Page 47 of Brutal Union
No rewards. No promises. Just the clothes on his back.
Back then, I thought Bhon was a legend. I still do.
I’m being hunted for killing the trusted guards when I was sixteen, along with what was left of the Matsumoto family. And even with that on my name, Bhon is still the only man who ever escaped the Yakuza and earned their respect on the way out.
I should have recognized him, by his voice alone.
I lean back against the bar, my fingers tapping against the polished dark wood—cleaner than I expected for a place like this. The lighting shifts between low purple and deep blue, pulsing softly across the room in sync with the bass that hums beneath the marble floor.
Rich, dark wood and velvet booths line the edges, broken up by mirrored walls and scattered chandeliers that hang low, casting a soft glow over the room.
Women walk around inPlayboybunny bodysuits like tuxedos moving through the space with full trays of drinks and sexual trinkets. A few more handsy than the others. Bhon sits near the back, in a wide black leather chair just shy of the private booths, but he doesn’t touch the woman in front of him. If anything, he looks irritated—at her, at whoever’s on the other end of the line.
My gaze weighs heavy, and after a few seconds, he shifts—eyes scanning the room like something doesn’t feel right. The pressure of being watched has reached him, even if he hasn’t figured out where it’s coming from.
A tall blonde with wide eyes and a southern drawl drifts over, placing a hand on my shoulder like she’s known me forever. Her smile is big, and her eyes look almost doll-like.
“Well, hey there, stranger. Can I get you anything?” She purrs, pushing up on her tip-toes.
I grab her wrist, sliding her hand off of me. “Not right now.”
“You sure?” She pouts, her chest grazing my arms, making almost every nerve on my body curl away from her. “Because you look like you could relax.”
I chuckle, in that dry humorless way that confuses most people. “You really don’t want your hand.”
“You threatening me?” She questions, leaning into her hip as her eyes narrow on me.
Before I can answer, another woman’s voice cuts in. “Dolly, don’t make me clock you out for the night.”
“Sorry Madam,” she squeaks. “I just-”
“You were just leaving,” she answers, and I finally look over my shoulder at her. She has tanned skin, curves, a tight red dress that clings like it was made for her. Long, curly black hair frames her face, and her smirk is knowing and confident.
The blonde bows slightly and walks off like her ass is on fire.
“Don’t mind her. She’s new,” the woman says, extending her hand to me. “I’m Gwedolyn Petrov.”
“Petrov?” I repeat, sliding my hand into hers.
She flashes me a pearly white smile. “You wouldn’t be?—”
“Yes,” I nod, pulling my hand back. “Sorry for almost fucking up your kidnap rescue.”
“No worries. I’m alive, and free now.” She shrugs like it’s nothing, then waves to the bartender. “Hudson, two shots of the top-shelf hot sake.”
“Got it, darling,” Hudson replies winking effortlessly, already moving to the other side of the bar.
I glance at her. “Your husband know he talks to you like that?”
“Yup,” she says, grinning. “Hudson doesn’t really value his life.” She turns slightly, eyes shifting to Bhon. “Now, Mr. Matsumoto, why are you staring at one of my favorite customers?”
“He’s an old friend of mine.” I rest my elbow on the bar. “Why is your husband trying to dethrone Nadia?”
She laughs lightly. “Right to the point.”
“I prefer a straight shot.”
“He’s not.”
