Page 33 of Hunted By the Yakuza Spy

Harris stood in the doorway, looking down at me, his eyes glimmering. "I see you're finally awake," he said.

"Let me go!"

"Not likely," Harris said, striding over to me with a disgusting aura of power. He held a switchblade in his hand. "I've been waiting too long for this moment." The blade of the knife glinted in the light streaming in from the hallway.

"We're going to have a lot of fun, Julia," he continued.

"Get away from me," I hissed. I felt like an injured animal, cornered with nowhere to go and no option but to fight tooth and nail. I curled back up onto my ass and slid back against the wall.

"I don't think so," Harris sneered as he squatted down in front of me. He pressed the cold knife against my skin. "Don't even try to get out of this, babe, and don't fight back. Because..." he chuckled, slicing a tiny gash along my collarbone. "You don'thave to be alive for what I have planned, but I promise it'll be way more fun if you are."

Harris pressed the knife harder against my cheek, leaving a trail of warm blood trickling downwards. His grin widened as he sliced through a few strands of my hair.

I recoiled in horrified disgust. His laugh sent chills down my spine.

"Enough! Stop it!" I screamed, struggling to break free.

"Fight me, then," Harris taunted, cutting deeper into my skin.

I whimpered, my whole body shaking. "Please, stop!" I pleaded, tears pooling in my eyes.

"Well then, why don't we begin?" Harris whispered into my ear. "I have so much planned for us."

I whimpered, feeling the need to throw up again.

Harris, despite his thin frame, was quite strong. He hauled me up by my arm and dragged me out of the room. "First, you need to get cleaned up."

My vision blurred as I struggled to see where he was taking me. We seemed to be in some old apartment, complete with yellowing wallpaper and weird smells. The bathroom was agarish mix of pink tiles and orange curtains, drawn tight so hardly any sunlight came in.

Harris used his knife to cut open my clothes.

"What are you going to do?" I whimpered, unable to stop him, and my clothes fell in tatters.

"I don't want to spoil the surprise," he said with a maniacal grin.

I shivered, now completely naked with my hands tied behind my back. I was unable to shield my body from his hungry gaze. I couldn't speak anymore, too scared to find out what he would do if I tried to fight back.

My only hope was that someone would save me.

Harris shoved me into the pink shower stall and turned on the water. It was scalding hot as it poured over my head and back. He hummed to himself as he pulled out argan oil shampoo and conditioner, scrubbing my hair with way more force than necessary.

The delicate scent flooded my senses and ignited a memory. That was the same shampoo that my sister used. She used to swear that the argan oil made her hair shinier, but I never really saw a difference. I never told her that, though. I'd smile and nod along, not being the kind of girl who was into beauty trends.

"Now this," he said as he loosened the ties around my wrists so I could move a little better.

Harris squeezed soap into my hand, instructing me to wash myself. I hesitated for a second, staring at the bar of soap. I didn't trust Harris, but I also didn't want to provoke him. So, I began washing my body, careful to scrub each inch thoroughly. The soap was also her favorite, and I began to realize what was happening.

Harris watched me intently, his gaze burning into my skin, making me feel exposed and vulnerable. He kept humming, his tone increasingly smug and self-indulgent. I wanted to punch him, but I held back, knowing that resistance would be too risky. He was unhinged enough to slit my throat right here and now. If I wanted to live, I had to obey him.

As I finished rinsing the suds from my hair and body, Harris wrapped a towel around my body. His hands trembled as he moved up and down, wiping away the droplets of water.He paused, looking at my navel, blinking as his twisted mind noticed something. "Ah, you're missing it."

"Missing what?" I asked.

"The scar," he said, running his thumb just to the right of my belly button.

My sister, Rebecca, had her appendix removed when she was eight. I remembered the night vividly as we rushed her to thehospital. It was an emergency surgery, so the scar was crooked, and Rebecca always tried to hide it.

"No worries, we can fix that," Harris said. He slashed the knife over my navel, cutting a deep red gash exactly where my sister's scar had been.

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