Page 50 of Brutal Unionn

“What’s their name? I should thank them.”

I push off the wall and walk toward him, in measured steps, closing of the space between us. My palms press flat against the black table at the room’s center, the leather warming beneath my touch. I lean in just enough to let my voice curl like smoke between us.

“Well, if we’re talking heads,” I whisper, “how much is yours going for these days? Seventy? Eighty million?”

“Try two-fifty,” he replies, a flicker of pride in his smile.

I whistle. “You’ve been busy.”

“So have you,” he counters, that sharp tongue of his back in full swing. “Slaughtering the remnants of your bloodline… forcing your father to replace an entire council. Executing six of the most trusted Yakuza families in cold blood.”

“I found out some things after my mother’s death,” I say, voice like a blade being unsheathed. I lean forward, matching his energy with my own, letting the tension stretch between us like piano wire. “Including why there are no women in the Yakuza…or haven't been in the last thirty years.”

Bhon’s lips twitch as a faint smile crawls across his face—unnatural and cold, like it was carved there with a scalpel rather than formed by joy.

“You know what they do to the expendables,” he says, his voice almost tender in its cruelty. “And now you’ve come to save the day… how precious.”

“Don’t mock me,” I snap, venom lacing my words. “I was a child too.”

“Yes,” he murmurs, the smile curving crueler. “But you werethechild. The golden one. The heir.” He wiggles his fingers like he’s twirling threads of my memory around them. “You weren’t traded for a debt. You weren’t held down and trained to kill your brothers in exchange for food. You weren’t called dog, ghost, or number. You weren’towned.”

“I know,” I whisper, jaw tight, guilt swelling in my chest like something alive.

“I was being raised to serve the future king,” Bhon continues, stepping forward, voice dropping into something darker. “To die for you. To kill for you.”

“Iknow,” I roar, the words bursting from me like shrapnel. My fists tremble at my sides, knuckles bone-white. The images flood in without mercy—children shackled, trained like animals, carved into weapons and sold like currency. My own privilege curdling inside me.

I squeeze my hands together to stop them from shaking and avert my gaze. “I know, Bhon. And I swear—I will end it.”

The Yakuza wasn’t always like this. Once, there was honor—even in the shadows. But that died long before I picked up my first blade. Somewhere in the bloodline, someone traded steel for flesh, and the poison seeped in slow. The sex trade. The children. The ghosts in the basements of Tokyo, Seoul, Bangkok—names with no faces, bodies with no homes.

I thought I killed it when I executed the families. When I spilled elder blood in the name of my mother and burned their houses to ash.

But I was wrong. This rot goes deeper than tradition. Deeper than family.

“Are you calling me back in?” He hisses, the heat from his breath makes my guilt curdle like rotten milk. “Do you want me to serve you?”

“No,” I whisper, pulling back. “I need a favor.”

“I don’t do favors for the Yakuza.”

“You will.”

“Not after they killed Duri.” Bhon grips me by the collar of my shirt, his eyes wide open, and teeth bare like he could rip my jugular out with just his fangs. “I will never-”

“Duri isn’t dead.” I whisper. “I sent him to Europe.”

“Bullshit,” he snaps, but the fire is faltering now. His grip stays firm, but something in his stare is unraveling.

“I know his name,” I say carefully, the air tight with tension. “Where he lives. Who raised him. I kept him off the books. Off the record. He thinksyoudied as well.”

Bhon doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. The pressure on my collar spikes, and for a moment I think he’s going to crush my trachea out of reflex. But I hold my ground.

“Tell me who sent the hit on Nadia,” I say, voice steady. “Not the name they gave you. I need the truth. Therealname.”

His eyes burn into mine, wavering between fury and something dangerously close to hope.

“I gave up everything for Duri,” he whispers, voice trembling like something inside of him cracked at the thought. “And if you’re lying?—”