"It was a surgical strike," Torin says, "Fast, clean and well-coordinated."
"Yeah, that's because the Yakuza had their men disguised as the security guards."
Torin swivels slowly. "How'd you know they belong to the Yakuza?" Holding a plate, he walks to the opposite side of the island counter, sliding it over the Carrera marble.
"Japanese. Well-trained. With enough juice to infiltrate a high-profile event." I shrug—pain lances through my shoulder. "It's a dead giveaway. Clearly searching for the book. Gaza didn't think it through when he made me a target. It clearly made others curious about what I stole. What are the odds that they believe in... what's it called? The big five: Magnus Quinque. I'm for sure saying that wrong."
He looks at the food pointedly. "Eat."
Doesn't have to tell me twice. I'm dying. I pull the plate closer, picking up the fork I use it to probe the unfamiliar cuisine before I dig in. The only ingredients I recognise is basil pesto with a tinge of balsamic vinegar. After a few shovels, practically vacuuming more than half of the food in one go. I pause, swallowing.
"What makes little sense is how they knew where I was going to be?" My mind starts reeling. "How did they know that Orian took me? And most importantly, how would they know that I was coming?"
Torin places his fists on the edge of the marble, knuckles whitening. "Information only Orian and I had...as well as our detail. They knew in advance."
I look up, putting the fork down.
His head lifts, under golden light, his eyes look like burnished amber.
"Which means...."
"No," he shuts down. "None of them are rats for one reason only. They're scared of Orian. Eight years ago, when some low-level punk tried to snitch on him. Orian didn't kill him. Instead, he murdered his entire family and even his friends. Everyone he loved, Orian killed. Not only to punish him, but to send a message to everyone working under him and against him."
A lump forms in my throat, and it refuses to move. "Torin. These guys were there beforehand, posing as security guards, which means they were informed prior to the event. It's not like they were tipped off by someone there."
He shakes his head with calm certitude. "They're loyal to my brother and I."
I breathe deeply. "Then how did you find me?"
He walks over to the refrigerator, bending to open the freezer, opening a draw. "Easy, we followed the GPS."
My brows snap together. "Excuse me?" I look down, realising. My hand rises to touch the emerald stud. "The earrings."
He closes the door, holding an ice pack, and quirks his brows at me. He rounds the high-top counter. The kitchen itself is bigger than the entire ground floor of my townhouse. With nickel accents and an all-white aesthetic that deserves to be on a famous cooking show.
Resuming my eating. I jolt at the shot of artic cold that drills into me from flesh to bone. Torin stands behind me. His one hand on my waist, keeping me still, and the other holding the icepack to my shoulder blade. Once the burning cold fades, easing into a cooling and soothing sensation.
"Nasty bruise."
I turn my head to look at him from over my shoulder.
"If they could reach me so easily. What happens with my mom, what if—"
"That's why you're here. For both of your protection, the further apart you are, the safer she will be. They're not after her."
"But they could use her as bait to get to me," I argue, fervour building up like pressure.
"That's why Orian already dispatched his men to watch over her the day you were taken. She's safe. And so are you."
"Because of my value," I add bitterly. "The moment you have what you want from me. I become a liability. A loose end that needs to be cut. Then who will guard my mother then? I can't exactly do that from the grave."
Torin frees a small chuckle, his tongue lightly poking through his cheek. "Quite the pessimist, are we?"
"A realist," I correct firmly. "Because I know you're not gonna just let me go after this."
"The woman with a vendetta against Zenith, hunting its CEO like a dog with a bone. The same woman who was kidnapped—for her own protection—alas, you'll probably tell a different story."
"I don't have a vendetta against Zenith," I say, swatting his arm away.
He steps to my side and dumps the ice pack on the counter.
"What I am against is corrupt corporate empires that were built with blood money. Using, stepping on, and blatantly disregarding people just to feed their greed."
Torin comes closer and slants down until our faces are aligned, binding my gaze to his. "You sound like you're speaking from experience...but not directly." He ponders over it for a few quick moments. "On behalf of someone else. Does this have to do with daddy? I looked into him, the man racked up staggering debt."
I snatch the fork, spurting to my feet at the burst of anger, kicking the bar stool aside. "Watch your tongue or I'll rip it out."
"Ooo," Torin says with a jeering pout. "No need for such antics. I was just asking. It made me wonder though. From the day I learned your name, till I found out about the woman that stole from one of the most powerful cartel bosses on the planet. What was her drive?"
I throw my shoulder back before I hurl the fork at him. He jerks his head aside and catches it mid-air with feline reflexes. He looks back at me with a meld of surprise and contempt.
"Putting thugs like him away." I eye him down scathingly. "You're all the same." Calum's words come to mind. "Just a bunch of gangers in suits."
"I think it goes deeper than that," he says like a shrink giving some half-ass diagnosis. Using the fork, he points it at me. "Something must have incited this self-righteous, vigilante crusade."
"That's what you want to focus on?" I ask to divert. "You may have a leak in your operation. And to make it worse, you left a slaughter on the street post-battle."
He waves a flippant hand. "Already taken care of."
"Pod footage...CCTV surveillance?"
He smirks, amused. "Scrubbed by now."
"Witnesses?"
His smirk grows into a smile. "They won't talk."
"What about the cops—"
"Honey." He raises a hand. "The chief of police answers to Orian. No cop or detective will move without his command."
Whoa. Orian has more brass than I thought.
Orian.
" Where is he?"
"Oh, he's back already." A morbid smile steals across his face. "Probably unwrapping his gift. By unwrapping I mean disembowelling."
Oh my lord. The sole survivor.
"Take me to him."
***
Beyond the palace-like ornamental garden. At the back of the estate is an aged stone structure, the entrance guarded, but the door is already open. Torin enters first. We come into a stairwell with a rusted-black spiral staircase that vanishes into the dense blackness. The dim and infrequent lamps mounted on the sidewalls is the only source of light to ward off the darkness. But they are failing miserably.
Halfway down. A bloodcurdling scream shatters the silence. I glance down. My hand gripping Torin's. He doesn't say anything or exploit the chance to mock me. He merely entwines our fingers, continuing onwards.
"Are you sure about this?" he asks. "Orian doesn't enjoy being disturbed when he has guests."
I cringe at the use of a plural. "It's not right."
"They were going to kidnap you?"
"As if you can judge," I rebuke. "Nothing justifies torture or killing."
We finally reach the bottom. A heavy door, reinforced with stainless steel, is swept open. And now the screams are horrifyingly more audible, tangible even, each a soul-needling sound. I untangle my fingers from him and I walk down the narrow pathway. From the pungent mouldy odour, this is the place I woke up to first. On the one side is a line of gated cages. The last one is open.
One of the Yakuza's men is strapped to a metal chair in the centre, bathed in blood. Near to him is a tray with a selection of torture tools on top. The man looks unrecognisable. By that I mean he's face doesn't even look human. His face is completely disfigured, inflamed, and sopping with blood. And he has a gunshot wound in his thigh that's just haemorrhaging severely.
My appetite obliterated. So much so that my food fights to escape me, my insides in turmoil. My hand slaps over my mouth.
Orian thaws from the deep-seated shadow of the cell. His face splattered with blood. His knuckles bruised and bloody. He looks past me and glares at Torin. He looks down impulsively.
"What the fuck is she doing here?"
"I told him to take me to you," I blurt. The upheaval roiling in my stomach. I focus on my breathing, breathing through my mouth to avoid the smell. I can't bring myself to look at him. "You can't do this."
A dread-inducing look glints in his eyes, looking feral. Not saying anything, just breathing hard.
I try to reason with him. But in this barbaric state, he seems to be impervious to it.
"Look at him," I say without looking at him. "He would've talked already. But I know that I don't have to tell you that the Yakuza are trained to resist torture. If he rats on them, the Yakuza will burn his family alive."
Orian glowers down at him, skulking forward to stand behind the chair. "Who's saying I won't do the same?"
"You can't—"
"I FUCKING CAN!" He roars.
Flinching, I stumble back.
"I want to know how the fuck they knew where you were going to be." He moves to stand in front of him, his back towards us. "And he's going to tell me what I want to know."
I look back at Torin and he's casually leaning against the gateway with his arms crossed. Orian takes up a knife and flips it before he plunges it deep into his thigh, squirting red. He skewers it inside, wringing out a banshee-like scream from his prisoner.
Tears slip from my eyes and I lunge at him, snaring his arm and tugging him away with everything I have left—agony searing from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. He shoves me away with one push. I snap back.
"Orian!" I wail.
As if it was the magic word. Orian freezes. Reluctantly, he glances back at me.
"Please."
Orian rises to full height. Still looking erratic, he manages a curt nod. He rotates around and makes his way out of the cell, and I follow dazedly. Almost passing Torin, he seizes the gun from his waistband and whips around to fire one shot at the man's forehead. His head drops, hanging limply.
"Watashi no ono o fetchi shimasu." Orian lowers the gun to his side. "I want to send Daku Nakamura his head as a thank you. Because now I know one of my own has betrayed me."