Page 12 of The Oyabun's Boy

He nodded, already on his phone arranging disposal.

I moved to Annie, cutting her restraints with quick, precise movements. Her wrists were raw, but her eyes were clear. No shock, no hysteria. Interesting.

The front door burst open, and Joy rushed in, freezing at the carnage before his eyes. His gaze darted from the bodies to his mother, then to me, standing over her with a bloody knife still in my hand.

"Mom!" He crossed the room in three strides, kneeling beside her chair, hands frantically checking her for injuries. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

"I'm fine, honey." Annie touched his face with trembling fingers. "Just some bruises."

Relief flooded Joy's features, so naked and genuine it made something twist uncomfortably in my chest. Then his eyes hardened as he looked up at me. "This is your fault, isn't it?" he accused. "They came because of you."

"Yes," I said simply. No point in lying. "And they'll come again."

I wiped my blade on a fallen man's shirt before resheathing it. "You're coming with me, Princess. Both of you. It's not safe here anymore."

Joy stood, fury replacing fear. "I have a name, you know."

"Yes," I replied, a dark smirk curling my lips as I let my gaze travel slowly down his body. "And it suits you perfectly."

His cheeks flushed crimson, anger and something else battling across his features. He opened his mouth, closed it, then let out a strangled laugh that was half disbelief, half hysteria.

"Are you seriously flirting with me right now? There are dead bodies on my mother's carpet!"

The nervous laughter that tumbled from him hit me like a drug—unexpected, intoxicating. I felt a surge of primal satisfaction at his defiance. At his spirit. Most people cowered before me. Joy burned brighter.

"We leave in five minutes," I said, turning away before he could see how much he affected me. "Pack only what you need. The rest can be replaced."

Behind me, I heard him mutter, "Arrogant, murderous, psychopathic bastard."

I smiled to myself. He wasn't wrong.

Blood seeped into the beige carpet, drawing abstract patterns around the fallen bodies. I surveyed the destruction with a clinical eye—shattered lamp, overturned coffee table, picture frames askew on walls pockmarked with bullet holes.

Family photos crunched beneath my shoes as I moved through what had once been a cozy living room, now transformed into a killing field. Not my cleanest work, but it had gotten the job done.

My men moved with practiced efficiency, wrapping bodies in plastic, wiping down surfaces, collecting shell casings. This wasn't their first cleanup. It wouldn't be their last.

Chen appeared at my side, his expression unreadable. "Perimeter secure. Two more hostiles neutralized in the backyard. Cleanup will take thirty minutes, maybe less."

I nodded, my attention shifting to Joy and his mother. They sat huddled on the only undamaged piece of furniture—a high-backed armchair in the corner.

Annie's arm was wrapped protectively around her son's shoulders while he whispered something in her ear. Her eyes never left me, watching like a hawk studies a snake that's entered its nest.

Smart woman.

I crossed to them, stopping a respectful distance away. "Ms. Carmichael, I realize this isn't ideal, but your home is no longer safe. These men were just the first wave. There will be others."

Annie's chin lifted slightly. "And you're offering protection, I assume?"

"Yes."

"Out of the goodness of your heart?" Her tone dripped with skepticism.

I almost smiled. "I protect what's mine."

Joy stiffened beside her. "I'm not yours."

"Your son belongs to me now," I said, ignoring his protest and keeping my eyes locked with Annie's. "This isn't a negotiation."