Bonten’s (Not-So) Leisure Day

Jesus fucking Christ, she was sore. Her insides were stinging, she was bruised on the underside of her pelvis and hips making it uncomfortable to sit; she had a welt on her ass in the shape of a giant handprint and there was a nasty hickey on the side of her neck which looked more like a blood-blister. On top of what the man had done to her, her head throbbed due to her drinking affliction and her tongue felt like cotton wool, her vision not quite focusing even after taking medication with a shot of ‘hair of the dog’.

She’d got up at the ass crack of dawn knowing she’d need some time to make herself presentable before heading to the clinic for her 11AM appointment. The sensation and the spark of danger that came from unprotected sex always turned her on, but she wasn’t so stupid as to leave things unchecked, especially after sleeping with a guy like Hanma Shuji. She’d seen some of the other women he’d left the club with and ‘sharing is caring’ is not what came to mind where his sexual fluids were concerned. She had been on the contraceptive injection but due to ballooning weight and it fucking up her skin, she had stopped it a couple of months ago. Still, she had to seek medical assistance even if that was the one thing which shook her intrepid constitution;  she couldn’t do her day job if she was sat there squirming with a burning fanny or the itch of crabs - not like she’d want either even if she lazed around at home all day.

With the waiting time, check-up and daylight robbery charge for the morning-after pill, she was out of the door of the discreet family planning clinic by 11:45, the last of summer’s warmth snatched up in an autumn chill. Good riddance; she hated summer. It made her sweat more than she perpetually did, and there were creepy-crawlies, and kids dossing it everywhere you went during their school vacation. The city stunk during the hotter months, too. Children, bugs, and wasters all came out during summer and she couldn’t move for the cretins. Maybe she should move to the countryside; give up on trying to pay off a debt that had been crippling her since she was twelve years old. A debt that didn’t even belong to her. Ah, that sounded pleasant: just run away from it all. From the parental baggage, the loss of the only person she’d ever loved, from the shit-storm she’d been dragged into in the form of the gang called Bonten. Yes, just go and live in the mountains.

A hand wafted in front of her face, her vision finally processing it. Smacking the limb away with force, dashing back and off to the side out of reaction, Kitahara lowered her stance with narrowed eyes and bared teeth in ready to defend herself.

Taken aback by the reaction, the interruption’s brows raised with a small smile. “Are you some kind of feral animal; why are you hunching up like that? I called your name three times.”

Registering the form in front of her, Kitahara straightened up, her pulse beginning to regulate when she recognized the disruption of her mental fantasy: it was the older Haitani. Heaving a breath, she shoved her prescription into her purse and pushed the stray strands from her ponytail off her face. “You startled me. I could have hit you, you prick.”

“I might have liked it.” Ignoring the sidewards glower as she lit a cigarette, Ran nodded to the sheet of plastic poking out of the top of her purse. “’He give you something?”

Stuffing the plastic bag down, she shook her head, “precautionary steroids and antibiotics.”

“Hehhh~ he did a number on you then?”

“Why are you lot so fascinated by my vagina?” She asked a little too loudly and a passing woman in her mid-forties hissed and gave a disapproving glance, causing the man to hum a chuckle at the uppity attitude of the stranger.

Eying her up and down slowly, the older Haitani hummed, “it’s uncharted land.”

Clicking her tongue off her teeth, Kitahara scoffed out a bloom of smoke, “it’s been charted; you can stop any time.”

“Ya’know what they say: you have to see something to believe it,” he held an up-turned palm by his shoulder, giving a lax shrug.

“Did you need something from me?” As soon as she’d said that, his brow quirked and his mouth opened, no doubt to say something disgusting but she managed to cut him off in time before words were formed. “Anything concerning actual business?”

“Wanna grab lunch?”

“One, it’s not even noon yet. Two, I’ll tell you the same thing I told Shuji-”

“-Shuji?”

Reading the surprised expression, the woman felt her body becoming weighed down with the peculiarities of the men she worked with. “Why does me calling him by his first name bother people so much?”

“Because it’s weird. Not even Kisaki calls him familiarly.”

“Well, that’s what he told me to call him when I asked for his name.”

“I’m sure he did.” Licking his lips, he took a step closer, his voice low and his eyes locked on hers. “Are you going to call me Ran?”

“I can hardly call you Haitani - there’s two of you.”

“Say it.”

“Ran?”

Corners of his lips pinched, he cocked his head. “Uwah, not even a little embarrassment? You know, I am older than you.”

“And?”

Pouting, Ran rested on his back foot, one hand on his hip. “Boo, you’re no fun. At least get a little flustered.”

“Adhering to social standings was never my strong suit.” She was sure the man was intending to tease her but he clearly got bored with her lack of reaction. He was surprisingly easy to put off. “I give people respect when they earn it, not because they expect it.”

With a small twitch of his shoulders, he gestured between them with his index finger. “Euh, you’re really not my type at all. You don’t give enough of a shit to become shy or back down.”

“So sorry.”

“Ya’know, the way you said that made me feel like you’re not sorry at all.”

“You’re sharper than you look.”

“Tch,” rolling his eyes with a grin despite the sharp noise he made, Ran jut his thumb over his shoulder to a rub’n’tug they were gathering money from. “I’mma go before Rin comes out. If he sees us speaking, you’ll never get away.”

“Astonishingly considerate.”

Shaking his head a little, the slightly older brother pinched the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed. “Nah, I just can’t be assed standing around watching him stare at you with those googly eyes.”

“Are you making fun of your own little brother for wearing glasses, Ran?”

Head jerking at the cooing address, the man stared at the woman. Was she mocking him, or playing dumb? Or both? It was difficult to tell either way. Surely she wasn’t dumb enough to miss the way his brother sniffed after her like a dog in heat. She was far from a bimbo. Kisaki wouldn’t hire an air-head to deal with important business - she must have been winding him up. Features twitching, unsure of whether her personality bothered him or he enjoyed the fact a woman wasn’t scared of teasing him, Ran began to turn away, his eyes remaining locked on hers.

“Try to keep yourself out of trouble, Girly.”

Snorting out a bloom of smoke, Kitahara nodded upwards with her palm facing the man as she turned away. “Bye-bye~ drive safe.”

Going on her way down the empty side street, Kitahara looked at the list she had written on her phone while she was still half asleep-half drunk a few hours prior. She could make out parts of what the ‘efhwvp’ bullet-pointed notes were in her phone memos. However, she did know she was going to perish soon if she didn’t do a little grocery shopping - she couldn’t stomach one more broccoli salad with a side of plain rice. Damn, it was rough adulting. Child’ing was rough for her, too, but she felt as if she didn’t really have any excuse for being broke as an adult. If all else failed, she should probably just start making the people she was sleeping with pay for it with cold, hard cash. Oh, God, how she loved money: it was her one true love and it never disappointed her.

Thankfully for her pride, her fee for last night’s job had gone through without any issues. Turning left, she entered the quiet grocery store and grabbed a cart. One earphone in as she listened to a playlist which was most definitely not family-friendly at a high volume, Kitahara perused the aisles of fresh vegetables and fruit, tossing in what she usually wouldn’t be able to afford, the trolley filling quickly before she’d even got to the second aisle. Maybe she should invest in a decent freezer? It’d work out better money-wise if she pre-made meals and froze them in portions…

Her cart caught the edge of another when she blindly turned around the corner. Jolted back from her thoughts, her line of sight landed on a large chest. Okay, maybe large was an understatement. He was fucking massive, taller than Hanma by a couple of inches at least and definitely more bulked up.

“Sorry,” she said before her eyes had even travelled up to look him in the face. Eh? What was this, Bonten’s leisure day? Mochizuki was the driver of the other vehicle, two small girls around the ages of thirteen and fifteen riding on the supports of the metal, one hand up each as they pleaded for a faster ‘drifting’ speed.

“Oh, Kitahara San. My ba-” glancing to the small girls, he changed his form of speech to a polite one. “I’m sorry, it’s my fault - these two won’t give me a break.”

Waving her hand by her chest, a bruise already forming on her hip where her own cart rebounded into her from the man’s solid hold, the woman winced. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Her eyes travelled to the tweens then back to the brusque man clearing two meters. “I didn’t know you had daughters Mochizuki San.”

“They’re my little sisters, well, half, but - y’know.” He rubbed his temple with his inner wrist sheepishly. “I just can’t deny them a ride around on the cart; they’ve been doing it since they could stand.”

“That’s a really great thing to see. A guy who isn’t scared to show care for the people he loves is really a heart warming sight.” Eyes on the grips of the grated metal, Kitahara pointed a long nail at the tiny fingers holding on, pretty faces contrary to their carer’s fixed on her. “But you really shouldn’t hold it like that. When I was a little younger than you, someone rushed past with a loading trolley and caught my fingers. Look,” she held up her right hand, a pinched mauve scar on her index and pinky finger.

“Gnarly~” The older of the two girls cooed with sparkling eyes.

Yes, okay - they were related to the man most called a gorilla.

“What happened?” the smaller of the two leaned over the opening in their cart, wonder brightening her features.

“Took the skin clean off. ‘Thought I’d just been pinched until blood started pouring out.”

The smaller girl with twin-tails made an ‘o’ with her mouth, her neck stretching to get a closer look s she prodded the raised scar tissue. “Wow.”

“Are you one of Nii Chan’s work friends?”

Kitahara glanced to the usually ferocious man who was literally Yogi Bear when in the presence of the children. She was waiting for a prompt as to what she should say to them; she didn’t know how much they understood of his work. Mochizuki merely crooned over the interaction. He was useless right now.

“He’s my senior at one of my jobs.”

The younger of the pair nodded as if understanding completely, “so you beat people up and do other stuff?”

Okay, maybe she could deal with these types of kids.

The older of the young girls inspected the appearance of the tall female with white hair, her unusually tall, filled out frame and her art peeking past an open hoodie and tanktop. “You have a lot of ink, Nee San. You married to a yakuza?”

Yes, definitely, she liked these two.

“Not married. All boys are stupid in one way or another; it’s better to learn how to take care of yourself than relying on someone else.” She wafted, her attention slowly being caught by the few other shoppers tutting at the fact there was a congregation at the end of an aisle. Looking back up, she tapped her index finger pad on the shovel of a hand holding the handles of the cart to get the man’s attention. “I’m sorry for bothering you, Mochizuki San. We seem to be causing a disturbance in the peace,” she tilted her head to the biddies on the verge of growling.

The giant came back from watching his usually unruly and somewhat rude little sisters strike up conversation with the newest addition to his gang with a content smile. Or as close to smiling as Mochizuki got. “It’s my fault for letting these two keep you.”

Holding her hand up by her chest, Kitahara waved him off with a lax flap of her wrist. “Not at all. ‘Must be the only kids I’ve come across I don’t want to yeet off a tall building.”

His brows furrowed, unsure of how he was supposed to react to that kind of candid confession. “E-er…thanks?”

“Happy shopping, and girls,” she pointed at their hands again, “keep all ‘your fingers inside the cart.” Holding her hand up in farewell, Kitahara turned the cart to continue her shopping.
 

Arms free from the new service of home-delivery at that specific store, Kitahara checked the time on her phone: it was almost one in the afternoon. She had the entire day off from both jobs, she was going to make the most of it as it was a rarity. After moving to the area from the next town over nine months ago, she hadn’t seen anything of the town bar the roads she had to traverse to get to work, the small shopping high street where she did her grocery shopping, and a pachinko parlour a few streets over; she was quite familiar with the latter. It was becoming more of a habit than a hobby and she really needed to squash it before it became an even bigger problem than it was. She had too many problematic inclinations as it was - she didn't need another.

What was there to do? Was there even anything besides seedy nightclubs, a few clothing stores and water-trade establishments? Maybe she should go fishing: it was supposed to be a thing around there.

Minding her own business as she wandered down one of the narrow streets, her legs were taken out from under her when a body bowled into her left side. Falling flat on the damp paving, Kitahara groaned at the pain of a poke bending her spine the wrong way more than the scrape of her nose on the wet asphalt.

Yelling came from the establishment to her left, “I don’t give a shit what gang you’re part of, you don’t touch our employees!” The bark was followed by a door slamming shut.

Using her upper body strength to push her face off the damp, scratching floor, she craned her neck to look at the body splayed over her. Seriously, this was getting weird; any time now, Kokonoi was going to descend from the clouds dressed as an angel on a string while Hanma, Kisaki and Kakuchou sung a chorus, she was sure.

Pink hair draped over her shoulder and a familiar cackle pricked her ears.

“Get the fuck off me.”

“Who do you think you’re talking to-” The man’s vision cleared when he stared his cushion in the eye. “Ouh, Kita Chan-”

She was ready to rebuke him just like the others but she wasn’t so mad at that version of her name. The fact that Sanzu was sat at the dip of her spine while she was face-down in the damp was a more pressing matter. “Move it, or lose it, you prick.”

Easing up at his own pace, Sanzu held his hand out for his unintentional safety bag. “What are you doing here?”

She really didn’t want to tell him that she lived locally. “Went for a vag check-up,” fell from her mouth.

That wasn’t much better but at least she didn’t have the fear he’d sneak through her window; she’d heard from a few of the girl’s who worked at the club that he was volatile and unpredictable. Kitahara did not deal with unpredictability; she lived in a world of rationality, statistics and safe bets. Noticing the few ball bearings scattered in the tumble, she glanced to the establishment header above the blacked-out windows: of course it would be a pachinko parlour.

“They always throw people out at the three hundred mark - there’s a much better place a few streets over.”

Making a grabbing gesture, Sanzu swayed a little, almost tripping over his own overly-polished court shoes. “It was the hands…”

“The other place I use is the lobby of an entertainment joint, so as long as you pay a fee, they don’t fuss at the physical contact. Pretty sure there’s a rub’n’tug on the upper floor.” Brushing the excessive water off her front, Kitahara ‘tch’ed’ at the fact the inside of her bag had gotten wet in the gaining downpour.

Blown-out pupils watched the woman’s rack jiggle as she tried to get rid of the water from her front. “Take me.”

Left brow raised, she looked to the man with a skewed jaw. “Were you all dragged up instead of raised? Where the fuck did your please and thank you go?”

“I wasn’t trying to be rude.” He made an attempt to shake his hands in front of his chest but it was more like a seizure from the drugs ragging him. “I’ll buy you some smokes if you take me; I don’t think I can ‘walk a few streets’.”

Pushing her hair off her face, the woman gave him another inspection now that she’d sorted herself out. He looked terrible; he definitely wasn’t his usual suave self. His hair was fuzzed, his usually dapper suit was crinkled at the waist from sitting too long in the same position and his face was tacky from whatever bender he’d been on. “Isn’t that the cue to calm the fuck down with whatever you’re shoving into your body?”

Leaning against the wall to stabilize himself, Sanzu giggled as he pointed a shaking hand at her. “Maybe I should ask you the same thing. I’ve been to the bath with Hanma.”

“Do you want me to leave you right here?”

He went to take a step forward only to flop onto her side. “Ah, nah-no~, I’m just playin’.” Clutching onto her arm, his sweating cheek pushed into her upper shoulder, his nails dug in her skin through her sleeve.

Kitahara had seen this kind of reaction way too many times before. He wasn’t trying to flirt - he was clinging to the last thread of his consciousness, a twang of guilt and his body heavy with fear that he wouldn’t wake up again if he let his eyes shut.

Damn, he smelt like a brothel. Nose wrinkling, she pulled her head back so that she could look at the face rolling around on the top of her shoulder. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Like…” he tried to count off his fingers but his eyes blurred and his digits tangled in the mess. “’Not sure.”

Rolling her eyes, she swallowed the spit stuck in the back of her throat. Shrugging him off her arm so she could put her own under his armpit in order to support the lithe man, Kitahara began walking. However, she didn’t even get a step due to his feet taking root in the growing puddles. Using her hip, she knocked into his, prompting him to follow. She couldn’t leave him in the middle of the street at the best of times but leaving a guy like Sanzu Haruchiyo - a top Executive of a locally infamous gang - unable to defend himself on a Saturday was asking for trouble. If she was a scumbag, she’d definitely take the opportunity to fuck him up for some street cred while he couldn’t do anything about it.

She did not trust people because the ratio of those she’d met were definitely not humane where personal gain was an opportunity. This guy could barely walk - someone would definitely try to take their chance at making a name for themselves if he was left to his own devices. Also, it’s not like she’d drop him off at the club; those assholes who hung out there were probably just as bad, if not worse. Sanzu would probably wake up with no eyebrows and half of his hair missing if she left him there in this state. All that aside, he was already messed up all by himself with whatever he’d taken. Every time she glanced at him, his eyes were rolling back as if he was about to pass out at any moment.

Gods, why did people do this to themselves? He was one step away from puking down his front, pissing his pants and having a seizure before his life subscription was terminated. It took her back to a time she did not wish to return to at any cost. Still, she was there, hauling someone’s ass to somewhere safe so she could try to help them. Again.

“I’mma take you to my place so-”

“-Ya’gonna let me put it in ya?”

Halting for a split-second, on the verge of scoffing, she side-eyed him, telling herself that he couldn’t help it because he wasn’t in his right mind. “Not quite.” She continued to lead him down a back street which led to the multi-storey car lot. Coming to the floor her car was parked on, she eased the man so sloshed out of his mind he frowned at her as if he’d never seen her before. Buckling his belt, she rounded the vehicle and just as she was sitting in her seat, her face away as she grabbed her own safety device, the passenger slapped two more pills into his gob.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Kitahara reached out to stop him but it was already too late: he’d swallowed them.

“Just topping up.”

“Stop it. If I see you do that again, I’m dropping you at the A&E doors with a note stuck to you.”

“I’m not going back to the hospital.”

“Then fuckin’ stop it.”

A giggle caused diamond scars to flicker as his head lolled from side to side over the headrest. “Ya’cute when ya’mad.”

Kitahara opened her mouth to rebuke but there really was no point. She’d have a more intelligent conversation with a fucking tortoise at this point. “If you piss on my seats, I’mma have to dump your ass in a ditch.” Starting the car, she reversed out of her spot and out of the parking lot. “’Always surrounded by junkies…”
 

Fucking Hell, what a struggle it was to get him out of the car and up the outdoor metal steps which led to her second-floor apartment. As if him being made of jelly wasn’t bad enough, his incoherent babbling in her ear while his entire weight was on her, the rusted stairway was slick with rain. It was a miracle that they didn’t slip and die. The man was honestly no help whatsoever. Finally managing to get him into her foyer and shut the door, she plonked him on the sideboard while she took his boots off, grabby hands weak against her back while she was bent over.

“Aren’t you that girl…?” His voice trailed off, his eyes trying to focus on something substantial in the dim lighting.

“Do you need to pee?”

“Why’ya inta that?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

She hoisted him up again, walking him with shuffling steps to her bathroom. Stationed him in front of the toilet, she undid his pants and made him position himself as she looked at anything but the man doing his business. A weak trickle soon followed and she caught her reflection in the cabinet mirror. Ah, damn. She really was in this situation again.

“Honestly, ending up in this state in the middle of the day at your age is going to kill you if you keep it up at this rate.”

As if slipping into a slither of sobriety, Sanzu croaked. “Why are ya helping me?”

“’Cause my dad used to get like this; his sister too, and I’m not far behind.” Hearing that the flow had finished, she turned and looked at the side of his face, sweat beading on his pretty skin and sleepy eyes flittering. “Can you put yourself away?”

Hot palms plastering over the tops of her shoulders, his fingers digging into the flesh of the person helping him. “I never intended to be a pest.”

Glancing down to the mess he’d made of pulling his pants up, she pat his hand and dressed him properly. “If I can do something to help someone, I will - no matter what.” Standing straight, she pushed his sweat-sopped hair off his face. “This is no way to go about.”

Helping the man barely supported by brittle boned legs, Kitahara refrained from gagging at the stink of her newest charity case. She was three when she was taken into the ‘care’ of her grandparents for the first time. By the time she was seven, she was helping rinse dirty books due to her affiliation with numbers. She was a golden goose in a family of horrendously bad criminals. Truly, not a single one of them could run a scam all the way to the desired end. She was always thrown under the bus when things went tits up; she was the ‘caught’ scammer or thief, or the overly developed body sent out as a sacrificial lamb when her kin were the ones who messed up. Not content with throwing those duties on her, she was forced to care for the family who used and abused her when they could no longer deal with their own personal afflictions. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d had to put her waster of a father to bed when he got messed up like this; and her Aunt at the end of her life when she followed in the familiar footsteps of her older brother.

She’d seen so much already - way too much from such a young age. She’d felt and dealt with it too; if she could prevent actions practically printed from her past from repeating, that could at least ease her mind for a little while.

“I need to lie down.” Sanzu huffed, holding onto the sink, his body refusing to straighten up.

Turning around, Kitahara hooked her arms, her fingers searching for the best place to hold the man without causing another bruise on the tacky skin underneath the damp dress shirt. “Take your time.”

“This really isn’t m-me…” His hand held out for inanimate support when his centre of gravity wobbled. “Don’t think I’m-”

Stroking back the slick-sopped hair from his face and neck again, the patch of piss he misdirected on the floor and a hazard on the linoleum, Kitahara kept the hold which made him feel like he was in a hospital again. He swiped backwards, anger twisting his features baring his teeth when his knee hit the floor due to the loss of balance.

Swung at by the man she was trying to help, Kitahara grit her teeth as she looked down on the man on all fours on her bathroom floor. His head was hung, his frame trembling from the effects of the drugs and the humiliation. Any other time if somebody would have taken a hit at her, she would have habitually kicked their teeth in, but she knew better this time. There was clearly something on his mind and that mixed with his vices was not a good combination in the slightest. “I’m going to pick you up now. If you try to take a swing again, I’mma fuckin’ plant you and call someone to pick you up. And I won’t care what happens afterwards.”

“Why do ya even care now?”

“Because I don’t want to watch someone die so pitifully again. Selfish as it is.” Reaching down, she grabbed the slender male and hoisted him to his unstable feet. “Now, I’m gonna help you into bed. You’re gonna sleep it off and when you wake up you’re gonna eat something, not say anything soppy, and then go on your way. Understand?”

Sanzu nodded, or rather, his head bobbed from the lack of control.

“Good - let’s go. If you’re lucky, you might get a few hours in before the cramps start.” Right arm slung over the top of her shoulders, her holding the wrist so he didn’t slip down onto the floor again, Kitahara manuvered him to her bedroom.

Sitting him on the edge of the mattress, she removed his vest and shirt, pulling an old t-shirt over his head before taking his pants and socks off to replace them as well. Pinching the quilt up, she nudged him into her bed and put the cover back down over him. Cracking the window to let fresh air in, she patted his shin. “I’ll bring you some water; get some rest.” Doing just as she had said, she returned to her room with two bottles of mineral water, placing them on the bedside unit housing a lamp. “Don’t drink those all at once, you’ll end up vomiting.”

Before she could turn to walk out of the room, Sanzu went to grab her wrist, his weak grip barely catching her fingers. “You don’t belong with the rest of us.”

“Why not?”

“Y-you’re not like the rest of us; you ca-care about people.”

“I’m still as dirty as the rest of you.” Sure that Sanzu wouldn’t remember it, Kitahara stared down on him starting to drift off into a peaceful daze: she could get something off her chest and be certain that it wouldn’t be repeated to another living soul. His mind was in another dimension - there’s no way he’d ever remember her words, even if he wanted to. “And even if it seems like I’m a nice girl - I have blood on my hands, too. It’s not like I’m going to stop doing the things I do, even if I achieve my goal. I like the da-” she was cut off by her phone ringing in the next room. Putting the man’s arm under the fur capped quilt around his neck once she was satisfied he was asleep, she returned to the foyer.

Rooting through her bag, the woman answered the call without even looking at the screen, her fingers unscrewing a glass bottle that had been on the kitchen counter. All she said was, “yes?”

“We need you to come in.” It was Kisaki on the other end of the line, likely using a burner phone from the lack of caller I.D.

“You said I could have the day off.”

“And now I’m saying you have to come in.”

“I’m already dealing with maintaining an asset - You’ll have to find someone else.”

“It has to be you,” there was a pause from the caller. “What’s the asset?”

“Sanzu Haruchiyo.”

“If you think he’s going to O.D, don’t worry about it. That guy reanimates every six hours or so.”

“I’m not gonna have him die in my bed!”

“He’s in your bed?”

Irked by the suggestive tone, Kitahara gnashed a hiss down the receiver. “Don’t make it sound like it’s something it’s not.”

“9PM, Kitahara San; dress for the weather. Come to the club and don’t be late.” A dial tone met her ears as she strangled the life out of her phone. These kind of calls were becoming ever more common. ‘do this’, ‘do that’, and then they had the gall to address her as ‘San’, as if she couldn’t hear the sarcastic venom in their voice, a thinly veiled threat hanging in the line.

It was only a quarter to two right now. She’d sleep ‘til seven and then take a shower before getting ready. She needed to sleep. She was dazed-drunk from the lack of the basic human function already. Her stress levels were rocketing knowing the body a wall away could overdose at any moment. Sitting on the edge of her sofa, she curled her legs up as she set three consecutive alarms for her planned time. Her eyes drifted to the joint she was planning to smoke before her dinner, the doobie as wide as her finger resting in the ashtray on the low coffee table. Damn idiots always ruining her life.

“Five hours?” Choking down the hour, she rolled onto her hip. Her stomach grumbled but she’d rather get some kip; she could always eat during the drive later. Pulling her hair out of the ponytail, she rubbed the back of her head on the cushion. Kitahara sunk into her sofa, her body aching and her burning eyes fluttering shut.
 

Kitahara had many annoying little quirks. One of them was being an especially light sleeper. It was to the point she could feel if someone was watching her and it would wake her up. Perhaps it was her impressive amount of self-preservation. Whatever the case, it was creepy, really. And at this moment, led on her couch, she could feel that very same sensation. She opened her eyes and from around ten inches away, there was another set of upside-down crystalline blue orbs surrounded by thick white lashes, dusty pink hair draping down and almost tickling her face. It took the entirety of half a second for the scene to register and her body to react. Jolting forward, her forehead smashed into Sanzu’s, sending the lithe man flying backwards onto the floor. Hand plastered to her head, Kitahara sprung to her feet and spun around with wild eyes and teeth gnashing.

Shaking from the adrenaline, one hand clutching the fabric over her chest, the other pointing at the guest, she barked with shaking irises, “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Rubbing the assaulted spot as he remained on the floor, his legs out like a toddler, Sanzu winced. “I was watching you sleep.”

“You can say that out loud and you’re not concerned by it? Fuckin’ great, I let a psychopath into my apartment.”

Pushing his damp hair off his face, Sanzu croaked. “The cramps are starting up.”

“It’s only been a few hours; how long have you been on that shit?” Stance relaxing somewhat while she inspected the slightly younger man who looked like he was about to throw his guts up, she was sure even she’d be able to take the infamous Loyal Mad Dog out if he tried anything that put her in danger. “When was the last time you were clean for a whole day?”

Sanzu continued to sit in the same spot, a grimacing look on his face which told her exactly what she needed to know. Sweat was beading on his pallid skin despite the mild temperature inside her home and his frame was trembling slightly. He had no idea the last time he saw a day sober. Checking the time on the wall clock, Kitahara advanced for the man who was at least able to speak a little clearer now that the drugs were filtering out of his system. Holding her hand out, she helped him to unstable feet.

“Are you allergic to anything?” She asked, easing him down onto the sofa. He shook his heavy head, his eyes landing on the joint in the ashtray. Brow flickering in that instance, Kitahara bared her teeth. “Don’t even fuckin’ think about it.” Snatching the glass ashtray up, she padded towards the open-plan kitchen space, a narrow island counter the only thing to separate it from the living room. “I’ll make you some congee and then I have to take a shower; I’ve been called in so you’re going to have to go somewhere else,” her voice laid flat in the air, Sanzu uncharacteristically quiet as he sat with his elbows on spread knees, his head hanging.

Kitahara could see that his eyes were open, his nose crinkled, a serious expression of contemplation on his face. “Do you feel like you’re going to be sick?”

“No,” he paused, raising his head to look at her. “I’m just wondering what the fuck I’m wearing.”

Snorting out a laugh at the unexpected reply, the tenant now realized how funny the sight actually was. The man who was never out of a three-piece suit was sat there in a pair of her three-quarter length sweatpants with pink ribbon trim and one of her old t-shirts with the picture of a puppy wearing shutter-shades on the front: it’s not like she picked them out specifically - they were just the first thing she could find that she assumed would fit his smaller frame. Laughter bubbled in her gut and she had to pinch her quivering lips between her teeth, lest she see the man act on the look of abhoration construing his features.
 

It had been raining since the early afternoon but now it was lashing it down, the offset of sleet bouncing off the paving and causing puddles in the cracks of the small apartment parking yard surrounded by a five-foot brick wall. It had taken almost an hour after showering and getting ready to convince Sanzu to walk to the car in his new get-up. He was throwing a hissy-fit about his appearance, adamant that if someone happened to see him - regardless of it being dark already and her residence not having any security lighting - that someone would die that night. It was coming up to quarter past eight and she was cutting it close to becoming late. If he wouldn’t have given in when she handed him a long black coat five minutes ago, she would have thrown him over her shoulder and tossed his ass in the trunk of her car.

Kitahara must have broken at least half a dozen traffic laws dropping the man off in front of his own apartment complex and then rushing to get to the club. She’d even nearly knocked a couple of members off their bikes like bowling pins when she screeched down the alleyway to park at the back of the building. Staggering through the dark corridor, hitching over a small step, her heels clomped over the scuffed hardwood flooring. Hair ruffled and the offset of perspiration causing a sheen on her skin, Kitahara puffed out a lungful of air with her arms out, her cigarette wiggling between loose lips, “Safe~” expelled from her as if she was calling a baseball play when she saw the Haitani’s, Kisaki and Hanma drawing towards her, heading for one of the back rooms used for meetings.

“You barely made it, Kitahara San,” Kisaki didn’t even look at her as he turned to his left and into the room they were about to use.

“What happened to ‘on time is late’?” Hanma craned his neck to snark close to her face as he walked through the threshold of the door.

Swatting away his shit-eating grin, Kitahara fixed her hair with one hand, the other jabbing him in the back of the ribs with her nail, “shut ya mouth, prick.”

The group of five ushered into the space, dank and bitter, the halogen unflattering and the seats itchy with the cold which had seeped into them. Taking their seats at the long rectangular table, Kisaki slopped a Manilla folder in front of Ran who was to his right. Rindou was leaning over his brother slightly but his eyes were more focused on the snippy interaction between the thrill-seeker and the woman who was looking over her own paperwork.

“Did you finally manage to get Sanzu out of your bed,” Kisaki asked, his eyes fixed on the woman, his tone inferring something sordid had gone on just to entice the other men.

Ran’s eyes glinted and a small smile curled at the corners of his lips, “what, are you trying to make your way through the higher-ups?”

“I’m next,” his brother chipped in, holding his hand up as if he was in class.

Rolling her eyes, Kitahara flicked the ash from her vice in the ashtray, her eyes sliding up from the documents in front of her. “I woke up to him leaning over me, staring at me while I slept on the sofa. He scared the shit out of me and I ended up headbutting him by accident,” the finger pads of her right hand rubbed the offset of a bump under her bangs.

Snickering, Hanma’s mind conjured the image of the fearsome psychopath being assaulted by the wily woman. “You headbutted him?”

“You were on the sofa,” Ran asked, wonder raising his brows.

“We weren’t fucking; I let him sleep off whatever bender he was on after he literally knocked me off my feet and onto the floor just after I saw you,” she nodded upwards to Ran.

Rindou’s head snapped to look at his brother, “you saw her earlier? You didn’t say.”

Ran caught the sly relay of the happening from the woman and by the look on her face, it was definitely intentional. That was it; he was sure that she knew exactly what she was doing. She wasn’t a bimbo, she was a God damn kitsune and any day now, someone was going to have their liver eaten whole.

Kisaki pushed his glasses up his nose, his jaw muscles pulsing. “Can we get back to the point at hand? Do you think I enjoy spending my Saturday evenings dossing it with you lot for the fun of it?”

“I should ask the same thing.” Fingering through the few slips of paper, Kitahara slapped the file shut with a huff. “Anyone with decent mathematic skills could do this job.”

Leaning to his left, Hanma flopped his arm over her shoulder with a coo, long fingers playing with her hair on the other side of her face. “Aw~ anyone would think you don’t enjoy our company.”

Swiping the physical contact from her, she looked the tallest in the eye as she spoke before shooting a glare to the shortest sat at the head of the table. “I prefer to have time off when I’ve been told I could have it. I have a day-job, y’know? It’s rare for me to have any free time, and this isn’t the first time you’ve done this to me.”

Ignoring the prattle growing out of control - the look directed at him even more so - Kisaki sucked in a long breath, his patience straining ever tighter. “I need you to go over to Nakamura’s place and inspect his books. It’s been brought to our attention that the number’s he’s giving us don’t add up and I want you to meet with him personally.”

“Look at his fuckin’ books at nine at night on a Saturday; are you trying to pimp me out or something?”

“No, but you’re good with numbers and have a way with knowing if people are lying to your face.”

“That, I do.” Stubbing out her vice and replenishing it immediately, Kitahara gestured around to the three men who were also sat at the table. “So what are these lot?”

“Your bodyguards.”

Her kohl-slicked eyes rolled to the back of her skull, a dismissive groan escaping, “oh, Gods above and below-”

“-You really don’t want to meet with a guy like Nakamura undermanned.” Even the man beside her lost all of the teasing glee he’d been flaunting. His body now flush with the backrest of the uncomfortable seat he was sitting in and his brows furrowed low. “He’s a notorious woman-hater and he won’t be shy about doing something about your attitude, regardless of who you belong to.”

Spine suddenly taut, the woman’s features screwed up, her jaw slack, “I don’t belong to anyone.”

Prodding the table in front of him, Kisaki stared at the woman directly down the table from him. “As long as you’re on our payroll, you belong to Bonten.”

The men waited for what kind of reaction the fierce woman could throw out but she merely clenched her jaw, smoke flowing from her nose like a dragon. Kitahara knew very well that she couldn’t really refute that fact; she was depending on the cash flow from the crime group. Her life was literally in the balance. She was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. It just so happened that she was in dire need of both of her kidneys with the amount she drank - something she’d end up losing if she bilked on the man she was still trying to pay off a debt to. Honestly, if she thought about it long enough, she’d much prefer to be under Bonten’s umbrella when shit hit the fan than live a life of strife and have to manifest eyes in the back of her head to watch her back. Besides the days she was supposed to have off only to be called in later, and the obscure hours, her new affiliation didn’t treat her terribly: she’d definitely been treat worse by people who were supposed to love her.

“Fine, whatever.” She threw her hand up in submission, stretching her arms above her head, a yawn spewing smoke and the thin, fuzzy white sweater straining over her jiggling bust. Eyes on the fabric stretching to the point it became transparent, the men showed varying degrees of interest as they rose to their feet. “Let’s get going,” she shot up and headed for the door, leaving her company behind without another word.

Kisaki caught Ran as his brother and Hanma followed in the same direction of the woman, ready to leave - it’s not like any of them wanted to spend their Saturday working. “Make sure she behaves,” the bespectacled man told as the last pair left the meeting room, flicking the light off and locking the door behind them.

The older Haitani hummed, fixing his hair and straightening his suit, a glint in his eyes accompanied by a small smile. “I only know two ways to make a woman behave: kill them, or fuck them obedient, and she’s not really my type.”

Walking shoulder to shoulder with the taller man, Kisaki grimaced, his nose in the air. “What is wrong with all of you?”

“Saying it with such an uppity expression, as if you wouldn’t give her a go.” Ran tut, his tone facetious as he wagged his index finger by the younger man’s face just to piss him off. “Perhaps you should get your pet to bend her over his knee and give her a spanking in front of everyone? ‘Might tame her a lil’ bit.”

Coming to the funnel of the corridor, the blond clicked his tongue off his teeth, recoiling away from the gesture of yet another nutcase. “Just get on your way and make sure nothing happens to her; she’s going to be important in the upcoming months.”

“Hm~ you really do care for the well-being of your new cash-cow, don’cha?”

“I don’t know why you’re complaining. The more she makes us, the more you get paid.”

“I better make sure I keep an eye on her then, hadn’t I? Between your dog and my brother, I’m sure she’ll be taken care of good an’ proper.” Lazily wiggling his fingers in a mocking farewell, Ran turned to the opposite direction of Kisaki walking towards the elevator which led to the upper floor, him heading towards where his colleagues for the next mission were stood by the bar.

“What did he want from you?” Rindou asked, his scowling eyes lifting from the folder he was taking a look over in the low-light without his glasses.

Patting his brother’s shoulder, the slightly taller man manoeuvred him around, stealing the last bit of his drink which had been on the counter. “’Just wanted me to make sure our very own Hime Sama is to be protected at all costs.”

Face twisting at the new nickname, Kitahara knocked her third shot to the back of her throat. “Don’t call me that.”

The older brother cocked his head, a playing tone barely reaching her ears due to the thumping dance music. “Don’t all girls want to be called a princess?”

Stubbing her vice out in one of the ashtrays placed on the long, narrow counter, Kitahara pulled in the right corner of her lips, verging on a sneer. “Not this one: I’ve lived a life so far from that type as could be humanly possible. I’m no snob.”

“Bonten’s little money-whore, then?”

“Piss off, prick.”

Sniggering at the insult she’d called him twice today already, Ran gestured to the door. “Let’s make a move. Nakamura’s supposed to be at his warehouse and we need to catch him before the others turn up for the night.”

Kitahara pulled the fur-trimmed collar of her ankle-length coat up around her neck, her shoulders jittering in anticipation for the gale force rain. “Other guys?”

“It’s his monthly Majong night.” Opening the security door, he held it so the other’s could pass through. “The big-shots from the West side make a thing of it and they're always changing locations - this time it’s at Nakamura’s block of warehouses.”

“If that’s the case, there’s likely to be a lot of security,” the woman told, third out of the heavy door which boinked off her shoulder due to Hanma not showing half as much consideration as the man before him. Hissing at the assault, she gnashed her teeth, "this could have been dealt with much earlier. What the hell's going on?

"Rin and I usually deal with him but we were on collection duty this morning.”

Kitahara glanced up to inspect at the side of Hanma’s face, him turning to look back with a grin as if he’d felt her eyes on him. “Then what’s he here for?”

Slinging his arm over the woman, the tallest put his face close with a coo, “I’m the back-up.”

“Wow, I feel safer already.”

Making it out into the downpour, the group of four hissed at the terrible weather. Dangling a set of keys off his finger, Ran made a dash for a town car which was parked on the side of the road around twenty yards away, Hanma giving it legs behind him to get out of the rain as quickly as possible.

Waiting by the woman, Rindou scoffed, “what a pair of assholes, leaving a lady behind in the rain." Snatching an umbrella from one of the female workers who were stood around in congregation under a small ledge by the staff door, he held it over Kitahara’s head and nodded towards the car. “Come on,” shoulder getting wet as he walked the woman to the back behind his brother, he opened the door for her to get inside the sleek automobile.

Once her legs were inside, he shut the door behind her and closed the umbrella before getting in the front passenger seat. Shuddering at the chill, the rain pelting down on the roof and windscreen, the younger man in the front caught the look his brother was giving him, Ran mouthing ‘simp’ with a disbelieving look while he started the ignition.

“Just shut the fuck up and drive already. Asshole.”

Updated: 5th October 2021 - 14:57