Page 34 of Broken Blood Ties

When I yank open the door, the creak of the hinges is loud enough to breach the incessant tapping of rain. As the door slams behind me, I shake my soaked head and flick back my trench coat. The darkness is almost impenetrable, the only light illuminating the first floor is from the flashes of lightning. Water drips in from the gaps in the roof, and the floor is littered with rotten debris and shards of glass that crunch underneath my boots as I make my way to the stairs.

I tug a flashlight from my coat pocket and check in with Cormac, who’s waiting with four of my men several buildings away.

That was always the deal with Yuki. When the Japanese and the Irish first started playing nice, if you will. He only meets with me.

Reckless. That’s what Cormac said. But I knew cultivating a relationship with the Japanese would serve both our organizations.

The light from the flashlight in my hand cuts through the pitch-black as I climb the stairs to the second floor. I scan the room, searching for any sign of Yuki. My heartbeat picks up as I venture deeper into the room. Demolished cubicles and broken furniture block multiple paths, sopping wet papers squelch on the concrete as I shuffle forward.

A gust of wind sends sheets of rain splashing against the distorted glass. Spinning around, I map out the floor. No one’s here.

I peek at my watch. 10:06 p.m.

I’ll give him four more minutes before I leave. I update Cormac once more with my location, and?—

A crash has me reaching for one of the pistols from my shoulder holster, crisscrossed over my back and under my coat. I bring my light up under my weapon and crouch into a defensive position behind a splintered wooden desk.

“It’s me.” Yuki’s voice breaks through the silence. “Didn’t see the damn chair.”

I roll my eyes and stand, sliding my gun back into its leather holster. Pulling my coat tightly around me, I aim my flashlight toward Yuki.

He stands tall, posture straight in his red suit. Not quite taller than me, but he’s still above average. His hair, once jet black, now has a thin strand of silver hanging just over his brow. When he brings his hand to his forehead to block my light, the dragon tattoo that spans over all his knuckles seems to shimmer. He looks older. Way older. And I saw him two months ago.

He narrows his dark eyes at me, and they sparkle with a hint of mischief despite the fine lines etched around them.

“What’s this meet for, Kieran?”

I smirk, but a sensation of unease creeps in. “Katsuro’s dead. Reports from me men say it was an internal kill.”

“You don’t have enough issues in your organization? You need to police mine?”

I shake my head. “He’s one of me fighters.”

“No, Kieran. He’s one of mine.”

I clench my jaw.

Yuki sighs, dragging a quivering hand through his hair. “We’re experiencing … how would you say it in business terms? An attempted coup.”

“A coup? An internal coup?”

“Yes. Katsuro was a victim of such, and we’re weeding out those responsible.”

He’s right. This isn’t my business. I only need to know …

“How does this affect our relationship?”

“It doesn’t. Not for as long as I’m in po?—”

A sharp crack explodes through the air, and I duck, hands going over my head. Both arms crossing, I reach for my guns, pulling them out and pointing them in the direction of the shot.

Yuki’s face down on the ground, unmoving. I take a step toward him, trying to get close enough to check his pulse.

“I wouldn’t.” A gravelly voice calls out, and I wince watching blood seep from a disgusting hole in the back of his skull.

“Who are ya?” I pant out, wishing I had my phone but not willing to put both my weapons away. Hopefully without a check-in over the next five minutes Cormac will send men.

A figure steps forward, and I cringe.