Millions

  He smiled just as relaxed and pompous, knowing exactly what conclusion I’d just fallen into. “Forgive me; I don’t know what you mean.”

  I stepped forward, reducing the distance between us to merely a metre. I didn’t care I looked like shit or the brace on my ankle gave away my injury. He would know I wouldn’t be in top form after losing previous warriors trying to put me down.

  “The other seven men. Where are they?”

  “You think we stuck to the same archaic rules we had when you wore our colours, Miki-san?” He laughed long and slow, building in mirth as if I was the village idiot. “You poor fool. Haven’t grown any wiser, I see, even though you have aged rather poorly.”

  I vibrated with loathing, barely reining my temper and forcing myself not to attack prematurely. “One, three, seven, thirteen, and twenty. That’s how honour is delivered to trespassers.”

  Daishin adjusted his cufflinks, flashing the katakana character of long life in my face. “I thought I’d break a little from tradition if you don’t mind, Miki-san. I guess you’ll find out how many helpers I brought soon enough.” His teeth flashed in the night. “But then again, maybe you won’t. Depending on how long you live, of course.”

  I’d had enough of this small talk.

  I’d had enough of restraining both the violent call to murder and the petrified question that demanded to know what would happen if I died.

  I wanted to know if Pim would be safe if I let him gut me here and now, but I was terrified of the answer and what it would ultimately make me do.

  Uncrossing my arms, I sank into the same crouch he’d drilled into me through endless lessons and raised my hands. My posture wasn’t that of yoga or spiritual gain—it was slipping from the scabbard that turned me into a sword.

  Fingers bent but loose, wrists straight but uncocked, joints ready but fluid.

  I wiped my mind of Pim and broken futures. I pushed aside failing and conquering.

  All that mattered was here and now.

  All that existed was this.

  Chapter Twenty

  ______________________________

  Pimlico

  “HERE, TAKE THIS.”

  I looked up from watching Suzette bounce Lino on her lap while female staff milled around the rotund tower of Q and Tess’s bedroom. Eight women or so mingled and whispered, looking out the tall window to the gardens below, probably wondering why they’d been dragged out of bed at this time in the morning to hang out in their master’s bedroom.

  Tess urged something into my hands. “Here. It’s old but still works.”

  I curled my hands around the ancient dagger, wincing against the ice-cold hilt and running my thumbs over a giant emerald inlaid in the end. “Where on earth did this come from?”

  Tess shrugged as she headed toward Suzette and passed her a similar blade; however, hers was shorter with a wicked hooked barb on the blade tip. “Who knows? Q has a collection on his mantel.” She pointed at the large fireplace with deer and who knew what else carved into the surround. Above was a rack of swords and old-style muskets. “I love the sexist view Q has of protecting the weaker sex—that weaker sex being me.” She laughed softly. “But we all know women aren’t damsels in distress. I have a son to protect. I’ll rip out the entrails from anyone trying to harm him.”

  Her ferocity scattered goosebumps down my arms. I loved her confidence that women were just as capable as men in defending their property.

  Stroking my new friend the dagger, I eyed up the rest of the bedroom. It might seem odd to have medieval weaponry overlooking the bed but it fitted perfectly.

  A tower.

  The only tower on the estate and the only room inside it. The floor area ensured the master suite impressed with its massive space, hidden enclaves behind hand-painted screens, and apparatus tucked behind thick velvet curtains.

  Suzette had eyed up the items as we’d entered, knowledge dancing over her sweet features as to what lurked behind their wrappings.

  Unfortunately, I only had my imagination to guide me. If what Tess had hinted at about her and Q’s sex life, I dreaded to think what sort of ‘toys’ or more like torture equipment existed hidden away.

  Settling back on the bed with her own knife of choice—a simple dagger with blue scroll painted on the hilt—Tess smiled at Suzette as she jiggled Lino in her arms. Luckily, the baby had his thumb in his mouth and clutched a piece of Suzette’s hair, fast asleep with chubby pink cheeks and dusky delicate eyelashes.

  He was the only one unfazed by what was coming.

  Everyone else in the room shifted nervously, never staying in one spot for long, legs jiggling and fingers twirling.

  I was no exception. Although, thanks to my recent captivity and the common occurrence of living in high-doss circumstances of stress and silence, I did the opposite to fidgeting.

  I locked down.

  I barely breathed.

  I found it hard to look around the room rather than fixate on a spot that wouldn’t get me into trouble. I didn’t care if my joints started to ache from being in one position for too long. I didn’t mind I grew lightheaded from scarcely breathing.

  I merely sat and waited for the worst to come.

  Tess turned to face a girl on the opposite side of the massive bed. “How are you doing, Caroline?”

  The brunette flashed her a weak, feather of a smile, shaking her head once. “I’m fine.” Her voice hinted she was anything but fine.

  Her obvious discomfort didn’t faze Tess who nodded sympathetically. “Despite what might happen downstairs, we’re safe up here. Okay? No one is going to hurt you again.”

  She bit her lip. Her eyes searched Tess’s as if desperate to believe her but not quite able to. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that Caroline was a recent addition to the Mercer household and someone who’d walked in my shoes.

  The moment she’d entered the bedroom, our eyes had locked, and we’d known.

  She had the same bruises.

  The same shackle marks.

  The same cuts and chain imprints.

  I’d given her a sad smile but also a happy one because no matter what she’d lived through, she was free. She’d been found, and I had no doubt time would repair her mind just as it had mine.

  If the Chinmoku are defeated, of course.

  My heart drummed an alarm button as I looked at Lino again. We had no choice but to win, because if we didn’t, it wasn’t just us who would die tonight but everyone—no matter age, race, or sex. Even baby Lino.

  I stood, running my fingers along my newly acquired blade, allowing rebellion to fill me instead of previous slave training.

  I slashed the empty air, getting a feel for the weight and precision of my new weapon just in case I would have to use it.

  I wouldn’t shy from drawing blood. I wouldn’t qualm over taking a life.

  I’d pulled the trigger back in the white mansion.

  I would stab someone here if it came down to it.

  As I fileted empty air, a fist pounded loud and heavy on the massive wooden door.

  I jumped, almost cutting myself with the knife. My heart wheezed with anticipation and preservation.

  Tess sprang to her feet as Lino woke and grizzled. Suzette clutched him close, murmuring into his tiny ear while glancing at Tess with terror in her eyes.

  We hadn’t heard any fighting. No gunshots. No war cries. The house had been silent apart from the chirp of a doorbell a few minutes ago. We’d all looked at each other at the oddity of the bell going off at this time but decided it might be the police who Q had on his payroll according to Tess.

  Three hours had been long and boring, but I would happily wait three years if it meant tonight had a happier ending.

  The knock hammered again.

  Being the one closest to the door, I gave Tess a look then inched closer toward it. “Who’s there?”

  The absurdity of asking while in the prelude to battle made me flush with complex nerves.

&nb
sp; What if I spoke to the enemy?

  What if they’d silently murdered Elder and the others and come to finish their culling with us?

  Should I be less polite? Should I growl and curse and demand to know their names so I knew who I would be slaughtering?

  Before I could rephrase my question, the pounding fist was replaced with a gruff voice. “Phillip, ma’am. We were sent by Mr. Mercer.”

  I looked over my shoulder at Tess, verifying she knew these men and it wasn’t a lie.

  She came closer, crossing her arms as if she couldn’t quite recognise.

  Phillip added through the door, “The enemy has arrived in greater force than planned. We were tasked to protect you.”

  I looked at Tess with a hint of sexism annoyance. Were they here to protect us, or was it a lie? And if they were, was that a compliment from her husband or confirmation that he believed we were less than capable at survival?

  Oh, my God, Pim. Why choose now to compare the pros and cons of different sexes?

  That was my mother’s genes choosing to focus on human nature rather than focus on the task at hand.

  Blinking my attention back to important matters, I asked, “Do you know him?”

  Tess lowered her arms, marching to the door. “I know him.” Throwing open the deadlock, she ushered the two bodyguards inside and locked it again just as fast. “What’s happening down there?”

  “Nothing, Mrs Mercer.” One of them clutched his gun higher. “That Prest fellow and another Japanese bloke are talking.”

  “Talking?”

  He nodded. “That’s it as far as I’m aware—”

  A loud crack silenced him, vibrating around the countryside, bouncing off the sleeping trees, echoing off napping clouds.

  “Oh, no.” I slapped a hand over my mouth knowing exactly what that noise was.

  A gun.

  A pistol.

  Something with the power to steal a life with one trigger.

  “It’s begun.” Tess sprinted to the window, barging past staff members to investigate. She slapped the window sill in frustration. “Shit, I can’t see anything.”

  “Ma’am, step away from the window. You’re a target.” The guards ran after Tess and I ran after the guards. All of us huddled at the glass, peering into the night for clues on what’d happened.

  The turret faced away from the front door toward the garages and other buildings. It didn’t stop Tess from unlocking the window and bending her body as far as she could outside to catch a glimpse.

  “Ma’am.” A guard clutched the back of Tess’s top, trying to stop her but still governed by her authority.

  Tess stood straight, obeying the command. The moment she was back in the room, the guard locked the window and stood beside us with his legs braced and gun drawn as his colleague went to fortify the door.

  Two areas of weakness.

  Two men for protection.

  I placed my fingers on the glass, glaring through the hazy gloom as my heart got on its knees and begged to know Elder was okay. I wished I could fly from this tower and go to his side.

  He’d agreed to stay.

  But he hadn’t agreed not to stick to his original plan of dying to protect us—the one move I couldn’t do equally. The one strategy that was entirely his decision with no input from me.

  Frustrated tears glossed my eyes.

  Don’t be a hero, Elder. Be safe and come back to me.

  Another boom sounded as a bullet flew from gun to target—not knowing if it was our men or theirs who fired.

  Sweat slicked my spine as I dropped my gaze from the sprawling gardens to directly below us, searching for a drainpipe or vines—something I could use to escape and find Elder.

  But my attention locked onto yet another nightmare.

  A flash of three shadows blended from grass to brick, darting through dead spots left by the security lights, streaking toward the tower like night crawlers.

  “Look.” I elbowed Tess.

  She latched onto the evil coming for us, understanding like I had the danger we were in. Two bodyguards wouldn’t be enough if they reached us. She swore as colourfully as her husband, dragging hands through blonde hair. “They’re going to climb.”

  “No. Surely, they won’t—they don’t know where we are.” Suzette squeezed between us, staring at the same calamity we did. Far, far below our turret, the three shadows emerged at the base and looked up.

  The distance and gloom hid their faces, but their intention flew up the round ancient walls, infiltrating us with their purpose.

  I clutched my dagger as the security guard cocked his gun, his face determined to do whatever was necessary.

  Tess trembled, the first sign of fear she’d shown. Her eyes flickered to a barcode with a sparrow flying in the centre and the number fifty-eight etched on her wrist. “I can’t be taken again.”

  Suzette placed a hand on her mistress’s shoulder, clutching baby Lino close. “I won’t let them.”

  I placed my hand on her other shoulder. “Me, either.”

  We stood bound by the promise and understanding of what we meant. The horror of being captured again, sold again, raped again...it turned us from women to warriors.

  Our oaths to prevent such a future were as binding as blood. A mutual understanding that plaited us together and made us responsible for each other.

  We wouldn’t let them take us alive.

  Not this time.

  Not anytime.

  Another gunshot.

  Followed by another and another.

  Masculine shouts came short and snatched from inside the mansion.

  As one, we all turned to the door, searching for answers but finding none.

  The walls were too thick, the distance too great to hear who cried in pain and who yelled in triumph.

  All we could do was forget what happened out there and focus on our battleground in here. The window was our weakest spot. Ignoring the door, we looked back through the glass as three shadows left green grass and melted into the stonework of our tower.

  Their fingers sure, their toes nimble, their bodies hauling them heavenward.

  Climbing.

  Coming.

  Hunting.

  We had our knives.

  The guards had their guns.

  No unwelcome visitors would enter this tower tonight.

  With a fierce look, Tess opened the window and the guard prepared to fire.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ______________________________

  Elder

  HAD THERE EVER been a moment in my life when I didn’t live with pain?

  Had there ever been a time when I wasn’t fighting to stay alive?

  It seemed the answer to those questions was no.

  No.

  No.

  For the past fuck-knew-how-long, I’d been fighting. Figuratively and literally. Fighting my past, my future, my mistakes, my accomplishments.

  I’d fought until I forgot why I fought.

  At some point in this war, I’d entered with thoughts of defending a man’s home, of battling beside that same man who was more stranger than friend, who’d stolen my woman and ruined my life, and instead of doing my best to kill him, I did my best to keep him alive.

  Time stopped ticking.

  I didn’t know if we’d been in this purgatory for ten minutes or ten hours, but for once, my OCD helped keep me sane.

  The agony in my wounds was worse than any drug or obsessive chant. It coiled in my brain, it decorated my bones, it hissed hotter and louder with every swing, duck, and punch.

  It grew so loud, it distracted me enough that I almost missed an obvious attack, leaving Mercer to pick up the slack. That was when my OCD decided to latch onto something else—something less debilitating and useless.

  I swallowed my pain deep, deep down, and fought with brighter purpose. Clarity came from counting the corpses we left behind. A tally of death that encouraged me to add to it again and again.

&
nbsp; Hand-to-hand combat.

  A shot to the chest with gunpowder and buckshot.

  A serrated slice to the jugular with steel.

  As the minutes bled into hours, my counting switched to incorporate another tally. This one just as handy and granting even better precision. I had an over analytic brain that loved rhythm and symmetry and numerical harmony. It relished in counting uppercuts and finger snaps. It begged to count screams and gurgles from the men I wrenched from living to dead.

  I tried to keep count of how many deaths we caused while tucking away vital spread sheets of delivered punches versus the probability of who had the highest chance of success.

  I lived for figures.

  I craved odds and evens, hoping the final sum would equal our victory.

  From the moment the doorbell rang till now, I’d counted, growing more and more frenzied the deeper into chaos I fell.

  The first two to die were Chinmoku—just as I’d hoped but feared wouldn’t happen.

  Mercer’s men had listened, and my man didn’t need to be told.

  They weren’t honourable or prepared to pause.

  Bang.

  Bang.

  Two Chinmoku shot between the eyes, courtesy of Selix and Franco.

  Q’s man and mine.

  A joint effort and an equal commitment to this overthrowing of power.

  Selix had been the first to shoot, knowing full well what the Chinmoku were capable of, thanks to me teaching him their ways every morning on board the Phantom. He’d overstepped and decided my conversation with Daishin had reached a mutually conclusive end—that there was only one place to go from there and that was most likely my death by sacrifice.

  He hadn’t waited for me to make that vital mistake or confirmation from me that I wouldn’t.

  He didn’t need to.

  In this matter, and in all matters, he was my equal, my brother—just like the bastard Franco was Mercer’s brother. He was true to his word, shooting a fraction of a second after Selix.

  I’d prepared for Daishin to attack me in the midst of two of his warriors’ untimely ends, but he’d surprised me by falling back with his remaining men, leaving the bodies of his fallen to become gruesome garden ornaments, spreading out like cockroaches too fast to be plucked off with bullets.