Page 20 of Brutal Union (Ruthless Mafia Kings #8)

SHO

New York City is nothing compared to Tokyo at night.

In fact, it feels safer here. In America, the criminals are loud—on full display for anyone paying attention.

The shadows aren’t hidden; they shine with gravitas, iced-out chains, and men desperate to be seen.

Everyone wants you to know who they are and exactly how much power they hold.

No one moves in silence. Every man is chasing clout, trying to make a wave. And with so many people willing to be bought, it’s almost too easy to find whoever you’re looking for.

Even an assassin known for silent kills.

Even one feared by everyone.

When I first heard the Korean, I should’ve known exactly who Bhon Lee was. But I was distracted—by a dying Nadia. The fear of losing her pulled everything else out of focus. It made me forget who stood before me. And more importantly, why even my father, Takeda Matsumoto, feared him .

They call him The Viper —not just for how he kills, but for how patient he is while waiting to strike.

Bhon Lee’s story is common, an old story about the relationship between money and power.

It's gnarly, brutal—unfortunately familiar in the world of the Yakuza.

He was sold to my father twenty-three years ago.

Not adopted. Bought. A child traded for debt.

For the dishonor his father brought to their family name.

You see, his father, Si-woo Lee, owed over twenty billion yen to the Yakuza. That’s about 138 million U.S. dollars, for the Americans in the room. No one that broke could pay a debt that big with money. So he paid in blood. In flesh. He handed over his sons.

Duri was too young to be of fighting use, but Bhon—he was old enough to train. Old enough to bleed.

We trained together as boys. I remember watching him with a mix of fear and awe, even then. He didn’t speak much. Didn't cry. Just absorbed pain like it belonged to him.

And when he finally bargained for his freedom, he was given a choice.

Kill a thousand people. In the name of the Yakuza, or survive a beating out.

If it were me, I would’ve taken the thousand.

Bhon chose the beating. Forty-seven men went after him in the main courtyard. He killed them all. It was brutal. No one stepped in. My father watched the whole thing, and when it was over, he let Bhon walk. Just like that.

No rewards. No promises. Just the clothes on his back.

Back then, I thought Bhon was a legend. I still do .

I’m being hunted for killing the trusted guards when I was sixteen, along with what was left of the Matsumoto family. And even with that on my name, Bhon is still the only man who ever escaped the Yakuza and earned their respect on the way out.

I should have recognized him, by his voice alone.

I lean back against the bar, my fingers tapping against the polished dark wood—cleaner than I expected for a place like this. The lighting shifts between low purple and deep blue, pulsing softly across the room in sync with the bass that hums beneath the marble floor.

Rich, dark wood and velvet booths line the edges, broken up by mirrored walls and scattered chandeliers that hang low, casting a soft glow over the room.

Women walk around in Playboy bunny bodysuits like tuxedos moving through the space with full trays of drinks and sexual trinkets.

A few more handsy than the others. Bhon sits near the back, in a wide black leather chair just shy of the private booths, but he doesn’t touch the woman in front of him.

If anything, he looks irritated—at her, at whoever’s on the other end of the line.

My gaze weighs heavy, and after a few seconds, he shifts—eyes scanning the room like something doesn’t feel right. The pressure of being watched has reached him, even if he hasn’t figured out where it’s coming from.

A tall blonde with wide eyes and a southern drawl drifts over, placing a hand on my shoulder like she’s known me forever. Her smile is big, and her eyes look almost doll-like.

“Well, hey there, stranger. Can I get you anything?” She purrs, pushing up on her tip-toes .

I grab her wrist, sliding her hand off of me. “Not right now.”

“You sure?” She pouts, her chest grazing my arms, making almost every nerve on my body curl away from her. “Because you look like you could relax.”

I chuckle, in that dry humorless way that confuses most people. “You really don’t want your hand.”

“You threatening me?” She questions, leaning into her hip as her eyes narrow on me.

Before I can answer, another woman’s voice cuts in. “Dolly, don’t make me clock you out for the night.”

“Sorry Madam,” she squeaks. “I just-”

“You were just leaving,” she answers, and I finally look over my shoulder at her. She has tanned skin, curves, a tight red dress that clings like it was made for her. Long, curly black hair frames her face, and her smirk is knowing and confident.

The blonde bows slightly and walks off like her ass is on fire.

“Don’t mind her. She’s new,” the woman says, extending her hand to me. “I’m Gwedolyn Petrov.”

“Petrov?” I repeat, sliding my hand into hers.

She flashes me a pearly white smile. “You wouldn’t be?—”

“Yes,” I nod, pulling my hand back. “Sorry for almost fucking up your kidnap rescue.”

“No worries. I’m alive, and free now.” She shrugs like it’s nothing, then waves to the bartender. “Hudson, two shots of the top-shelf hot sake.”

“Got it, darling,” Hudson replies winking effortlessly, already moving to the other side of the bar.

I glance at her. “Your husband know he talks to you like that?”

“Yup,” she says, grinning. “Hudson doesn’t really value his life.” She turns slightly, eyes shifting to Bhon. “Now, Mr. Matsumoto, why are you staring at one of my favorite customers?”

“He’s an old friend of mine.” I rest my elbow on the bar. “Why is your husband trying to dethrone Nadia?”

She laughs lightly. “Right to the point.”

“I prefer a straight shot.”

“He’s not.”

I click my tongue, putting more weight on my elbow. “Bhon says different.”

“Bhon is a trickster.” She shrugs, just as Hudson slides two steaming glasses of sake in front of us. “That’s the polite way of saying he’s a liar.”

“And why would he lie?”

“Because he lives in the dark but wants the light. He craves attention more than he admits.” She raises the shot glass in his direction, and I look over to see Bhon is off the phone. The girl is gone, and he is staring at me.

I chuckle, grabbing my shot glass, the dull heat tingling my fingertips. “And whose attention does he want?”

“Well, he’s not looking at me, is he?”

We clink glasses and take the shot. She sets her glass down and leans in slightly.

“Nadia’s iced us out,” she says, voice low. “And that’s because your little buddy lied. My husband has taken many losses lately, he cannot also lose his sister.”

“And what do I do about that?” I tilt my head, looking down at the empty shot glass in my hand.

“It is your job to make sure she knows she can still trust us.”

“And why’s that?” I ask.

“Because from what I hear, you were in that room when she threatened Nik and Alek. That makes you one of the last people she still trusts—outside of Lily.” She replies, then glances toward a hallway lined with velvet curtains.

“I recommend the conversation you have with Bhon be in room three. It is especially sound-proof.”

She steps away from the bar, her heels clicking against the floor. “I trust you will do your job?”

“I’ll do what I can,” I say, setting the glass down. “No promises. Your man said some fucked up shit to my girl.”

She smirks. “I’ll make sure he apologies.”

Gwen turns, making her way deeper into the club, and my gaze drifts back across the room.

Bhon is still in the chair. Still watching me. Elbows resting on the arms, back straight now. Alert. He’s not pretending anymore. Our eyes lock. I give a short nod, then glance toward the hallway.

I push off the bar and start walking toward the hallway.

My pace is steady, as I slide through the bodies as if I am not about to lock myself in a sound-proof room with the most ruthless killer I know.

The guard watching the private rooms doesn’t stop me as I move through the curtains and look around the dimly lit hallway .

Door one makes me think of Nadia, the soft moans and sharp cracks of a whip roll through the closed door.

Nadia probably wouldn’t moan if I took a whip to her creamy flesh.

She would groan like an angel being released from the shackles of perfection, unleashing the devil inside.

Or she would cuss me out, saying filthy shit to push me to the edge, because my Hime loves me on the edge.

Door two makes me jerk at the ear-splitting scream that echoes into the hallway, followed by the sexy purr of a woman saying “no” like a question.

A soft whimper follows, and the woman taunts her by clicking her tongue and telling her to use her words.

Fuck, Nadia is going to have a problem once I’m done with Bhon.

I am going to have to fuck her raw for making me so distracted all the fucking time.

Three days ago I almost ate her out in front of her brothers because of the way she threatened Nikolai with her boot digging the knife into his shoulder.

Fucking hell. I was hard as a rock. I want to feel her knife in me, as she forces me to pleasure her.

Forces me to give her everything she needs, or not.

It’s on my bucket list to make Nadia cry, a few hours of edging should do it.

I smirk making my way a little further down the hall to door three, a black door accompanied by a large number three illuminated by lights on the wall next to it.

No sounds, but the door hangs open with just a thick, red velvet curtain, blocking the view of what’s inside.

I slide my fingers along the gold trim and push it open.