No Ordinary Love (4 page)

“Blood will show them.” Father had coughed as his tea cup shook in his hands. “Blood and death are the best symbols to promote proper discipline.”

I’d never witnessed him so weak and frail. My future began to diminish in front of me. There was no way father would come back from these injuries, which meant that my position of authority would not be as temporary as he’d promised. Father would die one day soon, and then our family and men would look to me.

And then this child rapist appeared on the scene. Rage had coursed through my body, thick and cold. It froze my skin, had me ready for murder. Night after night, with the news of more raped and battered kids, thoughts of torturing the one responsible helped me sleep and push away the images of mangled little bodies gone from earth before they ever got to see the world.

Weeks passed.

Father didn’t get better, yet he kept his hold on me like a puppetmaster twirling cords to make his toy move and dance how he liked. There was no more control of my days. Kenji Sato, champion soccer player, vanished away. I was now being mentored to lead a group of thieves and killers, men I considered family whether I’d wanted to or not.

Then finally, they found the sick man who’d damaged so many families and kept him in a room until I could come and discipline him.

A maddening daze had overtaken me.

I shifted into something else that night, some horrific creature I’d never been before. Blood and peeling skin. Even my men had turned away while I did my work. Darkness. It soared down on me like a swift wind and dirtied all the pure parts of me.

I remembered that he screamed a lot, and begged for me not to kill him.

At the time, I blocked his screams out of my mind, yet his scent corroded my nostrils—putrid and decaying. It was nothing for me to use the needles, even less to finally slice his throat at the end.

And the people roared “Dragon.”

A bad taste coated my tongue, the first time they spoke that name. Since then, I’d never gotten that muck out of my mouth.

Dragon.

Even though my men disposed of the body in the middle of the night, memories of his blood painted the streets. Residents cheered. Mothers hugged their kids. Fathers relaxed their shoulders. Children beamed at me whenever I walked by. No one cared about the invisible blood dripping from my fingers.

To them, I was a hero, the Dragon. The story of the pedophile’s death had taken on its own life. People swore I blew fire from my mouth and had burned him to a crisp. Others remembered an odd orange glow in my eyes as I told him of his offenses. Myth shaded reality. Some whispered that gold scales sprouted from my skin whenever I got too irritated. Many accepted what they chose to believe.

But what would they say about the nightmares I have about killing him or all of the sleepless nights?

I couldn't think of the last time I'd slept for more than four hours. Blood dripped in my dreams, and when it didn't spill all over the place, screams filled my skull. I'd stopped even going into my bedroom anymore. Half the time I sat on my balcony, drank, and waited for some distant calm to take me away.

It never did.

They all scream “Dragon,” but what would they say about that? Would it make them sad or righteous to know that I too am human? What would they say about the Dragon now getting kneed in the groin by a feisty little American girl?

I closed my office’s door, headed over to my desk, and slumped in the chair. This girl would be a needed distraction, some fun when I got bored.
Tora.
My dick throbbed in my pants. Her fragrance swirled around in my head. I sniffed my fingers.

What does she smell like?

I inhaled again.

Japanese Lanterns, maybe.

They were these bright orange flowers inflated like festive balloons. A cherry lay inside of each. Mom used to take the cherries out and make jam. Grandma would use them for medicine. Once, when I’d picked a few lanterns before they’d fully ripened, Grandma had grabbed my hand and yelled that the unripe ones were toxic.

Are you ripe, Little Tora?

Knowing the way my life had turned out, she’d be poisonous. Perhaps, that was just what I needed.

If Dragon suits me, then Tiger fits her.

How magical those two beasts were when depicted together. The ancient Taoist idea of yin and yang had transported to Japan from China. A tiger and dragon served as the symbol—the dragon conqueror of the heavens, the tiger mightiest of all wild beasts. Two opposites.

At the time, no tigers had ever lived in Japan.

Like this lovely woman who came into my life, they were exotic animals, but not natives of my country. My people respected them. Tigers crouched low to the earth, bending vegetation with their roar, and executing deadly power from the strength of their taut muscles, while the dragon balanced the animal out completely—his growl disrupted storm clouds and caused the furry beasts to dive to their shelters.

In many myths, neither dragon nor tiger could dominate the other, so they maintained an odd balance that left everyone unsettled.

This tiger definitely has claws, but can she cut through my skin?

I rubbed myself, relishing in the heat that surged to the tip of my length. My body hoped for more massaging, preferably from her hands on my flesh. The knee to my groin was unexpected to say the least, yet her visit was a welcome disturbance to my organized chaos.

Let's hope this one does what the others couldn’t.

I placed my hand in my pocket and rubbed the tiny, black rope that lay inside.

Let's hope she’s willing to break me.
 

Chapter 5

NYOMI

“We’re going to die!” Zo paced back and forth in his tiny living room, barely stepping five feet before having to turn around.

“I wonder how I’m going to get my recorder back.”

He paused. “Really? That’s the only thing that’s on your mind? Word of advice: You needed a new one anyway.”

“I don’t need a new one.”

“He’s going to punish you for what you did.”

Oh God.

“Please, relax.” I flexed my naked toes and sipped my drink. I’d learned from our years of friendship and short time dating that Zo needed time to freak out. It took him a few minutes to travel his darkened path of hysteria. Once he got to the midpoint, sweat dripped down his red-tinted face. In those moments I reeled him back into reality, calming him sentence by sentence.

We'd dated for three whole weeks before mutually calling it off. If anyone asked me why we stopped, I would say due to his inherent ability to absolutely not enjoy himself. He would say it all came down to my recklessness. A perfect date for Zo was dinner and a movie in the safe confines of his home. For me, jumping out of a plane rushed to my mind first. Afterwards, we'd just let the wind take us to the next journey.

I'm surprised we made it a week.

When we broke up, we stopped communicating for a week. Seven days without talking to him had been excruciating. He'd ended the silence by calling and saying the same thing.

“We may not be compatible, but you damn sure are something I need in my life,” he'd said and then invited me over to his place for a quick chat and to watch one of his favorite shows.
Sopranos
reruns, if I remembered correctly. Italian mafia drama and wine was how we began our friendship. During that time, he had a condo in New York and a small apartment in Tokyo. After that, neither of us ever looked back or even tried to do anything physically.

“Did you have to knee him?” Zo shrieked, bringing me back to the present.

“I should have never left you alone!” He stomped back and forth, back and forth, leaving prints of his long, bare feet in the carpet. “He's going to kill us.”

“It's going to be okay.”

“Never. We'll be dead by dawn.”

“Or fine and alive.”

“No way.”

“Yes, way.”

He raised his hands in the air. “You kneed the Dragon!”

“Really? The Dragon? Stop saying that.”

“The odds of us surviving are not in our favor.”

“We're full of luck, man. Nothing's going to happen.”

Zo’s entire place was one-fourth the size of my apartment back home in Brooklyn and consisted of a kitchenette, micro-hotel-sized bathroom, living room that held no space when the futon was spread out, and a bedroom that most westerners would call a walk-in closet. White tea candles illuminated the area and spread a soothing fragrance throughout each room. Everything was divided by sliding doors and decorated in cream-colored carpet, vanilla walls, ivory fixtures, and milky toned furniture that cost more than a month’s worth of my royalties. Zo’s bright place resembled a white hole with the ability to suction away any color entering the area.

That being said, I loved his apartment more than mine.

The only thing that I didn’t like about his spot was that he paid three thousand dollars a month due to its location. It was set in Omotesandō, the fashion district of Tokyo. All the top designers, modeling agencies, and foreign brands had offices there. Being that Zo made his living as a fashion critic and freelance stylist for the rich, location won out over size.

Zo raised his fists in the air and shook them. “You kneed the bloody Dragon! I had no idea it was really him until I got a good look at that face. I mean, who can forget a face like that? It’s like the devil himself chiseled it.”

“This sake is amazing, by the way.” I took another sip and crossed my legs. “Is this lychee?”

Zo glared at me. “You know damn well it’s lychee. You were with me when I bought the wine yesterday. You tasted it last night. You had a sip before we went out this evening. You know it’s lychee! We’re going to die and you’re talking about fruit-flavored sake.”

“You have to relax.”

“You kneed the Dragon in his groin!”

I hit my forehead. “Please stop calling him that.”

“Why? Everyone else in Japan calls him that!”

“I’m sure other people are referred to as the Dragon besides Kenji Soto. I mean, I see images of dragons all over the place, on book covers, in movies, shirts, and jackets. Surely someone else uses this name.”

Zo paused and stared at me with an open mouth. “Yes, but he is
the
Dragon. Google him.”

“No.”

“Are you afraid to see the news reports of unsolved murders? Gang activity? His name being brought up as they report shootings and knifings all over the red-light district?” Zo’s pacing increased as he grabbed his hair on the sides of his head. “I recognized him from TV. He’s always on there. If not for crime stuff then he’s walking around with actresses and attending big fashion events. I had no idea he owned Castle in the Sky.”

“We’ll be fine.”

“Google him!”

“Nope.” I gulped down the rest of the sake in my glass. “That would probably ruin this awesome wine. Lychee, right?”

“You kneed him like he was an average guy, like he was some nobody named Jerry from Topeka, South Carolina. And then you run off as if he’s Billy Bob from Alabama, like you may never see him again—”

“I don’t know any of those people”—I leaned back on the futon—“but I bet Jerry or Billy Bob wouldn’t have groped my face with his mouth upon meeting me. Most southern guys have manners.”

Zo wiped the sweat off of his forehead. “You told him your name. His manager, Jun, probably checked you out. The Dragon knows who you are. Did you tell him my name?”

“No.”

“Okay. So I’m safe.”

“I think we’re both safe.” I shrugged. “I kneed him, not plundered and pillaged his family’s village. His hands and lips were all over me. I asked him to move. He didn’t. Where I’m from, when a guy gets too touchy, you knee him and search for your Mace.”

“You’re not in New York. You’re in Tokyo.” He covered his face with his hands. “There is great care in showing respect to people here—”

“Respect? Well I wouldn’t know from his actions. He was being rapey.”

“Do not say the Dragon was being rapey.”

“Fine.”

“This culture is all about saving face. Not embarrassing people. Did his men see him hunched over and screaming?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Fuck!” He held his stomach.

“Are you going to vomit?”

“I might, after I have a heart attack.”

I grabbed the wine. “So then you won’t mind if I finish the bottle?”

“Who cares about the damn bottle? Maybe I’m just freaking out. Maybe it’s okay.” Zo pointed to me. “He called you Tora. That’s ‘tiger’ in Japanese. Tigers are a symbol of courage here and they’re in lots of Zen parables. This could be a good thing.”

“Tigers also have claws.” I burped.

He opened his mouth and stared at me. “Why is that good? Claws? For God’s sake, Nyomi.”

“I’m just being helpful.”

“If you want to be helpful then leave gang leaders’ sons’ penises alone. You know his father is like the head of one of the biggest gangs here? I think it’s Yamaguchi. That’s the biggest one. Dear God, please say it’s not that one. I’ll have to research this.”

“You told me that he’s the second son, maybe it won’t be a—”

Someone knocked at the door.

We both went silent and froze. Zo tiptoed and turned off the lights. I set my glass on the white table in front of me and checked my watch. It was close to midnight.

Another knock came.

This time it was louder. Zo dove to the ground and mouthed some incomprehensible words like I could easily understand a string of silent sentences in the dark, and after drinking two glasses of sake.

“What?” I whispered.

“Shh.”

The knocking continued. We must've waited for five minutes before the person on the other side coughed and began to speak.

“Please open the door.” A light male voice drifted from the other side. “I know someone is in there. I heard screaming earlier. If I don’t give you this gift, then I’m going to have a pretty bad night. Please open the door.”