What's up, Danger?

Hanma watched the woman from his spot in the lounge chair a couple of dozen yards from the poker table where he sat with the other player’s guards. He had been sat like this for the past few hours. Honestly, he really had no interest in the fancy nightclubs and expensive booze, but the view he had right now of the female’s S-line profile, the premium Karuizawa whiskey lulling in the crystal tumbler in his grasp, he couldn’t be any happier. Damn, he was glad he didn’t even entertain the idea of being a doctor or a lawyer when he could be a career criminal. Most surprisingly out of everything, Kisaki had done him a solid by giving him the job of watching the indifferent woman with a silver tongue while she played against whales in the city’s most exclusive entertainment house situated in the Red Light District.

A man he’d seen once before during another game sweat. Like, sweat to the point his perspiration dripped off his double-chin and dapped onto the green felt. His eyes rattled as it was just him and the woman left. Beady pupils shook from his cards peeled up at the corners, to the phenomenal tattooed bust flushed from the bottomless intake of alcohol, to the line of cards face-up, to the chips in the ‘pot’, back to her face and then down again.

He’d been contemplating the situation for at least ninety seconds now, his pulse heavy and the heat of all eyes on him causing his hands to tremble. “Y-you don’t have shit.”

“Then raise,” the husk of her voice floated through the thick cigar smoke and pungent stink of desperation, verdant eyes locked on her opponent with a neutral expression. “Or fold. Whatever the case, hurry it up. I need to pee.”

“Ar-you-you are. You’re cheating!”

“How the hell can I cheat?” Sneer sparking, she held her arms out as she stood up, both the top and bottom edges of her dress barely covering her torso from bunching in being sat for so long. “I wore a dress so small for this very reason. Where am I supposed to hide anything?”

One hand on his arm-rest to push himself up, the man shot up and reached out for the female, “I’ll just have to find out-”

That was Hanma’s cue. Standing up, he stepped behind the woman’s chair in three strides, towering over her and casting a shadow over the man opposite her, his stare fixed and his voice low in warning. “Sit down and finish the damn game.”

Other’s were clearly angered by the accusation, one man grumbling about how it was fine when Tanaka was on a three-round winning streak and knocked them out of the running.

Taking a cigarette from the packet on the dark wooden lip of the table, Kitahara sparked the end. “Calling me dishonest without proof is straight-up slander, ya’know, Tanaka San?”

Feature construing and red in the face from anger, the business owner pointed a stubby finger in the woman’s direction. “This is why bitches shouldn’t be in this line of work. You had the upper hand at lying since coming out of the cunt.”

“Isn’t the point of poker to misdirect and make your opponent double-guess themselves? I’d say women are more suited for it if we’re all lying bitches.”

“So you are cheating?”

“No, but you’re still an idiot if you think I haven’t beat you.”

The round man choked on his tongue and slumped into his chair. He calculated the amount of money he’d pushed into the centre. It was a lot. It was really a fucking lot. He had fifty grand left out of the starting five hundred. She was baiting him to put in his last yen. He wasn’t going to go home empty-handed, he refused. Even if it was a fraction of what he started with, he wasn’t going to let her send him home with nothing.

“I don’t believe a word out of your slut mouth. Fold.”

Glancing up to the croupier, she inclined her head, “I guess this is the moment of truth then, isn’t it?”

The dealer asked for the remaining players to turn over their cards as bated breath and curious eyes were fixed on the pair facing each other.

Tanaka had three queens and a seven. Kitahara had just what he had suspected: jack shit. There was a nine and a four in front of the woman with a cigarette resting between glossed lips, the corners of her mouth refraining a smirk. He would have won. He would have won the entire pot of three million, but she had tricked him into thinking she was tricking him. She double-bluffed him and he had folded with one of the highest hands of the night while she didn’t even have a pair. However, he had buckled where she didn’t. She had won.

“You fucking bitch!” Tanaka lurched over the table, his stubby hands out for the woman. Nails catching the side of her neck as she rose to her feet to avoid the attack, the chair she had been sat on toppling backwards in her reaction, Kitahara’s refrain melted.

Corners of her mouth pinched, dimples at the edges of her upper lips, the woman wafted her hand in the dodge. “Such a sore loser.” Swiping up her glass, she brought it to her face, her gaze flickering danger above the rim, “not only are you trying to attack the person who beat you fair and square, but you’re also all raring to hit a woman.” Eyes lined with black looking down her nose at the local boss, she cooed, “how fuckin’ lame can you get?”

Hanma was supposed to be the woman’s back-up in case things got physical but all he could think of was how she looked right then; that searing condescension, those plump lips curled at the edges and the rosy glow of her skin caused by the booze, it all made his muscles tighten. Given half the chance, he was sure she’d plant her high heeled foot on his cheek and make him prostrate himself with tears in his eyes and a whinge. Snapping a picture of the scene on his phone, he sent it to the Executive group chat.

Hanma: ‘You guys are really missing out.’

Rindou: ‘You ass. I’ll kill you when I see you.’

Kokonoi: ‘Please stop her. I need my day off.’

Kisaki: ‘Stop screwing around. If she won, hurry up and do your job.’

Basking in the chaos which had grown since looking down at his phone, Hanma walked over to the woman by the felted table. “It’s time to leave.”

Craning her chin up to look him in the eye from his stance behind her, she asked, “how’s your math?”

“I can use all ten fingers to count,” he snarked.

“Cute.” Kitahara shrugged, fixing the neckline of her dress. “Watch the cash get counted.” She turned to walk away but the man behind her halted her with a grip on her wrist.

Eyes shooting down to the unappreciated hold, her gaze travelled back to his face when he let go and held the limb up in mock apology. “Where ya going? Don’t go wanderin’ ‘round when you’ve just screwed over a guy like that.”

“For a piss. I’ve been dying for the past hour; do you feel the need to accompany me with that, too?” By the click of his teeth and roll of his eyes, she didn’t think he did and went on her way to find the restroom.
 

In no time at all, Kitahara was outside of the grand, traditional entertainment house, perfectly safe and sound bar a little stagger when her heel snagged on a piece of gravel. Meeting the man sent to protect her by the side exit, she noticed that most of the cars had left. “Did it balance?”

“Three mil, all there, plus the five hundred you were fronted.” Leaning folded arms over the roof of her car, his chin atop of them, his line of sight stayed fixed on his charge. “Man, that was really something to watch, y’know? Remind me to never bet against you.”

“Outside of jobs, I don’t socialize with people I work with, so that won’t be an issue.” Pressing the fob on her keys, the car unlocked and she jut her head for him to get in. “A decent night’s work though,” she slid into the driver’s seat, kicking her heels off and tossing them into the back seat. Inserting the key, she started the engine in order to put the A.C on warm. Suddenly twisting in her seat, she flipped around to look at her passenger. “Okay, open up,” a flicker of excitement lit up her eyes as she wagged her fingers.

She’d barely finished her sentence when Hanma had already pulled his zipper down. There was a moment of barely hearing each other’s breath above the rumble of the engine and interior air warming up. Eyes sliding up from his lap, Kitahara met his line of sight, the heave of her chest stopped. “I meant the bag.”

“What?” The words dropped from his mouth as if he’d been punched in the gut. Surely she was teasing, right?

Dead-stare locked on him, she gestured her nail to one of the bags which had been on his knees. “I wanted to see the money.”

“Are you joking right now?”

“Do I look like I am?”

“I feel like you wouldn’t look like you were joking even if you were.”

“Open.the.damn.bag.” Doing as he was told, bouquets of paper cash almost pushed their way out. “Holy fuck, the shit I’d do with that much money.” Looking up, she was pinned under that dark gaze. “Even though you were sent to keep an eye on me, I didn’t think you’d actually step in. Thanks.”

He could see her breasts bloom past the neckline of her dress, her bare knees rub together through what little light broke through the windscreen from the exterior lanterns of the establishment. He couldn’t hold it back anymore. “Get in the back.”

“Pardon you?” Her brow quirked.

“Hurry up, get in the ba-” his arm reached over her torso and pulling the lever of her seat, it flung back and the headrest hit the back seat with a ‘flungk’.

Paper cash flew over the pair when the open bag spilt in the tumble. One hand reaching under her dress for her underwear, the tight hem giving him a friction burn on his wrist, Hanma took a fist of her hair. Yanking her head to the side to expose her neck, he tried to crawl atop of her, the gear stick jabbing him on the inner thigh when he slipped in the fumble.

Moaning at the lips pressed against her already heated skin, the weight on top of her, Kitahara tried to scoot backwards to make more room for his legs. Twisting, caught up in each others limbs due to the limited space, she yelped when his entire weight fell on her splayed hair.

“We should just g-get..ouh…out,” a long finger pushed her panties aside, slipping inside her hole. She was already wet from the danger and risk inside but the way he stared at her like he wanted to devour her regardless of the consequences made her cunt gush.

“Oh, you want people to watch?” Curling his index finger inside, his thumb rubbing her clit, Hanma breathed against her neck, drowning in her scent as his teeth nipped at the sensitive skin where he could feel her pulse quicken with his work. “Y'really aren’t so innocent, are ya; being this wet already.”

Squirming her hips, her lower half almost dropping into the foot-well behind the passenger seat with her shifting, she snatched the front of his shirt and used her leverage to flip him onto his back. “I’m not opposed to being watched.” Long nails raking back through his hair, her breasts were now bare against the skin of his chest when she ripped his shirt over his head and tossed it aside blindly.

Shoulder blades pressed against the backrest on the back seats, Hanma fumbled, his grip unsure of where he wanted to squeeze first. Those tiny rings going through her hardened nipples were a good start. “You’re really be-”

Reaching under her hovering hips, she scooped the member twitching against her cheeks and positioned it against her entrance. “If you say beautiful or any other soppy shit, I’mma head-butt you.” Mewling at the sensation of her left nipple ring being tweaked between calloused finger pads, the woman licked up the side of his neck, the bar through her tongue causing the man beneath her to groan at the unusual sensation.

Chuckling at the threat, his eyes refused to focus when she lowered down. Rather, tried to. “Ya so charmin’.”

“Eugh…” Was that a response or a noise, he couldn’t tell. “Of course it’s a guy like you who has a monster cock.” Kitahara’s brows furrowed, a wince on her face as she tried to ease down on the dick which would easily do irreparable damage.

Pulling her hair back, he stared up at the brows furrowed in discomfort, his mouth agape in satisfaction. “Take it.”

Breathing hitched from barely managing to fit in the tip, Kitahara still had one hand around his shaft while the nails of the other hand dug into the top of his shoulder. “I’m trying to.” Even with being as turned on as she was, if she wasn’t careful, something was going to rip.

“Try harder.”

Pulling her hand up, she slapped his cheek. Not hard, but hard enough to shock his vision straight, their juices causing a tacky ‘clack’ when her fingers connected with his skin. “You really have no consideration at all.”

Mouth open and eyes wide at the assault, Hanma peered down at the woman, her tattooed bust pressed into him so hard that his chin rested atop. It was almost like she was corsetted; they were plush, definitely real - he wanted to bite them when they jiggled with her squirming. “D’ya wanna finger in your ass?”

“Try it and I’ll leave you on the side of the road without your…your cl…y-Ueh-” Something changed. Her body trembled and her insides relaxed. Hand that had slapped him gripped, he licked her inner wrist, his tongue tickling over the ink above her veins. While distracted, he took the hand she’d been using to stop him from fully entering her, placing his fingers in her mouth. His own mouth made its way from her ear lobe, across her jaw but she turned her head away before he could reach her lips.

“Don’t kiss me on the mouth - I’m not your girlfriend.”

This was becoming a night of firsts for Hanma. Did she act so cold with everyone or was she playing hard to get? Whatever the case, he wasn’t buying into it. It was going to end with her pining for the bad boy that she’d never have after he finished what he started.

Any semblance of inhibitions lost due to the tongue returned to her inner wrist - one of her weak spots - the sensation making her nerves sparkle, her pelvis opened. It was a tight fit - she wasn’t even sure how it had fit at all - but what she did know what that she could feel him twitch against her throbbing insides. Knees scratching over the rough upholstery, her cunt swallowed him up. Arms reaching for anything she could grip in order to stabilize herself, Kitahara held the yelps in the back of her nose with grit teeth, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was stretching her out to the point of it burning.

Gummy walls constricting around him, her inner body heat transferring to him, he looked down, choking on his own sensation - or maybe more to the point, seeing himself disappearing into her. ‘Ah, shit, it’s almost all in...’ He’d been with plenty of women, but none had taken him all the way to the base, especially without tears and complaints. Where was the teary beg for him to stop? He wanted to see it; he needed to see the tears weep from those cold eyes, the furrow of her brows in struggle and the cries that it was too much.

“Y'need a break?”

“You’re gonna get this one chance to fuck me without a condom - don’t ask me stupid questions that will make me change my mind.”

Well, hell. He didn’t need any other reason to shift lower down the seat. Foot planted in the well behind the passenger seat for traction, calloused fingers gripped the squishy flesh of bare hips rolling above him. He could see a good two-inch gap between himself and the woman’s entrance. She was sucking him in and he wanted to pull her down so badly but that look on her face, the way her fingers tangled in his hair, her nails grazing him when she moved to hold his throat was just too much. Eyes dragged from the reflection in the rear-view mirror, her bare ass clenching as she rode him like she was being paid for it, he lolled his head back over the seat, his jaw tight and his hips tensing when her insides began to spasm.

“Turn your hips up,” the rasp almost startled him from his thought but he did as he was asked. Grabbing his forearms, she brought his hands to her neck. “Hold tight.”

Watching her bounce, the car rocking so hard it was a good job the brakes were on and her nipple piercing brushing his nose as she picked up her pace, Hanma was sure he had died and gone to heaven. Her features twisted and cunt clenched around him, the moan she’d been holding in releasing into the warm air gaining the thick scent of sex. Breath running thin, her nails latched onto the tops of his firm chest when he constricted his grip around her throat.

“Are you gonna cum from just this?”

Ignoring the question, her chin tilted up, “tighter.”

Damn, she really was wild. Her back arched as skin slapped, her juices catching in his pubic hair. Her huffs had turned to moans now the seal had been broken, her tits almost hitting the bottom of her jaw with her eyes rolling back and her mouth ajar. Letting go of the arm he’d been gripping, he smacked her ass. Maybe it was a little too hard, he thought when she seized up. He would be desperately wrong. Her internal walls constricted like a vice grip and what was boarding on a scream almost broke his eardrum. ‘That finished her off?’

Panting, rolling her hips slowly with fluttering lids as she rode out her high, she flopped forward and groaned into his chest, her frown pushed into his sweating skin. Her inner and outer muscles twitched, spasming while a wave of euphoria took a hold of her and shook her like a rag-doll.

“Don’t s-stop moving.” Long fingers digging into the flesh of her ass and hips, Hanma manually moved the woman trying to get away from the stimulation. “I need to finish.” Pulling her arm, he flipped her over, her knees on the backrest of the reclined seat, facing the front window. Repositioning himself with no care at all for easing into her, one hand grabbed her hip while the other took a fist of her hair.

Thrust returning to the pace she had been going at in a few strokes, damp skin slapped. Face knocking into the steering wheel, a small ‘pip’ from the horn when her forehead connected, the woman laughed at the blunder before she was back to grunting the air out of her lungs with each pound. One hand on the dashboard to prevent herself from injuring her face, the other reached behind to cup the balls slapping into her ass. The familiar feeling of a warm tightening in her lower stomach was throbbing over again.

“A-ah-there-”

The honey coo caused something to snap in Hanma. Ragging her up so her back was flush with his chest, her right arm yanked back while ‘Sin’ snaked around her neck, his forearm between her breasts keeping her from going anywhere. “You better say my name when you cum again.” Watching the state of the woman in the rear-view mirror, her tongue beginning to loll out of her mouth, the whites of her eyes barely visible past fluttering, glittery lids.

“I-ah-I don’t kn-ow it.”

“Heh?” His hips jerked and his hand smacked the side of her face, his teeth gnashing by her ear when he pushed his hips into her ass. “It’s Shuji, you bitch.”

Lips stretching as she jerked from the force of the thrusting, Kitahara chuckled through her moaning, “then you better make me cum again.”

Hanma didn’t need to be told twice. He was going to fucking wreck her. He was going to dick her so hard she’d never feel satisfied by another guy again just so she’d have to beg him to service her again. Reaching down her front, he pinched her clit, tweaking it roughly as he suckled on the side of her neck so hard she was sure he’d broken her skin.

Hips stuttering, Hanma felt his own pleasure building, the waves of warmth trickling to every nerve ending when her nails scraped over his ass and across his hip, her whining vibrating under his palm. He was all the way in now, his pelvis smashing into her ass, lewd squelching and their merged arousal smearing their lower halves and his hand as he worked the bud of nerves between puffy folds.

“T-there,” she squeaked, her hands grabbing his ass to stop him from pulling away, “r-right-there! Don’t stop! Don’t you fuckin’ dare stop!” He wanted to stop just because she had ordered him not to, but her jolting rasp and the way her nails dug into him made his skin heat up to the point of almost losing control.“I-Ah-I’m cumming, Shuji,” glossy eyes met his in the reflection of the mirror.

That expression, the husky whine of his name when she creamed on his dick, it was something to behold. The convulsion of her internal muscles flexing and pulsing around his sensitive cock caused his release. Grunting into the junction of her neck and shoulder, he slammed out the wash of euphoria, her second orgasm milking him for all he had made his muscles tight, his hips clenching against her ass as close as could humanly be possible.

Dropping the woman as soon as he’d finished with her, Hanma slumped onto the back seat panting. Steadying herself in a kneeling position, her trembling hand on the window frame, she made an attempt to crawl into the driver’s seat, her entire form shaking. Left knee knocking the gear stick when she wobbled into the front, cum seeped out of her, thankfully down her inner thigh rather than on the upholstery she’d only have to pay to get cleaned in the non-existent hours in the day she had to spare. Taking a bunch of wet-wipes from the glove compartment, she cleaned herself before tossing the packet to the man sprawled on her back seat. Taking her cigarettes from her purse, she lit one but before she could return the rest of the packet, she was tapped on the shoulder.

“Lemme bum a smoke.”

Rolling her eyes as she put her seat back to her desired position, the driver held the carton over her shoulder. “Don’t even think about pocketing my lighter, you thief.”

“What am I supposed to have stolen?”

“My virginity.”

Hanma almost coughed up a lung, his spluttering making her wince when spit flew on the top of her back and ear. As if his spit was going to be any worse than his potential kids floating around her and sticking to her brand new dress.

“Y’a fuc-fuckin’ what?” Smoke flew from his mouth and nose, him lurching at the burning hacks for a breath not set out to kill him.

Chuckling to herself, Kitahara put the radio on low and turned off the A.C now that there was no chill to the air. “I’m just teasing.”

“You rotten bitch. You almost gave me a goddamn heart attack,” swallowing down the spit caught in his throat, he handed the carton and lighter back through the gap between the two front seats.

Chest heaving but breath starting to regulate, Kitahara swiped her damp hair off her face and chest. She dared to look in the mirror - she shouldn’t have - she looked like she’d been dragged through a hedge with her hair askew and her make-up smeared from sweat. “Clean yourself up and put the cash back in the bag.” Feet before the peddles, she raised her hips so she could at least fix her dress. She shouldn’t have done that, either - more of his seed gushed out and there was a fizzle of her afterglow prodding her insides.

Frowning, Hanma melted into the seat, his knees spread and his breath shallow while he idly pulled his shirt back on. “I did my job already. You pick it up.” Clicking his tongue off his teeth when he noticed a sheen on the front of his dress slacks, he rubbed a wet wipe over the smears with force until he caught the edge of his dick with a hiss.

“Oi, don’t fall asleep with that lit, you prick. Ya tryin’ta barbecue us both?” Glaring through the rear-view at the man about to nod off with a cigarette hanging off his lips, she reigned herself in. If patience was a virtue, she was a sinner, but she did know an adage she was way more familiar with. Starting the car, dirty blocks of cash littering the interior and the stink of sex stuck to her nostril hairs, she turned the wheel and drove out onto the main street, putting down the windows on purpose to bother the man lazily puffing on the afforded cigarette. He’d got two thirds down and tossed the end out of the window before trying to put the barrier back up. Just as he was drifting into sleep in the back like he was the younger master of a venerable household being driven around by a chauffeur, Kitahara inched the automatic pane down every time his head rolled in unconsciousness. He stirred, she’d do it again - and repeat until all four of the windows were fully down, the blast of late-autumn air whooshing through the vehicle.

She waited. If she had any of the seven Heavenly virtues, patience was not it, but she could hold off if she knew a pay-off was soon to follow. Coming up to a set of lights, the man now fully asleep in the back regardless of the wind tunnel she’d caused, Kitahara went through the empty cross junction. Bare foot slamming the break, she screamed bloody murder.

“Oh shit, we’re gonna die!”

Hanma’s head twatted of the back of the passenger headrest, him flinging forward due to not wearing a seat-belt. Ending up in the foot-well crumpled with his limbs hurting from the tumble, the man groaned a venomous curse. Bleary-eyed, he reached out for something to pull himself up, the space between his brows nil due to the sneer. “You did that on purpose.”

“Did what with the purpose of…?”

“Don’t try to play. I said I wouldn’t help you cl-” the vehicle jerked again, his face hitting the little compartment between the two front seats. “Stop!”

Peeking through the rear-view at the arms and legs twisted up, Kitahara looked back to the road, indicating left and turning onto the street just before the nightclub the Bonten meetings were held at. “Pick that money up that fell in the back. I’m not about to go in there short and be made to look incompetent just because you’re a lazy ass.”

Holding the front of his face, Hanma ducked down, his right hand out in defence. “I’m doing it - don’t randomly brake again. You’ll kill me.”

“If I wanted to kill you, I would have rolled you out of my car after I came and blamed it on someone else.” Slowing her pace as not to hit a club-goer staggering around in clomping heels or a motorcycle belonging to one of the men who were technically her colleague, the driver manoeuvred down a side street.

“Y’know, you have a really cute face. Like a puppy waiting for attention, but you’re actually a horrible person, aren’t ya?”

“How is your lack of comprehension of my real personality my problem?” Pulling up into the small car lot at the back of the building throbbing with dance music, Kitahara took the keys from the ignition and wagged her hand between the seats. “Pass me my shoes, please.” Receiving what she’d asked for, she slipped them onto her feet. Checking her face once more in the mirror, she came to the conclusion that nothing but a wash would help. At least he didn’t cum in her hair - she was grateful for that fact. She would have had to bury a body if that was the case and she just didn’t have the time.

Head twisted to look under the seats, his rear in the air while he knelt in the foot-wells, Hanma grunted curses, catching his ear on something sharp in the little pocket of the back of the passenger seat. Kitahara clenched the door she just opened in order to hold open the bag for the strewn stacks. Staring at the taut muscles over his ribs left uncovered in the rooting, she sucked her lower lip between her teeth. He was easily annoying but damn was he in good shape. That little dip which led into the v-line of even men with little muscle-tone set her off but this guy had very pronounced-

“Oi, no loading!” a man came out of the side door of the night club pointing in threat.

Kitahara held her other hand up in a salute. “I'm here to see Kisaki,” head perked up past the top of the metal frame, her fingers tickling the back of the other man’s balls behind the shield of the car door just to wind him up.

“Oh, Kitahara San, I didn’t recognize you dressed like th-that…” The man with skin-head sides and a perm on top trailed his words.

Hissing as he put the last of the cash in the bag and zipped it, Hanma barked at the female doing her best to fuck with him. “S-s-stop!”

“Do you have someone with you?” The guard got closer, pushing the flap of his jacket aside to flash the gun in a shoulder holster.

Patting the back of the hip wriggling backwards out of the cramped back seat, Kitahara spoke in sing-song. “Come out and tell him.”

Unfolding and bumping his head on the door surround, Hanma bit at the air between him and the female. “I’m going to fuckin’ make you regret being born, you little bitch.”

Laughing, she jut her thumb to the man now stood at her back, his skin flushed and his usually quaffed hair flat and tousled. “It’s only him - he’s feeling a little unwell; we’re here to drop off some cash.”

The guard knew that shaky stance, glazed-over expression and sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. ‘Unwell’ was not it. Fucked daft was more likely. Still, he was told that the pair should arrive just before midnight. Radioing through, the stout man got the bouncer to open up the reinforced staff entrance from the inside. Picking up the weighted bags, the woman’s heels crunched over grit before she stepped inside followed by the lanky man. It was fuller than before, drunken bodies swayed in dim lighting, couples argued and clusters of fast-friends laughing were barely audible above the pounding, upbeat music. Turning to the right as soon as she was in the open space which consisted of the dance floor, bar and VIP booths, Kitahara meandered through the swaying crowd while Hanma immediately turned in the opposite direction, slumping onto the sofa in the Executive space.

Ran eyed the much taller man sprawling out, his head resting over the backrest with his eyes closed. “So?”

“I won and lost at the same time.”

“What’s that supposed to me? Give us details!”

Side-glancing to the man he did not like in a personal sense, Kokonoi could still sympathize with the friction burns on his face and hands. “She took her car, didn’t she?” He laughed at the fatal mistake of getting in the vehicle. He had said something to her the other day which pissed her off - it wasn’t his intention in the slightest - but it happened regardless. He almost ended up going through her fucking windscreen when she stomped the brake when he had finished what he had been saying.

“You pricks set me up-”

“-That’s what you get-”

“Shut the fuck up, Rindou.” Holding his head, his vision blurring from the multiple hues of amber and purple twinkling off the metallic drop-lighting, Hanma lounged to the side, his skin burning from the scratches and his head pounding from the vehicular attacks. “I’m achin’”

“Did she give you something,” the younger Haitani asked a little too enthusiastically.

“Besides a helluva lay, concussion, probably.”
 

Dropping two bags down on the desk in front of the man typing away at his laptop, his attention focused solely on his task, Kitahara freed her wrists and sparked up a cigarette despite knowing the bespectacled man abhorred the habit. Or maybe more so the fact the stink of tobacco stuck to his blinds and expensive suits.

“I suppose my choice in picking you wasn’t a bad one.”

Sitting in one of the leather armchairs, long nails scratched the back of her head through the locks which were not as pristine as when she left four hours earlier. “For once, you could say 'thanks', or 'good job'. Manners don't cost you, ya'know?”

“But you always yield the same results. And you know I appreciate it with the commission you get.”

“You may be the guy in charge of logistics, but it isn’t you who pays my wage.”

He paused his typing to look up, the unobtrusive office lights shining off the glasswork around them. “Is that why you’re close with Kokonoi?”

“He doesn’t pay me, either. And I’d hardly say we were friends; you’re the one who sends us on jobs together. It’s not like I get to pick my study-buddy for the day.”

“I’m sure he’ll be a little upset to hear that.”

Pouring herself a drink from the small alcohol bureau in the corner to Kisaki’s right, Kitahara placed a glass in front of the man before returning to her seat with a second glass. “Then don’t tell him. There’s no reason for you to be an asshole.”

“Ouh, there really is a different type of danger about you.” Accepting the drink that had been poured, the man on the other side of the desk looked over the figure threatening to spill out of her stained dress. “You clearly can handle yourself and you have a way with making other people feel comfortable around you when you want them to.”

“It’s not like I’ve ever really had much choice in needing either skill.”

“But you need to learn some semblance of control-”

“-Didn’t you snatch me up for that exact reason? Because I refuse to be bent to anyone’s will? Because I ‘need breaking in’, I’m pretty sure you worded it.”

“Perhaps I was a little harsh…”

Rolling the filter of her vice between her fingertips, Kitahara kept her eyes down on the embers, “perhaps, you’re simply a mean bastard who doesn’t like to be told no. Just like a misbehaved child who hasn’t known discipline.”

Back growing taut, Kisaki glared at the woman across from him, “don’t forget you you’re talking to, Yukari San.”

Khol-smeared eyes slid up to meet him, her tone flat, “Kitahara.”

Kisaki’s head tilted to the side ever so slightly, a studious gaze behind designer lenses. “You really don’t like to get too close to anyone, do you?”

“I get close in the ways I want to, what’s wrong with that?”

“Is that why you have semen on your dress?”

Refusing to give the man a tell at her emotions, Kitahara shrugged one shoulder with a quirked brow. “Am I supposed to report to you who I sleep with now?”

Signing paperwork, the man pulled in a long breath. He, too, had been working non-stop as of late and it was like he was never making any headway now that there were also legitimate businesses to keep in order. “He’s not a nice guy, you know?”

“Great, that’s just what I’m used to.”

“Don’t go getting knocked up - we don’t front for abortions.”

“Maybe I’ll turn straight and become a single mother-slash-housewife.”

The absurd words gave him pause. She was certainly capricious; even Kisaki could rarely tell when she was being glib or honest. “You’re seriously deluding yourself if you think a guy like Hanma Shuji will stick around if you get pregnant.”

“Who said I’d tell him? He’s the last in a list of screws; I’ll just pick the richest and have them think it’s theirs.” Holding the nails of her index and thumb together in a circle, she laughed, “’set for the rest of my natural.”

“You won’t be able to work once you start to show.” Taking a sip of his drink, Kisaki lowered his brows, something darker than usual twitching at the tiny muscles by his eyes. “You make us too much money.”

“Is that some kind of threat,” leaning forward, all glee prickling her form disappeared when she locked her gaze with the man across from her, her elbows on the platform separating them. “It was a joke - I don’t ever want kids but really, honestly, threatening me is not in line with that big brain of yours, you brat.”

Kisaki’s posture was pinched back and his jaw clamped: nobody spoke to him like that, with such sharp confidence regardless of what he could have done to her. Hell, even the Executives thought twice about pushing his buttons in weariness of whatever sick consequences he’d concoct in that twisted head of his. But she did it often - as often as they met and he said something to rub her the wrong way like she wasn’t scared of a goddamn thing in the world.

He raised both brows, a fed-up expression on his face followed by a dismissive waft of his hand when he broke eye contact to put something in his drawer. “I see that I’ve upset y-”

Slapping her hand down on the polished wood, she wagged her nail with a tense jaw. “Don’t fuckin’ turn away from me after you just tried to intimidate me with lax words. You’re going to look me in the eye while I tell you this and you’re going to nod when I’m finished so I know you understood: if you come at me with veiled threats again, I’ll show you in no uncertain terms the kind of hindrance I can be. You think I’m a pest to Bonten’s enemies - you will wish your mother loved you enough to hold you and stroke your troubles off your back. I will not stop until you’re so sick of me you’d wish I’d just kill you already.”

“I see you’re heated right now. Maybe we should pick this up another time.”

“I want to watch you count the cash before I leave, and I want a receipt,” jaw tight, her line of sight unwavering and tone steady, she finished the measure of expensive whiskey she’d taken without permission and refilled her glass.

Heaving a long breath at the foul-tempered woman and picking up the landline, Kisaki glanced to the woman fuming in silence. “Bring Ito and the counter.” Kisaki caught the pointed stare and clicked his tongue off his teeth. “Kokonoi as well,” he glanced to the flakes of ash gathering in one of his expensive empty glasses, his lips tight at the obnoxious action, “an ashtray, too.” Putting the phone down, he lounged back in his chair. “Better?”

“I don’t know what kind of water you lot drink around here but you all must think I’m as green as a fuckin’ Christmas tree. You think I put a marker on my back by winning against Tanaka just for you to turn around a few weeks down the line and say the money never made it back; that I stole it so you can make a fake alliance in order to destroy a shared enemy in a show of ‘good faith’?” Scoffing out a bloom of smoke, Kitahara shook her head. “You’re smart, Tetta, you really are and that’s attractive in its own right - but I’m not some bimbo who doesn’t think ahead. I’ll let you use me because I’m paid well and I'm afforded some protection from idiots due to the Bonten name, but I’m not gonna be anybody’s scapegoat again. I refuse.”

“I told you we could get rid of your problem when you agreed to join us.”

“And I told you no for a reason: I’m not going to be in debt to anyone.”

“But you are in debt.”

“It’s not my debt.”

“Then let Bonten deal with it.” Sipping the drink in his grasp, the man pushed his glasses up his nose. He didn’t know how many times he’d tried to have this conversation with her. “Even if you keep paying, the interest is only building up - it’ll be more than five years if you keep packing at the rate you are.”

“I said I’d pay it by myself, so I will. I don’t want, nor need, financial help in that way.” A knock at the door halted the line of conversation and Kisaki raised his brow at the woman, analyzing which way her temper would turn before calling for the interruption to enter.

A man Kitahara knew as one of the accountants for their businesses yawned, the edge of his shirt untucked while he carried the bulky tool of his trade. Kokonoi was behind him waving an ashtray, about to gripe when slim eyes met the familiar woman’s. “More work, even at this hour?”

The bookmaker sat at the small desk in the corner, setting up his workstation while the white-haired man took the leather lounger beside the female. “Sorry, maybe I should stop bringing in money.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, the Executive closed his lids over burning eyes. “Couldn’t this have waited until Monday? I have to go over the books anyway.”

“Blame that on Kitahara San,” Kisaki hummed, jutting his chin at the addressed. “She doesn’t trust me much.”

“How much did you win?”

Swilling the liquid in her glass, Kitahara hummed, her own fatigue starting to set in, “3.5, including what I was lent.”

The accountant choked himself completely sober, his eyes wide when he looked over his shoulder. “Excuse me?”

Kokonoi sipped the drink he had brought in with him, thumb of his free hand typing at his phone screen. “You won then,” he didn’t seem surprised in the slightest as he held his nose up and away from the female at his left.

The woman caught the action and lowered her brows with bared teeth, “why’ya pulling that face? Do I stink or somethin’?”

“Yeah, like a brothel,” the man she was usually paired with yacked when she wafted her hand in front of his face. “Fff-fucking stop. You reek of booze and sex.” Smacking away the limb she refused to move of her own volition, Kokonoi pushed his seat out, the legs scraping along the floor. “Why do I even need to be here?”

“Because I wanted proof that I showed up with the correct amount and I wanted a witness.” Pulling her wriggling fingers away, Kitahara sat up straight, her back a few inches from the support as she looked at the man of her height.

Returning to his seat, Kokonoi inched it away from the female’s to make sure he wasn’t in her bubble of toxicity. “I’m flattered, really, but could you not breathe near me? I’m getting wasted off the fumes.”

“What am I marking this down as?” The accountant asked, his eyes repeatedly flickering to the bare legs of the woman making jokes as the money-counter flickered in the background.

“It is a lot to put to one thing-”

“I know, just one bag got me a little over-heated.”

Picking up one of the stacks, the accountant’s finger pads tacked against them, his line of sight glancing to the woman. He was going to ask her a question, but it accidentally brushed his nose.

“We raised money for Ueda’s op last week, and we’re owed compensation for that scuffle with that start-up crew on the other side of town. That can be a mil,” Kokonoi said, his eyes on the ceiling when the woman lounged over him to speak to the unnamed worker. “Put one down for legitimate business profits and spread the rest across tips.”

“That still leaves at least 70k,” Kisaki said.

Inhaling the smoke of a fresh cigarette, Kitahara hummed as she racked the brain which had been working over-time for the past few weeks. “Wasn’t there a festival a couple of weeks back? Put that.”

“That’s unbelievable,” the bespectacled man interjected.

Eyes glinting, the woman dared to play, “rehabilitated members ran for children in need. Everyone loves a redemption arc.”

“That’s not the best, either…”

Getting irritated by the run-around of trying to find excuses of where the dirty cash came from, she leaned to the side and refilled her drink again, “we held a bikini car wash.”

“That’s ce-ertainly more likely.”

“Fantastic.” On her third glass of Kisaki’s premium whiskey, Kitahara stretched her arms over her head, her body giving in to the ache catching up with her, her upper hemline of her dress was barely held on by her chest piercings. “Receipt, please? I wanna go.”

“Be careful, you’re about to come out of your dress.” Kokonoi tutted, his arms flinging out like they did when someone vomited: he was always set to catch someone’s blunder.

Finishing up his typing, the accountant stood behind the woman who had been out of his way, his beady eyes glad at the swell of her bloomed bust.

Catching the lechery, Kisaki shooed his hand once photographs had been taken on their phones. “You’ve done your job.”

“I can leave now,” the seedy little man in the awful suit asked.

“Go,” the bespectacled man wafted his hand at the accountant again as the pair across from him dealt with paperwork in their own ways. “Are you satisfied now, Kitahara San?”

“I’m never satisfied, but the situation is fine.” She stood up, her ankles threatening a wobble in the giant heels when she pushed her seat out. “If you don’t need anything else from me?”

“You’re both free to leave; Koko, you’re back in on Monday, 8AM I want to see you. You,” he looked to the female who seemed as though she was about to fall asleep standing up, “I’ll call you if I need you so don’t go planning to take any vacations.”

“Vacation? What’s one of those?” Inclining her head in amicable farewell, Kitahara made for the door, keeping it open for the man who was usually her height. Making it into the dim hallway, she waited until Kokonoi was at her left shoulder, the pair of them arm-to-arm. “Do you wanna lift; I’m leaving and you don’t drive.

“I was going to call a cab.”

“I have to go that direction so I’ll drop you off on the way.”

“Don’t you think you’ve drunk too much?”

“If I don’t get pulled over at 8AM on a Monday after a weekend on the sauce, I doubt there’s ever been an issue with my driving.”

“Besides giving people concussions.”

“Don’t irk me, or wear your seatbelt.” She shrugged, a yawn distorting her rebuke. “My driving is actually stellar when I’m not purposely trying to hurt my passengers.”

Looking at the time on his phone, Kokonoi knew he’d have a difficult time waiting for a cabbie to pick a man up at this hour. There was no way he’d get on the back of one of those junkies bikes. He just wanted to get into his own bed and she seemed sober enough in the functioning-alcoholic kind of way.

Sending a scrutinizing glance, he begrudgingly gave in. “If you jolt me out of the window again, I’m going to delete the evidence of you bringing back the money.”

“Fair enough; but still, if you’re sitting in the front, put the belt on. I have trauma, ya’know?” She laughed as they exited into the cold early morning, pinching the fob which unlocked the doors of the vehicle which had seen better days.

Kokonoi really didn’t know how to deal with the woman who was facetious one second and threatening to gut someone the next. Was she serious or was she making another joke in bad taste?

Sliding into the driver’s seat, she removed her heels and tossed them into the back. “You come from the East side of town, right?”

Making sure the seatbelt was firmly clicked into the lock, Kokonoi gave a disconcerted glance, “how do you know that?”

“The coffee cups you turn up with when we work together are from Happy Coffee, which are only sold in that part of town.”

“I need to get a flask,” Kokonoi gripped the sides of the seat he was in, his eyes scanning to make sure he didn’t touch anything which had been ‘spilt’ in there earlier. “The fact you noticed something like that is unnerving.”

Turning the steering wheel, she placed her hand behind the passenger headrest to reverse. “That’s a little mean,” she said but the neutral expression didn’t alter when she swerved around things she could hit. Backed out onto the main street, Kitahara hit the gas and sped down the long straight, blood-shot eyes careful to watch for other vehicles and more importantly - cops lying in wait with their machines which could end her primary mode of transport.

Kokonoi watched the tattooed hands move from one part of the machine to the other, her eyes focused on the asphalt running under the tires she should replace soon, the back end of the vehicle chunnering. “Why are you still riding around in this rust-bucket? You make more than enough to get a replacement.”

“Because all of what I make goes into something else.” Taking a drag on her vice, smoke wafted in through the open windows along with the brisk, early morning air.

“I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into with this. It’s not always going to be as cushy as playing cards.” Eyes on the passing scenery, Kokonoi felt he had to at least warn her about the potential dangers. He wasn’t an inherently good guy, but he did know what it was like to be dragged into this mess just because he was good at a particular thing. “It’s not going to be long before you’re asked - told - to do something you can’t come back from.”

“I appreciate the concern, I do, but I’ve been making terrible decisions my entire life. Even when I wasn’t the one making the choices, the end result was the same.” Glancing at her passenger, she couldn’t help but smile at the downcast look on his profile. “Better the devil you know than the one you don’t, I guess.”

“You know, they bet on who could sleep with you first?”

“Oh, really?” Her tone was light in surprise, “how much?”

“That’s really your concern?”

“You think you’re the only one who likes money? I’mma tell Shuji to give me a cut of whatever he won. It’s the least he can do. ‘Fucker even bummed a smoke off me.”

Out of all of what she’d just said, out of openly admitting she had slept with that lanky prick after only a few hours of meeting the insidious twat, what had perked Kokonoi’s head up was probably the most likely thing to go unnoticed. “S-Shuji?” He didn't think he'd ever heard anyone call the older man by his given name. His own mother even probably called him Hanma.

“Kisaki didn’t tell me his name. I didn’t even know what he was called until he was in- Ya’know, never mind the details.”

Rubbing his hands over his face, Kokonoi groaned into his palms, “I really just want to get into my own bed and sleep for a week.”

“Need company?”

Head snapping around so hard his earring smacked against his neck with a clink, Kokonoi’s jaw flapped, pure panic on his face. He was so aghast by the question he couldn’t push his words out until he noticed the smirk on her lips as she kept her line of sight forward. Muscles relaxing at the fact she was teasing, the passenger expelled a huff. “You’re going to get into a lot of trouble if you try that with the others.”

Updated: 22nd September 2021 - 22:13