Page 11 of The Oyabun's Boy

"Already dispatching, sir," Chen replied. No questions, no hesitation. This is why he was invaluable.

I ended the call and turned to Joy. His freckles stood out stark against skin gone pale, and I could see the moment realization dawned on him.

"My mother—" he started.

"We're going there now." I pressed a button on the car's console. A hidden compartment in the door slid open, revealing a gun and two spare magazines. I checked the chamber with practiced efficiency.

Joy's eyes fixed on the weapon. "What the hell is going on?"

"The men who were following you today? They weren't mine." I holstered the gun beneath my jacket. "Not all of them, anyway."

Lin swerved the SUV into a sharp U-turn, tires screaming against asphalt. The sedan's engine roared as we accelerated toward Joy’s neighborhood.

"But why would anyone—"

"You're connected to me now." I cut him off. "That makes you a target."

Fear and anger warred across his face. Beautiful, even now, even terrified. "I never asked for any of this!"

"No," I agreed, watching the city blur past the windows. "But here we are anyway."

Fifteen minutes later, we screeched to a halt outside a modest two-story home with a white picket fence that looked like it belonged in a different world than mine.

Two black SUVs were already parked across the street, my men positioned in formation around the property.

Chen appeared at my window. "Five confirmed hostiles inside. Two by the front door, one in the kitchen, two in the living room with the mother."

I nodded. "Alive?"

"For now. They're waiting."

"For me." I knew their game. Use the mother as bait, draw me in, eliminate us both. My uncle wasn't known for his subtlety.

I turned to Joy, whose hands were white-knuckled fists in his lap. "Stay in the car."

"Like hell I will." His voice shook, but his eyes blazed with determination. "That's my mother in there."

"And those are trained killers who won't hesitate to put a bullet between those pretty green eyes of yours." I gripped his wrist, feeling his pulse race beneath my fingers. "Stay. Here."

I didn't wait for his response. I was out of the car, Chen at my right, three more of my men falling into position behind us. We moved like shadows across the lawn, the night air heavy with the scent of freshly cut grass and impending violence.

The first man never saw me coming. I slipped through the side door, blade finding the soft spot beneath his jaw, severing his carotid in one clean slice. He dropped without a sound, his eyes wide with surprise.

The second one was quicker, gun already drawn as he rounded the corner from the kitchen. Chen's silenced pistol barked twice. Two neat holes appeared in the man's forehead, and he crumpled like discarded paper.

In the living room, I found what I was looking for—Annie Carmichael, tied to a dining chair, her face bruised, but her eyes defiant. Three men stood around her, weapons trained on the entrances.

The first one spotted me and managed half a shout before my knife embedded itself in his throat. The second got off a wild shot that splintered the doorframe beside my head. Chen's bullet caught him in the chest, spinning him into a bookcase that collapsed under his weight.

The third had time to press his gun to Annie's temple. "Stop or she dies!"

I paused, letting him see the cold calculation in my eyes. "You're already dead. The only question is how painful you want it to be."

His finger tightened on the trigger. A rookie mistake—he should have been watching my left hand.

The throwing knife I kept in my sleeve found its mark in his eye socket before his brain could process the movement. He collapsed backward, gun discharging harmlessly into the ceiling.

I stepped over bodies, nudging one with my foot. "Cleanup on aisle five," I muttered, meeting Chen's gaze.