Page 5 of The Oyabun's Boy

I tucked the gun into my waistband, pocketed the knife and phone, and scanned the warehouse. The main entrance was likely watched, and I'd just confirmed the loading bay was covered.

That left the administrative offices on the second floor, which might have a fire escape or at least windows facing away from my current predicament.

"This is why I don't do field work," I said to the empty air. "Chen handles this shit for a reason."

I made my way to the metal staircase, each step sending a fresh bolt of pain through my side. Blood dripped steadily now, leaving a trail that even the most incompetent assassin could follow. I ripped a sleeve from one of the dead men's shirts and pressed it against my wound, tying it tight enough to slow the bleeding.

At the top of the stairs, I paused to catch my breath. The office area was dark except for the green glow of exit signs.Cubicles stood like sentinels, empty and silent. My vision swam briefly, black spots dancing at the edges. Not good. Not good at all.

I pulled out my phone, thumb hovering over Chen's contact. No—better to know my exit strategy first.

I moved through the cubicles, checking windows. The first faced the front lot—useless. The second looked out on an alley, maybe fifteen feet below. Possible, but the drop might kill me if the stab wound didn't.

Then I spotted it—a fire exit at the far end of the office. The alarm would sound the moment I pushed it, but it was my best shot. I'd have seconds to put distance between myself and this place before more of my uncle's men descended.

I leaned against a desk, suddenly light-headed. Family politics had always been bloody in my world, but this was escalating too quickly. My father had kept the Tokyo branch in check for decades.

In his absence, they clearly felt entitled to reclaim what they considered theirs—namely, my entire East Coast operation and me, preferably in pieces.

"I send premium sake every New Year and this is the thanks I get, “ I muttered, pushing away from the desk. "Ungrateful bastards.”

I shuffled toward the fire exit, every muscle protesting. Blood loss was becoming a serious concern. I needed Chen, needed my personal doctor, and especially needed to not be in a warehouse surrounded by dead men and live shooters.

The exit sign glowed brighter as I approached, a neon promise of salvation. As I reached for the push bar, I heard a noise, subtle, just the whisper of fabric against fabric. It came from behind me.

I spun, gun raised, but it was too late. A silhouette emerged from between the cubicles, and I felt rather than saw the flash of metal arcing toward me.

I dove through the window, uncaring how hurt I might get. I heard the thud as the knife my assailant threw embedded in the windowsill right where my head had been moments before.

As soon as I got to my feet, I scrambled down the fire escape, moving as quickly as gravity—and my wound—allowed. I hit the cement already running.

I stumbled down the narrow brick alley several minutes later, one hand pressed to my side, the other gripping my phone like a lifeline. Three blocks from the warehouse and every step felt like a hot poker being jammed deeper into my flesh. Blood seeped through my makeshift bandage, warm against my fingers.

The night air was cool against my sweat-slicked face, a small mercy in what had quickly become one of my least favorite evenings.

My back hit the brick wall as my knees threatened to buckle. I slid down a few inches before locking my legs, refusing to collapse in this filthy alley like some common thug. I thumbed Chen's contact and put the call on speaker.

“Who’s this?”

"Your worst nightmare," I said when he answered with a sharp tone. My voice might have been rougher than I'd intended.

"Oyabun." No surprise in Chen's tone, just calm efficiency. "Your location?"

"Alley behind 43rd. Got myself a little ventilated." I glanced down at the blood darkening my suit. "The package was a setup. Uncle's men."

"How many casualties?"

"All of them except me." I let my head fall back against the brick. "Though I might join that count if you don't hurry the fuck up."

"Three minutes out," Chen replied. "Status?"

"My head feels like someone's playing a death metal concert inside it. My favorite suit is ruined. And I've got a hole where a hole shouldn't be." I tried to straighten up and winced. "Otherwise, it's a beautiful night in New York. You should see the stars."

"There are no stars visible in New York."

"Exactly."

A noise from the far end of the alley cut our banter short. Footsteps, multiple sets, moving quickly. I squinted through the darkness, adrenaline flooding my system again, overriding the pain.