Page 71 of Pragma
“What does that mean?” the moronic fuckchill asks.
“It means that you look like the ass of a monkey and sound like a dying goat.”
Repetitive loud gunshots suddenly boom from somewhere in the restaurant. I spring out of my chair as I hear women’s screams, running footsteps, and thunderous men’s voices from outside. A wave of dizziness makes me grab the table edge for a moment.
What the fuck? I shake my head, and my eyes focus once again on the grinning bastard, looking relaxed and…smug as fuck.
“What did you do?” I snarl, pulling my pocket knife out of my suit jacket.
He laughs, this time with a deep satisfaction. “Oh, I’m killing the old bitch.”
“You are dead meat.” She brought eight of her men in black with her, plus the others I saw outside the restaurant and they are all expert fighters.
“And who is going to do it? You? Everybody else will be dead soon. A-L-L. All,” he repeats. I grab him by that horrid shirt collar, pulling him out of his chair, knife ready to strike when dizziness hits me again. I squeeze my eyes, trying to keep my balance. I feel my grip on him loosen.
“I can’t believe you actually fell for it.” He slowly takes out a gun from behind his back. “The great Hebikawa family. What a joke!” He shoves me, and I stumble back, my legs suddenly shaking as I hear more gunshots.
“The Triad has gone crazy…killing the yakuza big boss!” I utter, taking another step back as I see him rounding the table.
“Yes! It’s crazy, right? A war will start, and they will kill each other. And I’ll be on the sidelines waiting to take my rightful place.” He sounds so proud of himself.
How did this idiot pull this off? This restaurant is on our turf,Kumicho… “Ishida-san, that motherfucker!”
“Finally connecting the dots? He’ll become the big boss, and I’ll finally have what I deserve, while in the meantime, you’ll be paying a hefty price.”
My legs hit something, and I fall back on thetatami. Why the fuck do I feel so weird? My arms and legs are tingling, head spinning.
“You want to know a secret? The Triad doesn’t even know I’m here,” he whispers loudly, getting too close for my liking. I’m still holding the knife, but my arm feels as heavy as Godzilla’s tail.
“You are a fucking pussy,” I hiss.
He chuckles. “I’m an opportunist, and I won. Outmatched all of you bitches. Always looking down on me, treating me like shit. Stabbing me!” He screams, lifting the scarred hand in the air for me to see.
“Who’s the bitch now?” I find the strength to say. My mind is just a little muddy, my body is the problem. Did he do something to me? My peripherals blur, dulling my senses. I can hear the booming thump of my heart slamming in my ears.
“You will be. I’m going to have so much fun with you.” He starts unbuttoning his pants, pupils flaring. “And when I’m done, I’ll let my men get a piece too.”
What is he, a villain from a fucking soap opera?
I spit on his cheek. “Not a chance,” I growl. “You’ll never touch me.”
“But I will. In exactly two minutes.” He looks down at his tacky gold watch. “You shouldn’t drink anything they put in front of you, didn’t your mother teach you that?”
He drugged me? With what? My body reacts differently to central nervous system depressants, like roofies. They work on me like the most powerful tranquilizer. I know because when I was kidnapped, that was what those fuckers used on me. I’m feeling that same response, lack of inhibition, dizziness, drowsiness, plus a headache and nausea. I’ll pass out soon. Fucking shit!
“I will hunt you down, tear you apart, and make a rug out of your skin for my aunt’s dogs to piss on!” I slur.
He tears open my shirt and stops to look at my naked torso.
“Oh, is there someone else?” I feel his revolting, sweaty fingers moving on my skin, lingering on the marks River left. “Maybe that bodyguard of yours? Is he your boyfriend? That Frankenstein freak?”
I direct the most murderous glare I can produce at his face. He isn’t my boyfriend. He’s everything and more. The real freak is the loser with bad breath looming over me.
“Well. He’s dead. He’s literally nothing now,” he hisses, pinching my nipple, pulling so hard I almost think he’s ripped it off.
I force my stupid hand to listen to my brain and sink my nails into his arm. Fuck! Wrong hand. The knife is in the other. “Fuck you, Fuckchill. He isn't dead. River will come for me.” I sound like a drunk, stumbling over my words.
“No, he won’t. But no worries, I’ll entertain you and that slutty mouth of yours.” I hear the sound of his zipper going down, and then I see his small dick crawling out. I snort at it. It’s as ugly and pathetic as he is.
