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WHAT COULD I say that wasn’t ungrateful, suicidal, or plain melodramatic?

Thanks, your help isn’t wanted?

Your offer to save me from dying isn’t needed?

I don’t require your meddling so just fuck off?

I hated him but I couldn’t deny I was blown away by his olive branch.

What sort of bastard did that?

I hadn’t meant to blow apart every truth festering inside me. I hadn’t meant to explode or reveal every condemnation and self-disgust I carried.

But he’d pushed and fucking pushed and now…everyone knew.

I didn’t know why he’d chosen to extend his hospitality to include shared warfare, but whatever the reason, he’d fucked me because Pim barrelled into my arms, kissed my cheek, and winced in sympathy as I groaned in pain from my stupid wound-filled body.

She wriggled closer as if she wanted to climb inside and erase the darkness I lived with. As if the purity of her love could save me.

I loved her.

But she couldn’t save me.

Only facing my past could do that.

I wanted to clutch her hard and heal, so I could be the man she expected me to be. I wanted to be immortal and invincible so she would never be alone or unprotected.

But I was just a man.

A man who’d fucked up too many times.

A man who had to make a decision.

Mercer never took his eyes off me; his hand outstretched unwavering, waiting.

We stood toe to toe, glaring at each other. I’d fought this man—I’d shed his blood like he’d shed mine, and now, as he waited to strike a bargain with death, I looked past the aloof arrogance and saw something I didn’t want to see.

He was me.

We were two men who’d fucked up a lot, but when it came to protecting those we cared about, nothing and no one would get in our way.

In this instance, I was the one in the way. I was the reason Pim and the Mercer family were in danger. And instead of casting me out and allowing me to die so no one else had to, he offered me a life-line of resources.

How could I refuse?

How could I trade living over death?

The answer…I can’t.

Barely breathing and still drowning in thoughts of pain and carnage, I slotted my hand into his.

Touching him made every instinct want to strike him down before he could strike me. There was an undercurrent in him that fed the undercurrent in me. Something that said the man before me wasn’t truly who he portrayed. He was something society would never appreciate or accept.

I related because I had that same dirt, that same need to control and slaughter. That same bone-cracking drive to be better than I was and failing at every turn.

We clasped strongly.

We squeezed with intention.

We sealed the bargain with seriousness bound from mutual hate.

The moment we relinquished our bond, Q turned to his wife. “Take Suzette, Lino, Pimlico, and the on-site staff and lock yourself in our bedroom.”

Pointing at Franco, he commanded, “Round up the security team. Let’s get ready to hunt.”

* * * * *

Three hours.

Three interminable hours when time stretched on, torturing us.

I couldn’t tell if I wanted yet more of the same torturous waiting or for the clock to strike D-day and get it over with.

Depending on how the Chinmoku arrived, they could appear at any second. The drive from the port only took four or so hours—at approved speed limits—and I didn’t have a clue if they’d have other methods of transportation.

We were literally sitting fucking ducks, waiting for the hillbilly with his shotgun to arrive and blow us into feathers and pâté.

It’d almost been as hard to watch Pim leave with Tess and the maid, heading to safety, as it had been to say goodbye. The next time I saw her—if I saw her—this would all be over and who knew what sort of world would be left.

The disabilities I suffered ached deeper as I did my best to pump ruined muscles with adrenaline, preparing for yet another battle. I couldn’t focus on the way breathing killed me or walking was a debilitating chore. I had to be functioning. I had to be invincible.

For three hours, we’d reconvened in the games room hidden beneath the stairs. Neither the library nor the lounge would work as headquarters with the number of windows and visibility from the outside.

Instead, we’d spread out floor plans of Mercer’s chateau on top of his large pool table. Used whiskey glasses acted as markers for where we would try to direct the Chinmoku for better target practice. A strategy contrived by all of us, including help from Mercer’s in-house security team.

Twelve men.

Twelve well-trained, ruthless men who all had kills under their belt in one way or another, according to Mercer.

In an ordinary fight, I’d say our odds were better than good. Mercer’s men had automatic guns, wicked sharp blades, and honed instincts on how best to slaughter.

However, this wasn’t an ordinary fight.

This was the Chinmoku, and they wore red gloves for a reason. Their hands were as sharp as blades, their kicks as merciless as bullets. If Mercer’s security had never come face to face with a trained martial arts master, they were as useless as I was in my current condition.

I rolled my shoulder, contemplating making a brace out of a tea towel hanging on the bar in the corner of the room. The ache in the gunshot wound had increased since we’d started talking military action.

I wanted to numb the throb but couldn’t have alcohol, and I refused any more painkillers that Selix kept in his back pocket.

I needed my brain clear. I needed to become one of them again if I had any chance of outsmarting my old master.

Q interrupted my thoughts, his hands splayed on a schematic of his home, his lips damp from a sip of whatever amber liquor he’d poured. “Anything to say to the men, Prest? You know these bastards. How would you defeat them?” He cocked his head, obviously remembering his part in mowing down the men who’d infiltrated the Phantom the other night. He’d already killed a few, and his cocky smirk showed it. “I went to your boat trigger happy. I didn’t give them a chance to get near me. Is that what you suggest?”

I nodded, balling my hands, ignoring my stiff broken finger that refused to bend. “That is the best advice. These men have been honed since birth to kill with nothing. If they underwent the same initiation I did, they’ll have had their senses robbed—making them fight blind then deaf then crippled—teaching how each malady is nothing that they can’t overcome. As each skill is mastered, they become better and better at being unseen, unheard, unknown until it’s too late.”

I narrowed my eyes at the men around the room. “Let them come close and they will find a way to destroy your gun, break your bones, and steal your life before you even look into their eyes.”

The dark-suited army shifted and cleared their throats. One by one, they nodded. “We’ll shoot the moment we confirm they’re Japanese and not one of ours.”

“Good.” I inhaled hard; the room swam a little as more pain made itself known. I wished to fucking God I wasn’t the weakest link. I wished I could meet the leader on Mercer’s lawn, rip off my shirt, don my old pair of crimson gloves, and challenge him.

That would be the surest way to end this with no further bloodshed of others. The only people bleeding would be me and the leader of the Chinmoku.

They were assassins and traffickers and drug dealers, but they were also the most honourable men I’d ever known.

They had a code.

That code was stricter than law—it was their heartbeat and absolute.

Law number one: run from your mistakes and they’d kill everyone associated with you until you were dead.

Law number two: once a Chinmoku always a Chinmoku.

If you broke law number two, you could die at your hand or theirs—honourable or dishonourable. Or…challenge and win.

If I had the ability to challenge, this would all be over because it didn’t matter if I won or lost, the moment my life was claimed, every scrap of history between us would vanish and they would bow and walk away, leaving Pim, Selix and Mercer’s family alone.

Their karma scales balanced and bound by their code.

But if I won….

If I was strong and well enough to kill Daishin—the current emperor of the Chinmoku—then I would become God and have the power to tell them to stop. Fuck, I could command them to fall upon their samurai swords and they’d have no choice but to obey.

Daishin.

Ha!

I rolled my eyes as old memories filled me. Of lethal commands and a heartless ruler. What a laughable name. In Japanese, it meant Great Truth. A Buddhist name—a temple—yet he was one of the most feared, secretive men in the world.

Mercer continued talking to his team, pointing out weaknesses in his front line, sipping his drink while listening to fresh strategy. His right-hand man, Franco, stood by his side, glowering at Selix and me, blaming us not so subtly for everything.

I didn’t even have the energy to hate him or Mercer anymore.

After three hours of waiting, the only thing I felt was guilt. Guilt and shame for being stupid enough to put yet more innocent people in peril because of my screw-ups. Guilt that Pim wasn’t safe. Guilt that she’d fallen in love with a man who lacked in so many ways.

Pim.

Fuck, I missed her.

My eyes trailed for the thousandth time to the ceiling where I assumed Pim was locked away and untouchable with the others. I had no clue where Mercer’s bedroom was, but I hoped to hell it was well fortified.

Because even with the men we have, we might not have enough.

Mercer clapped his hands, ending the current discussion. Abandoning his station and schematics, the glint in his eye said he was satisfied his men knew their part to play.

Carrying his crystal goblet half-full of liquor, he stopped beside me, eyeing up my bandaged shoulder and curling his lip at the brace around my ankle. “Perhaps, you should go with the women.”

I wanted to wring his fucking French neck. “I may not be running at full capacity, but I can still kill a Chinmoku or two. And that’s more than I can say for you.”

He sipped his drink, smiling slyly. “If they’re anything like you when you fight, then I won’t have a problem winning.”

“You’d shot me, asshole. It wasn’t a fair fight.”

“I’ve been shot before and still killed my enemy. Been stabbed a few times, too.” His eyes darkened. “Don’t give excuses for failure…especially when failure is not an option.” His attention flickered to the ceiling, no doubt thinking of his wife just like I thought about Pim.

I narrowed my gaze. “Who?”

“Who what?”

“Who shot you?”

He shrugged, swallowing his secrets with his liquor. “No one still alive.”

We stood in silence for a while, listening to the murmuring of men and occasionally studying the security feeds showing every vulnerable part of the house.

When would they arrive? The tension in the room multiplied until the very air hissed with pent-up aggression and need to attack.

Franco marched up to us followed swiftly by Selix, who treated Franco as a dirty shadow, constantly trying to erase his presence by turning on a proverbial light.

Ignoring me, Franco spoke to Q. “I wish to fuck we hadn’t dismantled those snares and traps in the gardens. What if the motion sensors fail at the perimeter?”

Q shot back the rest of his drink. “We had no choice. I couldn’t let my son crawl around or Tess run with the dogs knowing any wrong step could mean their remains became fertilizer on the flowers.”

Franco grumbled something that didn’t sound like he totally agreed. Returning to his post, Selix rolled his eyes as if to say he was over the dramatics of Mercer’s second and followed.

Mercer twirled his empty glass, his own gaze drifting to the ceiling again.

I spoke before I could censor and stop myself. “You love her very much.”

His green eyes latched onto mine, a dare lurking in their depths, just waiting for me to say something bad about her so he could attack. Slowly, the rage simmered. “Yes.”

I looked at where he was staring, imagining Pim and Tess above, laughing and safe—exactly how they’d stay as long as we did our job correctly. I’d done unspeakable things and some in the name of protecting Pimlico. Had Mercer done the same? “Have you killed for her before?”

His sharp chuckle ran nails down my back. “I’ve ripped out hearts for her before.”

“Interesting analogy.”

“Interesting fact.” He smiled with sharp teeth.

“How?”

He cocked his head. “Strange question.”

“I mean how did you rip out a man’s heart?”

He rolled his shoulders, working out a kink in his neck as if this conversation was locker room talk and something to be humble about rather than hidden far, far from society and never mentioned. He said he had cops on his payroll. Online media called him France’s golden boy. How had he kept his feral side a secret for all these years?

He truly was a monster living in plain sight.

“Tess was given to me as a bribe.” His voice thickened. “Normally, I would’ve sent her straight home. But…” He shrugged. “This time, I couldn’t. I turned into something I’d promised myself I never would, and then I went and did the worst thing I could ever fucking do.”

I shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position for my throbbing ankle. “Falling in love with her.”

His nostrils flared as if he wasn’t quite prepared for me to read him so well. But it wasn’t a matter of reading him—it was a matter of knowing myself and the fact that falling for Pim was both the best and worst thing I’d ever done.

Q stared into his empty glass, pensive. “I fell for her, and my natural instincts were blinded. She had a tracker in her neck. They knew what I was by then…so they took her from me.” His fingers tightened on the glass, his knuckles turning white. “I couldn’t stop what happened to her, but I could stop the men who did it.”

He pinned me with a glare. “When I found him, I slit open his chest, cracked his ribs with my bare hands, and I ripped out that motherfucker’s heart while he breathed.”

A chill worked over my skin. A chill of disgust but also of utmost awe. He loved to the depths that I did. A love that wasn’t encouraged because it made men do terrible things and somehow honour became wrapped up in sin.

I opened my mouth to tell him I understood or empathised—something to show him he needn’t hide with me—but a shrill tune cut through the air, silencing the room and everyone in it.

Franco hissed under his breath. “The sensors never went off.”

Everyone scrambled to the staircase, avoiding travelling up them until Mercer and myself charged to the base and listened once again to a doorbell melody as the Chinmoku boldly announced their arrival.

* * * * *

This was Mercer’s house; therefore, it was his door to open.

But as we strode across the foyer, shoulder to shoulder, guns holstered in our waistbands and our army trailing behind us, he fell back, giving me permission to be the one to begin this.

I still hated the bastard, but I couldn’t deny I had newfound respect for him.

I picked up my speed as best I could, unlocked the multiple high-tech locks, and opened the impressive front door.

And there was Daishin.

The man who’d lent my father money to buy my dust-broken cello.

The man who’d whispered to me late at night that I had so many gifts if only I had somewhere I could use them.

The man who’d hugged me and told me I was like a son to him, only to smear my lounge’s walls with the blood of my father and brother when I’d disappointed him.

Our eyes locked.

Black to black.

To the Western world, it was obvious I had exotic blood mixed in my veins. My jet black hair, lean build, almond eyes, and tanned skin hinted that I wasn’t quite like them. But to the Eastern world, it was evidently clear I was an imposter.

Daishin was quintessential Japanese with salt and pepper hair, pockmarked cheeks from terrible childhood acne, and eyes that would put any cat to shame. Despite his age and imperfections, he was willowy with Asian grace, long fingers encased in bright red gloves, lips well-formed but not full, a nose visible but not overpowering, and an effortless way of moving that made everyone around him seem clumsy and untrained.

He smiled, tight lipped and cold. His voice so familiar, slipping into a language I hadn’t used in a very long time. “Well, if it isn’t my favourite pupil, Miki-san.”

I mimicked his welcoming grin, replying in Japanese. “I haven’t been Miki in a very long time, Daishin-san. And I’ve long since stopped being your pupil.”

He clasped his hands in front of his crisp black suit. The stitching looked tight and unforgiving, the buttons and tailoring as impeccable as any Western designer, but I knew from experience the material he chose was stretchy, giving his clothing incomparable agility when it came to war.

“If you had remained my pupil, you wouldn’t be about to die, Miki-san.”

“And if you hadn’t kept hunting me, you wouldn’t be about to see your entire faction stolen from you, Daishin-san.”

We laughed together, merciless and chilling. Once again, my stupid brain fixated on the differences a smile could be. Smiling at Pim, I was full of sincerity and softness. Smiling at Mercer, I was full of mistrust and malevolence.

Smiling at Daishin?

I was full of heartbreak for my family, disgust for myself, and utmost reverence for the man I’d bowed before.

Not because he was a good person but because he was the worst I’d ever come across, and that sort of brutal power deserved recognition.

Mercer appeared on my left, eyeing up my old master with disdain. Franco appeared beside him, equal partners in defending this estate while Selix arrived on my right, his presence known through a sixth sense brought from years of friendship and fighting.

Selix deserved all my thanks and more, and after tonight, I wouldn’t wait any longer to give him what he was owed. Screw it if I hadn’t paid back my debt in full. He’d been by my side for too long not to claim what was rightfully his.

Looking past Daishin, the courage in my veins to fight despite my current condition faltered as I counted more men than I should.

The rules of the Chinmoku had been simple: betray them and die.

Death came in stages: first a one-on-one fight. If you survived, then more men joined the siege until you fell at their feet. If you ran, they’d never stop hunting. First with three men, then seven, then thirteen.

They’d sent seven last time.

This time should be thirteen.

Yet as I quickly tallied up the Japanese men all in matching uniforms behind their chosen leader, I counted more.

Seventeen to be exact.

My heart turned to stone.

Chinmoku used tradition to enforce their laws, but it could also be used to monitor their flaws. Before us were seventeen men.

But that isn’t all of them.

I supposed I should be honoured, awed even that Daishin judged me as his ultimate rival. He didn’t just see me as his student anymore but as his successor.

There was no other reason he’d brought the full amount of men one could bring to extermination.

Turning my head to Mercer, I whispered harshly, “Wherever the women are, send men to guard them. Now.”

Mercer’s face blackened as he glowered at Daishin on his doorstep. With a French slur and finger snap, he ordered a couple of black suited guards to charge up the staircase behind us.

He hadn’t asked questions. He hadn’t challenged me.

In this, he’d trusted me, and I couldn’t be more fucking grateful. Because we were in a shitload of trouble. A fuck-load of trouble.

I’m going to die tonight, after all.

I just had to hope like hell that Daishin would stand by his law the moment I did and walk away.

Crossing my arms, even though it hurt like hell with my elbow and shoulder, I drawled in Japanese, “Where’s the rest of your entourage, Daishin-san?”

He smiled just as relaxed and pompous, knowing exactly what conclusion I’d just fallen into. “Forgive me; I don’t know what you mean.”

I stepped forward, reducing the distance between us to merely a metre. I didn’t care I looked like shit or the brace on my ankle gave away my injury. He would know I wouldn’t be in top form after losing previous warriors trying to put me down.

“The other three men. Where are they?”

“You think we stuck to the same archaic rules we had when you wore our colours, Miki-san?” He laughed long and slow, building in mirth as if I was the village idiot.  “You poor fool. Haven’t grown any wiser, I see, even though you have aged rather poorly.”

I vibrated with loathing, barely reining my temper and forcing myself not to attack prematurely. “One, three, seven, thirteen, and twenty. That’s how honour is delivered to trespassers.”

Daishin adjusted his cufflinks, flashing the katakana character of long life in my face. “I thought I’d break a little from tradition if you don’t mind, Miki-san. I guess you’ll find out how many helpers I brought soon enough.” His teeth flashed in the night. “But then again, maybe you won’t. Depending on how long you live, of course.”

I’d had enough of this small talk.

I’d had enough of restraining both the violent call to murder and the petrified question that demanded to know what would happen if I died.

I wanted to know if Pim would be safe if I let him gut me here and now, but I was terrified of the answer and what it would ultimately make me do.

Uncrossing my arms, I sank into the same crouch he’d drilled into me through endless lessons and raised my hands. My posture wasn’t that of yoga or spiritual gain—it was slipping from the scabbard that turned me into a sword.

Fingers bent but loose, wrists straight but uncocked, joints ready but fluid.

I wiped my mind of Pim and broken futures. I pushed aside failing and conquering.

All that mattered was here and now.

All that existed was this.