate whether you’re up to snuff. Until then, why don’t you dance for me, hm? For fun,” he purrs, lavender eyes study her intently. There’s a dark mirthful undercurrent to his question that sets off warning bells and she shifts away, knowing there’s no other choice but to concede.
He nudges her out of the booth, his grip on her shoulder gentle yet firm as if to say come on, baby, show daddy a good time. It’ll be worth your while. I promise…
Mitsuya guides her out of the strip club with a hand pressed to the small of her back, a searing brand that sends shivers up her spine. She wants to rip it off. However, the consequences of proceeding with such a gutsy move would no doubt land her in a world of unbearable pain like she’s never known. This is a man capable of killing her with his bare hands. He’d savor it, taking his sweet time toying with her first. The gruesome details in his file are proof enough of his sadism.
The dance club Mitsuya leads her to blasts trap music so loud the vibrations from the bouncy beat pound right in the center of her chest. Colorful neon laser lights flash throughout the darkened room, illuminating the sea of bodies grinding and gyrating on the dancefloor in swaths of bright green and blue.
He flashes her a charming smile. Thin lips quirked at the corners. The blue rays caught in his cotton candy purple hair glisten on his porcelain skin, smooth and unblemished, creating an almost translucent illusion. Her breath catches. He looks like some fae creature from one of her fantasy novels she used to obsess over as a teen and she blinks in order to snap herself out of the trance his ethereal beauty inspired.
Mitusya laces his fingers between hers, an affectionate gesture that has no place between them. It can’t. She has no idea how to react as he drags her deeper into the club, the crowd parting for him like a show curtain, like they know exactly who is performing for them tonight.
“Would you like a drink first?” He throws over his shoulder.
She opens her mouth to respond, only to realize it’s another factitious question as he approaches the bar and orders for them both without waiting for her answer. She shuts her mouth and scowls. It’s not like she’s dying to get more alcohol into her system tonight. She already had one mixed drink that was rather strong. The buzz had helped her loosen up.
Mitsuya smiles at the bartender, who gives him a firm nod before turning to make their drinks. “So, if you don’t mind my asking, what do you need the money for?” He leans back, elbows perched on the countertop.
She stares at him for a moment, taking in his relaxed form against the backdrop of the dimly lit collection of vodka, rum, and whiskey lining the shelves, bathed in a warm orange glow.
“Rent. I’m short three months. If I don’t get my landlady the money soon, she’ll evict me.”
He hums as if in deep thought. “That’s unfortunate. You shouldn’t be out on the streets alone, it’s dangerous for a cutie like you. You never know who you’ll run into,” he teases darkly.
The hair on the back of her neck stands to attention. She tries to brush off his callous joke by laughing, but even to her, it sounds hollow. “I’m well aware.”
The bartender returns and slides their drinks across the counter. She picks up the glass and studies it. The liquid inside is colored spring green, little black seeds float in it along with mint leaves and ice. She doesn’t want to accept a drink from him. Mitsuya wasn’t the one to make it, but still…
“Don’t worry.” Her gaze shifts to him and he chuckles low in his throat. “I know that look, dove. Here, give it,” he says, hand outstretched. Long nimble fingers hither for her glass and she gingerly passes it over, watching his adam’s apple bob as he downs a couple mouthfuls, sighs, and hands it back.
“See? It’s all good. Despite my… affiliations, I wouldn’t take advantage of a woman like that. It’s bad form, gross behavior.”
She doesn’t bother to dine such a blatant lie with a response. Instead, she takes a sip and savors the taste, letting it rest on her tongue. It’s sweet, fruity with a hint of mint and lemon. She licks her lips. It’s good. He blended in the alcohol well. “What is this?”
“Kiwi.” She takes a few more sips, the cool liquid soothing her parched throat. “Now, shall we go?” He holds out his arm, a wicked gleam shining in his eyes. Her grip on her glass tightens. What other choice does she have? If she says no, would he accept that? She hesitantly links her arm with his and allows him to push their way past club goers.
Just then, right before he pulls her onto the floor, the music switches from trap to something much slower, smooth, and soulful with a strong backbeat.
The suggestive, romantic lyrics have her swallowing, her mouth all of a sudden dry again. The air is sweltering hot, overwhelmingly so. Her tight dress bites into her skin, catching against sparse hairs, and a fresh wave of irritation washes over her, the air electrified with dizzying heat, heady with the stench of weed. She fans herself and exhales. Why is she so damn hot? Because of all the people?
Mitsuya doesn’t give her time to voice her concerns before he tugs her, carving out a path for them to the middle of the floor.
Once they’re centered amongst the throng of sweat covered bodies rubbing up from all sides, he turns and peers down at her from under full dark fluttering lashes, his smile almost shy as a shadow of red dusts his cheeks in the low light.
But there’s something else there, something burning in his deep lavender hues where blown pupils swallow up the iris, leaving only a thin ring of pale purple. It’s hunger, desire, and it’s strange how it didn’t hit her until now, the pure unadulterated lust emanating from his every pore.
“C’mere, beautiful. Wanna see those pretty eyes of yours up close.” He slinks forward and cups her cheeks, brushing a stray curl out of her face. He rakes his gaze over her with parted lips and she can’t help the hitched gasp that slips past hers when his hands encircle her waist, fingers digging into her fat.
The heat radiating from him suffocates her, yet his cold touch while he rubs small circles is a balm on her itchy feverish skin that sends gratifying tingles straight down her spine to the junction between her legs where a gush of molten liquid intensifies the need to rub her thighs together. She taps down a groan lodged in the back of her throat. What’s happening to her? It’s like she’s lost complete control, barely hanging on by a thread.
Her mind is fuzzy, lightheaded. It’s difficult to keep her head and thoughts straight when her senses are overstimulated, wrenching her in every direction. The booming music shakes the ground beneath her feet and the melding strobe lights of blue, green, red, and purple swim before her vision, morphing into one colorful blur.
His silken voice and arms keep her somewhat grounded as she grasps his shoulders. Mitsuya sways with her to his own unhurried rhythm, and it’s when she feels soft lips pepper kisses down her neck and fingers dig into the plush of her upper thighs that she regains some kind of sense.
“W-what’d you… do to me?” She pants, weakly pushing at his chest. Words fall from her mouth, slow and garbled. The unease that had been churning in her gut all night multiplies tenfold. Fear quickens her breath, the gravity of the situation she’s gotten herself into setting in.
“Ah, ya noticed. Good,” he says, nipping her collarbone. He presses open-mouthed kisses and licks his way up the column of her slim neck to that spot just below her ear and sucks. Her sweet little gasp—fuck, sends blood pumping south, right to his cock. While he didn’t consume the exact same dose as her, he’s still hornier than usual and a tad off balance.
Those small desperate hands trying to shove him away—he wants to grab them and spin her around, pin her back to his chest. Show her just how much he can make her feel. He settles for kneading the soft flesh of her ass and grinds his clothed erection, rocks her hips with his in time with the low beat.
“N-no, ssstop! You… you put somethin’ in my drink!” She snarls, trying to rip herself free from his grip. “What did you—”
“Oh, babyyy, sweetheart, d-don’t forget I drank from your glass too, remember?” He sings shakily, burying his hand in the roots of her thick curls and yanks her head back. She cries out from the sharp pain tearing at her scalp and pulls at his wrist. “You’re not the only one all drugged up,” he spits in her face.
She realizes he’s right upon being forced to meet his glazed over eyes. They’re no less piercing and glimmer with malicious glee. His neck shines with sweat and his breath’s ragged like hers. Panic rises in her chest. He releases her and steps back to shuck off his jacket. Out of the corner of her eye, she vaguely registers someone taking it for him, but in her hazy state there’s no processing who it is.
There’s only Mitsuya. His wiry form engulfs her view again as he stalks her back, his steps purposeful and predatory despite the drugs rushing through his system. She stumbles into the hard surface of a wall and he reaches out to steady her, smoothing out his hand along her waist. His other comes up and grasps her jaw, turning her to his liking before mashing his lips against hers.
“C’mon, baby, open up for me.” His tongue traces the seam of her lips in an almost loving manner that simmers her blood. She knew she should have left that drink alone. When did he slip it in? He was standing in front of her the whole time. Or was it…
“Lemme go,” she slurs, scratching his shoulders. “Please… I-I’ll do whatever you want just... please… don’t do this.”
Mitsuya plants a kiss over her fluttering pulse before going back to her delectable lips and slipping his tongue in. She has no clue how good her cries are for him and he has no intention of stopping. Rather, he wants to rock her fucking world on the base of his cock. To anyone else, they simply look like a couple caught up in the throes of passion for one another.
Mitsuya smirks. That couldn’t be further from the truth, but soon… soon she will be his. It will become reality.
He takes comfort in that thought and continues his exploration of her mouth, coaxing her wet muscle to entangle with his and tastes citrus vodka. The moan he’s rewarded has him slowly rutting between the apex of her legs. A deep groan rumbles in his chest as he peeks down her dress and glimpses petaled pasties covering her hard buds.
He cups a breast and thumbs her covered nipple, eliciting a sharp hiss as her teeth sink into her bottom lip. She refuses to give him the satisfaction of pleasuring her. Unfortunately, body and mind are not on the same page because slickness drips down her inner thigh.
“Don’t be scared, dove.” He spins her and flattens them both against the wall, pinning her hands and rolling his hips. The hard outline of his cock digs into her lower back. She stifles a whimper.
Fingers intertwine with hers. His nose burrows into her raven hair and inhales sweet coconut. Eyes roll back in bliss. Mitsuya exhales ravenous greed, breath fanning tufts of her soft locks as he nuzzles the crook of her neck. God, she’s perfect. How her pliant body molds to his, there’s no refuting that she was made just for him.
“I’ll make you feel so fuckin’ good,” he rasps, hand closing on her throat. “You’ll be achin’ for weeks. You just have to agree to be mine and mine alone.”
It’s a devil’s deal and the feral smile curved near her jugular tells her he knows it.